Love Story 2020

“Cold feet. I think that’s what they are called. And right now.. I have two of those. I’m sorry.. I just can’t do this. Bye..”

I wrote these words on the back of an envelope and slid it under her door. And then I ran away. Where? Why? I couldn’t have missed the final match of the series.. could I? I had booked my tickets over the net and cut the payment of the light-man instead. That explains why no one saw me fleeing from the scene of the marriage. She isn’t my first love.. Cricket is.. coz, I dunno why.. she gets kinda’ boring sometimes.. but Cricket nevverrr does..

So like I am sitting here in my club-house seat like I had always dreamt of.. Plush upholstery, spectacular view, great music, conditioned air, cheerleaders dancing a few feet from me, another spectacular view, et. aliae. Till now, I had only watched matches seated in the back alleys. I was actually living my dream today!

All’s set and the match begins. First ball.. batsman flicks it to his leg and mid-on gets hold of it with a brilliant dive, but can’t save a run from being taken. The entire club house nods in acknowledgement of the outstanding effort and some even clap.

Next delivery, ball swings away, a hit and a miss.. another round of “Awww”s and “Ooooh”s.

Next delivery, the ball swings back in and that’s all I can see before my phone begins to ring and I have to frantically search my pockets so as to turn it off. One guy points to a little sign that says “Please switch off your mobiles. Thank you.”

I am rather flustered and almost blushing with embarrassment when I notice that the entire crowd is outraged and infuriated with something. That inswinger had wrapped the batsman on his pads and he was given out LBW. Shit! Coz of my stupid phone I missed the first wicket. “Who the heck was it”, I thought, and saw that she was calling. I turned my mobile off and looked at the scoreboard with a touch of dismay.

1/1.. Why does that sound familiar? Oh ya.. I remember, it’s her birth date.. the 1st of Jan. the day (or was it night) when I had ran into her at Toscas’ and met her for the first time..

Anyways.. What a silly coincidence.. she calls and just then, a wicket falls.. maybe that’s why they make you switch off your phones in here.

The captain decided that he wanted to utilize the powerplays to the hilt, and sent a pinch-hitter up the order. The guy hits a four the first delivery, a six on the other and then takes a single to retain strike.

12/1.. The second time we met.. I was giving a guitar demo at a music store and she was out there buying ‘Coldplay’. She loved my voice, took my number and autograph on the CD- “A Rush of Blood To The Head”. Oh Boy! It sure was!


The pinch-hitter resumes, it’s an outswinger, runs it down to third-man, takes a single. The other opener is a seasoned campaigner. He understands that the pitch has some bite in it and plays with considerable amount of caution. He pushes and prods for the next three deliveries and on the fourth, plays it with soft hands and takes a quick single. The pinch-hitter on the other end has been patient long enough, he throws caution to the winds and heaves the ball miles into the sky. The keeper gloves it, and the scoreboard reads:

14/2.. Oh.. my.. god.. Valentine’s Day.. The day she had called me up and said she was quitting her job. Now that would’ve been an absolute tragedy.. coz as hard as I find to admit it, she gets a heavier pay-packet than I do.. way heavier.. I ran to her office.. called her down, took her to the nearest cafe.. tried to talk her out of it.. but she wouldn’t budge. She kept saying “It’s just too demeaning a job for me answering stupid calls all day..” Not knowing what to do, I just picked up the guitar hanging on the wall behind her, and sang “The Scientist” for her.. and ending on “You don't know how lovely you are..” I proposed to her.. she agreed.. and I understood, she wasn’t quitting..


The batsmen changed ends, another pinch-hitter sent, a four was struck, another rash shot and caught at third man.

18/3.. the day I met her parents over dinner.. the day they shunned me from ever laying a foot in their house until I got a ‘safe’ job. The day she almost cut her wrist.. I mean she did, but not completely.. and I had to run half a mile carrying that bleeding angel in my arms..

Play resumes… A stunning Yorker.. another wicket..

18/4.. after working for a month as an attendant at a music store I showed her parents my first paycheck. And they agreed. Maybe it was or was it not.. I don’t exactly remember.. but it was pretty close to being labeled as the happiest day of my life...


The captain walks out.. carefully examines the pitch, makes a few marks and he is set. Defends the first, and takes a single at the second delivery. The umpire raises his arm half way along his side. It was a No-Ball. Free Hit. The crowd goes berserk. The batsman makes room and gives the ball a mighty thwack! FOUR!!

But a free hit is like a heady shot of vodka.. it doesn’t come without a hangover. He tries his luck once again, but this time, caught at mid-wicket.

24/5.. The day I found out about her previous affair.. a very serious previous affair.. the day I almost regretted meeting her..


The captain is facing now. Another veteran at the other end. They strategize and decide to play safe. Keep running it down to the third man or into the gaps and take singles on each delivery of the over. The last delivery.. veteran tries to steer it down to the third man.. gets a slight nick.. keeper lunges forward and takes a good low catch.

29/6.. the day we went to get our engagement rings.. and had a huge fight over the size of the diamond she wanted on hers.. the fight was huge enough to almost make the entire point of buying the rings, pointless. Insecurities were revealed, money matters tossed up, pasts unearthed, and things like “just coz you earn more doesn’t mean you have to show it off by buying a costlier ring for me” were said.

I was almost in tears now. I took out my phone and switched it on. It bleeped 12 times as numerous messages flooded my inbox and were waiting there to be read. I opened the images folder and checked the date when we had got engaged.

31st July.

Of all the events that had occurred all through the year, this was one you could never miss. 29/6 was what the score board read and my heart was pounding so hard now, that it almost threatened to break my rib cage apart and leap out of my chest. The bowler bowled a full-toss and the batsman hit it from absolutely the sweetest part of his bat. The sound almost sent me into a trance and I thought.. “Hah! 33/6.. their aint’ no date like that, is it!”

That was when I saw, that the sweeper cover had covered an unbelievable amount of distance and had actually stopped the ball from crossing over. And then seeing the batsmen crossing over for the third, he cannoned the ball to the wicketkeeper who effortlessly collected it and clipped off the bails in one smooth, swinging motion. It was obvious the batsman was short of his ground and hence the 3rd umpire was beckoned, to decide whether the ball had crossed the boundary or not. The replays showed.. it didn’t. The fielder had made a clean stop. The score now.. was

This was going off limits.. I lost all my senses and hollered “BLOODY HELL!” and seething with outrage, I kicked the chair in front of me real hard. An old man was occupying it and he fell down by the force of the impact. I didn’t know it then, but he was actually the CEO of the firm organizing the series. People ran in from all corners to help him get up, and two guards rushed and grabbed me by the scruff of my neck. The entire box was looking at me in horror, and one portly figure dressed in a suit walked up to me and asked.. “Do you have the faintest clue who this honorable Gentleman is?”

I shot back: “He might have pimped your mom but that’s all I care ‘bout him!” and impulsively or I don’t know why, but I spat on his face.

That was it. The tempers that were already flaring because of the imbecilic performance of our team, got incensed and almost everyone present there, without exception, tried me out as a kicking or punching bag. I had absolutely no idea as to how long they kept kicking me, although I do remember.. that my phone was lying an arm’s length away from me, and amidst those hovering legs and ankles, I could see her name flashing on its screen.

Now here’s a slice of life for all of you who have never been through a public beating, or never had any form of brain-numbing pain inflicted upon you.. Initially, the pain increases, then it peaks, and just when it reaches a point where you feel that every single blood vessel in your body is gonna’ burst open, you suddenly rise above the pain.. all these mundane things that we scurry after in life lose their importance, and only the realization of your real pain remains..

I had always dreamt of becoming a cricketer one day. I had heckled my parents to get me into cricket coaching since I was about eight years old. I always cursed them for not providing me with premium sporting gear. I had never understood the fact that they were going through a severe crunch back then and just so that they could arrange my school and coaching fee, they had aborted my would’ve-been-brother. I could never achieve my dream. I had decided as a kid, I would never forgive them for it. I kept punishing people for it all my life. Actually… I was never very good at cricket. But there was one thing that I was indeed good at.. and that was always thinking ‘I’, ‘I’, ‘I’ and ‘I’. Never ‘You’, ‘They’, ‘Us’, ‘He’ or ‘She’. Always ‘I’ is what comes to my mind the instant I wake up in the morning. And all because of this, maybe I deserved what had happened to me today. But did She??

That was when I realized that there was another thing which I was good at… and that was keeping her happy by singing her favorite songs for her… Maybe from now on, I should stick to doing the things I am better at, than worrying about those which I’ve no control over.

A few minutes after everyone had settled down, I picked up my phone and texted her “Please wait for me… I’m coming as fast as I can..”

Albert Pinto ko Gussa kyon aata hai?

This is the story of a man.. a man who swam 43 kms to save his life.. and then give it all away..

***

He wasn’t a man made for India. But then, he was exactly the kind of man made for India. You know, how all these Indians in the US, who have studied there, worked there, earned there, lived there.. get all nostalgic one day after hearing Rehaman’s poignant voice urging them “Ye jo daess hai tera.. Tujhe hai pukara..” and decide to return to India?? Now they are Indians, rest assured, but they have girlfriends, have dates and have sex, just like Americans do.. they eat, they sleep and they clean their shit, just like Americans do.. they laugh, they talk and they swear, just like Americans do.. they think, they read and they jibe at India.. just like Americans do.

They are aware of India: a land overrun by poverty and the rampant political malice billowing each passing day, the labyrinthine alleys infested with these disease ridden degenerates and maniacal terrorists, the swarthy local population which works longer hours for lesser, almost measly wages in order to eke out a living, and the ‘upper class’ whose every waking moment and conceited effort is aimed at proving themselves to be ‘different’ from the ‘others’.

But, they also know the truth of the land: the mystic natural beauty, the reverence and spirituality, the innate family values, the docile and virgin women, the higher intellect and lesser vanities, the shoddier but more value-for-money movies, the ebullient religious festivities, the docile and virgin women, the innate family values, and the virgin women.. all of it, allures them, tugging the invisible umbilical cord stretched across the seven seas, by which they are still attached to their motherlands…

They are warmly welcomed back and receive a hero’s reception… their families are exultant… they are flooded with marriage proposals, and are inevitably married in plush banquet halls of some overpriced hotel. Slowly, they start realizing the actual truth about the land: Why the things that they treated with such contempt were the prized possessions of the people, and why the enigmatic idiosyncrasies that aroused such intimacy, were the bane of the land.. They realize that the people, consisting the swarthy middle class, secretly take pride in the surging population of beggars and hawkers, as by dishing out an insignificant sum of money as alms, they give them a chance to flaunt their mercy and altruism.. they secretly admire their unscrupulous politicians, marveling at their edacity and how they convolute the law and loot the masses.. they look at the lepers and scurrilous goons and thank God that at least their children are not like them, and throughout their lives, they strive to be one amongst the ‘upper class’ and if not them, at least the ‘upper middle class’. If they indeed manage to do so, all the envy they had for their superiors, manifests itself in the form of supercilious contempt for the hoi polloi, a flock, which they were once a part of..

The natural beauty they had so deeply admired turns out to be blatantly polluted, the spirituality turns out to be a great big sham, contrived for the sole purpose of instigating communal violence with utmost convenience, the innate family values and respect for the elderly lasts only till they are financially productive, and disappears completely the day they retire, and are then onwards treated like defunct furniture, the docile women are the real miscreants who create rifts and rows amongst the kins and pester their husbands who are unaware of the diabolical schemes cooking up in their heads, the low-on-vanity people actually turn out to be prize idiots, usually the average gullible voter, still harping the image of the ‘Golden Bird’ in their hearts, the movies happen to be just a mechanization that captures the inherent fantasies of the divested, which in turn runs the biggest and most profitable industry of the world, which in turn facilitates and finances the underworld which in turn produces more of the militants that rampage this land.. and the ebullient festivities, are a time when the tired and downtrodden can forget all the turd that blotches their lives and take the time off to cleanse it under a deluge of hooch...


He experienced the same resounding truth and inevitably felt like a stranger in his own land. He tried to stick it out, but in the end frustration got better of him.. and one fine morning, while brushing his teeth, he looked into the mirror and repeatedly spat on it, on his own reflection, and then, he did what every celebrated coward does.. he ran away.. he thought of taking an exile and settling down in the mighty Himalayas, just like the countless sages shown on the ‘Incredible India!’ Booklets.. he went upto the not-so-mighty Shivaliks and realized that he had underestimated the biting cold. Then, devoid of money and any aim in life, he travelled south.. no, not to the Andamans.. rather to Haridwar, Banaras, Gaya, onwards to calcutta.. he lived like a hermit.. came in contact with various ‘learned’ people and not-so-learned people along his meandering journey and carried on his meaningless life by doing odd jobs on the Ghats of Ganges. After a significant number of years, he came back as ‘Miracle Baba’: a Tall, fair, stone faced, English speaking, rosary draping man, who always had a limerick or a quip ready as an answer for any question of infinite complexity..

He would fast for people he didn’t know, eat burning coals, break glass with his genitalia, pour red ants into his eyes and cover them with mud.. you name it and he would do it.. he was a man seemingly without any fear, or any religious affiliations (not intended to mean that the latter gives rise to the former, just a mere remark, actually) and the most amazing thing about it, was that he did all of it, for public welfare.. no particular cause or effect as such.. he would just get up, let in his followers one-by-one, listen patiently to their grievances, collect his paraphernalia, and get on with his mind boggling gimmicks.. He even offered his services via SMS and if you cared to give him a ring, you would be greeted with Mukeshs’ plaintive voice inquiring “Duniya banane waale, kya tere mann me samayi.. Kahaeko duniya banayi??” (O creator of this world.. whatever came over your mind.. Why the heck did you create this world..)

The media loved him, and People worshipped him, because strangely, his apparent thaumaturgy allayed the sufferings of his woe-stricken followers..


He was all over the place.. not to say that he was omnipresent.. but some secretly believed that he was omnipotent..

*

One fine day, after a flood had struck an obscure village in the country, a follower came running up to him and said the people in his village were beckoning him during their last hours, as an overwhelming number of crocodiles had infested the water that had deluged their village. People were being sucked in by the rampant stream and not even their remains could be recovered due to the fear of these crocs.

He rose, told his guy to arrange an emergency helicopter, got on it, and after reaching the village got off on top of a water tank. Then he proclaimed “My words may sound queer.. but I do not see any crocodiles here.. all I can see.. is water.. pure and clear.. and to you it may so appear.. that the crocs consumed your near and dear.. but actually.. what ate them up, was their inherent fear..”

And then, just to prove his point, he nonchalantly jumped into the water and slowly circled the entire village.. in full knowledge of the fact, that his death was trailing him wherever he went..

But miracles of miracles.. he swam in there for about four hours and came out untouched. Then, standing on the top of that water tank, he spoke..

“Whatever we have is given by god.. nothing is absolutely ours.. it’s only in our minds that we make boundaries, partitions… impressions of big and small, rich and poor, great and lowly…. mine and yours.. And these boundaries, partitions and wonted impressions are what rule the lives of us Indians, day in and day out… India is a tumultuous land gingerly balanced upon the presence of two kinds of people: the greedy rich and the gullible poor. If any one of them fizzes out, the balance would be disturbed, and hence the policies and contrivances of our government are crafted with the sole intention of forever maintaining this delicate balance. But what if the rich realize their wrongdoings and the suffering their endless oppression causes? Or if the poor realize their fundamental rights and actually demand them for once, with persistent unity amongst themselves? What happens when the balance is disturbed? Well exactly what happens when a landslide or a great flood occurs.. EQUALITY! And I’m not talking about some communist idea or a leftist propaganda.. this is equality to the core of its actuality.. And that’s where the true genius of this system lies.. it keeps the rich oppressive and united in greed, and the poor gullible, and divided in servitude…

Tell me.. why is it that our history books are conveniently tinkered with, and the legacy that we all so proudly inherit and pompously pass on to our progeny, is manipulated?

To make it more palatable for the hundreds of intolerant religious sects??

To throw light only on the most relevant and glorifying aspects??

NO.. well that’s exactly what they would want you to think.. but the truth is.. it’s meant to condition your mind since your very inception, that the world we live in, is stereotypical.. that if you emulate the actions of some random ‘Great’ personalities then you can actually attain divinity and one day, become a great leader or an industrialist or a social activist or a movie star or any similar such reprobate, that slavery is the first step towards liberty.. that good always conquers evil and light conquers the darkness… But if you hark in your mind, any of the above impressions.. even a single one.. then you belong to the millions who have been very conveniently duped, just like their forefathers, by this great big fraudulent system… What does this system thrive on? Two basic premises: That the working class maintains strong morals and ideals of “High thinking and simple living” and secondly, that the ruling class constantly resorts to unscrupulous means to gain the maximum profit out of the labour of the working class. And what keeps the cogs and the jewels of this system meshed together and working in perfect harmony like clockwork? The force of synergy: The middle class… the people who are the real spiders.. who with their sycophancy wish to one day attain the status and riches of their provider and for it, they are ready to hound and backstab almost anyone. They keep waiting and waiting and lead discontented lives and die miserable deaths and are then quietly cremated, only to add fertility to this land.. if not in life, then atleast with their corpses..


I have travelled many a mile, working as a coroner along the Ghats of Ganges, and seen many corpses being returned to their true mother. Each and every one of these corpses.. with its aghast expression, has told me the painful story of its life.. either death came too early for it.. for it never got time to gather enough money to pay off a debt or the daughters dowry.. or it came too late.. only after its unrewarding life had broken down the person, now manifested into this corpse, to its very soul.. Being a coroner is no easy task but it’s really the most rewarding of all professions.. coz while most others teach you the nuances of life.. it teaches you the nuances of death..

Hence, on this momentous occasion, I pay full reverence to my adapted profession and proclaim, that my death would be the final gift for the people of my country, and my death would be my revenge, for the morbid system that plagues it.. and I can say this with absolute certainty, coz of my unflinching belief in the media, who I am sure, would keep the memory of this melodramatic suicide, fresh and alive in the mind of every person of this country, by repeated telecasts, expert analyses and celebrity debates.. ”

Then, he winked and jumped back into the same croc-infested waters from which he had risen a few moments ago, while every single camera present there, captured the consternating scene of his gory death, frame-by-frame..

TnP

Testosterone: A white crystalline steroid hormone, C19H28O2, produced primarily in the testes and responsible for the development and maintenance of male secondary sex characteristics.

Progesterone: A steroid hormone, C21H30O2, secreted by the corpus luteum of the ovary and by the placenta, that acts to prepare the uterus for implantation of the fertilized ovum, to maintain pregnancy and female secondary sex characteristics.

Testosterone and progesterone, fancy talk apart, are basically the key ingredients that keep a man manly and girl girly. Now manliness is generally associated with courage, valor, audacity, valiance, gallantry, etc.. while girlyness brings the following terms to mind: timid, coy, panicky, edgy and maybe even weak (no offence dear lionhearted sHE-MANs’). But sometimes, I wonder if it’s really so….

***

I was just as nervous as any interviewee would be just before appearing for his super-dream-star (whateva) company. Every would-be MBA dreams of and also dreads this moment… one interview which stands between shattered dreams and a seven figure salary. I cleared my throat, checked my hair, fine-tuned my tie and stepped into the interview room, only to find that it was vacant. I was later informed that the panel had gone for a tea-break, which meant I had to wait for fifteen more agonizing minutes before I got my chance. I began sweating was so profusely that I could see dark sweat-rings forming above my arms on my shirt, the light color of which, only accentuated the contrast.. Damn these dress codes!

In an attempt to keep my mind uncluttered for those 15 miserable minutes, I kept thinking about various random things: the proceedings of the recent G8 summit, impact of NGOs on today’s economy, the band night of our fest, my messed up room, the shocking election results.. wait a minute.. MY ROOM!! Did I lock it or not? Or did I just casually put the latch and actually forgot to lock it? That.. lemme tell you, is the most gut wrenching thought that can strike anyone just before an interview. You want to run over and make sure its locked.. but what if the darn interview starts and you nowhere to be found, only to turn up 15 minutes late.. all sweaty, coughing, wheezing and panting?? Man.. that was sheer horror. I was losing it totally and that was when I felt a strange but familiar tingle in my well-creased trousers. I checked my cell and saw Mom has sent an SMS.. “All d bst sweetie..”

Well.. I know it sounds overtly clichéd.. but my Mom is the best mom in the world.. and for more reasons than one. As I was replying to the msg.. I saw a man in the distance.. dressed in a pristine grey suit.. tall and fair.. and I don’t know what that little bald spot on the back of your head from which all the hair seems to spiral-out is called.. but just by looking at that spot.. I felt I knew this man. It was such a strange feeling. I kept staring at him in a desperate bid to discern his identity and unknowingly I stood up and started walking towards him. It was quite obvious he was one amongst the panel, but who exactly was he, still remained a mystery. I was only about ten feet from him when he suddenly turned around. That was it. Seeing him made me forget everything about the interview, about my nervousness and about my possibly unlocked room. All that crossed my mind then, was the image of my Mom, the hard working single mother, who had painstakingly brought me up amidst all odds, even when her home run business was in shambles and even when her husband had left her during the most critical stage of her life. The guy in the grey suit was my Ex-dad…


The two of us were standing face-to-face and one fleeting awkward moment later, in which his face had expressed a gamut of emotions ranging from shock to disbelief to shame and pity to surprise and affection, he recollected himself and briskly paced into the chamber.

I felt numb inside and my heartbeat seemed to have gone missing. I wanted to strangle that man in front of his colleagues and ask him where the hell had he disappeared without leaving behind even a piece of paper or anything at all, that would reassure us that he would return one day. But, doing that would surely have screwed all my chances of landing a job and that’s not what I wanted. But more importantly.. that’s not what my Mom wanted. I remained calm and poised and gracefully stepped into the room. There was another guy with him in there, wearing a brown suit, who looked well into his fifties. Maybe the flavor of the elaichi tea he’d just had was still lingering in his mouth or something, coz he had an unassumingly pleasant expression on his wrinkled face. I greeted the panel and looked towards the guy in the grey suit. It was clear. He wasn’t trying to hide it. He knew who I was and he knew that I knew who he was. There was a hint of pity visible on his face apart from which he looked completely aghast. The silence lasted for a fraction of a second after which the usual colloquy ensued:

Brown Suit: So.. Tell me something ‘bout yourself..

Me: Sir, I am a very friendly guy. I can strike a conversation with anyone and at the same time identify if they are genuinely friendly or faking compliance. According to me, the ability to pick out pretentious behavior is something that is very important for being a successful investment banker.. coz only then can you strike deals which are cent-percent infallible. That apart, I believe I can accomplish anything that I set my mind to, as that is something that I have got as heritage from my Mom.

B.S.: So what is it that you have accomplished in your life that can validate your statement?

Me: Sir, I have been raised amidst incessant bankruptcy. All my life, Mom had to run the household and her business with absolutely no money but still, like every other Indian parent, she had dreamt that her child gets the ultimate job insurance there is: An IIM-A degree… And as far back as I can remember, all my studies have been funded by the government in regard of my excellent academic background. The very fact that I am sitting here in front of you without ever taking a penny out of my Mom’s purse for my education, is by far the greatest achievement I could have dreamt of.

B.S.: It seems you hold your mother in very high regard..

Me: Yes Sir, she has been the most influential person in my life. She’s part housewife, part entrepreneur and a part time teacher.. I mean if anyone..

Grey Suit: (interrupting) So, why do you want to join this company?

Me: If you don’t mind Sir, I wanna share a little story to answer this question…

India, as we all know, is a land of dreamers. People young and old dream alike, of one day making it big and scripting an extraordinary rags-to-riches story that serves as an example to the entire world. My parents were no different. Born and brought up in a middle class environment, both had nurtured similar dreams and had even refused seven figure salaries to start their own little venture. My mom, incidentally had got a job offer from this very firm and had always dreamt of having a fat paycheque, a car, a big house, her own chamber.. the works. She was never the entrepreneurial types.. but it was my father’s enterprising vision that changed her mind and she took his dream as her own. But as luck would have it, even after years of conscientious efforts, their diligence bore no fruits and whatever startup money they had acquired, had been invested in an endeavor trapped in a vicious cycle of loss. As time passed, the constant struggle against all odds just to stay afloat, sapped the optimism out of my father and he got attracted towards the comforts of a secure, well paying job. Hence, he left us to join some foreign bank, leaving my mom to wage a lonely war against the tide of time, like trying to steer a sinking ship caught in a torrid storm..

Hence, it’s actually my Mom’s dream that I wanna fulfill by joining this company, so that I can give her everything she had always hoped for all through her life…

G.S.: But then, why did your mother not abandon her sinking ship and get a job as per her abilities?

Me: Well.. to tell you the truth, she actually did think of ‘abandoning her ship’ once. I remember the day quite well.. I was eight then.. She had finalized the sell-out over the phone and I was sitting right beside her. After hanging up, she took a deep sigh and looked towards me incoherently. She told me that she had quit her failed business forever and sold it off. I stared at her for a while and then asked.. “Mom, if I fail at school, will you leave me too??”

She looked into my eyes, whacked her head with her hand, hugged me tightly and immediately called the deal off. From that day onwards, whenever someone asks her ‘bout it, she says that she has two children. One with the four limbs and one that is ‘special’.

I mean, even a godforsaken monkey, carries its dead child with itself in the hope that it may be revived one day… We for once, are still human beings Sir!

B.S.: (after a prolonged silence) Well.. since asking any further questions seems pointless, I just want to ask one final thing. What would you do if you are not selected here today?

Me: First thing I would do is get a blood-test done. After all, I am my mother’s son.. there is no way I cannot get selected.. hehe..

Grey Suit: It’s been nice meeting you, thanks for coming..

Me: The pleasure is all mine.. Sir.

***

I was woken up next morning by a deafening noise outside my room. It sounded like a mob outbreak and an outrageous number of people were hysterically banging on my door. I opened up and was greeted with loud cheers and hugs. It was official now.. I had been selected.

Shortly after, in true-blue IIM-A fashion, my room got mobbed by juniors and batch mates alike, all of whom kept asking inane questions ‘bout the selection process and the experience of making it through to the most sought after profile in the entire country. Some guy actually brought a camcorder and started a mock interview of sorts, making sure that he used the word ‘Sansanikhez’ repeatedly. I gave the usual mundane tips for preps and then, when everything had settled down a bit, I dropped the bomb… I told I’d be rejecting the offer and instead, join my Mom full-time to revive her disconcerted enterprise. Rest assured, my candid decision caused quite an uproar and the mock news reporter found only one word suitable enough to describe the turn of events: ‘Sansanikhezz!!’

After praising my resolve and questioning my sanity with equal certainty for sometime, I was asked to give a final word of advice to all the wannabe IBs’. I thought about it for a while and then said:

“It really doesn’t matter what you are like in the outside world.. inside the chamber, you should be the reflection of the man who you wish to be ten years down the lane. Always look the interviewer in the eye, be confident and remember, the guy sitting in front of you, is just another insecure person, like the rest of us..”

A MILITANT’S MEMOIR- PART II

……..Contd.




“What is your name?” was the first thing that the youngest one asked me the next morn after I got up.. I thought it would be unwise to tell them the truth and said.. “Did you know how your father and I became friends??” They all returned blank expressions to which I replied.. “Your father had once received a letter.. but it was no ordinary letter, it was a love letter from a girl expressing her deepest and most intimate desires in the most affectionate way humanly possible. This news spread like wildfire in our regiment.. that confined in the insentient and estranged expanses of a deserted land an unsung war hero had garnered a secret admirer. With time.. the news reached my ears and even I was interested to find out more about this Adonis present amongst us.. and when I did get to lay my hands on the coveted letter.. I found to my amazement.. the addressee was none other than my fiancée.. and the reason why the letter had reached the wrong hands was coz your father and me might not have shared common love interests but we did share the same name! That was when our friendship blossomed and slowly transformed from companionship into camaraderie.”

..By the time I finished this contrived recital of self-redemption, I found I had managed to capture the puerile fantasies of all three kids.. and even their mother, who knew the actuality of it all, couldn’t help but suppress a quivering smile from appearing on her somnolent face…

After a few days.. we moved to another town, where by virtue of the military certificate, we got a permanent residence and with time I settled into this docile way of life… working as a clerk during the day, telling bedtime stories in the night.. and in between, helping their mother out with other mundane household chores..

Quite amazingly.. with each passing day now.. the immensely garroting feeling of remorse in me had slowly started to subside. I felt that penitence was the only reward for my transgression and by committing myself to their well-being and tranquility, I was absolving the sins I had committed, by dropping in uninvited in their placid lives. By then we had made a world of our own.. five souls who had discovered unparalleled bliss in ignorance, with countless questions to ask from one another.. but still refraining from quenching their anxiety, due to the fear of upsetting the unassertive sustenance round which their lives revolved..

But even in this serene way of life.. there was one disconcerting thought that would often pass my mind.. The image of Her.. waiting in the rain, waving her hands in a lovelorn adieu, her bedewed eyes betraying the smile on her face.. lips quivering in a silent farewell… all of it haunted me and slowly.. all my waking hours were consumed in the reminiscence of that fleeting moment of separation.. and in my sleep.. I would hear her voice, her laugh, her murmurs, her whispers, that faint tune which always adorned her lips whenever we were together... My entire life seemed to be devoted to her memories and the incessant yearning for a moment of togetherness.. became an obsession of sorts....

And one fine morning.. this realization struck me.. that I had not written to her even once during my prolonged subsistence in this alien land.. how long was it since the unpropitious night of the plane crash.. I had no idea and there was no way I could inquire and find it out..

I decided then.. that I would write to her.. tell her about my fateful experiences and ominous trysts with destiny.. how I had missed her all along and ask her about how she had been, all these days. That night.. I sat down to pen down all these fleeting thoughts that choked my mind, making it incapable of contemplation.. and only envisioning how she would react upon reading this letter..

I wrote down every single thought that had crossed my mind, describing every silent tear that I had wept in her longing, how desperately I wanted to see her puckered smile, to feel the warmth of her gentle touch, to hear her sweet voice.. and I don’t know when.. but unknowingly, I fell asleep under the silver moonlight.. unaware of the time.. and was engulfed in a deep paradoxical sleep.. lost in a time when me and my beloved were walking down the country road.. hand-in-hand..

When I woke up.. the clamorous din of thunder ringed in my ears and I saw that it was raining maliciously.. and what was more starling was the fact, that the front door was open… I stepped out and saw in the scanty moonlight a sight I had never imagined.. their mother was walking along the desolate road.. walking all alone in the rain.. like a lost soul lamenting the loss of a beloved.. yearning for a sense of purpose in a lovelorn life.. I ran up to her.. held her arms.. and found her weeping most uninhibitedly..

Just as I attempted to console her.. she put her hand across my neck and rested her drenched scalp on my shoulder.. with tears trickling down her ashen cheeks.. the warmth of which I could feel even through two layers of woolen robes..

I wondered what could have been the cause of such agony that made this woman, with a heart as robust as steel.. deluge her silent tears frozen in time, on a night as sinister as this.. I tried to take her to shelter but she wouldn’t budge.. she just kept weeping and then, almost after an eternity had passed with the two of us drenching in the downpour.. she slowly raised her brow and rolled up her eyes.. enough for me to get a clear view of them.. but angled in a manner that they could in no way meet the sight of mine..

“I’m a sinner” she said.. “I’ve sinned..”

“What.. what sin are you talking about?”

“I’ve sinned.. I destroyed your letter..”

“My letter? WHY??”

“Actually.. all letters posted from our country to yours are reviewed by the police under the behest of the military. I thought of warning you but then reading what you had written.. made my heart ache.. and being a woman.. however stone hearted at that but a woman nonetheless.. I can understand the agony of one waiting for the return of her beloved.. when everyone else has forgotten all about him.. But letting you post it would have meant that we’d be arrested on counts of treason and so before this letter made me change my mind.. I destroyed it..”

“But still.. I mean it’s not such a big crime that you think it to be.. it was just a piece of paper.. I can write it down again…”

“That’s what my crime is.. I don’t want you to write it down ever again..”

I was taken aback by her reply.. and as my mind raced to think of any possible rational reason for her answer.. she spoke.. “I don’t want you to leave us the way my husband left me.. I have come to love my life the way it is and the truth is that your uninvited entry in it has in fact brought me closer to my daughters.. the very daughters whom I had hated, thinking of them to be the reason why the love of my life had deserted me.. but your arrival has given me a purpose.. to keep fighting for them.. to make them strong and able enough so that no spineless bastard can abandon them in the death of night and leave them weak and helpless.. and You.. you are that very source of providence and righteousness for them whom they look upon so ardently.. and if you leave.. my life would lose purpose.. my daughters would lose their guiding star and I.. would once again lose any hope of finding love in the face of adversities..”


As I stood there that night.. dumfounded by the woman’s reply.. amidst the torrential downpour and the pallid moonlight.. I could think of no better way to respond.. and I kissed her… and doing so.. brought back memories of the times I’d shared with my beloved and looking into her eyes.. I knew.. that she too felt the same way..


I then decided to settle down with them and to never think about her ever again.. but the devil we all so fondly know as Love.. had other plans.. I just couldn’t stop thinking about her and every agonizing day that passed.. increased my desperation to unbearable extremities.. and going against the unsaid promise that I had made that night.. I wrote to her.. saying I am fine..

I repented my action thereafter and would often have nightmares in which the military would invade our home and hold us all in custody.. but as the days passed.. all such speculation in my heart died down and I forgot all about the matter..

Then one afternoon, I heard a knock on the door.. it was a mailman with a package for me.. when I opened it.. I was amused to find a white card in it.. and as I was scanning it further.. my eyes stopped on a spot where Her name was written, along with that of another man.. she had sent me her wedding card with a little hand written note saying “I’m getting married..”

I don’t know how long I stood there like that.. reading those words again and again as my heart refused to accept the truth.. I still thought it was some conspiracy or a misunderstanding.. although I knew fully well that every single letter on that note.. was written by her hand..

The whole evening I kept thinking of a way to stop her from getting married and could think of no better way than to go back and tell her how much I still loved her.. but then, I thought of the children and their mother.. what about them? But still.. I had to go and finally.. I ran away.. in the death of the night.. to forever become a forgotten memory.. lost somewhere in the depths of their broken hearts.. while they slept there peacefully.. dreaming blissfully.. unaware of the torment that awaited them the next morning..

..I kept running and while I was crossing the border.. I was spotted by the guards, who after warning me repeatedly.. shot at me and the next thing I remember.. is waking up in this interrogation cell… And this is my true story officer.. nothing but the truth.. I am not a spy or a terrorist or a militant.. I’m just a man in search of his destiny…”

There was deathly silence in the room, the officers stood there stunned and speechless. A while later, a senior looking officer stepped in, he looked at me for a moment and then asked me to follow him..

As I stepped out of the dimly lit room, I saw in front of me a limitless expanse of barren land, with just two fences running at parallels through it, like the two banks of a river. The officer kept his hand on my shoulder and spoke.. “Our lives are all like the pieces of a puzzle.. all of them having protrusions, concavities and irregularities, some more irregular than others but all of them.. irregular nonetheless.. And it’s a fact.. that no single piece is complete in itself.. it needs other such supplementary pieces to attain completion. But, it is also a fact that no single piece out of the hundred others can complete us and only along with two, three or maybe more such irregular pieces.. can another such piece be completed. But.. of all these numerous pieces that complete us.. there is one special piece.. which fits in so perfectly.. which is unique.. is irreplaceable.. and recognizing that piece, is the very essence of life.. Each and every one of us has it, just like every one of us.. is that one special piece for someone else..”

“If you want, you can return to your motherland or go back to where you came from and I promise you.. not a single bullet would be fired.. the choice is yours.. your Destiny awaits you..”

A MILITANT’S MEMOIR - Part 1

“Come back soon.. I’ll be waiting for you..”

I couldn’t say anything.. I just kept staring at her.. with that soft quivering smile of hers and a warm gaze in her eyes that drove away the chill of the rainy night by the flame of ardent love burning inside us both.. I felt fortunate to have met her and loved her.. and knowing the fact that of the countless drops of water falling on the ground that instant, one of them was a silent tear of hers...

Next thing I remember was that our plane had crashed in an unknown territory and the radar showed three little dots approaching us. The crash was indeed noticed by the surrounding guards and they came in for surveillance. They were speaking an unknown tongue and that made us twitch... It was bad enough to be lying unconscious, with a broken wrist, having to suppress the searing pain, but the sight of foreign soldiers piercing the dead bodies lying around me with their bayonets.. that.. was horrifying..

I thought I was better off dead.. but what was surprising for me.. lying there.. waiting to be impaled.. was the fact that I wasn’t scared of it. All these dreadful thoughts that were springing up in my mind one after the another were just serving to distract me from the current predicament I was in.. coz at that point.. all that I could think of was.. her standing there in the rain.. waving her hands.. The fact that she was still waiting there for me.. knowing I may never return.. it gave me immense amount of courage. My father once told me.. if your heart is empty.. your mind doesn’t matter. But my heart was full.. full of the love that she had shown me.. full of the faith she had in me… and hence.. my mind was working furiously.. I had to find a way to get out of there.. just so that I could get back to her and hold her in my arms..

That was when I realized.. I was lying on top of the emergency exit. To get out.. all I needed to do was turn the knob and jump out.. which was exactly what I did.. only to realize later that we had actually crashed on top of a tree.. and I fell down making a loud thud. That caught the attention of a guard who was standing down there and he rushed towards me.. I was reeling with excruciating pain but had no time to nurse my wounds… I picked up broken branch and hit the soldier with a mighty swing. He fell down on the ground, probably unconscious. I exchanged my clothes with him, took his gun and ran away. I reached a dwelling that had light flickering inside. I peeped in through the door and saw a woman, sitting on her knees.. praying to god for something.. I tried to make out what she was saying.. but all I got was “protect my love fighting for the pride of our country”. I thought of an excuse to get in and knocked on the door.

There were three girls inside the house apart from her. Two of them were sleeping and the other one got up by the sound. The house was empty, except for a few pieces of furniture and a large trunk. The woman told me to go away, as I had expected, to which I replied.. I am friend of your husband.. he has sent me with some money for u.. he still loves you and remembers you all fondly.. can I get some water please..

The woman was shocked and ran inside.. she handed me a blanket and shut the doors.. the girl inquired more about her father.. to which I gave random and vague, but satisfactory answers, reassuring her repeatedly that he still loved and remembered them.

That night, as I was lying on the floor.. trying hard to sleep.. l looked at that innocent girl’s face and the thought struck me.. it wasn’t just me who was waiting to get back.. even this girl was waiting… waiting for her father.. god knows who or where he was... That is what life is like, for our families.. wait and wait.. ceaselessly, with unwavering belief that their loved ones would one day return to them.. feeling their presence near you all the time.. even if they are not by your side.

Waiting.. the most difficult part of our lives.. more so if it’s for something you are unsure would happen..

Next morning I was woken up by the girl. She told me that the entire village was being searched for an unknown enemy soldier who had escaped last night, killing one of theirs... Every house was inspected and every person scrutinized.. I immediately tried to get up, but couldn’t. The fall had hurt me and my arm was swollen. She looked at my pain and said she would call the officers to help me… as I was one of them. I stopped her.. saying that I had come back unofficially.. and if found out.. I would be put in prison. She unassumingly believed me and called her mother who was busy preparing some alchemic ointment of sorts which she applied on my wrist and my back.. made me inhale some of its sharp heady vapors, as I wondered.. what is this strange force.. known as love, that not only the person concerned, but anyone even remotely connected to them in their joys and sorrows.. becomes a trustworthy companion of ours.. wondrous are the caprices of the heart.. making us forget reason and logic at times we need them the most and then showing us courage in times of insurmountable adversities… and slowly.. I was lulled into a deep dreamless slumber.

Once again I was woken up by the girl, but it was dark now. I couldn’t make out what was happening.. all I could see were four, dark, faint figures in front of me, who looked like columns of thick smoke rising from a distance. I was woken up again, this time more sternly, by a firmer voice.. and I saw in front of me the woman.. young by appearance but not by her expressions. She had the look on her face which the old ladies of our house have, when they encounter anything contrary to their known beliefs.. She told me to have dinner and take rest.. I said I was fine, but she insisted. As I was about to lie down again.. I noticed the two little girls looking at me wondrously.. they must have been wondering who this stranger is who has been sleeping all day in their house. I went towards them and asked them their names. They didn’t reply.. their mother told them to go to sleep.. they resented.. but finally had to follow her orders and reluctantly went to their respective mats. Then I asked them.. “Would you like to hear a story?” they gleefully agreed. Their mother was skeptical.. but still I continued.. telling them fabricated, fictional, fairy tales about how brave their father was.. slaying dragons.. clashing single handedly with legions and saving their mother from the clutches of an evil villain.. etc. etc... as they sat there wide eyed and amazed..

Later that night.. as I was rolling uneasily in bed.. I found the door was open and their mother was sitting in the porch. I took my blanket and went to her. She looked at me, surprised, and kept staring at me.. I felt uncomfortable by being ogled at like that and was about to say something when she spoke..

“You know.. these two have never seen the face of their father.. no one has ever told them a bedtime story.. in fact, they don’t even know who their father is.. he left us the day I gave birth to a third girl child.. in a way you have been more a father to them than he ever was..”

“Who are you? Are you the same soldier they were looking for today?”

“As I said.. I am in the same regiment as your husband and I’ve run away from the army.. he had told me to give his family the message of his well being and that he loved you all..”

“If that is the case.. then why are you wearing his shirt??”

My throat got parched in an instant.. the realization came so suddenly that it made me go blank.. I understood then, that the reason those soldiers didn’t come to this house was because it belonged to that very person who had been killed that night…

“When you knew it was me they were looking for.. knowing very well that I was the person who killed your husband.. why didn’t you tell them?”

“Well.. I had thought of handing you over, although at first I thought of killing you myself. Seeing the murderer of the person whom I had loved so dearly, lying unconscious in front of me, was enough inspiration for doing so.. but then my daughter told me what you told her.. how happy she felt by the fact that someone who knew her father was there with us, someone who had risked his life just for delivering the message of his safety. I didn’t want to take away that little glint of happiness from her eyes... But that too wasn’t the reason. While you were lying half dead there.. I heard you say something.. it didn’t sound like water.. or food.. it was the name of a girl.. then I realized… just like I wait for him all the time.. day and night.. there might be someone who waits for you too.. I know, the torment caused by a lifetime of loneliness and the fire which burns your heart every time you think about them. And if I can’t end mine.. then I can at least help in ending someone else’s longing.”

“But.. because of me.. your wait will never end now..”

“But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop waiting..”

“Waiting?? But for whom??”

“Waiting for love.. aren’t we all..”

There was an awkward moment of silence. To change the topic.. I asked her where her eldest daughter was.. she said she had gone to claim the belongings of her father…

“In the death of the night? Amidst such biting cold weather? Don’t you think you should have gone with her?”

“Well.. I couldn’t just leave you all like that..”

“Then I’m going with her to get her back.. it’s too much of a torment for a girl her age..”

“Wait.. I’ll go.. you need to rest..”

“Well then.. Come back soon.. I’ll be waiting for you..”

...........................To be continued