Redemption

Caller: Hello, can I speak to Mrs. Sinha?
Anuja: Sure, but may I know who is on line?
Caller: This is Doctor Mishra…and I assume you are Mrs. Sinha’s daughter?
Anuja: Yes, I am…hold on the line, I will just call mummy…

Saying this Anuja yelled out “Mummy, mummy, call for you…from some Doctor Mishra” Keeping the phone down she headed back to the saas-bahu serial to which she was addicted to. After about a minute Mrs Sinha comes over the line.

Mrs Sinha: Yes, Mrs Sinha here…who is on line?
Caller : Hello Mrs Sinha…this is Doctor Mishra…I am a professor of Vedic Mathematics in Delhi University and practice astrology, allopathy and some related sciences side by side. Mr. Aditya Sinha, from Kanpur…he is an old client…he passed me your number….
Mrs Sinha (surprised): Mr. Aditya Sinha? Kanpur? I am not aware of anyone by that name…
Caller: Maybe your husband…he knows him…from what he told me your mother-in-law is bedridden since the last 11 months…and she is neither getting any better nor worse…right? Mrs Sinha (a bit edgy): Yes, you are right, but I still do not understand what has this to do with you.
Caller: Well, you see not everything can be cured by medicines-as under the influence of the West we all have come to believe. There are things that are outside the physical world that can explain life, death and sickness.I can perform some puja-paath depending on the planetary positions and that can either make her better or….release her from this world…Of course it’s your wish if you want me to undertake this exercise…
Mrs Sinha (thoughtful): Well it has been a strain all along to be truthful. Both I and my husband are working and my daughter she studies in a different city and is here only during vacations and we need someone 24 hours for Mataji. She seems to be fine…except that she cannot move out of her bed and cannot speak. I am not even sure if she recognizes us…its like her body is alive but the brain is dead… Even the doctors have given up…I do not know what to say to you...let me speak to my husband about this…
Caller: Mrs Sinha, you have nothing to lose. I do not charge money because my guruji told me that I will lose my Vidya the day I commercialize it. I look into the past and the future and based on that will tell you how to set things right…
Mrs Sinha: Hmmm…ok…so is there anything that you need from me? Would you want to come here?
Caller: No I don’t need to come…just tell me the names and DOBs of all the siblings of your husband and then tomorrow I will call you back.
Mrs Sinha: Sure…my husband is the single child of his parents and his date of birth is 14 June 1957.
Caller: Thank you…Is your father in law there? Does your mother in law communicates with him or is there someone else whom she really likes to be around…u know what I mean…?
Mrs Sinha: No, Dr. Mishra, my father in law passed about a year ago and it’s since then that she is in such a state….Well there is no one in particular she likes…as I said, I am not even sure if she recognizes us…
Caller: Oh…ok…I guess that should suffice. I shall call you in case I have any more questions
Mrs Sinha: Thank you…is there some number where I can reach you out?
Caller: Hmmm…you won’t need that since I will call you back…but if you insist its 011-234988. It’s my direct number. Home Landline…
Mrs Sinha: Thanks a lot…I shall be really grateful if you can help us in some way…I think she will not get any better now, being 80+ but its painful to see her…if you can help in getting salvation…mukti….
Caller: No worries, I will do my best. Namaste.
Mrs Sinha: Namaste and thank you once again.

That evening when Mr. Sinha is back from office Mrs Sinha recounts the whole conversation. Mr. Sinha is obviously surprised about the whole thing especially when he is unaware of an Aditya Sinha from Kanpur. True, a lot of his family is there but Aditya? Maybe the son of one of his relatives…he decides. He knows most of them by their nicknames…And this doctor? Doctor Mishra… “There is no harm…since he is not charging… lets see what he has to say…”, he tells his wife and gets back to the television.

On the second day at around 4:00 PM the landline at Sinha’s rings again. Mrs Sinha rushes over, hearing the bell of a STD call.

Mrs. Sinha: hello?
Caller: Hello, Mrs Sinha…this is Dr. Mishra…we spoke yesterday about your mother-in-law…
Mrs Sinha: Yes, yes, I remember of course…so what were you able to find?
Caller: Mrs. Sinha, I shall be brutally frank with you and I must point out that I do not have much of good news…What I am going to tell you…is based on my readings of your husband’s kundali and introspections into the past…but then I cannot say that I am 100% accurate…its just a suggestion..
Mrs Sinha (impatient and a bit fearfully): Ok, go on…I do understand…
Caller: First of all, your mother in law…she cannot get better from here onwards. Death is the only exit for her….Sorry about that…
Mrs Sinha (sounding relieved): No need to be sorry…I understand that one cannot hope much at her age….
Caller: Now listen carefully…it seems that her aatma refuses to leave the body because she is paying a penance for her son’s sins.
Mrs Sinha: What…I don’t think I really understand you….
Caller: Well…it might hurt you a bit but looks like that your husband hurt someone…and the person concerned hasn’t really forgiven him…hurt someone very badly…someone who has been scarred for a lifetime…
Mrs Sinha: Whaaaaaaat? I don’t believe you…it’s impossible for a person like him to hurt someone…forget about scarring someone for a lifetime.
Caller: Mrs Sinha, I do understand your predicament. Believing what I say is your prerogative…I will not force you on anything. A good idea will be to check with Mr. Sinha…instead of keeping this to yourself…
Mrs Sinha (angry now): I don’t trust a word of what you say…
Caller: Madam, calm down please. As I said I might be wrong. You can forget me and this call and continue with your life as usual. On the other hand it’s only human to err. It might be possible that the mistake might have been done unknowingly and now mataji is paying penance for it.
Mrs Sinha: Hmmm….ok…listen I have to attend to something and cannot talk right now. Thanks for your help and concern. Namaste.
Caller: I understand. Namaste…

Mrs Sinha bangs down the phone angrily and Anuja who is sitting right there looks up worried, “What happened mom? All ok? Who was on line?” Mrs Sinha looks up for a few seconds and as if lost somewhere. Then in a hurry she replies “Nothing. Just a call from one of my colleagues…” With this she escapes to the kitchen.

When Mr. Sinha returns from work he finds his usually loud wife silent. It’s a relief from normal to return to a silent home – something he still found soothing after 18 years of marriage so he doesn’t question much on that subject. Instead he proceeds to his usual work – bath, puja, dinner followed by a short walk around the neighborhood where he just observed the women…Not with the eyes of a criminal but normally…after all “looking” wasn’t a crime. Especially when the women were unaware…They all respected him and noone knew about this small “hobby” of his….

That night Mrs Sinha lay awake for a long time. She wanted to ask her husband about the call but then something stopped her. The innate knowledge that something sinister awaited her. Every time she opened her mouth she was reminded of the words of the caller “your husband hurt someone…and the person concerned hasn’t really forgiven him…hurt someone very badly…someone who has been scarred for a lifetime…” Each time her mind recalled this statement she would tell herself that it couldn’t be something really big. Maybe he did not give the wages of one of the farmers who worked on his lands in the village. Maybe he did not pay a shopkeeper….maybe this, maybe that…small things that most human beings revert to, when no one’s watching. But then her mind would again recall the words and this loop repeated itself n number of times. She kept turning and tossing in bed so much so that Mr. Sinha was forced to ask her in the middle of the night if she was all right…To this Mrs Sinha replies with a grunt and “What would happen to me?” and then a bit later she asks “Were you able to find something about Aditya Sinha? Who is he and all?” Mr. Sinha reverts “Oh you are still thinking about all that? No I did not bother to… But why are you asking…did someone call again?” “No…just like that..,” was all Mrs Sinha replies back. End of conversation.

The third day in the afternoon Mrs Sinha is still wondering about the whole thing. Plus she is feeling sorry that she had ended the conversation so abruptly with that caller who so ever he was (Dr Mishra…she reminds herself). She should have atleast investigated a bit more…And then suddenly she remembers that there was a number that the Dr. Mishra had given. She decides to call him up…atleast if nothing else it would give her a chance to talk about the whole thing. She hadn’t shared this with anyone and it was gnawing at her mind…She dials in the number and holds her breath…what will she say? What if he is unwilling to talk after her rude behaviour yesterday? She waits for the phone to ring but is disappointed to hear “The number you are trying to reach does not exist…” So there is nothing she could do…

At exactly 6:00 PM in the evening the phone rings. It’s Dr Mishra again. “Thank god, he called” she tells herself. Aloud she says “Namaste, doctor sahib”
Caller: Namaste…I hope you are in a better mood than yesterday…did I disturb you much?
Mrs Sinha: No no it’s ok…I was a bit surprised by the whole thing…Sorry if I sounded rude…infact today afternoon I tried to call you up...but looks like the number you gave me does not exist…
Caller (a bit hesitantly): Hmmm…might be…but don’t you worry…since you are my client I can call you. And I do understand your rudeness and surprise. Even I would be if someone called me and told me something like that…
Mrs Sinha: Hmmm…
The conversation comes to a standstill here for a few seconds with both the parties wondering what to say…
Caller: So? Do you believe me?
Mrs Sinha: Well, to be frank I don’t. But yes I do as well…I cannot say anything unless you tell me something more concrete.
Caller: I understand. So does that mean you did not question Mr. Sinha over this?
Mrs Sinha: No I didn’t…what would I ask? A list of crimes he has committed over a lifetime? That for sure sounds like a stupid question to me…
Caller: Sure it does…but then instead of asking him you can just refer him our conversation from yesterday and ask him to do a penance for what ever wrong he did. That should suffice…noone needs to know what he did and why he did. All of us are entitled to do some wrongs…right?
Mrs Sinha: Hmmm…what kind of penance?
Caller: Say sorry to the person he has hurt.
Mrs Sinha: Hmmm…ok…but can you tell me something more about what he has done? I have been wondering ever since our last conversation what all wrongs can an ordinary man do?
Caller: I can’t be sure…and the best would be if you ask him and not me…
Mrs Sinha: But then with all your knowledge and insight for sure you can tell me something…
Caller: Err…no…ask him instead.
Mrs Sinha: Looks like you are concealing something…
Caller: No…I am no God…to give out verdicts…I can just say that someone was hurt…and…
Mrs Sinha: and?
Caller: and…are you sure you want to hear that?
Mrs Sinha: Yes yes, please…and?
Caller: …and the person who was hurt was a girl…
Mrs Sinha: Girl? What do you mean?
Caller: Nothing…as I said the person hurt was a girl…
Mrs Sinha: Anything else?
Caller: No
Mrs Sinha (thoughtfully): Ok…
The conversation again comes to a standstill.
Caller: I guess I should disconnect now. I have other clients waiting for my call. I have just a word of advice for you Mrs Sinha…I know when I say a girl your mind would be making some images that would be horrible. But then instead of thinking; ask Mr. Sinha…it might not be something what you are thinking…and if at all you ask Mr Sinha…be gentle…I am sure he has been a good husband and a great father…
Mrs Sinha (controlling herself with difficulty): Hmmm…
Caller: Ok then…Namaste
Mrs Sinha (in a whisper): Namaste
The line gets disconnected in her hand…but it is after nearly ten minutes that Mrs Sinha keeps it back on the cradle.

That night after the lights have been switched off and they are in their bed, Mrs Sinha decides to talk. After all somethings are said better in the darkness than in light…atleast none of them would need to format their facial expressions whatever they may be.

Mrs Sinha: Are you awake? I wanted to discuss something.
Mr Sinha: Yes I am…go on…
Mrs Sinha: I got that call from Dr. Mishra again today…
Mr Sinha: Oh is it? What did he say about Amma?
Mrs Sinha (wondering as to why he is asking about Amma…the conversation had made her forget where all it had started): Amma?
Mr Sinha: Yes…he was supposed to tell us how to make her better….or….
Mrs Sinha: Oh yes…He said something strange…
Mr Sinha: Like?
Mrs Sinha: He said that she is suffering because she is paying the price of your sins…you did something wrong…hurt someone…badly
Mr Sinha: My sins? Hurt someone? Nonsense!! And you believed him?
Mrs Sinha: No I didn’t but…
Mr Sinha: But what? In the first place I do not believe in all this mumbo jumbo. Plus I never heard of anyone telling about someone’s sins and penances by looking at the date and time of birth of another person. This guy is sure phony…
Mrs Sinha: Might be…but then its human to hurt…anyone can do that…
Mr Sinha: Oh I see he has brainwashed you…I expected better out of you…Anyways what else this Dr. Mishra had to say?
Mrs Sinha: That you scarred the person for a lifetime. And the person was a girl
(A long silence)
Mr Sinha: I don’t believe a word of this… (A bit angrily) Did this guy leave a number? I think I need to call him and tell him to mind his own business…otherwise I am going to report him in the police
Mrs Sinha (raising her voice): I won’t let you do that. I have the number but I won’t give it…I am sure you are scared
Mr Sinha mumbles something and silence falls in the darkness. A void like silence. Both of them are wide awake and wondering. Mr Sinha is a worried man now. He decides he must find out immediately who has been calling…who is Doctor Mishra and this Aditya Sinha. All night long he wonders what all wrongs he has done to his relatives in Kanpur…but no girl appears in the picture.

The next day at exact 10 AM Mr Sinha is at the telephone exchange to get the number from which the poison calls were being made. His wife has been quiet all morning but that kind of silence scares him…He must put an end to this…whether the caller is saying the truth or just blackmailing…In half an hour he has the number +4414128916093. What kind of number was that? All he could guess was that the call was not being made from India...Back to office he looks up the ISD codes in the diary but is unable to figure out a thing. He calls on the number again and again but the call doesn’t get through. Strange…He checks casually with a couple of his colleagues but noone is able to tell him about the number. He calls his relatives in Kanpur and discreetly enquires about Aditya Sinha. Noone has a clue and he is left without a trail. His heart stressed out he leaves for home early that evening.

Within 10 minutes of his entering the house, the phone rings. Since his wife is in the kitchen he picks up. The line goes silent. His wife rushes in the room and she looks at him probably for the first time since morning. The phone rings again…he picks up…again silence. This happens for the third and the fourth time as well. Each time his wife looks accusingly at him. Finally when the phone rings for the fifth time he screams into it “Who the hell are you? And what do you want? Listen you have no right to bother us like that…and the next time if I get a call be assured you would be dead” Bang. He looks angrily at his wife who returns the look in an equal measure.

Over the next few days the atmosphere at home is of cold war. Mr Sinha tries hard to find the whereabouts of the number but he is unsuccessful. Finally, he does what he deems best. He gets a new Tata Indicom set over Diwali and gets the landline disconnected. Prevention is better than cure. His wife had been asking him to get a cordless phone and instead he got her a new connection a new number. Wasn’t that good enough…especially with the great features on the Tata phone…His wife eyes him…but says nothing. “Guilty conscience” she tells herself. He needn’t have done that…Dr Mishra hadn’t called ever after their last conversation…

With a period of time things get back to normal. 6 months go by and there are no more calls. Mr Sinha’s mother remains the same- hanging between life and death- neither getting any worse or better. Even Mrs Sinha decides that the whole thing was a dirty game. Someone was trying to destroy their peace…Meanwhile a lot of marriage proposals were coming in for Anuja and they get busy with all that…

Then one day Mr. Sinha receives a note early in the morning outside the main gate of his house tied to a stone. He opens and is shocked to read it. It was a typed note which said “DO NOT THINK I HAVE FORGIVEN OR FORGOTTEN YOU. SAY IT YOURSELF TO YOUR WIFE OR….” He is shaken…so he is still being tracked…and that too closely (the paper tied to the stone being the testimony). The poison caller was some where nearby in flesh and blood…All day long he is unable to concentrate on his work and keeps staring at the note. The next day morning there is another one “REMEMBER HOW GOOD IT FEELS WHEN YOU KILL THE VIRGINITY OF AN INNOCENT TRUSTING CHILD? YOUR DAUGHTER IS 10 YEARS OLDER NOW TO WHAT I WAS THEN…” He froze. He knew now who was writing these notes…but those people and the “girl” in question had moved out of the town ages ago. He did not even have their contact. Even if he had, what will he do? But then how come the notes were being delivered at his doorstep? Someone else knew as well…

That night he decides to keep a watch for the stone thrower. In the morning there is no note and he is worried. What if it comes after he has left for work? His wife….He decides to take a leave from work. No notes appear. The next day at office he is shocked to find 2 notes slipped under the door of his cabin “WHY DON’T YOU DO ALL THAT SWEET TALK YOU DID BEFORE TOUCHING ME TO YOUR DAUGHTER? AFTER ALL YOU CALLED ME YOUR DAUGHTER AS WELL” and “HAHA…I LIKE THAT EXPRESSION ON YOUR FACE…SITTING BY THE WINDOW ALL NIGHT LONG WAITING FOR ME WILL NOT SAVE YOU” Perspiration appears on his forehead. What can he do?

The next morning it’s “ARE YOU GOING TO TELL YOUR WIFE OR SHOULD I TELL YOUR DAUGHTER? WOULDN’T IT BE BETTER IF SHE IS TREATED THE SAME WAY LIKE YOU TREATED ME? YOU ANIMAL?” That was more than he can handle. Immediately he tells Anuja not to leave the house at any cost. Both Anuja and her mother are surprised at the sudden dictate. They question him but there is nothing he can answer. Finally both of them decide that it’s more out of anxiety over a marriageable daughter and decide to ignore it.

The poison notes continued. Each day bringing a new horror- sometimes explaining how he his teeth had left bluish marks on her body, how she had bled severely and after he had left her all alone she had become unconscious, how his “fatherly love” had sent her in a state of shock, that she had been unable to protest- muted during the course of action. On other days, there were threats to harm his daughter. Mr Sinha felt like a wingless bird. He knew who was doing all this but there was no way he could reach out to the person. There was no way he could complain of blackmail. There was no way he could confide in anyone. He tried to hold Anuja back at home to avoid any harm coming her way but she did not understand his apprehensions. Who would? Even he had forgotten about the whole incident long ago. It was almost 12 years ago…Overcome with lust; in his wife’s absence (she was away for the whole day to meet one of the relatives who lived in the same city) he had sweet talked the child into taking an afternoon nap with him. The child who was his neighbour and whose parents were at work. The child was a only a bit older than Anuja. The child who treated Anuja like her own sister. Even he hadn’t intended anything more than fondling but then one thing had followed another and before he knew he was over the naked girl with blood all around them; even as Anuja had slept right there beside them. She hadn’t said a thing and he had assumed that she had enjoyed it. He had helped her clean the mess and then offered her a chocolate. All through she hadn’t said a word and he hadn’t really bothered. The next day on finding a chance he had done it again….this time it was more out of greed to repeat the heavenly experience than any need. This time the child had tried to fight back silently…but it was so easy to overpower her. Once done, he had again got her a chocolate but then she had thrown it back on his face and said “I will complain that you have been doing unpleasant things to me” Instantly he was aware that this was a problem. He had tried to reason with her explaining that no wrong was done….infact it was her duty to help someone in “need”. He had bribed her, cajoled her and once even threatened her. But then he had quickly gained back his composure and ultimately had promised that he would do anything for her in his life if she kept her mouth shut. She had. He had been scared in the beginning but then with passing time he had decided that the child must have forgotten. Until…

He was sitting on his desk with the notes in front of him. The latest one was asking him to fulfill his promise of “doing anything for her”. She wanted him to tell his wife. He couldn’t. More than the shame it would bring he was afraid of the fact that he would be a laughing stock…after 15 years of marriage…what would Anuja say? Oh no, there was no way he could say a thing. But the next note gave him the ultimatum. “I GIVE YOU 48 HOURS…TELL YOUR WIFE OR I WOULD DO THAT” He was for sure scared but then like the other notes this one seemed an empty threat. After all nothing had happened to Anuja in the last few days…But then in the evening when they were drinking tea, the phone had rung…the Tata phone he had bought over Diwali. His wife, who was sitting next to the phone, had received it. He had heard snatches of conversation but that was enough to make his blood freeze. “Namaste, Doctor Mishra…it has been a long time. How have you been…you never called after that…aah…Mr Sinha got this Tata number…your number was unreachable…yes yes everything is all right…Amma is much the same…looks like you were wrong…Hahaha…yes yes of course” With this she hands over the phone to Mr Sinha, even as he watches with horror “Dr Mishra…remember the one who called about Amma…he wants to speak to you” In slow motion he had put the phone at his ear and said “Hello?” “31 hours more you @$%%^. Don’t forget that I am counting the seconds” the caller had said. And then the phone had got disconnected. Mrs Sinha had asked what he had said…but Mr Sinha did not reply. Later when some guests had come he hadn’t joined for tea. He hadn’t joined for dinner. Or for sleep…or anything.

2 days later the local newspaper had carried the story on the second page. “Man commits suicide after taking sleeping pills” Mr. Narender Sinha, 46 committed suicide by consuming sleeping pills. He is survived by his wife and daughter. It seems that Mr Sinha had planned this since he has written three different notes, one addressed to the police mentioning that he has taken the extreme step under full awareness and noone should be held responsible for his actions. The other notes are addressed to his wife and daughter. Mr Sinha’s mother who has been on bed since long has gone into a coma ever since the incident.

Mrs Sinha read through as tears stream down her eyes. She still didn’t know the whole story. But then she had enough clues. From the note that her husband had left for her. “…………..This is the penance for the sin I did. What that Doctor had said was true….Hope you will forgive me….” With this note she had found another note typed in bold tied on a piece of paper “12 YEARS AGO I LET YOU GO BECAUSE YOUR DAUGHTER NEEDED YOU. IN MY EYES YOU WERE A FATHER FIRST AND THEN A RAPIST. IF I HAD REPORTED THEN, SOMEONE WOULD HAVE ENTERED YOUR BROKEN HOME AND DONE THE SAME TO ANUJA….REMEMBER SIX HOURS MORE- THAT IS ALL”

A week later Mrs Sinha’s mother-in-law took the same destination as her son, her aatma released from the worldly sins of her son (more of her son than her own- if Doctor Mishra was to be believed). A couple of days later; a girl from distant past had called Mrs Sinha. They had been neighbours until 8 years ago, after which the girl’s family had moved to another city and they had lost touch. She had expressed sympathy over what had happened to Mr Sinha, without asking a single question. And had even suggested some guys for marriage for Anuja smiling as she had said “Mr Sinha was like my own father…I can never forget how nice he has been to me…so in his absence it becomes my duty to help you fill yours and his obligations towards Anuja…After all she is like my own younger sister”

Jagriti

“Bus bhaiya…yaheen rok dijiye”, said Nikhil to the autowalla. The auto bumped and then came to a stop outside the massive stone building with huge iron gates. Nothing about the place looked friendly or comfortable. Rather it was a cold tomb. Scary if not downright repulsive. Suhani looked up and sighed. The planning of a lifetime hadn’t readied her for the moment. Sitting in the auto she started at the semicircular board over the gate. The black gate. The black board. The words printed in bold. In white. CHHAYA ORPHAN HOME. She couldn’t remember how long ago it was when she had decided to adopt a kid and what incident has provoked this thought process. Was it her own troubled childhood or was it the sad fate of kids she had met over the last 27 years. Kids who had been deserted by/from their parents. By destiny or by design. But whatever it was she knew that one day she will adopt kids and call them her own…

It hadn’t been an easy battle. Initially it had been a lonely one- especially when she was meeting guys for marriage. She had liked a couple of them- good looking, well settled, nice families but they hadn’t wanted to adopt kids. It hadn’t hurt to say no to them- even though she had to make excuses for the same. To her family. To their family. To them. Then she had hopelessly fallen in love with Arun, her colleague from work. He had reciprocated and it had seemed that finally she had found her soul mate, her mirror self. Until…until she had brought up the adoption thing. Within seconds the discussion had heated up by several degrees. “How can you even imagine bringing in someone else’s impure blood in the family? We wouldn’t even know if it’s the child of a leper or a beggar or a criminal. Get those fancy ideas out of your head…the child might grow out to be a devil…” He had gone on and on. She tried reasoning. Didn’t work. Argument. Didn’t work. Anger. Didn’t work. Love. Didn’t work. Sweet talks. Didn’t work. Nothing worked. In the end she had been left with a simple choice. Adoption or marriage. It simple but a hard one. She was tempted to go for marriage with Arun. She was tempted to lie to Arun about being infertile. But then she had yielded to none of those temptations…she had washed them off with tears. Bucketful of tears and a cold goodbye to Arun…

After that she had almost made her mind to be single for a lifetime. If no man wanted to be her partner in her dream- fine. She will work for it alone. Until Nikhil had walked into her life. She had found herself getting interested in him right from the first moment she met him. Interested enough to go out for coffee and dinner. Every time she went out she had chided herself for getting into a problem again…a problem that had her in its tentacles only a couple of months ago. But the heart wasn’t the one to listen. Then one day over the chat she had casually said, “I wish I could adopt a kid…” and he had reverted with an unexpected excitement “Hey, same here…I want a kid of my own and an adopted one as well…” From that moment there had been no looking back. A year and a half into marriage with Nikhil and their own 3 month old baby Yatharth here they were….Even now their parents were opposed to the idea of an adopted baby but what's opposition to a steely resolve?

Nikhil’s voice shook her out of the reverie. He was asking her to get out of the auto. Obviously he had already made the payment – when all this while she had been thinking. She smiled at him and at herself and gets out. He holds her hand and together they enter the massive gates and even the more massive building beyond. Hand in hand. Yatharth on Suhani's shoulder. A team. Looking for a new team member.

The reception area is cramped with posters of smiling children, torn sofas, empty plastic tea cups, 3 pair of parents (including them) who are out for adoption, 3 volunteers from the NGO and a clerk who looks as dusty, old and grumpy as the room itself. The atmosphere is of sadness and loss and the posters on the wall do nothing to dispel the heaviness. Suhani eyes the 3 other pairs of parents, even as they return the looks – more to Yatharth than to her. She smiles as she imagines them thinking “Are these guys here to give away this cute looking baby? I would certainly take him up…”One of them was well into their late 40’s and did not look the kind of people any kid would want to adopt as parents. The other one were nearing 35 and had a blank expression- the kind of expression that people get when they visit hospital too many times. When they have too many instruments poked inside them to conjure up fertility. When too many medications give too many failed results. When…

“Excuse me, are you Mr. and Mrs. Verma?” she looks up to see one of the NGO workers’s addressing them. She sees Nikhil nodding in positive and then notices the name on the badge of the worker. Kamini. Her mind repeats the name again. To itself. Kameeni. “Hi, I am Kamini and I would be your guide here at the orphanage. I would help you in selecting the child and would answer any questions that you might be having…” That was so cold and businesslike. Almost a deal. But then it was, she realizes with sadness. Even though she would want to adopt all the kids but it was impossible with their limited resources. Just one kid would have to go with them…The NGO girl was saying something again. “…would also want you to fill this form before we move” saying this she hands over a form. Nikhil leaves out her hand and fumbles for his pen in the breast pocket. She looks over to the contents…Name of the to-be adoptive parents. Gender of the child desired. Age of the child desired. And a lot of similar stuff. On the back side some rules…

The form filling and the other formalities over, they proceed to the intestines of the building. For the real task. Child selection. The corridor opens into a courtyard. A courtyard full of children. All scrubbed to perfection and dressed in their best of the rejected outfits of children who lived in real homes. They smile more out of discipline than out of their natural self. Their eyes betray them. The eyes that are almost pleading "Get us out of this place..." It’s a depressing sight…the children look happy and yet so unhappy. Suhani involuntarily moves closer to Nikhil and holds his hands. It was going to be more difficult than she had imagined. More difficult than they had imagined. Difficult to take one and leave 49 of them behind. 49 of them in this heavenly looking hell.

They move around. The NGO girl introduces a couple of children. To their questions and hellos the children respond…but then it seems more out of regular practice than instinct. Obviously they are accustomed to see visitors and know that a cheerful response would make them eligible for an adoption. A sad glum face would not take them anywhere. A few of them stay silent but then they are busy with artwork and arithmetic. Who wouldn’t want to take a future scientist home? The market like atmosphere makes them shudder….

They stay there for the next 3 hours in the hope that the real nature of the children will take over and they will be able to make a selection. But the children are no strangers to such people. They carry on with their role play and after a while it almost seems that they are being their true self. Nikhil and Suhani have to remind themselves again and again that what they are seeing is an untrue picture. 3 year olds brought without any parents don’t chatter like celebrity kids. 5 year olds who supposingly live on charity do not talk about play stations. Depressed they move out. Maybe next weekend they will have to visit some other orphanage, where the children are much more real…

Its 6 PM by the time they decide to return back home. Yatharth is asleep on Nikhil’s shoulder and the last rays of the sun are fast disappearing over the winter landscape. A couple of blocks away Nikhil spots a Mc Donald’s. “Lets get a bite there…I need something warm after that cold heartless place…” he says. Suhani nods, too tired even to reply and together they walk. The cold weather has driven away most of the people inside their homes and the road is almost deserted. As they near the food joint something holds out their attention…it’s a woman, shivering in cold over the garbage bin. In her arms is a baby, who is crying aloud, out of cold or hunger or his condition one cannot day. The woman is dressed in tatters and she does not pay any attention to the child’s crying. Rather all her attention is focused on the bin. Nikhil and Suhani slow their pace, watching the whole scene with revulsion.

The child is crying even more loudly. A couple of slum children appear forming a circle around the woman child and the bin. They are obviously singing something- un-understandable but the tone is provocative – towards the woman. She turns around suddenly and Suhani sees madness in her eyes. She picks up a tin can from the foul smelling dustbin and throws it at one of the child. Immediately the whole crowd dispels and she gets back to her task of searching back in the bin. And then within a few seconds they saw her picking something and smelling it. Then eating it. The forcing the crying child to eat it as well. Nikhil and Suhani move in closer. A rotten guava…a mother forcing the child to eat a rotten guava straight out of the smelly dustbin….

Suhani turns away, tears in her eyes. The day hadn’t gone well and now this. She tugs at Nikhil to move away but he is standing, as if turned to stone. She is about to ask him to move but a tuneless singing catches her attention. She turns back again. It’s that woman singing to the crying child. And dancing. A woman in tatters dancing to a bare bottomed child lying on the pavement beside a rotten guava. The slum children appear again and this time one of them throws a stone at her. She runs after them and they dispel again in the darkness. She curses and returns back to the child and the guava. To family and dinner.

Nikhil suddenly leaves Suhani’s hand and moves towards one of the slum dweller who is standing close by. He bends over and asks “Who is that woman?” The man amused by the recent sight of the dancing woman and the rotten guava says lightly “Sirji, vo pagal hai….has been like that ever since her husband murdered their first child and ran away” “And the child?” persists Nikhil. “..Is her second baby…she cannot take care of him and we have tried to get the child into the orphanage but them these bade sahib log are unwilling to accept the baby. They want money even for accepting a child into the orphanage …imagine Sirji…” Nikhil cuts him and asks again “So who takes care of the child?” The man replied “We do…but then how much can a poor man spare?”

Nikhil turns to Suhani. They look at each other and both of them know that the decision is made, without a word passing in between them…Hand in hand; they walk to the garbage bin. To the woman with the rotten guava and the bare bottomed baby lying on the pavement. She shrinks as she sees them approaching. They sit beside her on either side and hold her dirty callused hands. She smells of urine but Suhani hugs her to calm her down. The woman smiles and indicates at Yatharth and then at her baby. Sadness replaces the fear and madness in her eyes. Suhani picks up the bare bottomed baby and hugs it. It is no longer crying…tired of its own sobs…is busy eating out an already half eaten thumb….

“Can we take this baby home? We would care for him as our own and…” Nikhil’s voice is broken by a loud laughter from the woman. She stands up and from the folds of her saree pulls out a bottle. A bottle of hard drink. Takes a sip and then bites into the rotten guava again. She looks at Suhani and starts crying saying something unintelligible. Suhani tries to console her but it’s useless. The woman is completely out of her senses…she either drinks or cries or utters something un-understandable.

20 minutes go like that…The baby is fast asleep and the woman is still not replying. Tired and hungry they are in a fix about what to do. They look at the woman and then at each other. Finally Suhani says “Let’s move from here. If she tries to stop us we will give her the baby, if she doesn’t….” She leaves the sentence incomplete. Nikhil nods and gets up. He hands over the sleeping Yatharth to Suhani and in turn takes over the sleeping child from her. Suhani also gets up and together they walk to the car. Slowly. Awaiting to be called back anytime. To be attacked. To be asked by the mad woman to hand over the baby. Each second hangs heavy…they are afraid even to turn back…

Once inside the car they place Yatharth on the baby chair in the back seat and Suhani takes over the other child. “It’s a girl and is almost as old as Yatharth…God only knows how she has survived …” Suhani thinks, wondering that all this while she hadn’t noticed the gender of the child…She looks at Nikhil and he is sitting very still. She follows his gaze to the woman. She is still sitting on the pavement beside the smelly dustbin with a rotten guava in one hand and the bottle in the other… still muttering to herself…Suhani presses her palms on to Nikhil’s and he turns on the ignition. They move leaving the dustbin and the woman in the cold darkness behind…the baby tucked warmly in Suhani’s lap.

The next year and forever after that, Yatharth celebrates his birthday with his twin sister Jagriti.

Subodh -Part 3

Time Shift. 8 months into my first job as a HR Specialist…something I was already bored of. Bored enough to wonder how people can work in the same routine for ages and ages. I lived from weekend to weekend and hated the Mondays. On one such Monday morning I walked into office with a particularly bad mood – I was sleepy beyond comprehension. I decided to give my mails one quick look and then go for coffee- it seemed impossible to work in my current state.

A couple of CV’s for some open positions – sent by a recruiting agency that worked for us. A mail from the MD about the dress code. Another one from the Quality Head about some award that they had won. 2-3 filled in appraisal forms from HODs. Nothing extraordinary. I did the required action on all the mails except the ones that had CVs – they would take time as I figure out where to fit them in…

I walked into the coffee room- it was buzzing with “How was your weekend” and “I saw this movie” and “I went to dinner and shopping”. I sat listening (rather sleeping with eyes open even as coffee made its way in my blood stream). The phone rings. It’s the $%^&$ consultant-Abhay with “Madam, did you have a look at the CV’s I sent over the weekend”. I say no and ask him to call me back in 10 minutes. He agrees and continues “You must particularly see the CV of Mayank Sharma before anyone – I think he is the perfect fit for the senior Analog design position. Plus he is more than willing to relocate to Delhi-since his family is in Chandigarh………” He went on and on. So much so that I was forced to get up and get back to my seat. The enthusiasm was infectious- it did wake up. Mayank Sharma did look ok. I gave a yes for him. We continued discussing other positions as I ideally moved over from one CV to another. Randomly scrolling with unseeing eyes – phone cradled between the shoulder and ear, coffee in left hand and the mouse in the other. Until…

Until I was forced to look. Something caught the attention of my unseeing eyes on one of the CVs. I scrolled up. It was the name. Subodh Tripathi. I looked again. Rubbed my eyes and looked yet again. My ears were no longer hearing what Abhay was talking. Rather I feel that he is creating some kind of noise which is unable to make me concentrate on the CV. I feel irritated. But then control myself and tell him “Hey listen give me 10 minutes, my manager is calling me. I shall call you back. Bye.” Bang down the phone even before he can say a word.

Awake now (thanks to the CV and not to the coffee) I quickly look. Not from the top but the bottom. Bottom because some corner of my mind says that he can be any “Subodh Tripathi” – there can be thousands of them (as my search on Orkut had revealed a couple of days ago. Bottom because the bottom had his past- that I knew. His school. That was all I knew…

The CV didn’t mention his school. I move up with bated breath. Home town: Delhi. I breathe once. Working with Siemens. I didn’t breathe – wasn’t he supposed to be a doctor, asks my heart. The mind replies “But then, weren’t you supposed to be a journalist?” He has been working since last one year-post B.tech. I calculate quickly. Yes, if he passed out in 1999 then, it must be him. Breathe again…and this goes on and on.

In 5 minutes I call back Abhay. Before he can utter a word I say “Quick, I want the contact details of Subodh Tripathi”. The consultant is obviously not very keen “He hasn’t much of an experience- just one year. I sent him across since he applied and we can consider him if none of the other candidates are found suitable. Have you seen the CV of…?” I cut him short “Abhay, please, I am in a bit of hurry. Need it urgently. I will explain you the whole thing later”. The tactic worked and within a minute I had the number. The number to Subodh Tripathi. The number maybe to the door that linked my past to my future. To all those dreams that had been put in cold storage on that fateful night of his birthday 6 years ago.

I dial the number. My hands are cold but the mind is decided. I shall not let this Subodh, who so ever he is until I am sure he is the one. To compose myself I count the rings.5 and it’s about to disconnect when a girl picks up “Hello??” “A girl? Who is she?” asks my mind. Another “Hello?” and I can sense the impatience. “Hello, can I speak to Mr. Subodh Tripathi, please?” I say in my best HR-tone. “May I know who is on line?” she asks. I am tempted to say that I am his friend but then say “This is with regards to a position he applied for in our company”. That satisfies her and I hear her screaming “Bhaiya, bhaiya call for you from some company” Silence. After 13 seconds I hear a guy on the line “Hello, Subodh here”. I try to judge if it’s his voice…but it has been so long…

“I am calling from Cognizant Systems and I guess you applied for a position with us. We found your CV a fitment and I thought it would be a good idea to have a 5 minute chat before I forward it to the technical manager of the team that has the open position…” He cuts me short “Hey I am keen for that position but can you call me say like tomorrow? I am busy today with some personal work.” Oh no…wait till tomorrow? No ways. I had enough of this wait in 6 years. I quickly measure the pros and cons and then say “Ok, no problems. But just one question for today...from which college did you do your B.tech?” I ask despite the fact that its mentioned in his CV. He replies “DCE- Delhi College of Engineering” And the final question that will change my life forever. An irrelevant question but then the most important one for me. I feel like participants on “Kaun banega Cororepati” must be feeling before the last question. This despite the fact that I am the one asking the question. With bated breath I ask “Which year did you do your XIIth and from which school?” And wait. Close my eyes and count the seconds. Tick tick one. Tick tick two. Tick… “1999.FAPS, Delhi”, he replies. My heart sinks. But the next moment I am smiling. Obviously FAPS is Frank Anthony Public School. To be sure I confirm “You mean Frank Anthony?” “Right” he says. “Thank you Subodh, I shall call you back tomorrow. Bye and have a nice day”. I beam. “Bye, Take care”, he replies. Click and the phone goes dead in my hand. I want to scream out loud. Right there and then. But then I don’t. Instead I focus all that happy energy on my work and in waiting for the day to be over so that the next may dawn and I finally disclose my identity.

The next day I call him again. He is much more relaxed and chatty. Just like old days. I listen to him talking about his work experience – even all those things that I haven’t asked him. Suddenly as if driven by some external force (even as my mind is wondering as to how I should break the news to him) I hear myself speaking “Subodh, l want to tell you something. 6 years ago when you were in Class XIIth you attended the MACFAIR International in City Montessori, Lucknow. You did – didn’t you?” I say all in one breath. He is silent for a while wondering where this conversation is going and then answers in affirmative. “Well”, I continue “Do you remember someone; anyone from there?” He answers cautious “Yes there were a lot of people- but then how does that bother you?” Then a bit polite “Were you there as well?” I reply “Yes you were and as far as I remember, you promised to stay in touch. Forever. But looks like you forgot your promise...”I didn’t have to say anymore. “Nayantra…is that you? What a surprise!! How have you been? And where are you? I just can’t believe this...It has been so long…” I revert “Yes it has been long and I have managed to find you…as for all those questions and all the catching up that needs to be done…lets meet up”. “Oh sure, anytime…can we meet today evening? I am usually back from work at 6PM and can pick you up” he sounds genuinely interested. “Hmmm…let’s see I might not be able to make it today but this weekend for sure…”. “Okiez. Saturday lunch with me. I shall call you in the evening”, I can almost hear him smiling over the phone…but then so am I.

Over the next 3-4 days we speak a couple of times over the phone. But it’s more about the present rather than the past. Somewhere by an unwritten code we leave the discussions of the past for the lunch hour. We find that we stay at around 5kms distance from each other, that we shop in the same markets and that our office buses take the same route. It is as if laid out all planned- we might have already bumped into each other; already, by chance- without recognizing. He is much the same- the same caring attitude, the same spirit to include everyone in that spirit to party, the same chattiness. But then there are other elements that weren’t there- disdain, aggressiveness and “who-gives-it-a-damn” attitude that’s common to almost all the Delhites.

Saturday comes, finally. I breathe a sigh of relief after the gruelling week at work. But the sigh has a new note as well…that of happiness and excitement. We decide to meet in front of 3C’s vala Mc Donald’s in Lajpat Nagar at sharp 1 PM. I reach at 1:07PM. Call him. He is caught in the traffic and will be there in another 3 minutes. Impatience makes it impossible for me to stand still. I walk around to cool myself up. At 1:12 my phone beeps. Its him. “Yes? Are you here?” I ask. “Yeah, I am in the red Wagon R in front of the Mc D. Number is DL-2345. Come quickly otherwise I will be challaned.” I look around quickly. Sure enough a red Wagon R is parked a few meters ahead. I walk to it. Check the number. Knock the window. He rolls it down and says Hi. I smile and sit. Fasten the seat belt and then we are moving. Not a word for the next few moments. He seems to be busy manovering the car on the busy market road. I try to look busy with “sightseeing” – as if seeing the market for the very first time.

Then when we speak it’s at the same time. The ice is broken. I am asking “Where are we heading to?” and he is saying “You haven’t changed at all in all those years.” I say “Thank you” and he says “I remember that you liked Chinese when we met at Lucknow, so let’s go for some authentic Chinese food…we are heading to the Bercos Garden, Noida”. I am impressed. At the toll tax booth he asks me if I have some change. I do. As I hand over it to him, I look at him for the first time. Study him. He hasn’t grown any taller or more handsome but with his branded jeans-tshirt-goggles he looks much like any other software engineer. He catches me studying him and says, “You do look gorgeous”. I smile and quickly get back to my sightseeing.

Lunch, finally. The food is nice and so is the ambience. We are talking. First I tell my side of the story and then he tells how he had misplaced my address leaving him with no means to communicate. How the despair had made him move from one girl to another and now nothing satiated him. How the failure to qualify for medical entrance had broken him (read: got him addicted to cigarettes). How he had a lot of money but a meaningless life. I listen, first out of pity, then slight anger and then utter boredom. “THIS WAS NOT THE GUY I HAD SAID GOODBYE TO 6 YEARS AGO” screamed my heart and mind in unison. Yet I say nothing, thinking that maybe he has really been hurt and maybe listening will cleanse him of the pain making the Subodh I knew emerge out. Optimistic. Believer of magic. Desperate. Call me whatever you want.

4 hours later we are driving back. The conversation has come to a standstill since we realise that there is nothing common between us. To be polite, I ask if he still loves reading and basketball. He says “Grow up…adults don’t talk about hobbies…I hate this kind of superficial conversation”. I am hurt now. Hurt enough not to utter a word. He doesn’t care. Drops me at my place. Says good bye and drives off. So much for the 6 years of distances. 6 years when I didn’t look at a guy, because I thought he must be waiting for me. 6 years spent in an imaginary fairy tale world. I was back to ground zero. I realise that it has been a worthless wait. Everything was over. Or did something ever exist between us in the first place??

A few days later he calls again. He wants me to join him for an office party where he can take a friend along. I refuse saying I have other things to attend to. Another call after a couple of days. I don’t reply. This hide and seek continues for 2-3 months. Each time I wonder about how strange life can be. How emotions can do a somersault. Once upon a time I had loved him intensely (with all the intensity of first love of a teenager) and today? I didn’t even consider him worth talking to. On his birthday he invited me for dinner. I tried to refuse again but this time he was adamant. I had to concede.

Over the dinner, he was polite and it almost seemed to me that the magic had worked – restoring back the old Subodh. Maybe, just maybe something must have been bothering him that day. I find myself talking again and there are no uncomfortable pauses. Towards the end he proposes me. I am surprised…because right now I feel that I hardly know him. 6 months ago when I hadn’t met him I could have easily said yes…but not now. He seemed to me a stranger. I tell him I need time. That is enough to rub off all the magic. I see an instant change in his behaviour-the aggressiveness, the sarcasm, the disdain is back. It left with no doubt as to what my answer would be today, tomorrow. Forever.

In the next two years we speak over the phone a couple of times, meet each other even a lesser number of times. It’s more out of memories and the desire to drag the past into the present than out of any love or other considerations. It hurts every time he makes an effort to win me over. I make a genuine effort to get to know him better but all of it is of no avail. After a while we just leave things to their own fate and continue with our respective lives…

The story should have ended here. But it did not. Story abhi baaki hai mera dost. :P

The room with a view

“It’s so unbearably hot after a couple of drops of rain…wish these hostel guys would allow us to keep a cooler”; pouted my roomie, Anusha. She was in sleeveless t-shirt and shorts sprawled on the floor of our hostel room right under the fan with a Mills and Boons and I, like always, was prompted to give her the example of Salima Di who stayed in the room opposite us and had a black burqa complete with a full length shapeless black dress that she put on every time she stepped out. So what if it was to the PCO in front of the hostel or to the balcony or to the Reception office of hostel to pay the fees. I opened my mouth to repeat the example but then closed it. It was indeed hot. The fan was sending out waves of hot air instead of giving a cooling effect. Even the slightest movement (like walking to the toilet or getting up to drink water) brought out water droplets on the forehead – thanks to the small shower that morning followed by intense sunshine…

I got up to get myself a glass of water…drank half of it and poured the rest of it right on my head…there and then. Anusha didn’t even look up. She was no stranger to this activity instead a partner in crime – of living in wet clothes, sleeping on wet floors and some equally bizaare harkatein that intelligent minds in hostels subscribe to. Necessity.

It suddenly stuck me that the window was closed. The window that was our reason of living in the room. We, just because had come early at the time of registration had found the hostel empty and hence had that rare chance to choose a room. After much deliberation we chose the room at the extreme back of the hostel on the 1st floor. The rooms at the extreme back had windows and those in the extreme front had a balcony and a window. Anusha had wanted to have the balcony room but then some foresight made me explain to her that everyone would want to use the balcony (especially during sunny winter mornings) and it would become an adda affording us no time to study. Besides too much noise would come during evenings, when all the girls would be meeting the visitors right under our balcony. The other rooms that lay between the balcony room and the window room were out of question – their windows opened to the hostel corridor and did not give any kind of “outside view” I had wanted to live on the 2nd floor (top floor of the hostel) but this time Anusha had said wisely “Lets stay on the 1st – so that we are equidistant from the hostel roof and road. The window of our room looked upon a big treeless, grassless compound with 4 “kaccha” houses. Across the compound approximately 50 meters ahead we could see the main road. It was peaceful and had a “different view” plus if we closed the door noone could bother us. The room looked perfect. It made sense. Agreed.

I moved towards the window to open it. God only knows why Anusha had closed it. The next moment I knew. “Don’t”; she quipped. As she went on to explain that the people living in the compound obviously had some drainage problem during the heavy rains that had come during the previous week. So they had dug up the underground drain that ran just behind our hostel. Dug it up and left it like that. That afternoon as Anusha had found after her classes (I wasn’t around) that the view was sinister. If you looked carefully enough there was everything in the drain…ranging from shoes, clothes, utensils to a human hand (A human hand? Anusha must be imagining). Ignoring her commentary in the background I opened the window driven by the desire to see the sight of a human hand lying in the drain of a posh colony. The window had opened just a centimeter and I closed it. Instantly. The smell was even worse than the description. A smell that left me in doubt that what Anusha was saying was correct. Alas!! The hot property of our room was no longer hot…I turned around to face the smirk on Anusha’s face “I-told-you-na”

The next few days we lived in a windowless world. I often felt guilty that the “window part of the room” was my suggestion. But then Anusha-faithful did not say a word about that. Rather she suggested that we can put on a lot of perfume on our night dresses and then sleep with the window open. And yes, we actually did that. In truth, this in no way abated the smells but the smiles, the laughter and the giggles in the darkened room with the 2 smells at the opposite spectrum took us to a perfect sleep.

Over the period of next few days, the smells abated. The drain closed. The weather improved. We could open the windows without second thoughts. As winters set in we closed the windows to be opened randomly on sunny Sunday mornings. One such morning, Anusha and I sat drying out hair, warming our bodies, chewing peanuts and chatting. After a while we fell silent, just looking out and reading the newspaper. Suddenly I caught Anusha staring out of the window. I followed her gaze to one of the house that lay in the compound below. 2 guys sat outside washing the utensils. “You know that shorter fairer guy- he studies a lot…” quipped Anusha. “And now, how do you know that?” I asked. “Well, I used to wake up at 4:00AM during the quarterly exams and he was always up before me-studying by the door studying by the street light”. “What?? Studying by the street light?” I asked in disbelief. “Yes” she said “and I have been keeping a tab on these guys sever since then…they kind of motivate me. They study, they cook and seem so satisfied with life and here we are not working even half as hard as them and complaining all the time about irrelevant stuff”

I looked back at the guys. From what Anusha had just said they had my full interest. Over the next few days we became fully conversant with their schedules. They lived in 3*2 meter house which didn’t seem to even have a source of electricity. All their activities from bathing to cooking to studying were done outside. Cooking right outside the hut on the small gas cylinder. Bathing at the hand pump. Studying under the street light. Toilet activities- God knows where (maybe at the drain under our window-we never bothered to find out). The hut was only the sleeping place during winters and rains and sometimes in extreme temperatures it might be used for studying in candle light. From our comfortable seats on the bed by the window we could not imagine people living and studying in such abject poverty. As for their schedule, except for an hour spent in cooking in morning and evening they studied all the time. Till 10 in the night and then started all over again at 4 in the morning. And yes, they went out with their books each day for 2 hours 10AM-12:00 Noon. Probably coaching.

A few days later when Anusha and I were cycling from the university to hostel we saw them. Out of nowhere I said “Lets follow them- it’s their coaching time and we shall know where they study and what.” Anusha didn’t object instead speeded up the cycle so as not to lose sight. We trudged behind their cycles for almost 4 kilometers. And we had our answer. Rao IAS. So these guys were dreaming it big. And from the looks of it they shall make it big. We had no doubts.

Days changed to months but our fascination with the two guys continued. We started waking early and studying a wee bit more thanks to the example that they set. We often met them on the road and Anusha and I would smile at each other. They were unaware of our existence. I doubt if they were aware of anything except the books. But then all this changed one day.

Someone in our hostel had got a telescope and we were all busy on the rooftop looking at the constellations. After we got tired of the constellations our attention moved over to looking at each other with the instrument. When it was Anusha’s turn to see through she focused it on the compound, ignoring the funny faces that the girls were making for her to see. Nobody bothered to see what she was looking at. But then I did not want this secret to be out (somewhere in my heart and Anusha’s as well we felt possessive about the guys). I immediately went over and whispered fiercely “Not here Anusha. Later. You don’t want everyone looking at these guys…right?” Anusha immediately focused the telescope elsewhere. Later that evening we got the telescope in our room. There wasn’t much to look at but it was fun. We now could zoom him and even read the titles of the book. Anusha infact was so inspired that she wanted to go for IAS after graduation and insisted that she could read a couple of lines from his books. Madness….

With the telescope we now knew their subjects and the exact contents of their meals. And one day when we were zooming in on their bowl of vegetable they saw us. The shorter one saw first. As soon as we knew that he was looking we removed the telescope and turned our faces in another direction, as if nothing had happened. They continued looking at us and were smiling so we grew bolder. We focused the telescope again. This time they waved. Like the last time we ignored first but then waved back. This smile-wave game continued for the next several days and then graduated to sign language and further to written communication (huge alphabets written in black on white background). It was strange noone else from the compound or the other hostel windows facing in the same direction saw our activities. If they had we didn’t know. The telescope was no longer needed. The four of us unknowingly fell in the same routine - we followed their study hours and they followed our meal hours so that we could find time to play this sign language game without actually disturbing the routine. We knew their names, they knew ours. We knew their hometowns, they knew ours. We knew their favourite food and they knew ours. Stuff like that. Once in a while we saw them on the road while returning from the University but some instinct told us to keep off them. Until one day…

They signaled us to meet. Though we understood but then we signaled back “don’t understand what you say” They tried again. We gave back the same answer. After a while we closed the window. They stopped. Closed windows during the hours when it can be opened signified that someone was in the room. The next day they had the question written on a chart paper “Can we meet?” After an initial resistance we gave in. We decided to meet them on the road and not anywhere else. It looked to be the safest bet. That day when they asked “When, where” we again closed the window. It was to be a surprise.

The next morning we waited for them on the road that they took. As they cycled closer I waved. First they didn’t look but then slowed as recognition dawned in. Stopped. Got down their cycles. Smiled. And said nothing. We smiled as well but then looked uncomfortable. How are you supposed to behave under such circumstances? No idea. The taller one started the conversation “Who amongst you is Anusha and who is Nayantara?” We replied. The shorter guy just stood and stared. Finally after 5 minutes out of which 4.5 were spent in silence and smiles we decided to move with “Aap logon ko late ho raha hoga….” They nodded. We boarded our cycles and moved in opposite directions.

“They aren’t our type” Anusha said after a while. I didn’t say a word but couldn’t have agreed more. None of us knew what “our type” meant. None of us were in a mood to discuss. No further communications or meetings happened. The guys felt the same (as I would like to think) because they ignored us as well. Measure for measure. The magic was gone. The magic of a secret. The magic of the room with nothing extraordinary in its view. Just some houses and people living out there…

Subodh

PART 1
“Like to have some Bournvita?” he asked. “Sure, why not…”We walked towards the counter which Cadbury’s had put up on the campus. “By the way, I am Subodh…from Frank Anthony School, Delhi and I already know you are Nayantara from Vidya Mandir, Nigdi- no don’t even bother to introduce yourself-I think I know you pretty well”. You were absolutely amazing at the debate today morning” I smiled, flattered that in a crowd of approximately 800 students he had managed to know me, even though this was the first time I was talking to him. I smiled more…this time for a different reason though…yesterday evening when I had heard him playing the guitar(with that faraway look in his eyes) and then later asking everyone to mingle with other schools rather than being in their own school groups my mind had said…. “Wow, here is a perfect gentleman in making…one who is talented, is social and can make people laugh”. I had sat all evening watching him, hidden in the shadows as he moved from one school group to another, smiling, chatting…impressed at his ease…….Within the next few hours I knew everything about him…everything that seemed worthwhile from the eyes of a girl in Class XI…that he was in Class XII, Science stream (with Maths, Bio and Computers) that he played the guitar (I already knew), that he had no girlfriends (really??), that he had topped his batch in X with 98.7% (versatile genius) and that he played basket ball (Basketball in my mind equaled hot, thanks to “Kuch Kuch Hota Hai”, that was released just a month back. All in all a perfect guy.

“…you are thinking something? Maybe about the second round of debate tomorrow?” he asked, bringing me back into the present. “Ah...well no, I was thinking that you are superb at the guitar. I play but not as well…maybe you can get me some tips” “Oh sure…so you heard me yesterday evening…” It was his turn to be flattered. But then with a serious look he added, “I wanted to talk to you yesterday only but then you were sitting right on the other side- every time I tried to approach you, someone came over to say hello and then at dinner time I did not see you in the hall…where were you?” “My parents had called in so I was speaking to them…besides I wasn’t really hungry”. I was impressed…yet again…I thought I would fill him with all the information I had bothered to collect yesterday, but then decided otherwise at the last moment. Instead I decided to let him talk and hence asked “So, what have you been reading lately?”

Bournvita followed another Bournvita and then a few hours later dinner. We were still talking, so what about what we already knew about each other. My school mates gave me surprised glances and so did his. A couple of them tried to join in but then after a few minutes of listening they left. It seemed as if there was no space for anyone else, except the two of us. To me it seemed that I haven’t talked to anyone so much in my whole life. I ignored the steely glances that the accompanying teacher from my school gave me, when I walked into the dormitory. I didn’t care…why would I? Wasn’t I just talking? Before we started from school the Principal had said “Winning the first prize isn’t everything. Count the trip a success if you are able to make one good friend during this 10 day inter-school competition” That night when I went to bed I had a big smile on my face…

The remaining days passed in a jiffy. We managed to meet each other at every free hour. On the competition mornings during breakfasts and in between the competitions. On free mornings sitting on the benches by the pool watching the competition. Lunch together followed by the wonderful evenings spent in walking round the campus, discussing books, teachers, board exams, politics and what not. It was obvious to everyone that we were making this special effort to be together and in return everyone made this special effort to ignore us. Or rather ignore me. My school mates made sure not to talk to me when I tried. Often I could hear them snickering right in front of me about my “more than friendship” with this guy from Delhi. I didn’t mind…he was hot property…thanks to his good looks and the brain on his head and he was all mine….

The last evening we gave each other autographs and addresses (internet wasn’t there then) and promised to stay in touch. Forever. I knew we would- no questions asked. In the fairy tale world in which I lived I could see him being the heart surgeon and me, a journalist. Best friends, buddies, soulmates with no problems, in the world of happiness, as it happened in movies…

The next morning was the prize distribution. We had both won our respective competitions; he was the robotics champ and me, the debating queen. It brought us closer if only to separate us from the rest of our school mates- the distance between us equivalent to the distance between the earth and the seventh heaven.

A couple of hours later, it was time to say good bye. I still remember the scene…me sitting on the last seat of the bus and him, coming from across the other side of the huge parking lot- running so as not to miss saying goodbye. My school mates in the bus were laughing-at him, at me but my eyes were transfixed on him. He made it finally- to my window. Aware of the fact that we were being heard- all he said was “Goodbye. Take care.” I nodded, even as our eyes carried the conversation ahead. The bus started, the engine roared to life. He extended his hand and I let down mine. Fingers touched for a brief moment and the running bus parted us.

I sat back. Closed my eyes, more to shut out the sound of giggles from the school mates than for anything else. I knew the merciless so called friends would butcher me at school. Teachers would call me “someone with a reputation” and maybe circulate false stories. The next few days would be hell. But then the next moment I was smiling, as my fingers tightened over the trophy that nestled in my lap even as my heart warmed to the fond memories that would be cherished forever…

PART 2
Back to school. The same old life, the same old routine aggravated by the fact that I had to copy the course that had been covered in the last 10 days. Noone wanted to talk to me but then on the surface I didn’t care. Often someone from another section or even from other class would come and ask me about the “robotics guy” I had met. Even the teachers, while praising me for the only trophy that our school had received peppered their comments…Within a couple of days of settling back into the routine I decided to write a letter to Subodh. The letter ran into several pages and I could see questions in my mother’s eyes when she saw the fat envelope addressed to a guy. She didn’t say a word…because she was the new generation mom who gave “freedom” to their children. But then she was unsure if I was using or misusing the freedom? Almost a month later I received the reply, not an equally long letter but a long one. Again the question in my mother’s eyes. But she kept quiet. This continued for the next 6 months. I would read and re-read the letters and then read them again.9th January 1999. His birthday. I had already sent in the birthday card and my eyes were fixed on the landline which was kept locked-out of reach. I so wanted to wish him, but did not dare to ask mom. It didn’t look to be the right time- exams were ongoing and I hadn’t done too well in the Maths test. The door bell rings. Postman…bringing a letter from him. My heart skips a beat…It’s the New Year card. The letter this time is a short one. It says that his parents had read my last letter and were a bit surprised; if by nothing else then at the amount that was written there-in. They had very patiently explained to him that letter writing can wait…for a few more months. My heart fell…I could almost hear the dull thud. I wondered how I would manage to concentrate on studies without a word from him. Anyways, I read further. He went on to explain as to how the boards were just 3 months away and he hadn’t really studied. He said sorry for not being able to write, mentioning that this was necessary, if I wanted to see him as the heart surgeon. Farewell. Study hard and be happy. Yours forever….Subodh. I read the whole letter again. Then read “forever” and as tears rolled down my eyes the “forever” first got dimmed and then magnified- so much that there was nothing else I could read. I resolved to write back…atleast to say goodbye for the next few months.To write back I needed time. And time was in control of mom. I requested her to spare me half hour from studies. She agreed more readily than I had imagined “11-11:30 PM after you have completed the Maths portion for the Monday test”. Sounded ok to me.My mother slept in the bed next to my study table to ensure that she could keep an eye on me- since I was in the habit of dozing off on the chair itself. I was working on integration problems even as one eye was watching the clock, it seemed it was moving dead slow. 10 PM. 10:07 PM. 10.10 PM. Each minute was like an hour. At 10:30 PM when I could hear mom snoring I decided to take a 3 minute break. The letter that I had received was in my notebook. I turned over to read it…or rather read between the lines of the letter that was now etched perfectly in my head. I was lost amidst some lines, when all of a sudden my mom turned around, right in the middle of a snore with eyes open (I still marvel at the tricks she played on me). I sat frozen…the half turned notebook...the letter and my eyes riveted on her…She got up from bed and saw right through my “3 minute break”. I tried to explain but no words came. She on the other hand seemed all full of energy (to shout) after the short nap. “You have the audacity to read letters during study hours? That too after such a poor performance? I have had enough of this yaari dosti…which you had cultivated during the MACFAIR (the interschool competition where I had met Subodh).” She went on and on. My heart sank as I remembered all the times when she had eyed the fat envelopes with disdain and said nothing. It was all coming out now. Like a cat she had been waiting to catch me at the right moment…Then she said and did something which I hadn’t imagined. She got up from the bed, took the letter off my hands, took the address diary that had the addresses of all my MACFAIR friends (and most importantly his) and locked it inside her cupboard. “Na rahega baans na bajegi bansuri.” Plain and simple. End of story.So the last letter did not go. Even when I scored 39 out of 40 in the Maths test. I did not dare to ask back for the address diary. On getting a suitable chance I searched it in her almirah, but then it wasn’t there. Obviously mom being a mom expected me to do this and had hidden it elsewhere. There was no way I could ask someone who had accompanied me at MACFAIR for the address for the fear of being ridiculed. My only hope was that he might write back (with his address mentioned at the back under “If undelivered please return to”). But then I should have known that this was hoping against hope…he had already said his goodbye for a couple of months.Days passed and so did months. My search continued but without any results. A whole year went by. No letters came. I realized with bitterness that he would not write anymore because of whatever his parents had explained him on that fateful day. I managed to finish with my boards and then it was time to apply to colleges. Every time someone asked me “which college would I prefer?” I would name the city instead of the college. Delhi. That’s where I want to be. I knew I would search him out even in a city as big as that. My mom again saw through my thoughts and at the last moment she forced me to opt for Allahabad instead of Delhi. A thousand reasons but both of us knew the real reason….3 years went by and then it was time again to apply for post graduation. This time I made sure that I went nowhere except Delhi. Finally my “Dilli Chalo Andolan” breeded results and then one day I was there…When someone asked me why I had chosen this college over another one, my answer was again more city centric than college centric. Craziness….However, once in Delhi the idea of searching someone without a clue didn’t seem a brilliant idea. I kept putting it off for the next day amidst other more important stuff…assignments, examinations, ragging, summer trainings…It was during the Second year during the Diwali vacations that I managed to find time for the pursuit of one objective that had carried me so far. 5 years had passed and his face was a haze now. But the heart? It was still there…right at the spot where he had said his final goodbye…Internet was accessible now, so I decided to use it. Invoked Google Bhagwaan. “Subodh Tripathi” – too many results and none seemed relevant. “Subodh Tripathi, Frank Anthony School, Delhi” led me to him but there were no contacts mentioned. After a while I gave up, frustrated, accepting it as my fate never to meet him again….I did'nt realise what future had in store for me...All I had to do was to wait for the right moment of time....

"Suciding" Maya

“Ek choti si problem ho gai hai…I would not be………..” the moment I heard the “not” word I disconnected the line. Did not want to hear the reason(s) whatever they may be. I switched off the phone to avoid being called again. An ever growing void filled me and it almost seemed as if it would burst out, crowding the whole world with nothingness.

It is not that I had expected anything better. I had asked him to meet me, one last time (the first time as well) and I had known all along that it will never happen. Not because he did not want it to happen but because he didn’t think it was the right thing to do. And thinking makes a lot of difference. If you think you can, you will and if you think you cannot…well each atom of the universe will conspire to take away the desired thing from you (corollary of the theorem given in The Alchemist).

I lay on the lower berth of the train, on my stomach my face plopped up over the bag I was carrying, the monsoon scenery of the Satpuras and Vindhayas racing outside. The book that I had planned to read lay unattended, by my head as my eyes were riveted at the window. Only a few minutes ago I had been wondering if it had been a chance that the book was the travel diary of a pilgrim’s journey from Amarkantak (in Vindhayas) to the Arabian Sea (where Narmada drains off). Of course, no Narmada came into view, but my mind was busy putting pictures from the book in the scenery outside. Low dark clouds hung over the hills in the quickly fading day. The entire atmosphere was of expectancy…outside of the strong shower that was to come and in my heart of the phone call. Both of them came…almost at the same time…one breaking the silence outside and the other snapping my heart into a thousand pieces.

The void was spreading as if like poison and at that moment I decided to kill Maya. (I needed to do something destructive to vent off the despair). Maya who had given me a new lease of life. Maya, who was me. Maya, who was personification of my real emotions, the real moments of life – the unabated giggle, the sadness that seeps into the heart as water does in sand, the laughter that can light up the world, the innocence the desires…everything. Without Maya I was lost- I would become a vegetable – who would still laugh and cry but like the doll whose battery is almost dead. There was no reason why an expected “no” over the phone call had plunged me into this kind of thought process but then thoughts don’t need a reason…

The train had stopped, for some unknown reason. It was jungle all around and not a human habitation was in sight. The usually placid me (who would not even venture near an open door of a running train) got up and decided to have a look around. I stood at the door and then as if directed by an unknown force got down after a few moments. I walked across the tracks into the jungle. People saw me out of their windows, their looks told me that they thought of me as crazy - but noone made an effort to stop me.I walked trying not to look back - trying to show "I-know-what-I-am-doing" even as the bullets of eyes holed my back. However,once the train was out of sight the enormity of the situation hit me- I was alone, with a few hundred rupees in my pocket and a switched off mobile phone in the middle of nowhere on a rainy evening. I debated going back to the train but no…if I went back Maya would not leave me. It was crazy…

Another 10 minutes of walking on the uneven slushy jungle path and I spotted a snake. I was about to step on it but then had managed not to. My legs turned,as if of ice even as my eyes followed the snake. A few meters ahead an animal carcass lay, cleaned off all of its flesh. I stared at in revulsion even as fear made me shiver.The two scenes were enough to stop my venture into the jungle. I turned back instantly on the path I had come from…Images filled my head. Of my family that was unaware that I was running away (from them or from Maya?), of the scenes from “The Blair Witch Project” where people get lost in the jungle, of Akshay Kumar telling the participants of “Khatron ke Khiladi” (a stunt based reality TV show) “that the best way to fight fear was to confront it”. I wanted to laugh…for fear was a small word here, considering that I am scared of everything…darkness, ghosts, creepy-crawlies, strangers, heights, depths, water….the list is endless…

When I returned back to the point I had started, the train had gone. Utter silence filled me…so much so that it actually seemed the void inside me had spread out. What next? The rain was beginning to fall making the darkness come early. I decided to walk by the railway track- it would lead me to human habitation, to the next station, to civilization. The idea of killing Maya looked more plausible from the train, even from outside the train, but not right now…

It was the longest walk of my life, not so much in terms of hours but my own fears. The rain was coming in torrents now and the once beautiful scenery evaporated…replaced by shadows snakes and slushes. I kept my eyes on my shoes, looking neither right nor left for the fear of spotting a ghost. I was thankful to the rain for it kept out the sounds that could have made the experience worse. A train crossed by and through the lighted windows I could see the people- oh how I wished to be there, instead of here and yet I made no effort to get on to it when it slowed-my mind was still dancing between "killing Maya" and "the adventure"….Approximately 45 minutes later I came to a small deserted station, where no trains would stop – maybe they would just slow down. Maybe it was not a station at all- for as I realized later it had just one building from which the guard could wave his flag at the train passing by. I decided to stay there. Hunger gnawed in my stomach but I dared not find a place to eat-what would I answer to what a well dressed girl was doing alone there? Besides, for all the adventure I was worth I didn’t want to be raped or robbed.

Behind the guard’s building, I found a stack of hay. On first sight it was wet but then further investigation revealed that there was no other option available. I got inside – right in the middle, where it was warmer and not wet at all. I left a small “peep hole” to have an outside view. The rains had stopped and a crescent moon peeped out from behind the clouds. Nothing was visible except for the trees, the hills and of course the ghost like shadows…I remembered my driver telling me about an incident where as a teenager in his village he had gone to attend to nature’s call early in the morning. How he had heard someone crying for help and then following the voice had come on a body with the head separated (presumably by the train). It was the head that had been calling…My body shook with fear and I decided to think of nicer things. Since nothing came in my head I turned on the mobile.

No missed calls. Just a message from the friend whose “no” had "given" me this strange night. “Seems like your mobile is out of network- I am unable to reach you. Sorry could not come to meet you” I sighed. Should I call him to tell him about my where abouts? No he must be busy and after all he wasn’t responsible for my actions. Maybe if he would know he would also scream at me-like everyone else. I deserved that screaming -I knew what I was doing was utterly stupid but what’s life without stupidity? On second thoughts, I messaged him "Delay (kuch ghanton ka), Destiny,Desperation, Desires(all killed), Deeriyan, Dooriyan, Darmiyan....". An infillable void. A chasm. Darkness....I switched the cell again...so that noone in the world could reach me- so that Maya had all the peace in the world as she united with the elements. I didnt want the worldly maaya disturbing my Maya.

It wasn’t really very comfortable as the hay tickled me and imaginary/real insects crawled over me. My clothes were wet and I was cold but I dared not take them off. I slept badly and my dreams were strange ones…of tribals dancing before a sacrifice, of a woman standing on the precipice just before jumping into the river, of hyenas howling and me getting lost. But the worst one was when I could see this friend of mine coming to meet me and then disappearing. Coming again and disappearing...till I was actually crying in my sleep. Sometime in the middle of those dreams, I decided that I had enough and that I should board the next train and get on to my destination. When I finally woke up it was 3:00 AM. Back to my senses, I questioned myself as to what was I doing? Had I really intended to kill myself or a part of me? Did I really want to run away? I was surprised when I realized that my answer to all the questions was no. I was still not sure if it was anger, foolishness or a sense of adventure that had made me get off the train but whatever it was I did not want to leave Maya or for that matter any part of me (good or bad) here in the company of ghosts, snakes and centipedes. I wanted to live if for nothing else then for the small pleasures that life afforded (like such crazy moments) Why had to Maya think about a stupid phone call when life was so vast?

Early in the morning, I saw a train slow down. No second thoughts and I rushed to get in. It was still dark so not too many people saw me. A couple of seats were empty and I got into one of them as easily as the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle slides into the whole picture. A sigh of relief. I was cold, I was wet but I was home. As the train picked speed I glanced one last time at the place which I will always know as Maya's resting place. It looked beautiful again- the mountains, the sunrise, the mist, the trees. I could no longer see the cockroaches, the snakes or the ghosts. They were gone. And where was Maya?

She was still there, with me. The “suicide” attempt had obviously failed but then it had been a night to remember….And then I was thinking…can I do this again? Maybe in a more planned manner? With enough food water medicines and rain coat?


Still wondering…