Khoon Ki Pyaas

Milieu: It was my first unaccompanied travel by train and I was flipping through the pages of India Today to break the monotony of snores and jerks and rhythm of wheels. Godhara riots were on and the magazine was full of reports filled with gory details of the numb and cold strategies homo sapiens were devising to render each other numb and cold. My saddended faculties reached saturation and shot back and I ended penning down these lines on the editorial page.

खून की प्यास

कितने प्राणों की आस यह, ईश स्वरुप मानव की काया,
क्षणभर में तू फूंक इसे दे, ग्रंथों ने क्या यही सिखाया?
अपनों को ही समझ पराया, आँख मूँद संहार कराया,
मृत प्रज्ञा ने तेरी क्या, रब-रहीम में अंतर पाया?

इंसा ही इंसा को डसता ,  क्षीण अनोखे बंधन करता,
नफ़रत की ज्वाला में जलता, खो बैठा अपनी मानवता,
मार-काट, लूट-पाट, कपट-द्वेष-अत्याचार का तांडव रचता,
निर्मम ह्रदय प्रदर्शित करता, अपनी बेहद बर्बर क्षमता|

तलवार थामते  तेरे हाथ, क्या कोमल कौर चख पाएंगे?
चीत्कार से छलनी कान, क्या संगीत सुरूर कर पाएंगे?
चंचल बालक, मासुम करतब, क्या मुस्कान तुम्हारी लौटाएंगे?
बहता खून, जमते आंसूं, तुमको जीवन पर्यंत सतायेंगे,

जागते चक्षु, सोते स्वपन, तुम्हारे काल दृश्य दोहराएंगे|

My Favourite Student

Manu stared at his wife of three weeks, 'Are you crazy?' Sejal refused to be cowed down, 'Come in the afternoon and see for yourself.'

Thus started the best chapter of English literature course of the bright student, whom I was trying to help with. It appeared to be a very simple conversation to me. I was spell bound by his interpretation of the above lines and could not stop laughing out very very loud. Poor chap, very much aware of the social developments of the time, he interpreted it much deeper than the best teacher of literature.

'Manu' was pronounced 'Mannu' as he believed this name was inspired by the daily heard nick-name of our Prime Minister. 'Wife of three weeks' was interpreted to mean that this couple was married for just three weeks and now fighting for divorce. 'Stared' was believed to have had something to do with a staircase. Both of these interpretations seemed inspired by the much savoured Rahul-Dimpy saga. The poor chap, now very high on emotions, explained to me, 'As they were fighting for divorce, Mannu pushed his wife whom he had been married for only three weeks, under a staircase out of the house.'

He went on to explain, 'Mannu shouted, are you greedy?' Now I was truly puzzled about the greedy part. He explained, 'Look, kids are crazy for chocolate, that means kids are greedy for chocolates! And greedy fits just right into this context of their fight'. I could only utter, 'Wonderful, please carry on.'

He read aloud followed by his interpretation, 'Sejal refused to be co-wed down. Even though Mannu was accusing her, Sejal refused to be married to him any more, co-wed, you see. She even threatened him that the repercussions of his pushing her under the staircase would be reverberating all over by the afternoon for every one to hear and see!'

I could not help him more on this chapter. I felt ashamed of my hollow interpretations. This kid truly thought out of the box, I mean the idiot box! Teaching would be best the profession on earth if half of your class is half as hilarious as him. I am eagerly looking forward to his interpretations in the next class.

Hindsight...

There he was, dying. Doctors had lost all hope. They had given him a best case time frame of four months. I did not want to believe them. I hoped against hopes that a miracle would happen soon with the discovery of a life saving procedure. Daily, I browsed through a variety of resources to find any alternative cure for him. I wanted him to live, not because I needed his company, but because he loved life.

I started cooking routinely without making a mental note that it would be his turn to cook next. We started going out for movies more often and yet I compared him less often to the on-screen romanticists. I started buying small gifts for him without even thinking of a getting a return gift. I spent two whole days planning for his birthday. Strange enough, this time my plans were not affected by his efforts or lack of it for planning my last birthday.

I hated his buddies less and they started seeing him more often. Our home teemed with more fun and laughter now. I stopped asking our little son about whom he loved more. I started forgetting on what he had said on which occasion about whom in my family. May be I was not left with any time to do this amidst visits to hospitals and vacations. The purpose of my life seemed to find a cure for him. I even bargained in my prayers, that almighty, please let him live, even if that meant taking him away from me or our son not looking after me when I grew old and weak.

As I look back today, I find that those two months were the only time in the ten years spent together when I cared for him or anyone in the world for that matter ever, without any expectations. Strangely, that was the only time when my mind was at its peacest, even though dark shadows loomed viciously close-by. That was the only time when give and take had lesser meaning in my life. I was leading a life free of calculations. Those were the only two months when I was truly in love.

It hurts

Walking around with eyes open, I am constantly reminded of what Faiz Ahmed Faiz had once said,

'Aur bhi dukh hain zamaane mein mohabbat ke siva,

Raahaten aur bhi hain vasl ki raahat ke siva.'

It hurts
 
It hurts
To see a young Rickshaw-puller's palms smeared with blood,
As he holds the note with fingertips to keep it clean,
To spend it later at the local beer shop located at the corner of the road.

It hurts
When the fruit seller shoos off the old lady with choicest curses,
For begging for a single discarded rotten apple from his tray,
For her sick little grandson for the lack of money.

It hurts
To see the uncovered, month-old infants of the labourer women,
Peacefully resting on jagged sheets of cloth on the heaps of sand,
In the scorching summers and the freezing winters.

It hurts,
To get the broadest grin of gratefulness from the urchin with tangled hair,
On handing him a box of sweets filled with ants a week after Diwali,
Which he shares generously with his big famished family soon after.

It hurts,
When the ten year old skinny helper boy of the fat shopkeeper,
Carries the can filled with water weighing just a little less than him,
To my second floor flat and rushes back happily humming a tune.

It hurts...

Aj Aakhan Paul Octopus Noo

This is my humblest attempt at brazenly copying the great Amrita Pritam's cult poem 'Aj Aakhan Waris Shah Noo'. With all apologies to both the great poets, I proceed to ride on the Oracle Octopus' waves...

अज कहती हूँ Paul Octopus से,
अपने टैंक में से बोलो,
और भावी भारत की
हालत का राज़ खोलो |

इक FIFA की जंग के वस्ते,
तूने बता दी जीत और हार,
अज सैंकड़ों जंग से झूझते 
वासी, तुम्हे लगाते हैं गुहार...

ऐ सच्चे खिलाडियों के यार,
सुन लो हम लोगों की पुकार,
जंगल में लूटें माओ-वादी,
शहरों में मारें आतंक-वादी.

पश्चिम से पूरब, दाख्खिन से उत्तर, 
सीमा के अन्दर, सीमा से बाहर,
सब इंसानियत भूल गए हैं,
राजनीती की होड़ में जुड़ गए हैं |

भ्रष्ट नेता, भ्रष्ट कर्मचारी,
बढ़ रही हर ओर भूख और बीमारी,
जलते किसान, तड़पते भिखारी,
वादे आलीशान, इरादे दुराचारी |

अज सब मनु-राजू बन गए हैं,
वतन-अमन-ईमान के चोर,
सलाखों से बहार आने को,
जो रोज़ लगायें नए जोर |

अब कहती हूँ Paul Octopus से,
अपने टैंक में से बोलो,
और भावी भारत कि
हालत का राज़ खोलो |

Chirag Tale Andhera

Adjacent to the Laburnum is the most talked about house occupied by the most status family in the street. Everyone holds the posh doctor and scientist couple in great awe. I always imagine seeing a halo of sophistication and modernity emanating from their persona. Almost all of my madamjis regularly prod me for the latest happenings from this household. After all, we enjoy the coveted status of gossipmongers amongst these high-fi Saabs and Sahibaas. These people na, I tell you, they are always busy in their aping business! What is the new design she is wearing, what is the new gadget they are buying, what was the level of her kitty party, these are the standard topics of their sub-standard discussions, yes sub-standard even by my standards! Even small people like us discuss national problems like Karnataka floods and Kalahandi droughts, may be because majority of the affected folks there belong to our class.

Today morning, as I was about the start my routine work at the house, I notice the car entering the portico with Doctor Saab at the wheels. He opens the door for the other two eerie creatures inside. I am shocked to find him escorting the two attired in discoloured ochre robes inside the house. Their overflowing beards remind me of the story of birds building nests in an ascetic's beards. Their wide foreheads are adorned with some kind of ash and their bulging eyes are fiery red. Doctor Saab had told me one fine day that this happens due to over drinking over a prolonged period of time. Strings of wrinkled beads hang loosely around their necks. As I stare incredulously at the thick bouquet of brilliant blue peacock plumes they are waving at no one in particular, Saab orders me to bend down and touch their feet as a mark of respect. I hurriedly obey him and rush out of the hall confused. I notice other madamjis giving each other confused glances and wry smiles from the balconies of their houses.

In the afternoon, Kutte-wali madamji summons me suggestively, 'Sakku, what was going on at Doctor Saab's place in the morning?'

I reply, 'Saab's little daughter is suffering from jaundice, unhone jhada lagwaya tha.'

Kutte-wali madamji gets interested, 'Arey baap re, jhada! Can you detail me on the jhada process?' 

I describe, 'The guest room was filled with suffocating Hawan ka Dhuan and Gudiya was made to sit in the centre of the room. Then she was bathed in honey, milk and oil. All through this, she was constantly being hit by the peacock plumes on head and back. I got a back-ache cleaning up the mess afterwards!'

Kutte-wali madamji goes hysterical, 'Hai Rabba, Doctors also started believing in jhaad-phoonk! Medical Science is on real decline! I availed this doctor's services for my son's jaundice treatment two years back! Hey Rabba, please take care of my little son!'

Then she goes on to call other madamjis one by one for breaking this news with quite a spicy contribution from her own side. Though she hardly takes notice of my plight at her house, today she ostensibly sympathizes with my back-ache just to disgrace the scientist madam. 

The other Saturday, I happen to reach Doctor Saab's house an hour earlier. I am curious to find a Shani Dev wrapped in white clothes waiting at the gate. I am about to ask him to leave when Scientist madam signals me from balcony to wait outside quietly. In the meanwhile, Shani Dev replaces the shriveled nimbu-mirchi at the gate with fresh one. I realize that this household task, like most others, has also been outsourced. I see Doctor Saab coming down the driveway. At some distance from the gate, he removes his sandals and washes his hands and feet. Now he walks up to the Shani Dev bare feet, balances himself on left leg with right leg twisting around the former, he resembles the meditating Dhruv now, supports the right elbow with left palm, closes his eyes, bows his head, mutters a few inaudible shlokas and offers oil to Shani Dev's bucket with his right hand. This is followed by an offering of hundred bucks. God, how Saab haggles not to pay me for the few days I fall sick! I really envy Shani Dev. I am seriously thinking of changing my job and becoming some Weekly Devi!

Watching this, I am reminded of how scientist madam stops her kids from leaving the house if the feeblest of a distant sneeze manage to vibrate her sensitive ear drums. Then she makes them wash hands and feet, sit down, drink water and recite a few shlokas. I am the illiterate maid here, I am supposed to be superstitious as per my children's lessons, but I am not as much. May be she cares more for her kids' well-being. Whatever, I am no more euphoric about working at her place as I keep on getting reminded of my dreaded mother-in-law's taunting proverb, Chirag Tale Andhera!

Naam Ka Gulaam

पहला दृश्य

आस्था चैनल पर प्रसारित सनसनी-खेज़ कार्यकर्म मंथन स्वामीजी के प्राण सुखा देता है | घोर विपदा में घिरे स्वामीजी संकट-मोचन को गुहार  लगाते हैं | संकट-मोचन उन्हें समझाते हैं कि भारत परम्पराओं और संस्कारों की भूमि है | सांस्कृतिक गौरव के हित में अत्यंत अधर्म सर्वोपरि धर्म बन जाता है | उन्हें निष्कलंक भाव से मूल्यों का आह्वान करना चाहिए |

दूसरा दृश्य

"टीवी और रेडियो सेट पर मुझे देख-सुन रहे देश-वासी बहिनों, माताओं, बेटीओं एवम बंधुयों,

मैं, उस परम-पिता का तुच्छ सेवक, सदैव आप लोगों की उन्नति एवं ख़ुशी की प्रार्थना करता हूँ; आप सभी की असीम कृपा का पात्र, आप लोगों को कृतज्ञ नमन करता हूँ|

 
पत्रकार देवियों एवं सज्जनों,

मैं आप लोगों का तहे-दिल से शुक्र-गुज़ार हूँ कि पिछले हफ्ते की निकृष्ट सूचनाओं के बावज़ूद आप लोगों ने मेरे प्रेस समेल्लन के आमंत्रण को स्वीकार किया और मुझ दीन को अपने प्रिय देश-वासियों के समक्ष अपना पक्ष रखने का अवसर दिया है| आप सभी से सविनय आग्रह है कि इसके पूर्व कि मैं कुछ कहूं, आप लोग मेरे कुछ प्रशनों का उत्तर दे मुझे कृतार्थ करें| क्या आपको यह आग्रह स्वीकार्य है?"

"हाँ, हमे मंज़ूर है|"

"जी शुक्रिया! आप धन्य हैं!"

प्रo (अति विनम्र) :  हे बंधू, जी हाँ, नवजागरण से आये मेरे प्रिय बंधुवर, आपका नाम क्या है?

उo (तटस्थ) : चिराग|

प्रo: चिराग जी, आपका नामकरण किसने किया?

उo: मेरे डैडी ने|

प्रo: इस नामकरण का कोई प्रयोजन?
उo (गर्वित) : मेरे डैडी चाहते थे कि मैं पढ़-लिख कर चारों तरफ उजाला करूं|
(पत्रकार समूह खिलखिला उठता है)
प्रo (प्रसन्न) : अति उच्च विचार! चिराग जी, क्या आपने उनके स्वपन को साकार करने का कोई प्रयास किया है?
उo: जी हाँ, मैं इसी लिए जर्नलिस्ट बना!

प्रo: अतियोत्तम! क्या आप लोग सभी चिराग जी की भावनाओं से सहमती रखते हैं कि इस बदलते भारतीय परिवेश में भी माता-पिता की इच्छा सर्वोपरि एवं सम्माननीय है?
कुछ उo: हाँ|
कुछ उo (उग्र) : नहीं|

प्रo (शांत) : मान लीजिये, एक परिवार में दो पुत्र हैं,  राम और शाम|  एक ओर राम अपने परिवार की मर्यादा का पालन करता है और अपने पिता को पूज्य मानता है, दूसरी ओर शाम अपने बूढ़े पिता को घर से निकाल देता है| जिनका उत्तर पिछले प्रशन के लिए नकारात्मक था, मैं उन सज्जनों से पूछना चाहता हूँ कि आप  इन दोनों पुत्रों में से किसकी वकालत करेंगे?
उo: राम की|

प्रo: शुक्रिया, आप धन्य हैं| क्या आप मेरा नाम जानते हैं?
उo (उपहासित) :  ओब्विअसली, आप हैं आचार्य कामधेनु कल्पतरु चिरानंद संत दास!

प्रo (कृतकृत्य) : ये सम्मान तो आप लोगों की मेरे प्रति वृहत हृदय दृष्टि है, मेरे पूज्य पिताश्री ने तो मुझे मात्र चिरानंद दास की संज्ञा दी है| चिर शब्द की परिभाषा दें!
उo: कपड़े, क्लोद्स|
प्रo: आपकी परिभाषा सही है, यह आप कैसे कह सकते हैं?
उo (दम्भी ) : कल ही मैंने द्रौपदी समान आपके चीरहरण का एपिसोड अपने चैनल पर ऐंकर किया था|
(ठहाकों और तालियों की गडगडाहट से हॉल गूँज उठता है)

प्रo (प्रशांत): बालक, वस्त्र का पर्याय चीर है, चिर नहीं| क्या कोई और सज्जन चिर शब्द के अर्थ को प्रकाशित करना चाहेंगे?
उo: चिर मतलब लौंग, ऑलवेज़, जैसे चिरायु|
प्रo (प्रसन्न) : अति सुन्दर, जैसे चिरायु, चिराग इत्यादि| क्या आप दास शब्द को परिभाषित कर सकते हैं?
उo: गुलाम, सेवक!

प्रo (हर्षित) : धन्यवाद! आपके सहयोग से मैं अपने नाम की परिभाषा दे सकता हूँ| मेरे नाम का अर्थ है एक ऐसा सेवक जो सदैव आनंदित करे| मेरे प्रत्येक कार्य में यही भाव समाहित हैं| अपने नाम, पिताश्री और भक्तों का परम सेवक, मैं उनकी प्रत्येक इच्छा पूर्ण कर उन्हें आनंदित करना चाहता हूँ, चाहे किसी चिराग की भांति मुझे खुद क्यों न जलना पड़े| मुझे आप लोगों से सिर्फ यही कहना था| अब आप चाहें तो मुझे सूली पर चढ़ा दें, आपके इस तुच्छ दास को जनाधिकार सम्मत है|

तीसरा दृश्य

सभी श्रोता अत्यंत भावुक हो उठते हैं, सभी अपनी अवहेलना पर लज्जित हैं, कुछ अपने पिता की, कुछ आचार्य जी  की | सभा में उपस्थित चेले चारों दिशाओं को महान आचार्य कामधेनु कल्पतरु चिरानंद संत दास की जयजयकार  से गूंजा देते हैं  | इसी बीच कुछ दूरदर्शी  आचार्यजी की चरण धूलि के लिए अग्रसर होतें हैं |शेष अज्ञानी उनके पीछे दौड़ पड़ते हैं और भगदड़ मच जाती है | सम्पूर्ण देशवासी भावना की इस गंगा में स्नान करने लगते हैं | भगदड़ में मारे गए लोगों को आचार्य के चरणों में मोक्ष की प्राप्ति हो जाती है  | आज स्तिथि यह है कि एक ओर हर माह अनावृत होते  नए आश्रम भी आचार्य के शिष्यों के उफनते सागर को समाहित नहीं कर पाते |  दूसरी ओर दक्षिणा-पूरित आचार्य कोष  द्रौपदी के अक्षय पात्र को मात देते हुए आचार्य और उनके कुल कि मर्यादा को कायम रखता है |

The Star-Crossed Feast

They were the new joinees. Fresh out of small towns' big colleges. Put up at The Grand Opulence, a five star, at the request of their company. They had stayed up at many regular hotels and guest houses, but not at a starred place before. Twinkle was wondering, grammar is asterisked in TOI editorials these days, is the hotel name asterisked in the same sense. The twin sharing standard room was just acceptable. There was hardly any floor space left by the bed and the table and they had to tread carefully to avoid bumping into each other. The balcony ended before starting. There was an extended debate on the utility of the glass wall separating the bathroom. The conclusion was that it allowed one to enjoy the TV and the steaming bathtub simultaneously after a long tiring day.   

The only other apparent luxury was the fully loaded mini bar the room boasted of. The elegant baby fridge spread a sumptuous treat for the souls famished from the long journey. There were honey roasted almonds imported from Virginia, Evian natural mineral water sourced from the pristine French Alps and layered Ferrero Rochers clad in inviting golden wrappers apart from the regular juices, wafers and biscuits. Moreover, the imported range of hard drinks was too tempting. Both of them were too tired to go out, they didn't even know of a reasonable place to dine at. Priced at two days' salary, the Opulence dinner was unthinkable of. Twinkle attacked the mini bar at full throttle and convinced Sonnet to follow her. Unsure of the hangover duration, they spared the hard drinks that night.

The delighted ladies now started exploring the room for other hidden treasures. Twinkle found a file inside the digital safe. They wondered if it contained the clues to assist them in their other discoveries. It had a sheet inside titled 'Mini Bar Rate List' and Twinkle's jaws dropped at its sight. The exorbitant three and higher digit numbers mentioned against the savoured goodies punched her real hard in the stomach and out came everything in a highly amalgamated state. It was a classic cultural shock!

The misplaced rate card appeared to be the mischief of the earlier occupant who had similarly burned his fingers. Sonnet was upset but her brain was working fast. She suggested replacement of the mini bar contents. What a superb idea Sirji! They ransacked the dustbins for all the dumped wrappers and packets. Smoothing the crinkled wrappers, they copied the brand names, flavor, size, quantity, date of manufacture, colour, everything except the bar codes on another piece of paper. Twinkle could now empathize with a simple friend who had once mistaken the finger bowl for nimbu paani and was made butt of all jokes thereafter!

Next morning, they left for the office putting on the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on their door. It was tough to focus on the slides while they googled for malls, departmental stores, markets in the city. Twinkle feigned vertigo at noon and Sonnet immediately offered to help her back to the hotel. They gathered almost everything after a search extending over six hours except for a particular sized pack of Ferrero Rochers. 

 

Staying at starred locations has become a routine for them but the ghost of the goodies still haunts them. They do not fail to call up the room service to confirm if the complimentary water and tea/coffee sachets are indeed complimentary. Twinkle barely manages to control her impulse to scribble all over the rooms 'Beware, Nothing In Here Is For Free!'.

Oracle

'Aliya hasn't come in. It is possible that she missed the bus. It is time for the second bus now. Is she coming by it today? Why am I thinking about her? Am I missing her? Can't be sure. I am harbouring this strange feeling deep inside. She might be just down with fever. No, that can't be, she has not called up sick. Shall I check with her right away? No, no, that is unthinkable, she might not like it. What will she think about me? Shall I ask these people here? They are a bunch of hags. They will taunt me and tease her. Now that's an absolute no. They brag about being her good friends. Why can't they call her to check. No one seems to be bothered about her absence, why I am? I pray there is no connection...'

'Pranav, you are pale, it looks like you just had a daymare!'

'What an observation my wicked Manu, A day without Aliya is only fit to be a daymare!'
'Yeah Manu, you are on the mark, a working Monday morning is a real daymare!'

'Buddy, do I smell the agony of Aliya's absence on your hollow voice?'

'What a prying buffoon you are, I thought only scientists specialized in mind reading!'
'Isn't Aliya in, you must be joking! Anyways what brings the great Manu to this no-man's service?'

'The bleeding eyes of my no-man! By the way, don't fail to notice Aliya's name engraved on a tender leaf of the office grapevine? Have an exciting day ahead! Ciao!'

'You bloody tormentor, may you rot in hell forever for your evasive gimmicks! '
'I will need to borrow the set of your super sensitive antennae for that!'

'Your gory remarks and gruesome silence gust off the last wafts of my sanity! Why do you shut up when you should be talking and vice versa?'

'What could Manu imply...Goodness, is Aliya getting engaged? That does not sound even remotely related...she would have at least announced it...I hope she is doing fine. She has not come in by the second bus also. She is a good enough candidate for my mom and I think I am equally good for her family. Why am I thinking on these lines out of the blue today, what's wrong with me? Someone, please have pity on my tormented soul.'

'Here comes the shrewd Anjan, finally my prayers have been answered!'

'Welcome Anjan, how are you doing?'

'Not so bad Pranav! It seems you were waiting for me!'

'Are my thoughts flashing in bold letters on my forehead today?'
'No Ways, I mean you are always welcome, what's up?'

'Today no one is working except for you, isn't that so unlike the other days?'

'See who is saying what!'
'Come on, stop excruciating me. I implore upon you for some fresh berries from the grapevine!'

'Are you drunk on William Wordsworth today? You are aware that I have always been poetically challenged!'

'Anjan, no wonders that you are called the meanest shark in the bureau ocean! But I won't be lily-livered and ask you directly.'
'All right, why has Aliya not come in today?'

'Ah, I must say, she should come in less often so that my folks get an opportunity to focus more on their assignments!'

'Go off before I kill you!'

'Take it easy Pranav or you will die of a hemorrhage, I was kidding! Byeos'

'He is also going back after rubbing salt on my burning nerves.'

'Hey Pranav, looks like you have been stabbed, I had some news for you.'

'What a fateful day, I will have to endure the stalker today!'
'Hello Maya, Monday morning blues. I am all ears!'

'Are you aware of what transpired to Aliya?'

'No.'

'That's why you are idling out here. There seems to be some problem at her home.'

'Please, carry on... Please.'

'All right, I will detail you on the events, but any guesses?'

'#$&*@!^%'
'Her mom's hubby ran off with all the money?'

'When will you stop lying to me Pranav dear, you already know everything.'

'Maya, I beg you to spare me the suspense, I swear I am absolutely clueless of any and every thing about Aliya. That was just an irritated response!'

'Oh my poor baby, you guessed it just right. It's sad, but it's the truth.'

'That's terrible! I had not expected the prophetic vision to come true like this. This has happened to me once again. I can't trust myself. The boundary between facts and fantasies is dissolving. I have to struggle to ward off my silly thoughts. Well, there is no explanation, no theorem to define these coincidences. I can't bear the weight of vision. I can't afford to lose the power of vision. A metamorphosis is taking place...'

'Manu, help! The shocking revelation about Aliya's has collapsed Pranav into a delirium. Someone please call for the ambulance!'

'Maya, Manu, Congratulations! I see the pot bellied solemnizing your wedding!'

'Manu, please do something to save our Pranav, please do something...'

Memoirs Of A Family

Pa (panting) : Be hot on the heels of the porter jostling his way around the swelling crowds of the Chennai Central and hopefully we will make it to our coach in time.

Ma (relieved) : Thank God, we have managed to land onto our berths in this nondescript coach of the TN Express. I will now secure the bags with that chain and the lock.

Pa (taking a look around) : We are bound for Delhi, how about you?

Gentleman (smiling) : Ditto!

Pa (excited) : I am happy to learn that we are to share this compartment with your family. Arey bitiya rani, you look very sweet, what's your good name?

The sweet little girl smiles and hides behind her mother's translucent dupatta.

Lady (patronizing) : Beta, Uncle wants to know your sweet name, don't be shy!

The little girl jumps onto her mother's lap and keeps smiling.

Lady : Her name is Mrinal. You will be introduced to her true self within five minutes.

I : Mrinal, beautifully delicate name, suits her completely. Mrinal, (offering a handshake), friends?

Mrinal (Returning the handshake timidly) : Yes didi, we will be friends, but on one condition; I will be your only best friend, agreed? 

I (happily) : Yes, yes, yes, Mrinal! You are my only best friend. Thank you sweetie! How old are you, are you in school already?

Mrinal (jumping with joy on my lap) : Am three old. My school is LKG.

Lady (smiling) : Now she will be your headache till Delhi, I am sure she won't come over to her parents now. 

I (grinning) : I will be grateful for her company till Delhi. And I will miss her after that! Are you returning from a trip to Chennai or going on a trip to Delhi?

Lady (a little upset) : Yeah, it was a medical trip to Chennai.

I (with a start, gulping) : Oh, were you on a visit to Shankar Nethryalaya?

Lady : Yes.

Pa (perturbed) : Even we were on a visit to Shankar Nethryalaya!

Tentacles of the saga of pain and suffering, hope and wait, weave an instant web of camaraderie between the two families.

Pa (grimly) : I had almost lost the vision in an eye to steroid overdose at the hands of a negligent doctor in a distant town. May we hear your tragedy?

Gentleman (smiling) : It is long tale of fate, you might be bored to hear.
Pa (hurt) : No Sir, please don't think so, I see you as a brother in agony.
Gentleman (nostalgic) : I was a CA meticulously auditing the dirty accounts of the jazzy firms in Delhi. Mrinal had just completed her six months. We three were a contented family. Then one day I was admitted to a nursing home with a stomach infection. I recovered in a couple of days and was discharged. A week after, itchy rashes started appearing on my skin covering me from head to toe in a matter of a few hours and I was left blinded and gasping for breath. It was discovered I was allergic to the antibiotics administered for the stomach infection. I was recuperating  in an ICU for a fortnight. I was told that every inch of my skin will heel back to normal except for the cornea and retina of the eyes. Specialists at AIIMS advised me to pray and learn Braille. My wife broke down. As soon as I was declared out of danger, she composed herself and took me to the consecrated thresholds of the Shankar Nethralaya.
         After a treatment for five months, on Mrinal's first birthday, doctors declared that there was hope for me and after a couple of surgeries I would be able to see Mrinal's cherubic face by her second birthday.

I used to think that ours was the most tragic tale, but his words made me realize that it is easy to find someone who is in a worse situation. I was grateful for being better fated than this family.

Pa (in a teary voice) : How is your vision now, Sir?
Gentleman (happily) : I can walk inside my house and complete routine activities without any help now. I am happy I don't need to use my walking stick anymore.

I clearly notice that his voice does not ask for sympathy, does not sound complaining, instead it sounds inspiring. The train is crossing vast green wavy paddy fields.  Mrinal is excited at the surreal sight.

Mrinal (clapping and dancing) :  Oh these green waves look so similar to the blue waves at the Marina beach! We are sailing through a green sea, it is rising, it is falling, Mrinal is enjoying. (After some time) Didi, the sea is vast, let's play something. Let's play Mummy and Baby. Who will be the mummy, you want to be the mummy or the baby?
I (thoroughly pleased) : I don't know how to play mummy, Shall I be the baby?
Mrinal (nodding) : Yes, that will be good. I am a very good mummy. I will call you my Babu. Ok Babu, go to sleep now. Mummy will wake you up in the morning.

Mrinal wakes up her Babu, brushes her teeth, bathes her, dresses her, serves her breakfast and then drops her to school. In the meanwhile she goes out for shopping and buys a new frock. Then she picks up her Babu from school, gifts her the new frock, helps her with homework, prepares dinner for her and again puts her to sleep with a very very sweet cradlesong, 'tujhme rab dikhta hai, babu mai kya karoon, sajde sir jhukta hai, babu mai karoon'.

I (talking to myself) : I am delighted at the innocent pampering. I am looking forward to being woken up by Mrinal again after five minutes.
Pa (concerned) : Sir, how are your finances being taken care of these days, I mean is your company helping you?
Gentleman (determined) : Two and half years is too a long time for any company to support. We have started an opticals business which my wife runs and I assist. God is graceful, business is good.

The train stops at Nagpur and I get down to buy ice cream.

Mrinal (innocently) : Babu, get chocolate flavor for your small mummy!
I return with two ice creams and give Mrinal hers.
Gentleman (disapprovingly) :  Mrinal, Babu ki pocket pe chunna laga diya na!
Mrinal (lovingly) : Oh where?

And she dusts the imaginary lime powder off my trousers' pockets with her small pink hands. I can't help hugging her for her innocence.

Pa (admiring) : Sir, Mrinal is a cheerful girl and kudos to you both for not letting the tragedy affect her childhood. I can see that she is being brought up in the best manner a child should be. She could not have played a doting mother to a girl twenty years older than her otherwise.
Gentleman (agreeing) : In fact, we get to spend a lot more time together now. It was a mad rush earlier. I would have missed on her growing years if I were a CA still.

I am delightfully amazed by his fighter spirit. I also notice that unless asked for, he does not talk about his illness. He does talk a lot, he talks on politics, weather, cricket, people, like everyone else. Delhi door nahi hai and we are preparing to get down and go on our separate ways.

Mrinal (waving off) : We are going to Bhagalpur next Friday for my aunt's wedding. Babu, we would meet in the train again next week!

All of us burst into a hearty laugh at her innocent comment.

To Sir, With Love

"Today is the judgement day. The class is unusually silent except for the low hum of the anxious bated breaths. Ms Isha's repeated attempts to make us talk fail like her daily efforts to quieten us. Instead of paper rockets, confused glances are being thrown across. The hour long taciturn suspense being maintained by Ms Isha when the all we are doing is to stare helplessly at her face full of dumbfounded expressions in the backdrop of the blackboard would become an inspiration for the sweet at sixteen Ekta Kapoor's future leading ladies' actions on the idiot box. The spell is eventually broken by the resonance of over fifty bewildered heartbeats threatening to blow up the classroom walls. All but three convicts are handed out their lurid verdicts one by one. 'The three significant verdicts are to be pronounced by Ranjan Sir', conveys Ms Isha.

Ranjan Sir, but why? Ranjan Sir is a busy man, he is the senior most teacher in the school. I think he is a good teacher. His class was lively and fun, he explained through examples, he made us solve problems on the blackboard and never scolded or spanked when we could not. But still, he always wore a grave expression and never smiled and he hardly taught. On most days he had been preoccupied to schedule teachers to engage classes of the absent teachers. I think that made him forget that of all the classes, his own dear class, the fifth standard Maths class, was left unengaged! But did we complain? Of course not! A happy period between the tedious social and dull science periods was a boon straight from the heavens! Yet he had covered eighteen chapters out of the twenty five chapters, a few more than few other teachers who had not missed saying lullabies to us for a single day.

Some of the class who have been pleasantly surprised by the verdicts are getting restless waiting for Ranjan Sir. After all, how long can they wait for their promised gifts of chocolates, new clothes, new toys, etc. Some of the class is praying for him not to turn up for the whole day. The delay is helping to shorten the day and the repercussions of their verdicts back at home. The three of us, though well aware of our verdicts, have stomachs brimming with butterflies at the moment. Finally, after yet another hour's wait, Sir materializes in our classroom and hands out the remaining verdicts. When the roar of claps subsides, Sir begins to address us.

'Congratulations to the fifth class! This year's board included teachers from fifteen schools and the difficulty level was high. This is a great achievement for our school that the entire fifth standard made it to the next with good marks. The Maths paper was the toughest with the best questions from fifteen schools. For the first time in my teaching career, I have seen someone score triple digit marks in this paper. And she is Sandhya! Come over Sandhya, I have got a small gift for you.'

Sir is beaming as he hands me out the envelope with a crisp hundred rupee bill and a hand written congratulatory note inside. I can't believe it. I am super thrilled. I am happy. I am choking. I am all goose bumps. Somehow I manage to utter a feeble thank you."

It has been almost two decades but the happiest moment of my life is still fresh in front of my eyes. I can never forget the smile on Sir's face and the pride in his eyes for his student. I still think twice before gifting one hundred bucks to my near and dear ones. What a noble gesture it was two decades back to reward a student so generously. The noble gift has been a noble impact for me. It has instilled a forever love for Maths in me. It has taught me the profound potential of a genuine reward. It has been my motivator all these years and continue to do so. Yet like that day many many years ago, I am again at loss of words to thank you Ranjan Sir!

What About Us

Bhojpur lives to its name of the 'City Of Gardens' and 'City Of Education'. There are colleges and gardens all along the winding roads of the city. Many places have even got the honour of hosting colleges before roads. Now colleges and gardens make a great combination as every student will agree. Gardens provide just the right ambience for the progressive research projects actively taken up by the young and curious minds, especially when they outnumber the foot-soldiers of the omnipresent regressive brigade.

The premier institute 'Residuum Olympus of Technology', lovingly called 'The Rot' is located in Bhojpur. Buoyed by their families' sacrificial altars, a few hundred fragile souls swim to its shores every year. Here they are put through a rigorous program specifically designed by the major souls to groom them for facing the cruel world. Clear heads simply call it RP, jokers call it ragging.

As soon as the yoke is lifted off their shoulders, the toughened minor souls start exploring the expanses of 'The Rot' at a trot. They are delightfully surprised to learn that the elaborate screens carved through intricate pierce work of the Mughal era were inspired by the eerie patterns formed by the peeling plasters and crumbling concrete of the walls and roofs of The Rot. Power potholes provide power footholds in the power corridors of The Rot. Once, gripped by her powerful thoughts, my dear friend Sushma succumbed to a power pothole and ended injuring her leg.

As she cried her pain out, a few bright souls wondered aloud why The Rot lacked a technology to see through tissues, decided to work on it and started discussing their modus operandi. A lesser bright soul fetched a bucket full of ice to calm down the leg swelling with anger. Someone fetched the gold medalist Rot doc who specialized in curing people by looking at face. The doc saw the salt lines left behind by the tears on Sushma's face and scornfully suggested application of a couple of ice cubes, both on the spot of injury and on her face. The more experienced interpreted the scorn for us, 'This little birdie must have been somehow spared during the RP'.

It was 9 in the evening, Sushma was still groaning in pain and needed to see a lesser specialized doc who believed in the vision of the X-Ray imageries more than the vision of his own eyes. The major souls, expert at RPs and all the ways of the Rot suggested us to take her to the best and the worst hospital in the city, Government Necrosis Laboratory. GNL is best if you land into its premises with a good recommendation, worst otherwise. They convinced us that the privilege of being The Rot Minors was a solid recommendation in itself.

Now any late evening excursions were forbidden unless accompanied by the Hostel Administrator as per the Rot rules. Again the major souls came to our great rescue by warning us against the stinky Hostel Administrator. He would not grant permission as he was known not to be generous enough to have ever accompanied a single soul to such worthless places like Hospitals. If he agreed now, that would have raised serious doubts on his intentions. After we started of our own, someone was sent to cheekily inform him of the events and he was least bothered as usual. 

Guided by the major souls’ blessings, the five of us soon reached the filth filled premises of GNL in an autorikshaw. The sleepy Residents of GNL almost suffered an heart attack on seeing the Rot Minor Brigade. They brashly refused to accept Sushma’s injury to be accidental. They immediately concluded that Sushma was a first year student being ragged by the four of us, whom they branded as the heartless seniors. All of their closed doors investigations on Sushma for the next fifteen minutes failed to nail us. Dejected, they decided to have a look at her injury. It appeared to be a fracture which was confirmed within next fifteen minutes through a cursory analysis of the X-Ray report. Next half an hour was spent on casting her leg in a plaster and everyone was happy to find her relieved at the end of it. We were asked to wait for half an hour more to ostensibly let the cast set properly. Overall, the GNL Residents had provided her with a satisfactory treatment.

It sounds like a happy ending, which was sadly, not the case. We had not realized that used to their private practices during day, the doctors needed the crucial sleep during their night duties at GNL. Now their biological clock was severely disturbed. Not used to strains at night, their brains became super-active. They went to another room and after ten minutes one of them came out to inform us that the GNL Chief Laboratory Officer had called up the Rot Director on the case of ragging and informed him that the victim and the culprits had come to the hospital without any Administrator. The Director had assured him of an immediate corrective action. We interpreted the statement to mean that someone from the Rot would be coming to soon pick us up in the Rot Chariot.

After a futile wait of an hour, the five of us again hired an autorikshaw for our journey back to the Rot campus. What a grand welcome it was! We were received by the entire council of Rot Administrators at the hostel gates and showered with choicest curses, threats and warnings. We found ourselves lucky to see that they had forgotten to bring the bag of abuses along for our welcome.

The day-after papers were devastating for the Rot’s reputation. The GNL CLO had fed the alleged tales of torture at the Rot to the local Piranhas ever hungry for bytes of sensational information. His grave photographs with the evil twinkle in his eyes holding Sushma’s X-Ray report with the fracture highlighted by a red circle accompanied the reports. He was being hailed as the only revolutionary to have come up in the open against the menace of ragging. All the while, people in the city were casually asking why the victim’s and culprits’ photographs were missing from the reports. The calculative CLO knew the reason quite well. The Piranhas would have definitely preferred the delicate smoothness of pretty faces over the oiled smoothness of his bald head, if given a choice. Later, statistics revealed that these reports did wonders to his private practice in the city.

Inside the Rot Campus, the major souls and the hostel administrator had denied having any knowledge of the minor souls’ daring activities. All five of us were made the scapegoats as the Rot administrators fought amongst them-selves to settle the previously unsettled scores. All of them became equally blind to the fact that Sushma’s fracture had indeed needed an immediate attention. The hefty price we paid for the fiasco is better left unsaid. An year after the tragedy, we were shocked to learn that RP is practiced quite sincerely at GNL under the patronage of its revolutionary CLO.

Life inside the sacred gates of the Rot is full of drama. A couple of months before we were to walk out of the sacred gates, I was woken up by my excited friends to have a look at the newspapers. I recognized the boy in the reports. He was our own Director’s son studying at GNL. I recognized two more faces, one was the same CLO and the other one was our Director who was being crowned as the new revolutionary and a great father. It so happened that his son was made to attend the RP, the CLO was remotely monitoring through a camera and he was being recorded on a camera hidden in his room. Our Director had eventually squared up with him. But what about us? I am writing this piece in the fictional hope of getting our dues back.

The House Of Free Books

The bell rings in the usual peculiar manner to declare the recess and the thousand happy souls plunge out of the classes into the many playgrounds my school boasted. Some of us scatter on the exposed roots of the cotton tree on the playground facing the road. Excitement is visible on our faces as we gape admiringly at the new building across the road. How long and torturous the four periods had been today. We have decided to give our recess games a break today, we are waiting to hear the details about the new building.

"It is a house, a big house, a double storey house, a concrete house, a beautiful house, a mysterious house, a house that I have not seen before. I stay in a government quarter made of punctured wooden poles and planks weakened by the termites and decades of neglect of PWD. Still Papa tells me that our quarter is a safe abode, it won't budge, howsoever big an earthquake attacks it. He must be right. But he has not seen this house, it looks too good for me to believe it is real. But I have been a perpetual witness to its growth, right from the day the soil was being tilled, to its germination, to the appearance of the little shoots, to this day when it has flowered."

Finally someone has started talking about the house, good, I could not have waited any longer. "Oh heavens", Anand is saying, "Saryu's father spent full one and a half lakh rupees on it!" I interrupt, "Unbelievable!" He is unfazed and goes onto describe in great detail the wealth Saryu's father earned through his business in Maya Minarets. I am suitably impressed and shut up. Saryu is coming towards us. She is our classmate and a good friend. We pounce on her and request her to take us to her house just once. Saryu is a nice girl. She agrees asking her mother's permission for our visit.

God is great, he grants the children their wishes. Saryu is guiding us through the house.
"This is the hall where my mother will sit chatting with her friends. This is the dining room, isn't the table nice? This is the guest room for our guests."

"God they have a spare big bed for their guests already!"

"Come on, now I will take my friends to my room, welcome, welcome!"

"My goodness, she has a big bed all for herself, I have to share a small bed with my sister!"

Someone asks, "Saryu, what is the door for?"
"Oh, that is leading to my bathroom."

"What, you have a bathroom for your room!", all of us exclaim.

"Yes, Papa said that all rooms should have attached bathrooms, it will be convenient."

"Oh wonders, what a luxury, sparkling tiles, amazing faucets, a bathtub!"

Lucky kiddos were unaware that they had got a sneak peek at the designer baths which were to be regularly featured in posh magazines at least after a decade and a half.

Saryu protests, "Friends, there is still a lot to explore and recess is soon to get over, hurry!"
We follow her from room to room and lose count. Anyways it is clear that Saryu and each of her four siblings have a big room and a big bath of their own.

I am enlightened to the fact that Saryu might be my benchmate in one class but she is way ahead of me in another class. I start respecting Saryu's father, make a mental picture of  him as a Hero at Maya Minarets and declare him as my ideal. I go on describing her house to my sister and parents for the next week after which I am persuaded to give the house a short break for the impending exams.

Next session starts. I study at a government school. Students are given free books every year. I do not get the free books. My parents save money with great struggle through the first quarter every year to buy books for me and my sister. At least, they can afford to save. Free book are for the poor students whose parents struggle to afford two square meals. I am happy for them. A teacher calls me to help him in the distribution this session. I am aghast to see Saryu in the queue of students of my class. I enquire with the teacher and he confirms that her name is in the list. I am puzzled to find her four siblings too lined up for the free books. There are a few other students in the beneficiary list who do not appear to justify their inclusion. I unfailingly see the contempt on the teacher's face every time he hands over the books to one such student. I clearly see the patronizing smile on his face whenever a poor student gets the books. He even warns a few of them, "Don't dare to sell these books for cheap money like the last time, they are your Gods."

My mind is troubled over today's scenes. When the teacher is done with distributing all the books, I can no longer feign silence. I ask him innocently, "Sir, Why is it that Saryu and her four siblings who have a big house get free books while I don't?"
He jeers, "The government pays your dad for your books but does not pay Saryu's dad for his kids books." I do not comprehend what it means, yet feel the sarcasm in his every word but decide not to prod further. My father is a teacher and he must be know what it means. I can not wait to get home. I enter my house shouting, "Papa, I have a question on a peculiar event I witnessed today" and repeat my question.

My patriotic heart is in tears on learning the bitter truth. I want to snatch all books from Saryu's house. I want to set my ideal's office in Maya Minarets on fire. I want to scream and tell the world about him and his other friends. What can a small third standard student do about such big problems. I feel engulfed in a vacuum which swallows Saryu's father's portrait from the mantelpiece of my mind forever. 

It was my introductory course on 'Grassroot Corruption' which mercilessly dragged me from the innocent and unsuspecting realms of childhood onto the thresholds of manipulative adulthood forever.

P.S. “The only imaginative fiction being written today is income tax returns.” — Herman Wouk

711 Days

We shared our lives' some of the best moments staying at Flat No 711 for a little less than two years, 711 days to be precise. These lines crafted by the 711 girlies on the lines of the song 'Kabhi-Kabhi Aditi' are a reflection of those days.

711 Days

Kabhi-kabhi Rani 711 mei yonhi kuch apna lagta hai,
Kabhi-kabhi Rani wo party-time sundar sapna lagta hai,
Aise mei ched ke kisi ko, sab hans de khush hoke,
To koi kyon na soch le, everything was wonderful and ok.

Kabhi-kabhi to bhari 711 mein thi lotsa khushi aur mazaa,
Kabhi-kabhi to khele har din UNO, har pal Dumb-sharaaa,
Aise mein koi fir se dekhe patte, to koi cheating pe toke,
Aur kaise koi sochle ki office ke liye iss game ko roke.

Socho zara live cartoon ko hum kitna chahte hain.
Koi pakai khana to hum sab milkar khate hain,
Gaana to aata nahi hai magar phir bhi hum gaate hai,
Ki big boss ke baad hi humko sona hota hai,
Bangalore times ke hi saath to savera hota hai.

Koi occasion aaye to lage ki khil gayi hain kali,
Mil ke chale sab zaika, aur khaye paneer chilli.
Weekends pe chale commercial, forum and MG,
Ki yum cake aur chips se hum bhook mitate hain,
Aur terrace pe baithe Tea aur ParleG bhi khaate hai.

Kabhi-kabhi Rani 711 mei yonhi kuch apna lagta hai,
Kabhi-kabhi Rani wo party-time sundar sapna lagta hai,
Hey Rani Hasde hasde hasde hasde hasde, hasde tu zara,
Nahi to bus thora thora thora thora, thora mushkura :)
Nahi to bus thora thora thora thora, thora mushkura :D

A House For The Brothers

Provocation: Big cities, small towns and remote villages keep on telling me the heart-rending tales of family feuds over property which, in most cases, is a humble house cured by its builder's sweat and blood. Many a bonds are forsaken, many a lives are lost.

A House For The Brothers

Making castles of the clay,

In the scorching summer noon,

The three little brothers play,

Till the time they see the moon.

Then mother brings in dinner,

Feeding till their stomachs fill.

Telling a story about a winner,

Counts money saved from a bill.

Later she sends them to learn,

The magic of the alphabets,

And she tills the farms to earn,

An extra sum to pay of debts.

She raises them with her grit,

Builds a house missing her meals,

When she thinks her life is fit,

The bothers' evil plan unveils.

As they wrangle over the house,

Cops are called to settle matters.

Caught in a fire so hard to douse,

Her soul dies, her heart shatters.

Baby Meow

Baby Meow

Pally beauty 'Baby Meow',

Word she uttered was the meow,

Still we could converse for hours,

On topics varied as flowers!

Milk and butter did she savour,

Weighing scale yet failed to waver!

Twitching whishkers, wiggling tail,

She would tread the garden rail.

She accompanied me to school,

Techers also rated her cool!

Her frolics delighted one and all,

'Miss Colony', they would call.

Mann Gulmohar

मन गुलमोहर

मेरे मन के गुलमोहर पे झूमी बहार,
प्यार मुझको हुआ है जो ये पहली बार |

उनके चेहरे की बगियन में, खिले दो कमल नयन हैं,
चटक रही मुस्कान की कलियन, कंठ-स्वर सितार सृजन है,
मेरी रग-रग में स्पंदन है, प्रियवर का वंदन है,
उल्लासित क्षण है, प्रणय सुशोभित नव-जीवन है |

उनके ख्यालों में खोयी, मैं हौले-हौले गाऊँ,
उनकी बस इक झलक को, मैं दसियों बहाने बनाऊँ,
मनं की उमंगों को, ख़त की पतंगों में, पल-पल उड़ाऊं,
मिलने की आशा में, चाहत की आभा से, खुद को सजाऊँ |

मेरे मन के गुलमोहर पे झूमी बहार,
प्यार मुझको हुआ है जो ये पहली बार |

TICE - The Eight Innings Cricket

The vast kingdom of Spardhistan was ruled by the haughty king Munsif Maharaj and beautiful Sujaanpur was his capital city. Munsif Maharaj was a patron of sports and had a special liking for cricket. With the aim of nurturing the talented cricketers of his kingdom, he had set up the Kilolkar Academy for Cricket in the heart of Sujaanpur amidst sylvan surroundings. Entry to this elite academy was granted through extensive selections and the privileged group of the very best in the kingdom made to it every season.

This particular spring season, the academy heartily welcomed an extraordinarily gifted group of twenty-two young cricketers. Praveen Singh and Sumedha Kiran were two proud members of this group. The group spent the season learning the intricacies, tips and tricks of the game and making friends of a lifetime. Sumedha and friends thoroughly enjoyed the evenings roaming in the surrounding forests, listening to birds, climbing trees, plucking fruits, reciting melodies, watching animals, swimming in the stream. Oh, what a bliss! Praveen's friends were avid connoisseurs of the enticing Mahua nectar and spent evenings below the trees gaping open mouth at flowers dripping with nectar. Draining the bitter sweet liquid down the oesophagus, they attained instant Nirvana! In short, the academy was the 'Paradise on Earth' for these twenty-two young souls.

With the aim of honing skill and persistence, Munsif Maharaj had meticulously defined the format of the Kilolkar cricket known as 'The Eight Innings Cricket'. As luck and skill were inherent to both, Kilolkarites fondly called it Tice to rhyme with Dice. Every batsman had to play a total of eight innings in a game and each inning lasted as long as him/her. As soon as the first inning got over for the first team of eleven, the second team of eleven played their first inning. This was followed by the second inning from the first team and the pattern repeated for eight innings.

During the last month of the year, Munsif Maharaj put to test the skills of his proteges. Individual performances in batting, balling and fielding were tested and a final score calculated for every player based on a rule of weightages. The player with the highest score was presented the coveted 'Golden Glove' signed by the Maharaja himself. Batting test with the highest weightage was the most interesting event. Batsmen faced a computer controlled balling agent to ensure that all of them faced similar balls. They were free to choose their favourite umpires for the last four innings.

Final month of judgement started for this extraordinary group amidst much fanfare. Before they realized it, the first four innings were over and the scoring pattern started to emerge. Used to his privileged upbringing, Praveen was devastated to learn that not he, but Sumedha was the highest scorer. The poor fellow did not know that she had a passion for the game as a kid. How difficult was it for her mother feed her while she wanted to drive shots with her bat of the spoon on the playgrounds of the plate!

His agony was not hidden from his friends. They saw reflections of their own disappointments in his gloom and started devising strategies to nurse their hurt souls. They jotted down the statistics of the innings so far, pondered over for a long time and concluded that his batting average was a little higher than Sumedha's. It was a cheering discovery and they fed his hungry soul with its big morsels. They declared that Praveen deserved the 'Golden Bat' and proposed the setting up of the award to Munsif Maharaj. The Maharaja rejected the proposal with the argument that all awards were instituted at the commencement of the season. Sumedha was happily unaware of the brewing storm which threatened to blow her away and her friends decided not to burden her with unnecessary distractions.

Praveen demanded the services of the benevolent umpire Soumya Sarkar for his last four innings which was granted as Sumedha, the highest scorer, did not press a similar demand. Happy with his easy luck, he focused on batting and completely ignored balling and fielding. Weighed down by the false perceptions and undue tensions, his score deteriorated. By the end of sixth inning, Praveen's friends started plotting aloud against Sumedha. They alleged umpires were partial to her. She found it upsetting, but was not disheartened.

Umpire Vidvesh Purohit was well known for his mean demeanour. He had missed the 'Golden Glove' during his earlier days at the academy and could not bear the sight of the younger folks walking away with it. He was too keen on declaring the players out and was avoided by all. Irritated by the unkind murmurs, Sumedha requested Vidvesh Purohit to be her umpire for the last two innings. Everyone, including him was astonished at this unusual request. As she continued playing for her passion without thinking about the Glove, he left no stone unturned to keep her hands off from it.

On the final day, spoilt Praveen was gifted the 'Golden Bat' by his wonderful friends with ample hints of expectations of a favor in return at suitable times. As Sumedha walked away with the 'Golden Glove', umpire Soumya Sarkar stopped her to ask why she had not opted for his services which could have even bettered her score. With a twinkle in her eyes, she said smiling, "Sir, You won't understand!"

Survival of the Luckiest Fittest

Claim: The three stories are mere recollections without a figment of imagination but for the names.

Sparkling, thundering, swaying, enormous waves breaking on the beaches and splashing mist generously on the sands and everything else on the sands is a sight to behold, a moment to cherish, an invigorating experience, an incredible phenomenon, repeating day in and day out on the virgin shores of the picturesque islands of the Nicobar group. This particular Christmas, celebrations went on till late in the night and these waves merrily gorged on the cake and guzzled the wine served lavishly at the sea floor counter and swelled and swelled and swelled and started for the shores. It was dawn by the time they reached the islands amply intoxicated, failed to recognize the humble familiar sands, refused to break and furiously marched forward in search of their playgrounds like an unyielding bunch of kids. They raided houses, schools, offices, hills, farms, plantations, forests and streams and the earth trembled vigorously with fear and shame.

Those who eagerly await an opportunity for feeding and riding elephants know very well that elephants turn wild for a while and it is best not to meddle with them then. These waves were quicker, nastier, wilder than the wildest of elephants and their connoisseurs, who had not heard about these mood swings called as Tsunamis, were caught unawares. Some rushed out, donning handycams, to capture the magnificent waves. Well the admiration was mutual and the waves captured them too! Some others were guided by the basic instincts to run away, to climb up higher, to hide, to swim, to shut their eyes tight, they were also not spared by the brunt of mighty Tsunamis. Few others had luck and wit on their side and survived to narrate their unique tales of true heroism.

Mr Sahil's Bike

Mr Sahil was busy brushing teeth in his decent house by the beach. His pretty wife Neena was happily preparing the morning tea. Their lovely daughter Charu was sleeping peacefully and their naughty son Mohit was thinking of pretexts to convince his dad for a quick splash in the sea. Suddenly Mohit started yelling, "Daddy, look at the beautiful waves, Mumma, see the big, rolling waves, Charu, get up fast or you will miss out on the view of the century!"

Mr Sahil's face fell the instant he had a look at the sea and he screamed, "We have to rush to save our life, Mohit, get Charu out of the bed fast and get out of the house, Neena, get me the bike keys, we have to rush." Ms Sahil protested, "But how can I go out in my night clothes, let me change first." A portion of the earth cracked in front of their house noisily splattering slush all around. Mr Sahil snatched the key, dragged Neena out on to the bike, dumped Mohit and Charu on her and started racing away from the sea.

The waves were madly chasing the family of four huddled on an old bike being balanced with great effort on a shaky ground . Mohit, Charu and Ms Neena, all three were almost paralyzed by the sight of behemoth destruction behind them and by the shadow of death lurking painfully close by. After a chase of 10 minutes and 4 kilometers, the waves gave up and left Mr Sahil's family safe and dry at the beginning of a forest. All four breathed a sigh of relief and the very next instant Mr Sahil fell flat on the ground shocked by disbelief and death. He remained comatose for next three days before he was airlifted and revived in a Chennai hospital. The bike has been the family's deity since then.

Mr Navjot's Trees

Mr Navjot stayed with his old mother Ms Kaur, industrious wife Ms Simran and two very naughty sons Prabhjo and Harjo in an expansive house built in a levelled clearing of their coconut and pepper plantation by the roadside. The family shared an emotional bond with every single tree, they fondly nursed the trees and took great care of the plantation. Across the road, the ground was levelled for a helipad and beyond that was the roaring sea forming a beautiful mini bay. They saw the huge wall of water slowly approaching from a great distance and immediately started gathering golden ornaments hidden in the corners of their house. When the water thundered on the helipad, Mr Navjot ordered them to rush over to the nearby hillock. He collected the ornaments bag and started out to discover that his old and ailing mother was still inside the house. He shouted over to his wife and sons to continue running while he fetched his mother.

The first layer of dirt and water had wetted the floors. He dumped the heavy bag, lifted his mother on his back and started for the hillock and was soon wading through ankle deep waters. He continued till water reached his knees and the its force threatened to push him down. He stopped near a coconut tree, dropped her mother down, made her embrace the thin stem of the tree and tightly embraced his mother and the tree with his big strong arms and legs. They were now waist deep in water which threatened to loosen their grip every while. The water level was steadily increasing and when it was chest high, both of them said their final prayers. Mr Navjot's ribs cracked from the impact of lashing waves but he refused to let the tree go.

His family was helplessly watching them from the top of  the hillock, sobbing, praying and urging them to hold on. Water level touched their shoulders, declined to waist height, and rose back chest high. Once or twice, a small undulation crossed over their head for a quick second when little Harjo would scream, "It is a very small wave, you will survive it!" Water started receding after fifteen minutes and when it was knee high, Mr Navjot lifted his mother on his back once again and joined his family on the hillock. What an emotional reunion it was! They said in unison "Wahe guruji da khalsa, wahe guruji di fateh".

The next five days were even more harrowing as they found themselves without food and water. Prabhjo and Harjo would scale the dangerous heights of the trees for the coconut fruit. Ms Simran would painstakingly remove the husk with pieces of stones. Next, she would crack the shell and drain milk and scratch the flesh out of it. This family of five survived the catastrophe on this nourishing milk and flesh supplied by their dear trees. This continued till they were found by a group of rescuers and shifted to the base camp set up for the survivors.

Mr Chand's Charity

A bridge was built across the sea to connect two islands. It had been the talk of the town and held the same revered status for the islanders as the mythological Rama Sethu. People flocked the bridge which was considered a construction marvel though the stretch of sea was rather narrow. Mr Chand's small daughter Roopa and son Ravi had often heard about the beauty of the bridge and the sea from their friends in school. They were thoroughly upset that they could not contribute their views to the discussions on the bridge and regularly asked their parents to take them for its tour. The Sunday after Christmas was a good time and the family planned a trip to the bridge. Roopa and Ravi well publicized their impending tour far and wide.

The pleasant Thursday evening before Christmas brought an unwelcome visitor to Roopa's and Ravi's house. The town clerk had come over to ask Mr Chand for a sum of thousand rupees for his father's medicines. Both were aware that their dad was known for his generosity. They suspected that the clerk was asking money for his own booze party for the Christmas. They let their parents know of their suspicion very well and at one point, made them even believe it. Thousand rupees was the exact amount their mother, Ms Roshini had kept aside for the family's trip. Being the last week of the month, there was not much cash at home to offer to the clerk for this mediocre family. Every rupee was spent or saved with great planning to make them meet the ends.

Of course Ms Roshini wanted to give away the thousand rupees kept aside but the fallen faces of her children made her decide otherwise. The responsibility of resolving the dilemma was on Mr Chand's shoulders alone. He knew that the clerk was not a descendant of the Great HarishChandra. He knew very well that his children would be upset. But how could he refuse money asked for medicines. He had made a mental picture of the old man dying without medicines. He gave the money to clerk and he left their house heaping praises on the family. Roopa and Ravi cried their hearts out. They refused to touch food and ate it after a lot of pleading from their parents. They remained sullen for the next two days for their loss.

Early Sunday morning brought no change to their attitude. Suddenly, the ground started shaking vigorously and they fell on the ground. They were pulled out of the house by their parents with great difficulty. Those shaking sixty seconds were the longest and the worst seconds of their life. Aftershocks followed almost every hour afterwards. They had forgotten about the bridge and the fact that their postponed trip was originally planned for this day. News of the death of over hundred spectators on the bridge reached them in the evening. The bridge had swung to and forth and thrown people off into the swelling sea filled with crocodiles below. Finally it had snapped into two from the middle and one part of it sunk by a metre. The two arms of the bridge appeared to them as two humongous knives stabbing unsuspecting lives. They hugged their parents and wept inconsolably.

From the Gallows

"The last sip of water I had was twenty-four hours back. A whole day had passed, my throat was feeling unusually parched, the salt in the tears getting concentrated by the hour made my eyes hurt really hard. My face was bloated badly, partly from crying, partly from trying to relax muscles twitching with a thousand gloomy feelings, partly from the impact of those sharp smacks, partly because of being dug into the wet pillow for the whole day. Lying expressionlessly on the floor, completely blacked out,  I was staring into the noose dangling alluringly from the roof. Who had set up the gallows in my room? No, I did not. Of course, I did. My hands had set up the noose, my hands had arranged the chair, my eyes had calculated the height to ensure that my feet won't touch the floor. I had no control over my hands, over my eyes, over my body. Those haunting voices, they were constantly shouting, no barking, instructions to my hands, to my eyes, to my legs.

Voices, which voices, was I imagining voices, no I was not that sort of person. Was I hallucinating, my brain was twitching like rubber, my head felt unusually heavy and in next instant, a torrent of boiling, gurgling tears escaped my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. My skin smarted from the heat, some heaviness from the very centre, very top of my head was removed, it could sense I was short of breath and panting. Once again, I found myself trying hard to chose between embracing the gallows and the watercooler. I was very dry at throat, a part of me, deaf to the voices, wanted to go to the watercooler at the end of the winding corridor and treat me to a sip of water. The other part, numbed by those piercing, poking, chilling, threatening voices revolted at the mere thought of humiliation from those merciless eyes, mocking smiles.

"What was humiliating? Those voices, those eyes, those smiles?"

"Yes they were."

"Why?... Why?"

"I don't know."

"What had I done?"

"I don't know."

"What for I was being humiliated?"

"I don't know."

The watercooler part was unsympathetically demanding those answers from the gallows part.

"Why was I humiliated?"

"I don't know."

"No you fool, think hard. Nothing happens without a reason....Why?" 

"I chose not to buttress the ego of those who demanded it in the guise of respect and seniority."

"That was a crystal clear thinking, Kudos to you, now think some more, let the steam of emotions off the pressurized chambers of your heart."

"I don't want to say, but still, those voices, those faces, they haunt me. Those were of my own people, I was not told that they would be equally demanding. Were they demanding as those demanding respect, no they were not, they were being herded by those seniors. In turn they were massaging their own egos by hurtling abuses at a simple beautiful soul."

"Good, so what does that all mean?"

"That means those accusations were all false, I was not wrong, those abuses were not really meant to be, though they were deliberate."

"What next then?" 

"I can and respect those who are worthy, but this disguised ego massaging demand, I can't oblige to it at any cost, wait a minute, I can fight against it, but that will be tough, very tough. But do I really know how tough it would be, frankly, I don't, I have not given it a real trial."

"Glad to hear that. Now quickly clear the room of this noose."

Oh my, where did my emaciated soul borrow this energy from, I am climbing up and holding the noose. Oh my, I am blacking out again.

"Let me not lose this chance and quickly embrace the noose. The nice, strong, smooth noose feels really good around the neck. I think I look like wearing a fur costume. Oh fool, kick the chair, fast, fast, now, now, just do it."

"I respect who are worthy, I respect who are worthy, I respect who are worthy....."

"What are you parroting, kick the chair"

"Ain't my own beautiful soul worthy, ain't my family worthy?"

"OH WHAT THE HELL, where are your thoughts wandering?"

"What a gift of love this gallows gonna send to all those who are worthy?"
"What about those shaky letters on the crumpled pieces of paper strewn across the room, I have made arrangements, did you forget, what it reads, 'I was living with murderers, they are all over the place, they killed me, get them when I am gone.' There is this long list of names also."
"Oh, you have planned well for the gift of revenge as a token of love for all those who are worthy!"

 It is getting unbearable, all right, it's decided, I can not kick the chair. I have to dismantle the gallows. Its gone, the room looks better now. But what about going out into the corridors, the look on those faces would be disgusting. What about that. Didn't I read about the crocodile the savage hunters failed to kill? Yes, I did. I will emulate the crocodilian skin. OK, I am going out to wash my face. I am drinking water after 40 hours, it is hurting, nevertheless I am liking it. I can hear my stomach moaning with hunger now, poor fella, will have to wait for a couple for hours for food."

Hot tears were again rolling down Rashmi's cheeks and her head was heavy as she finished re-living the saddest chapter from her diary. It had been 20 years but those scars hurt her like fresh stabs. She could not forgive those voices, those faces, those eyes. She was angry at all of them despite the fact that many of them were friends now. She was grateful to herself for coming out alive from the gallows. Today, she was content counselling her younger friends who needed her advice and wanted to learn from her experience. She was content with the adoption of her work by educational institutions which enabled them to quickly identify the bullies and the innocent victims which prevented the innocent souls from taking the same steps which she had almost taken.

Man And Mother

Inspiration: Once upon a dark night, I was admiring the diamonds studded in the sky, when the uncanny arrangement of the two of the earliest known constellations, Ursa Major and Ursa Minor caught my attention. It was a completely symmetrical arrangement which made me think that each of them was a mirror image of the other, albiet little different in size as happens with curved mirrors. I had always wondered why they were called as Major and Minor though they appeared to defy these adjectives when seen by the eye. Then I sadly realized that this perception is the norm all over the earth and it did not spare the sky either.

Man and Mother

Upon a moonless April night,
Ursa couple's clear sight,
Facing mirror of social blight,
Cut a figure lesser bright.

Staring into the depressed mirror,
Oblivious to his perception error,
Smaller Major was mega elated,
Baited by his silhoutte inflated.

Smiling through the bulging reflector,
Content and calm the Bigger Minor,
Trusting destiny and the instance,
Meekly accepted diminished semblance.

Dismal shadow from the heavens,
Jaundiced cherubic hearts of humans,
To extol Man as greater mortal,
And his Mother the lesser mortal!

Wanar Chalisa

Background: These couplets are a tribute to the monkey family which regularly visits our colony and provides us with the most innocent and wholesome entertainment without any reward, fruity or otherwise :D

वानर चालीसा

बड़े वानर, छोटे वानर, पर हैं सारे मोटे वानर!
सच कहते हैं इनको चातर,  सबका मन मोह लेते आकर!

घर की छत पे वानर खेलें,

बच्चे बूढ़े मिल देखें मेले!

लो खोली वानर ने टंकी,

मार के डुबकी, कर  ली मन-की!

बाकी वानर दौड़े आये,
इक इक करके सारे नाहे,
निराश हो गया नन्हा बच्चा,
वानर ने हल ढूँढा अच्छा,
दुम थामकर उल्टा लटका,
बच्चे ने फिर मारा छपका,
यों छत पे ये वानर खेलें,
बच्चे बूढ़े मिल देखें मेले!

अब नहीं जाते हम तो सर्कस,
घर पे देखें तमाशे हंस-हंस!
गली थी चौड़ी, ट्रेफिक ज्यादा,
पार करे तो कैसे बाबा,
नहीं था यह वानर नादान,
भांप चुका रस्ता आसान,
चंद पलों में चढ़कर खम्भा,
होशियार ने कर दिया अचम्भा!
खुशनसीब था टेलीफ़ोन तार,
लटक के जिससे पहुंचा पार,
अब नहीं जाते हम तो सर्कस,
जब-तब देखें तमाशे हंस-हंस!

खाते पत्ते, तोड़ते छत्ते,
दोस्त बन गए इनके कुत्ते!
नन्हा वानर बड़ा शैतान,
कर दे कुत्तों को हैरान!
भर चौंकड़ी बैठे पीठ पर,
गिरा न पाए उसको कूकर,
फिर कुत्ते की दुम वो खींचे,
एक छलांग में पेड़ पे पहुंचे,
अब कुत्ते को आये गुस्सा, 
भौंक के लौट चले कुछ रुस्सा,
मना ले उसको कूदके नीचे,
और फिर दौड़ें आगे पीछे,
खाते पत्ते, तोड़ते छत्ते,
दोस्त बन चुके इनके कुत्ते!

बड़े वानर, छोटे वानर, पर हैं सारे मोटे वानर!
सच कहते हैं इनको चातर, सबका मन मोह लेते आकर!

Jai Ho Newton!

I often used to get confused about the order of these laws, and sometimes, the laws themselves. This was my kiddo memory aid for the same. Some situations have changed since then, like Pappu usually gets dropped by a car, teachers are refrained from spanking him and the concept of ranking and flunking has been done away with. Nevertheless, I am posting it right here! And one more thing, this title was given long before Jai-Ho acquired the present cult status of the global phrase. :)

जय हो न्यूटन!

रुके जो गाडी, पप्पू गिर जाये,

दोष इनेर्शिया का है हाये!

चल गयी गाडी, खा गया झटका,

नियम है पहला, यह न्यूटन का!

माँ की थापी मन बहलाये,

टीचर की थापी गाल सुजाये!

भार-वेगान्तर-बल का रिश्ता,

दुसरे नियम से यही समझता!

पढ़े जो मन से, अव्वल आये,

न पढने पे, कक्षा दोहराये!

हर एक्शन पे आये रिअक्शन,

धन्य है तीसरा नियमे-न्यूटन!

From Beyond The Clouds

Background: I have always loved flying and a few trips that took me across the length and breadth of our country brought the physical geography studied years and years ago very live in front of my eyes and rekindled my long forgotten love for the subject :)

From Beyond The Clouds

A novel practical in Indian Geography, 

With a few breathtaking trips, above the clouds,

Brings cognizance of topography,

Into light, out of theoretic shrouds.

The mighty Himalayas appear pointed ivory clouds, 

Unlike the pics seen in books by I and You,

The lazily meandering river with its bends,

Inspires the illustrious shape of the horse shoe.

Islands of silt the river drains,

Featureless vast Northern Plains,

And the scattered oxbow lakes,

Fail to remain anymore fakes. 

Narmada prancing through the Marble rocks,

Brings alive Bernoulli and Venturi forces,

Incredible is to see the big bird's shadow,

Racing on the feathery clouds.

Is it the tapering tip of the peninsula,

Or is it the beak of a giant eagle,

The icteric continental shelf is perceptible,

Against the sparkling blue bathyal bezel.

Cumulonimbus clouds above the Indian Ocean,

Are large scoops of the vanilla ice cream,

Submerged patches, elevated isles,

Evoke desire of flying thousand more miles.