A Walk To Remember

 We belong to a generation where love is too mainstream and commercialized and from the days of being a complex emotion it has become a full blown obsession

 Prajavala (P) the typical Delhi Uber cool girl, the proper fashioniesta who probably learnt the catwalk before she could talk

 Anita (A) the usual mom with a tongue in cheek demeanor, a doting mother but her sarcastic retorts sometimes rubbed Prajavala the wrong way

P: Mom I think I have found my soul mate!

A: Soulmate as in SOUL or SOLE because this the third guy you are telling me about, and I am appalled by your lexicon and wonder if you mean Soulmate as the one you go to shoe shopping with?

P: Enough already mom! He is truly the one, a proper gentleman, he knows how to treat a lady and yet be assertive, and he exudes confidence.

A: hmm or maybe you just like the cologne he wears, anyway what's his profession?

P: He is an entrepreneur and brings in new ideas to the........

A: So basically his dad is rich right?

P: Yeah but he runs his own company, anyway mom he makes me feel special, I glow up like a firefly around him, I truly value his calm and composed nature

A: oh sweetie you are special, I knew that when you hit your head three times in a row when you were young, and I am sure it’s a tough job to be calm and composed in the stressful environment of a lounge or a restaurant not all men can do that !

P: Forget it mom, your generation will never understand what true love is, I wonder how dad fell for you though?

A: look at your nose honey that's one thing you got from your dad and you hate it, imagine being stuck with his entire face, it's not like he had a choice.

(Prajavala storms out annoyed and infuriated, and Anita could not help but laugh at the situation)

 Anita after the usual chores gets ready to visit Praful

 On The way she stopped to pick up some roses and yet again cursed Praful under her breath anita always wondered how strange it was that Praful always made her buy flowers she knew that in their relationship lay the essence of a divine satire, she was the pragmatist and Praful the emotional fool

 The bus was effectively empty that day and the absence of all the commotion sent her to a trip down the memory lane.

 Visions of the flamboyant haircuts, the step cuts and not to forget the mithun style bell bottoms that Praful used to sport in their youth the numerous scooter rides and the secret calls from the telephone booths.

  She remembered the time they fell in love, then their marriage and how they kept the romance alive.

 Her thoughts drifted back to Prajavala's incredulous notions, she wondered how people travel to exotic destinations to rekindle their love, of the escapades to Switzerland and Bahamas and was amused as to how the times have changed, all it took for them to keep the fire alive was a kulfi together.

 She witnessed Praful's evolution, she saw how a boy turns into a man when they hold their kids in their arms she remembered how he who found it daunting to sit out an entire lecture, submit to a morose desk job, Maybe that was the reason Prajavala never saw the love between them, they were caught up in the pangs of parenthood

 

 She glanced through the window; it was dreamy outside and relived the moments which have passed, the jokes, the tomfoolery, moments where they talked just for the pleasure of hearing each other's voice and the times of silence when their eyes did most of the talking. And for a brief period of time she could feel a warm hand upon hers

How foolish of her she thought, to miss him just before she was about to meet him

 She saw a young girl look at the roses with longing and then it struck her, maybe Praful was saving money by making her buy flowers, he was a Casanova maybe he had a fling

 With a sly smile she walked towards the gate

 P: here, keep them if you want they were for my husband, but I think he would want you to have them

She got down the bus, it was still a short walk down a Boulevard, she wondered about the great romances people talk about the ones too good to be true perhaps that's why their story was not perfect it was just good enough, humming Praful's favorite song she trudged along

(Meanwhile the girl with the roses wondered, how someone could be so cheerful before walking down a cemetery)

Anita finally met Praful and even though he was lying beneath an obelisk, she could still feel his Smile and sitting beside him she said

   "Sorry dear, no flowers for you today"

Disturbia

Oh life oh universe 

What have I done to make thee so adverse? 

All I did, all I do, all the ribald expressions 

Are meant in good humor, as sarcasm is my oldest obsession 

And so you chose me to be the butt of thy cruelest joke

Of the most evil fashion 

You gave me a life devoid of any passion 

   

For years I have been wandering like a vagabond 

Ignorance is at its paramount 

They say Ignorance is bliss 

But this bliss has left me with blisters 

What remains is rubble of dreams and ambitions lying about in cinders 

 I feel envious of the ants 

All in one line, focused and marching along in a unified formation

And I look into the mirror searching for the curious kid, who believed in innovation 

The kid that once peeped is long gone, what stares back is a crippled soul 

In search of a source to push him into an even deeper oblivion 

Give me a sign or else I may be forever lost, show me a glimpse of hope

     Or else where there used to be candle, will lurk a ghost of a flame 

All my life have I been just a bane? 

 I gaze at the stars as they too flicker 

 I drench myself in their pale glitter 

 And as Twilight approaches I recede 

 The sunlight is too bright to bear

 My eyes tell me and so does my heart 

 That I was made for the dark! 

 If there is no silver lining, if you indeed think I am not worthwhile 

 Why not shove me down into an even deeper and darker aisle? 

I stand on the edge of an abyss

Waiting for a gentle breeze

They say falling feels like flying

Finally I will be at ease

At least I will go down with wind in my hair

The airiness will blow away the despair

With eyes wide open I embrace the fall

With hatred for none and malice for all

The Transcendence

The Transcendence

Time has always been an enigmatic topic, the more we discover about it, the more elusive it becomes. There are some events in our life which… which makes us believe that the sands of time are flowing back. Is it indeed that or are we watching the whole thing upside down? This feeling which has now become a clichéd term.

“DÉJÀ VU”

(Prantik; the youngest in a family still torn by the Bengal partition)

There are people who spend almost their entire lifetime at a place, but still they cannot say that they belong there. They have comfort. They have memories, friends, but still cannot call that place their home.

For Prantik, even though his family moved to Unnao when he was a toddler, he had always heard his father, uncles, and elder brothers whining about their home. Even though, they were neither richer nor poorer than the other middle-class families, yet there whole community faced identity crisis. They gave up their lands, their homes. They moved away from their home, where they cherished their childhood, the old were envious of the ones who lay in the graves back home and even after a bountiful harvest, The grain tasted bland, and even in face of happiness, everybody was anxious as if they were trapped in quick sand.

One-day, Prantik woke up to find his mother packing a suitcase, “Your dad will be leaving this weekend; some buyers have approached him about the last piece of land that we own back at home. He hasn’t slept for days, he says he feels like he is selling off one of his new born, but lands that far-out help nobody. Get up now, you are to see him off at the station.”

At the station while moving towards the train, his father was in a pensive mood, “It will be a good year son. We will have a substantial amount of money, but it is nothing without respect. Prantik, remember one thing…All the money of the world, would not give you satisfaction, until you command the respect of the society. Promise me one thing, you will work hard, make a place for yourself among the elite. Knock off every one off their perch and stuff a boot down the throat of anyone who says that you don’t belong here. Promise me that you will not be insignificant! , that you will be remembered ….”

A few months before, Prantik had not thought much of it, but since they may well be his father’s last words to him, he could not help but think of it as his last wish.

It had been months since his father last made contact, the most optimistic of the villagers were also losing their hope.

A few days later….

It seemed to him that someone had landed a sucker punch, straight on his face.

They received the news that the train their father was boarding had been raided by the naxals. Most of the passengers on the train were either killed or decapitated. Given the amount of money his father had on him, there was no reason to expect otherwise.

Even tears were missing from Prantik’s eyes. Although his father had always been a typical patriarch, still the vulnerability, his father showed in his last meeting grieved him.

They were clueless as to how the family would function. They were mere kids, who were now fatherless. All their dreams and aspirations relied on the prospect of the money, which was not in the picture anymore. Feeling morose and depressed, he started moving towards river.

As he sat there watching the sunset, he started pondering about the death. He tried to understand and comprehend whether death was a final frontier or was it just the start of a new journey. All the memories, half-remembered dreams all formed a beautiful collage in his head. All that was missing was a glimpse of future. He wanted a sign, at least a hint that there was still some happiness waiting for him. Just then, his eyes fell upon a shiny pebble. He could see the eyes peering out of it. They were strangely familiar, and looking into them comforted him. He felt energized and determined. With a sudden jolt, he realized that they might be his father’s eyes. He ran towards the pebble, but the stream had carried it off.

He remembered his father’s last wish and decided to act on it.

Many years later…

He was on the road to the village again. He was driving a car instead of riding a bullock cart. It was a much faster way, though his son complained, but it was not his fault. After all, the bullock cart also felt slow to him at that age.

He managed to achieve some recognition and respect. He was a professor at a reputed university, although he was still hungry for more. Visiting his village made him wonder on how far he had come. Their mother had passed away, and regret was gnawing him. The lust for power and his insatiable ambition had not let him visit her for two years, and now that she was gone, all that seemed so shallow.

After the cremation and usual grieving rants of the family, he walked once again towards the shore. He found it amazing how some things never change.

The shore laid waiting, as it was the day, his father died. All emotions engulfed him like a hurricane.

Guilt, remorse and pity for neglecting her mother in her last days.

Gratitude, towards people who finally considered him valuable.

Relief, as he could provide his son with resources, He could only dream of at his age, and sheer wonder, as to how a person like him landed such a wife, who loved him dearly, even after him being the least romantic psycho. Tears of tranquility crept down his cheeks.

As he looked towards the stream, just then a ‘PEBBLE’ drifted towards him, although it was worn by the flow it still showed the eyes, but this time the eyes were not of a grown man but of a little child. He knew then, why the eyes felt comforting. They were his own eyes. The last time around, he chased after the stone, but this time.

’He let it go’

The Reluctant Romeo

The Reluctant Romeo

Well, to start with the conversation, I would like to share a little something about me, I am a creature of habit, you see, I believe that planning is what makes you human, so it really annoys me when people around me seem  so eager to change, you see I like stability, I appreciate order and uniformity, I have been buying the same type of clothes, stationary for ten years, I believe in minimalism.

I work as a Data Analyst in a finance firm and to describe my job title, I would say that , even my boss hardly understands my work, but he sure values me, as I keep the revenues flowing.

Anyhow, you see I take precisely two breaks during my six hour shift, all of them are spent by first taking a drink of water at the cooler beside the inverter, followed by a sandwich, so imagine my plight, when I came to know that the office was being ‘renovated’ , I thought that why can't we just ‘repair’ why on earth should anyone renovate a perfectly functional thing

Anyways, I took my usual trip to the cooler, which by the way was only used by me  because , it was the only cooler present,  when I joined the office, it was now a crammed corner with photocopiers and what not, and to add to my misery, along with the already existing noisy inverter , were installed reflecting window panes, I filled my glass and at that precise moment ,  I saw her face,  reflected from the glass .

I knew I was straight, but honestly never yearned commitment, until I saw her, the word ‘beautiful’ ,  for me , had been just one of the words men use to describe proportionate women, but something about her, in spite of being an analyst , I could not comprehend it , attracted me to her, I cancelled out carnal ambition , because she was rather average looking, I cancelled out any involuntary  response to perfume etc. because I couldn't smell any , I don’t understand , but for some strange reason, I yearned for her attention

I walked back to my desk, and halfway through  I realized for the first time in ten years of my tenure , I was returning thirsty , yet somehow it felt great, in the days which followed, I noticed some change in me, I was picking clothes, I took a conscious effort to look good, although my quirks did not entirely leave me , I was still mad about order and non-randomness

But now I visited the  water cooler more often, there have been moments , when I felt that she looked back at me, I can't say for sure , maybe she was just glancing away from the computer screen , but I thought or rather I hoped that we saw each other, I noticed the most trivial of her habits, she always kept a fresh batch of jasmine on her desk, and I thought “hey that’s something we have in common she also has her own idiosyncrasy”.

One day I found her seat empty, I inquired about her and came to know that she was laid off, I seriously wanted to sucker punch the HR guy but I somehow controlled my anger, and still  out of habit , visited the cooler, I glanced at the glass , at her desk , and no matter how much I drank, I felt thirsty, just then at that pristine moment , I found  a jasmine  on the glass tray

I like to think it was from her, I like the thought of her noticing me, to think that she too felt something, but I never inquired further, you may ask “ why are you being so naive ?, why don’t you find her on Facebook, clear it out , the reason is that ‘ I don’t want to’. I want to savor the hope that she liked me, you see if it is a misconception or coincidence, so be it , I  want to live in that trance forever, for the first time I acted illogically, but for the first time I felt human, see , that’s the power of naivety , you can be happy , not knowing something  that may possibly  be hurtful. Even if it meant nothing, it opened  a portal of emotions in me, I have become more social, she without ever uttering a word, invoked a desire in me , to be a better man, I am more caring and sensitive now , so that the next time I meet her, or the next time that same sensation resonates within me

I will be ready.

The Despicable Altruist

'From the moment we are born, we feel that , how we become or what we do, we are the sole participant, but somehow, all our lives are interconnected. You are but a mere pawn . You try, you rip your heart out for a small moment of solace, but all you get is more malice.' 

Those were the thoughts or let's say his life until now for Satvik; he was sitting alone along the rail tracks, pipe weed in his hand. He could hear the whistles of police patrol nearby, for the first time, despite being a smack-head, he had actually committed a felony and for the first time in years, he felt alive, maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was the time away from the cruel judgemental eyes of the society

A Month before --

On a high bed, beside a pile of filth (read beer bottles) rests an equally despicable mess, Satvik, lost in his dreams.T he only place, he knows where he was wanted, the only place where he can stroll without the burden of speculation. But albeit  his weak  senses,his responsibilities ,his compulsive need to protect those dear to him, , drew him away from his oasis.


"I have to go pick Atharva, he needs me"

Atharva, the apple of the eye of the old man. I should not let him explore the dark alleys which I can call my home now. He left ‘'earnest in the stride’’, cause he was doing what little he could do for his family. Satvik & Atharva, Sons of the fallen whistle-blower bureaucrat Parakram Dhaka, Their childhood, they spent seeing their father in a position of Power, the proud lion, righteous as God.


All changed when their father was a scapegoat in the same scandal he exposed, their teenage experience from that point on was poles apart. They saw an alcoholic nutcase moping through the house. He was the same lion, except that now he was in shackles. 

Satvik, was  fickle minded, restless, incredulous.His father could not handle him, 'Urchin',he called him, not realizing that he was in many ways what he had been; he had learning disabilities stemming from hyperactivity,that  coupled with the cane and preaching at school. turned him into a downright rebel. furrowed brows and frowns was what he received everywhere.


Things got better and worse when Atharva came into their lives, his mother Shyamdasi was  busy nursing him because he was born underweight, although the attention he got in lieu of body mass was enough to smother generations

 As for Parakram , this was a  new beginning, he earmarked him as his heir, and somewhere down the road  Satvik was left stranded, he doted on his kid brother, because jealousy and malice had no place in his heart. He was the one who taught him to run around with a bat. He was the one who shielded him from the rage of the drunken devil which possessed their father at night. They were close until Atharva, though bright he was, viewed the true face of his brother as a mask, he always tried to see through him, because he could not imagine anyone being  so selfless. He groped for the ends of the mask, which was not there.


“I want to fly, fly far away, but I look down on Atharva, I feel my wings wither, what will become of them without me, who can take so much malice, but me, I must and I will shield them from the old man, until I no longer could, Anyways , its oasis time now. I'm off. I want a hit”. 

With that thought Satvik lit  his second joint of the day. Addiction took him young,although he met his devil first in a benign way. As a child, he loved to paint, he approached his father for a brush, he got the cane instead,'' Go out and play’’,"do something that men should do" , he said. Painting, for him as was music was ‘'too feminine'' .Satvik due to his restlessness took a long time to learn to ride a bicycle, his father watched on as he fell, never a word of encouragement, always a smirk of disappointment, he was considered effeminate by his father.


Satvik found art around the block, he saw a painter laying out lines on a white board, he requested him to let him draw, his work was nifty, he got applauded for the first time, that too by a stranger!, but along with it came the first whiff of ‘thinner', he could not drive away the urge to embrace that smell, he started to keep it handy , after dealing with his  drunk old man at night, he would plunge into ecstasy, uncork the bottle and take the 'thin' road. It was a downhill ride from then on, grades deterred, his innocence withered, he knew very well  what he had become, but found it better to live in trances and not face the misery.


The only thing which kept him on the edge of sanity was his aim, to keep misery and suffering away from Atharva because he was and always will be his ‘Lil' bro, gifted in maths, 'masculine'. He was his Dad's only hope.

 All that emotion, all that love made him explode with anger when he found a joint under his brother's bed, he cried, because inspite of all the failures he had amassed throughout his life, he failed at what he thought was most dear to him.

He confronted Atharva. The response he got crippled his soul:


"So that was your game, Satvik, all those years cozying up to me, Trying to be my friend. I played along when we were young.


"I was so naïve, you always envied me, you wished ,I was never born, I could see you moping around like a mongrel yearning dad's attention, you know what, I don't need you to shield me anymore, yeah that was weed that you found there, what do you expect you are the only one who had it hard or that being a faggot gives you the right to feel in the dumps, try bearing the loads of expectation of the freaking family on your shoulders , go ahead and run to Dad, tell him what you found, let's see what havoc could the drunken buffoon bring upon me today, and if you don't have the balls for it put it down and leave, and take your caring ways with you if you could''.


These exchanges with Atharva left Satvik petrified.

 ''Even him, even my beloved brother, thinks that way,' Old buffoon' after all the love he got, he called Dad that, he should not know this or he would lose his will to live, 

‘balls', talking about guts, It was this ‘'faggot'' who withstood the brunt of Dad's beating for your sake while you were down on Ma's lap weeping like a widow, balls!, that two-bit punk!

For the first time in years he felt rage, although it quickly subsided as he heard raised voices from Atharva's room.


It was the weed, the old man had caught him red-handed, he had to intervene!, he paced down the hall, and as a punch was about to fall on Atharva's gut he yelled ‘'IT WAS ME! , I'm sorry I left it under his pillow by accident.''

PARAKRAM: I KNEW IT, I always knew, you were weak, At least you are man enough, to drain your frustration in weed, I expected you to run like a girl to your mommy and cry.

 That was it, he could not take it anymore, he had to put his suppressed anger into words tonight, he had to let poison flow from his mouth tonight. 

SATVIK: So it's  man enough to drown each day In that God forsaken bottle ! , I wanted to paint, that was too ‘feminine' for you, you have been living and drinking off Maa's earnings,what do you know ? , and listen up old man! A man does not have only balls, he provides, he fights for his family, when there is still hope left.


PARAKRAM: "Enough! Enough talk for a samckhead. What were you ever good at, always a loser! Shame on me, to have brought an imbecile like you, into this world. Furthermore, you tried to ruin my gem of a boy ! . You filthy swine ! , , Leave now and never come back, hit the road, drop my name, I don't want you in our lives anymore".


Satvik looked at Atharva, he saw remorse, he felt good at last, there was something to hope for, he wanted to give him up for a moment but the tears in his brother's eyes held him back, without any retort, he left, the ‘Dhaka pride' was him in too, he left without any money.


He boarded the bus, relieved himself of the little change he had left, and reached the park across town, from here on, started his struggle for his existence.


He came across a weird fact one day ,that the car locks were sensitive to pressure; he took a tennis ball, ripped a gash through it and setting it against it against the lock of cars without safety alarms, opened doors to open the petrol lid

Today….

After returning from the tracks, he searched the car for money, but instead found photographs, he found what he always yearned to have.

 there were photos of a child in a park with his family, a few of the rarest good memories came flooding back to him, he for the first time thought ; 'did I give up on them too early, should I go back ? ' and by some pull, maybe he was missing Mom's food. He started the car to leave; maybe he left in too much of a hurry.

Meanwhile...

Shyamdasi, had seen and tolerated enough, after a month of searching with absolutely No news they got a call that a body was found in a stolen car matching Satvik's description, she approached Parakram. He refused to take her for identification, what followed was a tempest of emotions.


Shyamdasi: He died a thief but something tells me that he was heading home, have you forgotten that you were the one who put him down with  brandy, just because he ran after you a lot, for years I have seen his passions crushed !. He had been a bad son, but you were no father to him either. A father would have shown him to take pride in his uniqueness, but you were just a bully to him !. If you don't come with me, today I will leave without you, just because I have bent for you charismatic ways till now, doesn't mean that I'm weak. My resilience has ended and if there remains in you a single bit of the man you were before you will come with me.


Seeing his son lying motionless in front of him something snapped inside Parakram. He felt pain that no one can numb, because although he died in an accident, it seemed as though he was strangled , his eyes were open as if watching an unfinished dream.

 The coroner brought in what was found on him, among the usual rubble, there was a crumpled photograph, behind it scribbled with a dying hand 

I forgive you dad
I hope you forgive me
And most of all, forgive yourself