Memories & Mirages

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MEMORIES & MIRAGES

COMPILED & EDITED BY

VATSAL SHAH 3|Page

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MEMORIES & MIRAGES COMPILED & EDITED BY

VATSAL SHAH

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First Published in India 2018

By Momentspublication.com © All Contributing Writers

ISBN Number: 9789385782503 All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission in writing by the respective author whose work it is. The authors hold copyright to their respective works and are free to publish their respective works elsewhere in future. There is no need for any permission from the publisher or editor.

The content of the stories/ poems is the sole expression and opinion of its author and not of the publisher or editor.

The publisher and editor believes that the content of the book does not violate any existing copyright of others in any manner whatsoever and shall not be responsible for the same.

For information about ordering the book, special discount available for bulk purchases, sales promotions, contact Moments Publication House at momentspublishers@gmail.com Moments Publication House 4, SuravaliAppt, 33, Jain Nagar, Paldi Ahmedabad – 380007 www.momentspublication.com Printed and bound in India International Distribution in USA, UK, CANADA To know about our publishing services, self publishing book, Translation Services, online projects, you may get in touch with us at momentspublishers@gmail.com For more details you can contact us on +91-9909009606 Website – www.momentspublishers.com Facebook – www.fb.com/momentspublication 6|Page

Contents: A Universe Full of Infinite Unending Stories....................9 1) Vatsal Shah....................13 2) Rinku Kansal....................40 3) Mamata Yogesh Patil....................45 4) Shalini Sharma Samnol....................55 5) Banani Das Dhar....................63 6) Karan Purohit....................73 7) Dipnanda Bhaduri Roy....................88 8) Anusha Garg....................101 9) Tanya Yadav....................107 10) Vedika Srivastava....................116 11) Ranjana Tripathi....................128 12) Hemali Ajmera....................137 13) Radhika Dabral....................160 14) Rupam Sabharwal....................170 15) Tulika Mukerjee Saha....................181 16) Debolina Coomar....................204 17) Saswati Borthakur Dixit....................219 18) Vaishnavi Gupta....................226 19) Geeta C. Yadav....................236 20) Kajal Mehta....................243 21) Vinisha Gupta Markan....................257 22) Dr. Sheetal Nair....................264 23) Nitesh Chitranshi....................273 24) Aparna Prabhu....................281 25) Manvi Sharma....................291 26) Harsha Sachdev....................293 27) Riya Jain....................297 28) Dhruvi Soni....................306 29) Akanksha Bhatnagar....................310 30) Pearl Shah....................315

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Disclaimer The stories and poems in this book are a work of fiction. We do not intend to hurt the sentiments of any individual, community, sect or religion. All names, characters, incidents portrayed in these stories and poems are fictitious. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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A Universe Full of Infinite Unending Stories Recently I was designing the home for a gentlemen who was deep into the philosophy of 'vitraag'. It was an enlightening experience for me to hear him and discuss the 'meaning' and 'purpose' of life, in my daily inter-actions with him, during the course of the design and execution of his house. It was a first time experience for me to hear the Gospel from a Master. Till now I had read a lot of philosophy books and pondered over many schools of thoughts. I had come to believe that one did not need a Master in the quest for eternal knowledge but meeting this person, I realised how a Master can awaken you from the deep slumber of mundane life.

According to this client of mine, we are enduring the results of our previous 'karmas', as we go on living one life after the other, through births and re-births.

Our family and friends and people whom we come in acquaintance with, are the ones whom we have many 'karmic' scores to settle and balance the debts/ obligations of our 'karmas'. Life is like a Mirage, or Dream, through which we live, sleep-walk, unaware that we are ourselves not the identity we have given us, but much more than that. We are ourselves a part of the Supreme Universal Consciousness.

This 'life and re-birth' gives rise to numerous perpetual stories, I thought. So many stories in the life of countless people and various souls we encounter, befriend and then forget. The Universe is eternally throbbing with such infinite never ending stories.

Life is a mirage full of memories. Memories of happiness and sadness, from which trickles our abundant stories. Stories, we want to tell ourselves and others.

Stories which will record and keep alive the memories and will remain long after the characters of it have gone, long after we have gone.

A story, vaarta, kahani, was something that had fascinated me from childhood.

"Tell me a story", was what I had told plenty of times to my grandparents and guests. I see this same pattern in my daughter who is a kid. Reading, hearing stories, I believe keeps alive that 'child' in all of us. I find the 'short story' a very 9|Page

ideal read in today's hurried times, when we are rushing from one goal to another. "You can read a short story in lunch break, you can even write one..." is a quote from Jeffery Archer and is so very true. Unfortunately short stories and poetry anthologies find not many takers as compared to novels and hence publishing houses refrain from them.

Memories & Mirages is the coming together of 30 authors from diverse backgrounds, from 14 different cities of India. Some are aspiring writers, some are accomplished authors who have been published before and have many books to their credit, while some are being published for the first time. It was agreed that the stories and poems we write would be off the beaten track and have a literary flair. There would not be any usual love stories or revenge tales. In the 55 or more stories and 50 or so poems in the book, each author has endeavoured to weave together a piece which unusual and showcases abundant creativity and exceptional talent.

Wether it is Rinku Kansal's story describing the holocaust of World War II ; Mamata's hunger stories about the famished poor people and how she tries to help them; Tanya Yadav's reminiscence of her childhood spent in Port Blair; Karan Purohit's tale of how a call center operator nearly loses his job, going out of his way to help an old man connect to his grandson; Shalini Samnol's story of a surrogate mother; Vedika's story of an acid survivor victim who turns into a model; Kajal Mehta's emotional love stories; Banani Das Dhar's travelogue of Pondicherry and the experiences in middle of a political turmoil; Tulika Mukerjee Saha's science fiction story of the Moon going to collide with another planet; Hemali Ajmera's retelling of mythological story of Karna's wife Vrushali from Mahabharata; Dipnanda's suspense horror story; Ranjana's superbly crafted ghost story set in Kolkatta with a typical Bangla flavour; Geeta Yadav's tale of a wife's insecurity about her husband having an affair; Debolina's supernatural thriller about the soul and out of body experiences; Rupam's recollections of time spent with her friend who passed away in childhood; Anusha's 'slice of life' genre stories; or all other authors (as is difficult to mention all of them here), each story will leave an everlasting impression in the mind of the reader.

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Memories & Mirages is a non-commercial, self publishing venture. While many upcoming publishing houses are closing down or are experiencing difficulties getting together authors and funds for anthologies, we have been lucky to have these wonderful authors and their support. After the success of the previous anthology, "Wait Till I Tell You", I decided to keep alive my philanthropic work of encouraging people to write by getting them published, which resulted in this book.

At a Literature Festival, a publisher had joked that today in the era of Whatsapp and Face Book, we have an author and a photographer in each home. I beg to differ. It is no easy feat to be a writer, and much more difficult to be a successful author. As my writer friend Mahesh Yagnik (an imminent Gujarati best-selling author) told me, "Only a person who is sentimental, full of feelings, will write."

As I came in touch with the authors who have participated in this book, I could understand that many of the female authors had family responsibilities, children and a household to look after. The men had their business, job or career to worry about. In the demanding times we live in, where you have to constantly slog to meet your expenses and maintain your quality of life, writing is indeed a very expensive hobby or second profession.

My role in this book has been more of a compiler than an editor. Though I have gone over the stories many times correcting spellings or grammatical errors, I have realized after my previous book "Wait Till I Tell You", that if I put in lots of my inputs and words in the stories, they would lose the voice of the author. So after some rigorous initial editing, I became lenient. I have let some author's work retain much of its original charm. Mostly towards the end of this collection are stories that have remained untouched. As you will see, some of the authors are college going students and the youngest writer Pearl Shah is in Grade 4. I have intentionally let their stories remain in their original form to a large extent, as improvising them would strangle them of their naive charm.

I would like to thank a few people who helped me during this journey in my affair with literature. First of all my family who had undiminishing faith in me, and let me take time off my professional commitments to pursue my passion, 11 | P a g e

without a single doubt all through "Wait Till I Tell You" and "Memories & Mirages".

Secondly, co-authors like Debolina Coomar, Geeta C. Yadav, Tulika Saha, Ranjana Tripathi, Rupam Sabharwal, Hemali Ajmera, Karan Purohit, Riya Jain and Kajal Mehta, whose valuable feedbacks and discussions during the whole process the book went through, were very helpful.

Lastly I would like to thank Suraya Dewing of New Zealand for having mentored me for almost a year in story writing. A part of the title story "Memories & Mirages", was first published on her website: TheStoryMint.com. And of course a big 'Thank You' to the publisher Mr. Prashant Gandhi, who provided the technical support and know-how of publishing as an when needed.

After such a long introduction which is between you the reader and the stories/ poems, I would invite you all to dive straight ahead into a part of this Universe full of stories. Stories which we will leave behind, for our grandchildren and generations to come. Stories which will fascinate you and you will take pleasure in returning to this book again and again.

Vatsal Shah 30/11/2017 #####

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Vatsal Shah Vatsal Shah is a gold medallist Architect and Interior Designer practicing independently in Ahmedabad.

E-mail: vatsal_s@hotmail.com

Haikus Haiku is a form of Japanese Poetry. It is a short piece of only 3 lines, written in 57-5 syllable format. It is meant to provoke thought and create an evocative image in the mind of the reader. Some of my Haikus break free from the 5-7-5 rule, as done by many contemporary poets. ***** Endless lonely night, Moon sleeping silently hidden, Under cloud's blanket. ***** Why these discussions of...

Life's Purpose? It's conclusion, You and I both know. ***** Balloon at traffic signal, Made two kids happy, One who bought, one who sold! ***** 13 | P a g e

Indeed more painful, Than distant ones' hatred, Near one's jealously! ***** Amongst all people, Sure of themselves, A 'fool' most confident! ***** Muzzy Hare to Tortoise, End of competition race, 'Damn! Those sleeping pills.' ***** "Sunday: a day which...

Sews up family life pieces, Torn apart through work." ***** Living in Paradise on Earth, We conspired to destroy it, To get paradise after death! ***** Government-file like, Some romances, no progress, Neither any closure. ***** Sun shows through journey, Most powerful He still, Life has...

Daily many ups and downs.

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***** When turns to drudgery, Journey or relationship, Leave at scenic bend... ****** When you are grown up, What do you want to be?" Ask all, Grown up, I reply, "Child"! ***** When going to sleep difficult, They say you're awake, In someone's dream. ***** Rural swaying fields, Sunset crimson horizon, Both await starlit sky... ***** When Brain on strike, Tongue terribly busy, Doing overtime. ***** Your memories mist So dense, even in mirror, I can see only your face. ***** 15 | P a g e

Life is short, So watchfully and carefully, Move very slowly!!! *****

There are No Pockets in a Shroud Billionaire on deathbed, Finally realized and was sad, A thought in his mind shouted loud, There are no pockets in a shroud...

Years spent hoarding wealth, Exploiting people with all stealth, In vain all the feeling proud, There are no pockets in a shroud...

No time spent with family and friends, Busy being someone on whom world depends, Though rank and position shout aloud, There are no pockets in a shroud...

Cars, jewellery, cash in entirety, Factories, offices and all property, Will not shade your after path like a cloud, There are no pockets in a shroud.

Naked we come and pauper we go, The way of destiny is ironically so, You can't take it at all with you, There are no pockets in a shroud...

Unspent money and heart's desire, Incomplete remains when you last respire, When eyes close and head are bowed, There are no pockets in a shroud... ##### 16 | P a g e

3 Nano Tales 1) Karma Pays It was his daily routine, his means of livelihood. Raghu loafed around the busy railway platform, his eyes hurriedly scanning the crowd till it spotted an unattended baggage. He slyly prowled nearer, grabbed it and rushed home. Then, as if punished for his crime, he and his house blew up!

2) Nostalgia Checking her Mom's old black and white albums, the daughter found a love letter of his Mom's college days. She now realized why her mom had cried reading an obituary in the newspapers yesterday.

3) Bed-Time Story After hearing bed-time stories from her father, and relishing each one of them, the sweet kid daughter was now sound asleep. With her head on his lap, her dad thought, "Tomorrow she will fly back to her mother, in the UK." He regretted his divorce. #####

The Charcoal Workshop [This vignette is inspired by Simon Armitage, who has written similar passages in his book "Seeing Stars". These are writings which are 'in-between' a poetry and prose. I have attempted one such prose-poem writing here.]

Charcoal Workshop at the European Library, Taken my unenthusiastic daughter there, Picked her up from her friend's house where they had all been partying the night before, And curiously watching college love-story movies.

Head heavy from the vodka filled night of yesterday, and still savouring the strawberry gel I had bathed in, 17 | P a g e

I made it to the library just in time, roads now clear of the Sabarmati Marathon, taken place in the morning.

The tutor, name I never read on the pamphlet was an interesting person with a foreign accent, in her English, as she guided the students smearing charcoal powder over the paper.

Fiona was drawing dreamily and sometimes furiously, with charcoal sticks and cotton, Smudging, smothering, with slick strokes and spreading charcoal powder over the pure paper.

Seeing all the coal, sinisterly black, my mind drifted to my high-school days.

There was a couple who ironed clothes using the charcoal heated iron.

They had their table, pushed up against the compound wall of my bungalow, in the quiet locality. Now the hustling CBD (Central Business District), I feel lucky, to have moved out long back.

The wife demure and delicate, the husband quiet a fair handsome strapping and strutting fellow.

I recalled them a happy couple, spending days on end, living their life and making their living.

Their kids I don't recall, but the husband had a roving eye, and a smiling face. His inviting grin and searching eyes was making him provide more service to some of the maids of the houses around, Than just ironing the clothes of their masters.

All this his wife knew, and sometimes the adulterous husband and his wife had a loud quarrel and the wife would be crying nervously.

Once she even smeared his face with the black charcoal powder from the iron.

One fine day, the Ironman just disappeared or died or was murdered. Had heard that he had a heart-attack.

But I was still a child to ask his wife. Whether a widow or a abandoned woman, She ironed clothes for quite a while, her table stacked up against our wall.

Then one day she too disappeared.

I was spraying the fixative on my daughter's charcoal drawings. All past memories fixed at the back of the brain in some cellular gray matter.

My daughter had made a new friend, and they were exchanging mobile numbers, till we got back to our car and started driving back.

A soothing sufi song floated on the radio, the traffic had a lethargic Sunday feel, as we passed, 18 | P a g e

A lazy man crossing the road, till my car almost banged his backside.

A black cow walking in the middle of the road at the Bhudarpura slums, my short-cut to the CBD. The Shreyas Hill grounds covered with lots of youths playing cricket. As their red ball rolled in front of my car, a decorated wedding car whizzed by.

Who was getting married in this off-season, in such chilly winter? #####

The Public Library K. M. Public Library in my city Aashapur, was probably the largest in the State of Gujarat. It was founded in the late years of the British Raj, just a few years prior to independence. The foundation stone was laid by Mahatma Gandhi. Built in the Indo-Sarcenic style with architectural elements of both classical Indian buildings and Western architecture, it had a huge dome resembling the stupa at Sanchi, with the railing and balustrade. The majestic structure, brought in skylight, which beamed up the library. Years back it had stood by the river with vast open fields surrounding it. I had seen that in old faded black and white photographs framed on the walls of the library. Many a convocations and functions had been held in the courtyard facing it.

A lot of high-rises now over-shadowed and dwarfed it in the present times. An over-bridge passed near it. The municipal corporation had lighted up the building at night as it was a heritage monument, and it looked magnificent, when you passed by on the bridge and found the huge dome shinning with light.

I became a member quiet late. As a kid and in school I used to frequent the private library which was much nearer home. It was much later when I felt a need for rare books and reference books that I became a member there. Due to my frequent visits, I befriended much of the friendly staff and Mr. Sharma who was the current librarian.

In 2016, many public libraries were facing closure worldwide, at an alarming rate.

At that time, a notice was put up at our library, that it would remain open 24 x 7.

My happiness knew no bounds and I went personally to congratulate the librarian 19 | P a g e

Mr. Sharma on such a good decision. Mr. Sharma had become a dear friend whom I definitely made it a point to chat with if I found him on my visits to the library and if he was not occupied with various chores. I had lived in Australia and New Zealand during my masters but did not know of any library there which remained open throughout the night, and felt proud of my hometown library, as being one of its kind in the world.

Many a times, late in the night, I would pass on the bridge on my way back from the air-port or after a late night-out with friends and would feel good seeing the lights shining out of the library windows. It would make me feel proud that so much was being done in my hometown for making people read and promoting literature.

Then one fine night when I was returning from a late night-out with friends at our local restaurant, the library seemed shrouded in darkness. Not a single window shone light from inside. Only the dome desolately lit by the yellow led lights, stared back at me. A few days later on my visit to the library, I found out that it was no longer going to remain open 24 x 7. I met Mr. Sharma that day itself, curious to know what had happened.

Mr. Sharma looked at me like a forlorn warrior. He seemed to have had a bad day. "We just had the committee meeting. We are not keeping the library open anymore at night-time", he told me dryly. Mr. Sharma was a very knowledgeable person. I often had long talks with him on many topics from philosophy, religion, spirituality, kundalini and chakras, to why there should be no prohibition in the state, to the good things to learn from Western culture and many more such interesting topics.

"I miscalculated...", he continued. "Which family would allow their son or daughter to go to the library at 2:00 am in the night? Or if a teenage girl told her parents that she was staying overnight at the library, would they allow her? Of course no girls showed up after 11 in the night..." narrated Sharma.

"The night time staff used to come and have a good night's sleep at the library's expense. There was hardly any issue/ return of books. The night-time staff was an object of jealously of the day-time staff. Everyone wanted the night shift. As 20 | P a g e

no girl students came in the night time, and very few boys from good families, the library was now a haven for hooligans, loafers and pylons. They used to sit around in the reading room, doing nuisance, pretending to be reading. It also attracted the LGBT community, as they found solitude and a nice meeting place away from the maddening crowd. They would sometimes end up laying their hands up the thighs of some unsuspecting studious students, mistaking them for gay youths...", said Sharma tiredly but in an amusing tone.

"The administrative committee was furious at me. A lot of other things needed attention. I could have renovated the library, fixed the air-conditioning which was not working in some areas, added screens where sunlight was unbearably coming in, but, keeping the library open at night? Many other issues were outstanding since years, what was the need to ignore them and make the blunder of taking such a disastrous unprecedented step?" Sharma asked rhetorically, mimicking the committee which had lashed out at him for his reckless generosity, threatening to remove him because of this mistake.

"This library had previously helped educate so many people. People come to me and thank me, donate to the library, as it had served to make them into doctors, lawyers, engineers and what not. Needy students had used it as their reading place, when there were no facilities at their homes. It had never been abused so much...", Sharma looked down at the table, not wanting an eye-contact.

"The last straw on the camel's back was before a few weeks. Reports came to me from the security guards, who though sleeping much of the time, were suspicious that something was not correct. There are people who come to Aashapur from the nearby villages, towns, for business for a day. They used to arrive in the night buses. Put up at the library for the night. Freshen up, have a bath in the morning, in the public toilets here and leave for work. That way they saved on the hotel expense. The library had indeed become a Serai. We could not let this continue, so finally the committee decided to end this matter. What started as a noble intention and to set an example to the world ended in this manner."

Sharma was sad faced and I looked at him sympathetically as his peon offered us both a cup of coffee. ##### 21 | P a g e

The Bahurupi Recently I visited a private library I frequented in childhood, which was now reduced to one-third. The librarian there told me that since smart phones came in, readers of books have declined. People are busy reading Whatsapp messages all the time. Deleting more than reading, I corrected him. It is indeed true, a lot of stories, videos, lectures, sometimes long essays, run rampage through messages. I often neglect them, delete them without reading. There are emotional stories and tear-jerkers most of the time, very tacky, tempting you to forward it.

It is rather rare that you come across some really balanced story. One such narrative I came across, which I would like to 'share' (using internet and mobile 'lingo'), I would like to retell. More so because it is from the native place of my Grand-father...

Many years ago in Wadhwan, a small city in Gujarat, there lived a Jaina family amongst many others. The old man of the family was on his death-bed. The vaids and hakims had given answer, the man was not in need of any medicines, it was sheer old age. He needed prayer and love and fulfilment of any impending desire to die a peaceful death. As days passed, the soul of the poor man seemed stuck, not getting liberated from his mortal body. The relatives grew tired waiting and thinned out.

Of his three sons the youngest came near and asked, "Bapuji, is there anything you desire? Anything at all which I can do to bestow peace on you?"

"I desire the 'darshan' of a Jaina muni (monk). I wish to hear the sacred verses from him. That should solace me to pass into after-life," the old man feebly mumbled.

The young lad was worried. It was monsoon, the rains came off and on. There were no Jaina monks in Wadhwan at that time. He would have to find out a nearby town where they had put up for 'chaturmas' (four months of staying at one place during the monsoons), and request them to come to his house. The Jaina monks do not use any mode of transport and would have to walk all the way there to give 'darshan'.

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Since the young son couldn't locate any in the vicinity, he went to a nearby town of Vaghela. There a Bahurupi had put up. Bahurupis were quiet popular in Gujarat and Rajasthan. They are a caste of people who take up many 'rupas' (forms) during the year. Sometimes they would dress up like Hanuman, sometimes like Saibaba, sometimes like someone else, a woman maybe. They go from village to village, town to town, begging in this put-up attire. At times they would return to their families in their home-town after six-months.

"I have a 'vesh' (role) for you. You will take the form, whatever I say, and I shall pay you for the job, whatever you ask for," the son challenged the Bahurupi.

"A thousand and one rupees", the Bahurupi said. A thousand and one rupees must have been a lot of money in those times. "Done", said the son. "I want you to take the 'vesh' (role) of a Jaina monk, and visit my dying father. That is his last desire..."

The next morning the Bahurupi true to his word, dressed up as a Jaina muni. He had only one night for the preparation. He shaved his head and put on the white robes of a Jaina monk, took the 'rajona' (a stick used by the monks, with attached threads at one end for wiping up a place before sitting there), wore the 'mupati' (a piece of cloth covering the mouth, which is worn to prevent spit falling on the scriptures when they chant them. More so it gives them anonymity, and makes them unattractive as part of the face is hidden). He walked bare feet into the small hamlet of Wadhwan.

The 'vesh' (role) so perfectly played to the last detail, by this ill-literate Bahurupi, that people mistook him to be a real Jaina sadhu. The Jaina business men who saw him walking on the street, they say, left their seats in their shops and fell to his feet, asking for blessings. They were all delighted that a Jaina muni had set foot in Wadhwan, in such difficult times of monsoon.

The Bahurupi quiet easily located the house of the old man from the instructions he had recieved from the son. Entering it, he not only gave 'darshan' to the dying old man, sat beside him as is befitting a Jaina monk and placed a hand on his fore-head.

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"Chant me the Navkaar mantra, I want to hear it from you Maharaj," the old man was barely able to whisper, his face pale, his mouth dry, lips hardly apart.

"Namo Arihantanam, Namo Siddhanam, Nomo Ayaryanam, Namo Uvajjayanam, Namo Lo ae Savva Sahunam, Aeso Pancha Namokaro, Savva Pava Panasano, Mangalanam cha Savvesim, Padhmam Havai Mangalam." The Bahurupi chanted.

Barely as the last words escaped his mouth, the old man closed his eyes. He had transgressed to the 'other' world.

The sons started weeping and their wives joined in. Soon neighbours and relatives started coming in. Many of them were already there to witness the Jaina sadhu. With his work done, the Sadhu started walking to the door of the house, crossing the internal courtyard.

His footsteps rattled the wooden floor. Just as he was descending the entry steps, the young son rushed to him from inside the house. "Many thanks, Bahurupiji, your 'role' today was indeed a blessing for my father, it released his soul. Here is your one thousand and one Rupees."

"What has a monk to do with Money?" the Sadhu replied back, "I will not leave the 'vesh' (role) I played today. I will not leave these white robes. While your father's eyes closed, mine have opened. While he emancipated into the 'other' world, I too have been transformed, I too have gone 'beyond' this material world.

I too feel liberated from all desires. I shall always remain a Jaina sadhu!"

They say this is a true story and it took place in Wadhwan, Gujarat.

#####

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Sincerely, Your Best Friend...

"Let's name him Abraham," my father spoke lovingly, long back when he had got me home after adoption. My mother and he had been a grieving childless couple, till my father struck upon this wonderful idea. My mother was delighted to see me. They got me from the adoption house, where it was said, my biological mother had died in a terrible accident. She had no identity on her, to recognize who she was or where she was from. My uncaring biological father seemed to have disappeared too as he never came to claim me, and I remained an unwanted orphan till I was adopted by my current parents.

"He is so cute!", the women of neighbourhood would come inquisitively to see me and fondly cuddle me. "You are lucky Savitri to have him!" Some women even blessed me and would bring delicious sweets they had cooked at their house, to feed me once in a while. I was growing up and had started walking, soon running here and there. It was at that time, my mother conceived. She then had an adorable baby boy, and went ahead to have two more charming baby girls in the coming years.

I was the adopted, so I felt a bit jealous and unintentionally ignored, though my parents never let me feel it. I played enthusiastically with my younger brother and then my sisters. They were very fond of me. We all grew up. I was never good at learning anything and my father was not very keen on getting me tuitions in anything. I neither had the inclination to learn from any master. My parents thought it best to let me learn things on my own. They were terribly busy with their own children.

Though not going to school and being as intelligent as their other children, I reciprocated my parents love. I ran errands for them every now and then, and would go and fetch something they wanted. I would also vigilantly looked after the house. I used to play most of the time. Loaf around aimlessly on the streets and make friends. I was growing up, you know and soon eyeing all the lasses in my area. There was this gorgeous blonde with silky hair and a great perfumed aroma, who had come to stay in my dull neighbourhood. I would naughtily wink at her on my way home and she would coyly lower her eyelids in response. I was 25 | P a g e

now reaching adulthood and the newly formed hormones were playing their part.

My pretty lass was no younger and she too was desperately yearning for a mate.

One day I somehow knew her parents were out for the day. I dared not venture near their gate as the gate-keeper may report it to his boss. So I jumped the fence and cautiously entered her house through the back door. I found her lying in the living room on her luxurious sofa. She too was very happy seeing me and our longing for each other seemed growing. What insanity engulfed me I can't recall, but we did it then and there in her living room. We remained in the warm aftermath for almost an hour after the dramatic moment was over, kissing and caressing each other. I knew I had to then quickly leave, as her parents would be home any moment.

My lass had a past similar to mine. Her mother seemed to have heartlessly abandoned her and her sister. She told me that her mother left with a younger guy, after her father ran away with a notorious sluttish lass of their neighbourhood. Both sisters were left to the care of no one. They had no home and their state was deplorable. Till someone found them and gave them for adoption to two separate houses. That is how she found these surrogate parents.

My innocent father and naive mother never guessed what was going on behind their backs and my romance bloomed. Our rendezvous at her place happened many times, when her parents were not around. I must say sheepishly, that my lass is in the family way now. Her parents will get to know this good news soon. I hope they are happy about our romance and arrange for us to stay together now.

I can't narrate much more of my autobiography as I am not as educated as you all readers are.

But all I can say is 'Bhow-Wow' and wag my tail. I remain sincerely, man's best friend.

#####

26 | P a g e

Cross- Connection I strained hard to hear the voice. As I picked up the receiver to dial a number, amidst the drone of the dial tone, I could hear a voice conversing. This was not new for the VSNL landline, many a times in the monsoon the wires got joined due to some fault and you could be a part of someone's private conversation.

Who doesn't like eavesdropping on some unsuspecting people having a heart to heart chat. I too fell prey to that temptation.

"You know I made so many chutneys for Ramesh recently, and told him, now eat..." the husky voice of a lady was telling someone excitedly, "Ramesh is very choosy about food, so I made garlic chutney, sweet chutney, and sour chutney... he can add to whatever he doesn't like and eat it. You know having chutney in your plate can make the most disinteresting meal palatable."

I presumed Ramesh was her husband or son, but it soon became clearer down the conversation that Ramesh was her husband. I felt a bit guilty listening with so much attention to someone else's conversation, I kept down the receiver and waited for some time till the lady's phone call was over. I could however not forget the husky voice, it was very rare amongst ladies. And the carefree way the lady spoke, as if she didn't give a damn for the world.

I joked about the 'chutney' idea with my wife Sapana, "It makes the most unliked food palatable, so says this lady on the phone."

"For all I care, she can feed only chutney to her husband. Such a lousy cook, who can't make tasty food, that she needs all this attraction to make her husband eat," Sapana smiled dryly.

It seemed this mysterious lady was not to go away from my phone easily. Many a times when I picked up the receiver, she was there having a conversation. She seemed a retired person, having lots of time to gossip and chat. That I was eavesdropping on her without her knowledge made my crime alluring to me.

"Neela Mashruwala...phone number..." I could hear her repeating to some 'order on phone' vegetable and fruit supplier. The phone number I couldn't hear clearly, 27 | P a g e

but as she repeated her name and the other person asked her twice, I caught it.

Now at least I knew, the enchanting lady whose privacy I was intruding into without her knowledge, was Neela Mashruwala.

"You know I went to my family doctor today. He had ordered detail check-ups.

He told me, 'I have just two words as medicine for you'. He wrote that on a chit and gave me. 'Nothing Fried' was written as prescription. I told the doctor you should have rather written some medicines, I wouldn't have mind taking. But these two words as prescription is going to be very difficult for me. I thrive on fried food. He had asked for a lot in these two words..." I heard Neela saying sadly to her friend, who was replying in 'oh' and 'oh really?'

"But I told the doctor, 'Well since you tell me, maybe I will do it... I wouldn't have been able to do it by myself. Luckily Ramesh has no such problem of cholesterol, so he can eat whatever fried stuff he likes. But poor thing, he won't be able to now, as I won't be making any. Good for him. No?" continued Neela as I heard enraptured and lost in thought as to what old age would do to us finally. Neela seemed to be free most of the time, retired probably, so she must be elderly I guessed, if not old.

Neela and Ramesh Mashruwala, I knew their names now and wondered they must be living somewhere close by, only then would wires of her conversation be entangled in my line of telephone.

"You know, it is not fried food, which is bad. In ready-made fried snacks or hotel food, the oil is reused so many times. It is this saturated burnt oil which is bad for health. You know, I inquired at Orio Club where we go most weekends to play cards with friends. They sell away the left over oil each morning to small snack vendors in the area around the Club. So every evening the snacks are fried in fresh oil..." Neela was narrating excitedly to some disinterested friend. But her continuously reminding me of fried snacks definitely made my mouth water.

Sapana, my wife, to whom I later told this incident, laughed it out, "She has high cholesterol and still can't give up on fried food."

"You know yesterday the new maid came for work. My usual man-servant has gone to his village on a holiday. These chaps, they never tell us in advance.

28 | P a g e

Neither do they put a replacement. I had to hunt for another person. The new maid was so plump, she could barely squat to mop the floor, ... and worked at snail's pace. I gave her the money and told her not to come from tomorrow. You can suggest me someone if you know any..." Neela was reciting her woes to a fellow female friend and I felt hearing it all as a ghost. The inducement of hearing someone's private conversation without their knowing was enticing, and I picked up the receiver many times during the day to check if Neela was on the line.

A few days later, I felt a relief with Neela as her servant returned from his village to resume his work. "You know when these guys come back, they are unrecognizable. They grow so dark-skinned, as if they were not having a bath at their village, all the time they were there. The tan is horrible..." Neela rambled on and on...

Mostly Neela was arranging Kitty parties with her friends; deciding the menu; arranging a 'pot-luck'; or planning to get cheap take-away sandwiches or pavbhaji for her guests when they would come to play cards at her place; or talking about the new restaurant that had opened in our suburb. I got first hand reviews about the places. Sometimes she talked about the movies, and sometimes planned weekend trips to Shrinathji or Udaipur and nearby places in Gujarat and Rajasthan. She had a large group of friends, it was obvious, when she was investing so much time after them. Sapana would often get irritated seeing me sitting, listening to the phone. "I don't understand what entertainment you get listening to that old duck squabbling away."

"I get the satisfaction of doing nothing... listening to the autobiography of a common woman, first handedly hearing her experiences and feel life going on with a person who has nothing much to do," I replied trying to sound philosophical and justifying my act.

"You can note my number... 2492 0202..., by what time can I expect the delivery.

You know my son's wife is pregnant. She is feeling like eating all these Indian snacks, and as you know it is not easily available in the UK or it is very expensive.

So I plan to courier her by Monday. Then it would reach her on Friday, since there is no weekend in between..." Neela was a little worried that the person would not be able to deliver the snacks on time. I was happy to note her number.

29 | P a g e

I felt like a detective who had got a very important clue to trace someone. I didn't know how to find an address from a landline phone number. Landline was so unpopular these days, people used mobiles. If it was a mobile number I would be able to look it up on Truecaller or some such apps. I realized thinking aloud that when it was a landline also I could check it in the Apps. But the number didn't give any result on Truecaller Apps.

Probably she was using the unlimited offer on landline, that is why she seems to be talking all the time with her numerous friends, I thought. I Googled the number. I was happy to find an online directory of landline phone numbers of my city. Her number was listed to a Ramesh and Neela Mashruwala living in 58, Jasubhai Park. Jasubhai Park was a society of houses very close to my house. In fact the road passed by it.

The next day I went for a walk and walked past Jasubhai Park trying to locate number 58. It was a cute little row-house facing the main road. The hair-cutting saloon I frequented was located on the other side of the road facing Neela's house.

The next time I went for a haircut, I chatted with the barber, who confirmed that an elderly couple Ramesh and Neela lived in the house opposite. I was so thrilled.

I had finally located the heroine of so many conversations I had heard. Barbers are mostly such chatter-boxes and gossip mongers, they say, it is very hard for them to keep anything to themselves. I felt the loneliness of being in a shop all day, trimming hair, must be getting on their nerves, to strike up a conversation with their customers. This must be leading them to gossip. I learnt from my hairdresser that the couple had a son settled in the UK and the couple used to frequently spend half or one quarter of the year at his place abroad. "Ramesh comes for a haircut every month. While they are away, he tells me to keep an eye on his house, lest some thieves or intruders break into it while they are away..."the hair-dresser chatted away merrily un-suspecting that I already knew quiet a lot about Ramesh and Neela.

"You know I was invited as a counsellor for the daughter of this person whom I consider my brother. You know I don't have any real brother, and the son of our old neighbour, I tied rakhi to, was my 'God-witness' brother. His daughter is 30 | P a g e

barely twenty-two and has fallen in love for a forty-two year old man living in her neighbourhood. The guy is married and is a father, but I think he is not on very good terms with his wife, who has right now gone to her parent's place after she smelt smoke from the fire of an affair of her husband. I went to my brother's place. I told the girl, you got to understand... he is almost double your age. Not the correct person for you. But she told me he was like her brother. Her 'Godwitness' brother. I knew I was being made a big fool of, and left them to their fate..." Neela excitedly gossiped and I was engrossed in her conversation, entertained by the juicy bits she threw to her friend.

When I narrated this to my wife Sapana, she laughed it out, "Didn't you realize, like the young girl who was in love with her so-called 'God-witness' brother...

Neela too was at her 'God-witness' brother's place!" Sapana could hardly say that with a straight mouth.

Sapana often got irritated finding me on the phone many a times. I was listening to Neela at 12 in the night, sometimes. I knew all about Neela in and out, like the back of my hand. "You are addicted to this bad habit," Sapana would tell me, "Come off it, leave that lady in peace. You know it is so criminal hearing all her private talk." I never listened to Sapana, I was happy with the addiction. Neela had provided the necessary chutney I needed in the drab mundane routine of daily life.

I fantasized going to Neela's place. I wanted to meet the lady once atleast, see how she looked. I knew so much about her that only her appearance was a suspense. I imagined her as being very rustic in appearance, judging from her husky voice. She would be of fair complexion but having the 'I don't give a damn' expression on her face. Her hair I had imagined to be short, as such a 'practical' lady would never like to have it long and maintain it. The craving to get a glimpse of her became stronger with each conversation I had got to hear of her.

I had even called up the phone number once...

"Hello", said the same husky voice I had heard many a times before. I hadn't known what to say. Obviously I couldn't ask her if it was Neela. So I told her a wrong number and she kept down the phone bewildered as if she never got any 'wrong numbers'.

31 | P a g e

"You know the new paani-puri shop that has opened across my house, Baadshah paani-puri," Neela was telling animatedly to a friend. "That guy used to stand with a small cart right outside my house. His paani-puri was so tasty, I used to have it almost every day. Very little obviously, don't want acidity all the time, and besides it is fried stuff. The society had objected to the cart standing right outside it, and the guy had to move to the other side of the road. That was a few years back, he earned so much, he right now bought the shop near my house and has a huge crowd gathered there each evening to munch the delicious paani-puris. Why don't you come today evening at six?" Neela was asking her friend. That I felt elated was my chance of having a glimpse of her.

I reached the paani-puri shop at quarter to six. Loafed around a bit. Trying to locate elderly ladies, but there were none. I waited till six-thirty but no two elderly ladies turned up. I grew impatient and wandered aimlessly till seven. It was unbearable, the thought that I will not get to see this person, whom I otherwise knew so well.

In my edginess I walked to house no. 58. I rang the bell, not knowing what I would say to Neela if she opened the door. No one answered. Then I rang the bell again and the door opened. A lady in what seemed to be early sixties, opened the door. She was fair complexioned, had short hair, her mouth was small and lips curved downwards. The frown on her face was clear as she was not able to recognize who I was or figure out what I wanted. I looked at her perplexed, not knowing what to say. Obviously I couldn't tell her how well I knew her.

"Is this house for sale? I came to know through a broker that some houses in Jasubhai Park were on sale. I was looking to buy a house," I stammered.

"No. How the hell did you think we were going to sell our house?" she snapped as she shut the door, not returning my broad smile.

#####

32 | P a g e

Memories and Mirages "This is an achievement,” Dr. Batra said triumphantly to Shefali and her two children. Neil was just thirteen and Pearl was seven. Pearl pondered what the doctor was telling her mom. They were at the J. B. Hospital, one of the most prominent and progressive hospitals in their city, Amadavad, and also in India.

“This is the first successful case of brain transplant in the world,” Batra continued enthusiastically. “But we don’t want the inquisitive media at all in this, until your husband is completely acclimatized to his new environment, and we are ready to share this milestone with the world. Shefali, don’t discuss this with anyone.”

“Whose brain was transplanted in my husband?” Shefali asked.

“We do not disclose the identity of the donor to the recipient family. It is a matter of medical ethics.” Dr. Batra’s voice was polite but firm. “It was a young man of 27, who had met with a terrible accident. He had no parents, only a girlfriend he was to be married to in six months. It is a big tragedy for the girl.

The boy’s vital organs like liver, pancreas, kidneys were so badly smashed that there were no chances of reviving him. It was at that time that the girlfriend remembered her boyfriend’s words and decided to donate his eyes and brain.

This is an experiment.”

“I would advise you, Shefali, of the dichotomy we have created. You have Aakash with his body but someone else’s brain. Though we have given him a lot of medication to erase old memories, they can keep coming spasmodically, causing him stress and frustration. You will have to handle that. Obviously, we will also give psychiatric help and therapy. Please do not, at any time ask him about his past. Do not try to find out yourself. Otherwise you will be asking for a lot of trouble,” Dr. Batra said, beaming his confident smile.

As the nurse removed the bandage, and Dr. Batra flashed a light in Aakash’s eyes, his brain got a jolt. He saw a truck banging against his car. His horn was stuck and then he was upside down and after that it went blank.

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“Welcome back,” Dr. Batra said. “Aakash, you had a major surgery. Now you are alright. You will have amnesia for a while. Let me reintroduce you to your wife and children.”

Aakash looked blankly at Shefali. “She is so beautiful, light brown eyes, round face, shoulder length hair with curls,” he thought, his mind still seemed numb.

The children came and hugged him, with tears in their eyes.

“I will return their love,” he thought.

At that time at the far end of the city, at the S. G. Highway Crematorium, Sejal finally let go of her boyfriend’s body, crying, as it went into the incinerator. “I will find out the people who murdered you and see that justice is done.” She was determined, angry and grieving. ***** Aakash got a hero’s welcome at home. Shefali had lit lamps and incense sticks, and closed her eyes in prayer, before allowing Aakash to cross the thresh-hold into the house. She smeared his forehead with saffron and sandal-wood paste.

“Welcome back”, she told him, her eyes filled with tears as she held his hand gesticulating him in a large villa. Their house was in Satellite suburb of Amdavad.

Aakash for a few days, felt all blank. He would wake up, eat and then sleep all the time. The junior doctor came once in a day, then in two days. He would check his condition and leave.

“What was the operation I had?” he asked Shefali when they were sitting alone in their veranda facing the lawn.

“You had a brain tumour in the back of your forehead, near the pineal gland. It was an impossible operation. No one survives.” Shefali was stating the facts.

“But Batra was able to do it, and save you,” she lied.

Aakash fell at a loss of memory. He could not recall anything. All the time he felt he remembered a girl much younger than Shefali, her soft smile, glittering teeth, the frills of hair coming over her forehead.

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The kids Neil and Pearl kept him company many a times and he saw “Doremon” and “Shin-Chan” cartoons on TV with them. Pearl would curl up and sleep by his side, and he found himself caressing her head with affection. Neil would come up with his homework and ask Aakash to help him. It was at that time that Shefali would scold him not to harass dad.

“This is you and me at our honey-moon,” Shefali was showing Aakash an album of photographs. “We had been to Thailand. Bangkok, Pattaya and Phuket. That is me and you at James Bond Island, Phuket.” Akash looked blankly at the photo.

It was him and Shefali, both hugging each other looking at the camera and smiling. He looked young and eager and happy. Shefali had a freshness on her face. Both looked happy with each other. Their expression had been captured, the moment immortalized in the photo.

“I don’t have any memories of this period,” he looked sadly at Shefali. “These all seem like mirages. I keep trying to remember these memories and they elusively vaporize into thin air.” There was a worried look on his face. This triggered something in Shefali, she gave a false laugh. “Why don’t we take the children out to Sundarvan today like old times. They like it so much. It is a mini zoo near our house.”

Aakash could not recall having ever been to Sundarvan.

At night, when the children were asleep in their room, and Aakash and Shefali were in their bedroom, Shefali came close and hugged Aakash. She was frenzily planting kisses all over his face and neck. Her hand moved to the button of his shirt. Aakash suddenly got up from the bed.

“Not till I completely get back my memory.” ***** The next day Shefali took Aakash and the children to Sundarvan in the evening.

Sundarvan was a small mini zoo in the heart of the city. It was an urban sanctuary, where you could forget the hustle bustle of the city and the fast life and relax amongst the bamboo grooves, the squabbling geese, the rabbits, 35 | P a g e

monkeys and snakes. Obviously the snakes were in their glass enclosures. Neil and Pearl loved the place and loved feeding the geese with rice pops.

Aakash was all blank, as was not new to him these days. He felt he had never had any experience of family life before though he was with a wife and two children.

He suddenly remembered a girl, beautiful as a damsel, demure in her charm...

Sejal, he recalled the name, his friend, his girl-friend.

His memory flashed an image of the hot kiss they both had on a terrace. The rain having drenched them both, their bodies were full of desire and longing for each other. He recalled Sejal working for a jewellery store as a designer of those intricate pieces of art, women fancied and spent a fortune to possess.

Aakash could recall the store and location on C. G. Road where Sejal worked.

While Neil, Pearl and Shefali were busy feeding the bickering geese, he slipped out of their sight.

It took quite a while for Shefali to notice that Aakash was not there. She asked Neil to look around and find him.

Neil returned after almost half an hour, panting breathlessly.

"Mom, he is nowhere around," he shouted and continued, "Does it really matter?

We know he is just my dad's body, not my Papa."

Infuriated by his comment Shefali almost slapped Neil. She was sobbing now. ***** Meanwhile, Aakash, hastily hailed a rickshaw and was on the way to C.G. Road.

Memories flashed through his mind as he crossed the meandering Sabarmati river now brimming with ripples because of the Riverfront project.

He recalled the threatening calls he had been receiving asking him not to tell the police anything. They were anonymous and not from Zippi Pharmaceuticals where he worked as a manager in the research department. He was 'Samir' there, part of the research cell that worked in collaboration with foreign drug 36 | P a g e

companies and carried out tests on humans which were banned elsewhere. Here, too, it was illegal but there were loopholes that the company took advantage of.

Destitute people were prostituted in this scheme because they needed money.

They had to sign a form stating that they had come of their own free will and would not sue the company later.

Samir had been totally sick watching youngsters injected with drugs which would raise their blood pressure alarmingly and dangerously increase their heart rate.

Recently, a doctor named Aakash had started his own experiments to find a drug to dissolve brain tumours. Samir had heard him say that he had almost found a solution but the drug was toxic to the rest of the body. Samir had been getting increasingly disgusted and depressed with the company and was planning to quit.

Suddenly, one morning five youths had died in the bleak and desolate research cell. Their parents had been aghast knowing that their children had thoughtlessly volunteered for these experiments without informing them. They had angrily planned to sue the company. Samir had been interrogated by the police. He had felt a moral turmoil and he wanted to truthfully tell the police everything about what was going on but he didn't have the guts to fight the company. Instead he had smuggled out a copy of the file containing the dead youths' reports.

It was then that he had started receiving threatening calls and intimidating texts.

Not knowing what to do, he had given the file to Sejal for safe-keeping and had told her everything.

The rumbling rickshaw now entered C.G. Road. "We are at Swastik Cross-Roads.

Where exactly do you want to go?" the rickshaw driver asked.

"Turn left, towards Parimal," Aakash blurted. His eyes were incisively searching the glittering jewellery stores.

His mind felt numb once again.

He looked into the rear view mirror of the rickshaw and was stunned. He could see Dr. Aakash. The realisation dawned on him that he, Samir, was now in the

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body of Dr. Aakash, the man he loathed so much and who was probably responsible for the grim deaths of the five young men. ***** Aakash stopped the rickshaw at 'Alankrut' Jewellers and went inside. He inquired for Sejal and was directed to a small cabin at the back of the shop. A very pretty girl sat there at the table, doodling drawings on a notepad and transferring it to the computer screen. She looked shocked when Dr. Aakash entered her cabin.

"What do you want now? You have already devoured my fiancĂŠ Samir...!", her voice trailed off into a mild sob. There were tears in her eyes. Aakash could not see it any longer, he rushed to her seat and wiping off her tears planted a kiss on her forehead.

"I am Samir..." he whispered, "My brain in Dr. Aakash's body. Rather my soul in it. I am no longer his evil self. I am your loving boyfriend."

"This seems to be one more of your sinister tricks, your conspiracy!" Sejal screamed at Aakash.

"Sejal don't you remember our first kiss, on the terrace in the middle of pouring rains, when two hearts melted into one?" Samir was asking her though in the body of Aakash. Sejal was taken aback, this only Samir would be able to recall and retell, Aakash would never have known of this. One by one, he narrated many episodes from their past which only both of them knew, gaining Sejal's confidence.

She started sobbing and hugged Aakash, "Oh my God! Oh my God! What a dilemma you have put me in. My love inside the body of the person who was the cause of his death?"

"Samir, if you try to incriminate Dr. Aakash for his crimes, you yourself would be in trouble. Did you realize that? What do you reckon we should do in this kind of situation?" Sejal continued.

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"Don't worry I will set things straight once and for all...", was all Aakash could tell her, though he was himself not sure what he would do. ***** Dr. Batra's mobile phone rang. He heard Dr. Aakash's voice as he picked up the call.

"It was you who did my operation. So I presume that you were working with Dr. Aakash on this whole experimental project of finding a medicine for dissolving brain tumour, in which you didn't succeed and ended up killing five youths."

Aakash was speaking very rapidly, on top of his voice, anger bursting his temples.

Dr. Batra was cool as ice. "Listen Aakash. You may have Samir's brain, but the world recognizes you as Dr. Aakash. You have to now leave behind old 'Memories' as if they were a 'Mirage'. You have a blessed life ahead of you. A beautiful wife, two children and so much wealth that even a lifetime would be less for enjoying it."

"We meet at the Satellite Police Station in half an hour," was all Dr. Batra could hear from the other end, before the line went dead. *****

Samir as Dr. Aakash surrendered himself at the Police Station for the murder of five youths along with the 'file' of their reports as proof. Dr. Batra was late for the appointment, but was arrested the moment he set foot inside the police-station. After a long court trial, the judge himself was not convinced if Dr. Aakash, the present person, was guilty or not. Aakash was acquitted having the 'benefit of doubt'. Aakash chose to remain with Shefali and the kids, as he felt they needed him more, and his physical identity would not let the world recognize him as Samir. Sejal understood the whole matter and was reconciled to the situation. She moved abroad after she won an award for her jewellery design and got a prestigious offer from an international jewellery brand.

Samir however remained in her memories. ***** 39 | P a g e

Rinku Kansal Rinku Kansal is an Entrepreneur and a homemaker, born and brought up in Delhi. A keen traveler, who wants to share her life and experiences through her short stories.

Email-Rinkukansal@hotmail.com IG- Rinkukansal

MOIRAI I couldn't breathe for the suffocation in our cabin was getting worse, day by day numbers were increasing. In a space as big as a large bedroom we were cramped up to eighty women last evening forty more joined us. Silent tears, the smell of human flesh and unwashed people invaded my entire self. Nausea started to build up in my throat. I started to choke as the smell of urine and despair hit me and that is when my eyes opened. I woke up with a jerk, covered in sweat, my heart felt heavy and it took me two glasses of water to settle my discomfort. This was the second time I dreamt of an incident like this. It happens whenever I watch a documentary or movie related to the holocaust.

Many such real accounts and stories have been told overtime to recount what happened during this period of time but it is never sufficient to say what their suffering was. Like anybody else I too get deeply moved and sad by watching these accounts but there is always another feeling inside me, telling me that I was a part of all that in my past life, I can’t put this feeling down that I too probably died with all those people cramped and naked in a gas chamber. Time of my death decided by a maniac who thought that I don't belong and my race or people had no right to live. It is uncanny and unnerving to think of being inside a concentration camp a horrible thought as matter of fact. What it must feel to be 40 | P a g e

famished, tyrannized and beaten at any sign of protest, stripped of all your personal belongings along with anything useful on yourself like hair, teeth and even bones.

I am Pavni Chaudhary born and brought up in New Delhi, coming from an average upper middle-class family, who was provided with good education and a fairly balanced home environment. We are Hindus believing in life after death, past life and a God who has all the right answers. History being my main subject, I often wonder, is it important to study history? What does it do besides bringing alive facts from the past? Incidents like holocaust put emphasis to the fact that we humans are capable of inhuman activity living in a civilized world. From disgust to despair, do we really need to know it all? Since it's all in the past and buried. On the other hand, yes we need to know, just to understand the human behaviour, why one hates the other and tries to finish them.

This strong feeling for the part of history always made me wish if I could visit any of the concentration camps in my lifetime, actual wish was to visit Auschwitz which is in Poland. I did get my chance on a family holiday to Germany. We were in Munich and I asked around if there was a concentration camp nearby. There was one! Very near to the city just fourteen minutes away. With uneasy excitement to be able to actually see a real camp, I proceeded to inquire about how to get there. No one in my family could understand the urgency to visit this camp and give up plans to see other magnificent palaces and gardens.

Pavitra my sister was not at all keen to go as she didn’t want to go down the dark tunnel. "Do we really have to go there?" she said. It was then that I decided to go ahead separately and not wait for the next day. Paa always gave me the benefit of doubt and told me to go ahead. "Do it right now if it is so important to you" he said. With a feeling of trepidation I boarded the train which took me to the small town of Dachau, which is four stations away from the city of Munich. As I came out of the station I didn't have to ask anyone, since the bus stands outside the station had a separate stop for the camp buses, they were plying every twenty minutes. As the bus ride started the beautiful old town of Dachau unfolded before our eyes with its beautiful buildings and winding lanes and after ten minutes or so we started to come on the outskirts in a more open area.

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Tall barbed wire and fencing were visible and we were approaching a huge area where the bus stopped and some of us got off as we had reached the camp. The concentration camp of Dachau is also known as the Path of Remembrance.

Initially, it seemed like a cantonment area. It had a long path along the hedges. I walked for a little more than a kilometre and crossed a small stone bridge which faced a stone gate. As we all entered the gates a girl broke into tears, later I got to know her grandmother was a prisoner here. As we entered there was a large gravelled yard as big as the size of two football fields, there was long L-shaped building all around the yard. On the right as we progressed, it was an old office converted into the museum. Rows upon rows of pictures of prisoners their uniforms and their belongings such as clothes, caps and other personal items.

There were no numbers on their uniforms as there is no actual account of how many there were as we came out of the building. On the left were some of the leftover barracks that are now mainly preserved to show the living conditions of those unfortunate beings. In the living quarters, bunk beds were not big enough to fit in a ten-year-old, one stacked above the other with no space to move.

Toilets were joined without any partition, as we walked out there was another very large field with destroyed barracks.

The Dachau concentration camp established in 1933, was actually the very first camp during the Nazi rule and was originally a political prison. It eventually became the model for all the other concentration camps all over Germany and Poland as we moved further we came up to the gas chambers, although it was much smaller than I had imagined, seeing it sent chills down my spine, by this time a feeling of acute wretchedness swept over me and so I decided to go back to Munich. As expected this visit played a great deal on my mind over the next few months but then time took its course and I moved on. Following year I completed my masters and decided to work for my uncle who ran a publishing house.

I enjoyed my work there, lots to learn and read in my spare time. This was the place where I met my future life partner. He was my uncle's nephew, a very good-looking, handsome man and we got along rather well. Our families met and my father too thought it was the right time to get married. In not more than a month everything got organized and I was married to the boy of my liking. Fate 42 | P a g e

had other things planned for me, as I tried to settle down in my new home it became apparent that all was not well. My in-laws did not really like me, as I didn’t belong to the same caste.

Constant discontent made me very unhappy after just eight months of my marriage I had my first born, my daughter Tara. This made my family even unhappier. Distance started to appear in our personal lives too, my husband too started feeling that I didn’t fit in. Since I had stopped working and was totally dependent on them monetarily, time wore on and my misery grew. From an independent girl, I turned into this dependent person who couldn’t do anything for herself let alone her child. My father could not bear to see my condition and asked me to come back. At the mention of going back all hell broke loose, Anish lost control and hit me for the first time. There is a vast difference in being unhappy or being starved and beaten to a pulp. It became a regular exercise, now this was something I couldn’t tell my parents about. So I was tight-lipped, often I didn’t sleep at night for my body would hurt from all that was going on. I had beautiful hair all my life not much of which was left since the lack of care and pulling had left not much to be appreciated. One night after a particular bad mauling and hammering, it happened again I had that nightmare about the inmates in the concentrations camps. I realized I had started to feel just like them in my real life. How it felt to be beaten and hated.

On my twenty-sixth birthday, my father came to meet me at our house and one look at my face is when he decided to take me back with him. He just stood up and told my in-laws “I’m taking my daughter and Tara home”.

“Ughh…. What do you mean? This is their home!” said my mother in-law Pushpa Ji and Paa just held up his hand and silenced her.

Since then we’ve been back at my parent’s house. Things have been better but my nightmares got worse. So one day Paa decided to take my Kundli to Shastri Ji as I was always the favourite child and the happy one, good at everything I did, how come this sudden change in my life, Paa was looking for answers. Shastri Ji is an old family friend and read Kundli’s as he is keenly interested in Brighu shastra, which deals with past, present, and future.

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As a rule, I didn’t believe in these things but my father did, as it is he felt guilty for not consulting Shastri Ji for my marriage but now was a bigger reason than ever. Shastri Ji ever so soft spoken told me gently “Not to worry, things will get better”. He explained it to me sometimes it's your karma not related to this life but your past life that follows you to your present. As upset as I was, I told him “I feel like I was battered in my past life too”. He sat down to read my Brighu shastra and first took my thumb impression and then went on to read for a while.

At first, he looked worried and then his expression settled into a complex understanding. Paa asked him “Shastri Ji, what is it? Is it her fate to be tortured through life?” He looked at my father and said slowly, “Your daughter was a soldier in a far away land. A soldier who didn’t fight for his country but killed thousands of people for their different beliefs, it seems she was a man in her past life who committed inhuman acts and murdered a lot more people than he could count”. He then abruptly closed the book and said: “Let's not study this anymore”.

I stood up from the mat, shocked beyond words, it seems I wasn’t the victim.

This pain that I inflicted on others is my destiny today.

#####

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Mamata Yogesh Patil Mamata Yogesh Patil is software professional from Mumbai E-mail: mamatana1@gmail.com

The Hunger Stories Growing up seeing our father feeding hungry people, sowed something in me and my siblings that would always somehow land us near people who are needy, who are hungry. Or maybe should I say that he gave us a perspective to see beyond our wants and needs which makes us see things differently. Among the things that he taught us, which today education system and sadly, majority of parents fail to teach, were to help the needy. He once said, "Don’t think of doing something big or else you may never begin. Start from doing little things." He used to tell us, "No one could be wise on an empty stomach".

All the stories listed below are real. Unfortunately. #####

Oh My God!!!

It was Sunday and was the day of “Mahashivratri”, the day of the God Shiva. My daughter had high fever since last 3 days. The doctor asked us to get her admitted but she refused to stay in the cramped clinic. Then on the doctors suggestion we were visiting to the clinic 3 times a day. Numerous tests, medicines; we were on our toes. We were not able to sleep at night as we had to check her fever every 23 hrs. She was not eating anything and was on fruit juices. She was getting very 45 | P a g e

weak and had lost 1.5 kilo grams in 1 week. We kept bringing her all the things which she liked to eat but she refused to eat anything. This all worried us more.

Thankfully her doctor did not have Sunday off. We were on our way when we realised that we have missed the fact that going by our own vehicle would not be a good idea as the place where the clinic was located was right on the perpendicular lane of the only Shiva temple within the small town. My husband dropped us to the clinic and went back to look for the parking.

I went inside and there was huge crowd. It was the month of February. The climate kept changing and the poor little souls had to suffer. The clinic was so packed that I was even finding it hard to breathe. The children were crying the mothers were waving them with their pallus, fathers were trying to relax them by showing them their favourite cartoons on the mobile, the grandparents were singing, and some were playing, touching the objects on which the lady at the counter was objecting.

I noticed that every single child was accompanied by at least two adults; either both parents, or with other relatives. I looked at the door to see if my husband has arrived but could not find him.

After 40 minutes our name was called and the doctor said that all the reports look OK and it was a viral fever and we should not worry so much. He gave her a tonic for her lost appetite and asked us to visit back after 2 days.

As I came down the stairs I saw my husband. He told me that he could not find parking anywhere as the streets were too full because of Mahashivratri and that he had to go back to our home to park and came back by an auto Rickshaw which again dropped him only where it could reach.

As we came down to the road, the scene got even worse. The vendors selling flower garlands and all other puja stuff had come almost to the middle on both the sides of the road. There was no space to walk at all and in between there were people who were trying to cross the road with their two wheelers and some even had the courage to come by car. Wow! Vehicles were honking, vendors were shouting, people bargaining, all on the already very busy street of town.

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My husband suggested me to stand on one corner while he would go and get all the medicines and some fruit juices too as my daughter's health demanded it.

While I was standing on the corner, I saw beggars, old men and lots of women, sitting in a queue in front of the temple. Their children were wandering on the street begging for money and their parents were not paying attention at all. It was so contradictory to the scene at the clinic. The street was so busy that nobody had time to look at those children and children had to pull their clothes for seeking attention. Many noticed and many ignored. Everyone was in a hurry to offer their lord, the things which I believe the lord wants them to give to someone else. People were going and coming to the temple each holding white flowers, the bel leaves and what not. And each one carried- the Milk to pour over the “Shiva Linga”.

One such woman came holding too much to handle. She had milk vessel in her right hand. As she put off her slippers and started to walk in, a small thin child, hardly 2 years old (but looking a year younger), pulled her pallu. One corner of the pallu was beneath the milk vessel and as the pallu was pulled, the milk vessel slipped from her hand and all the milk got spilled on the road. In the huge crowd, she could not see who pulled her pallu. She reached for the vessel. As she bent, the small kid, who pulled the pallu, quickly picked it up before her. He ran towards his mother with the vessel and on the way he poured what all little milk was remaining in the vessel, into his mouth. He poured it till the last drop and looked so happy that even I smiled. It was hardly over two spoonfuls, the amount, the multiple of which I have been begging my kid to take but she refuses. I was standing behind where his mother was begging. The woman came rushing towards the kid. I quickly took the vessel from the kid's hand and as the woman reached near I handed it over to her and smiled and said waving “Kids, you know”. She gave a fake smile and went back to fill in her empty vessel. In the mean time the mother of the kid got up and hit the kid lightly on the back of his head and said, “This little one is always hungry”. She looked back at me and smiled in embarrassment and sat down and started begging again. The hungry kid went along the streets again crying.

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My eyes kept following the kid. Though many of the “devotees” ignored him, few gave him sweets as Prasad. He always gulped everything immediately but his eyes remained on those milk vessels.

In the huge crowd, with this ear shattering noise, my mind still went all silent and I found myself into the court room scene from the movie OMG, where Mr Paresh Rawal is defending himself and is telling an incident of Mahashivratri. He said that once he believed that there must be someone who is drinking all this milk inside the temple and giving the devotees the blessings. So he also went inside with the vessel filled with milk. Instead he saw people pouring the milk over their lord’s idol and all the milk is then draining into the gutter. He followed the gutter and saw a hungry beggar standing besides the gutter looking at the wasted milk. Mr Raval said that he then gave his vessel to the beggar and after the beggar drank all the milk he said “May god bless you”.

The Mahashivratri is celebrated so that one could overcome darkness and ignorance. But seeing what has happened today I am sure that all the milk offered today to the lord is again going to the gutter and that Lord Shiva himself is crying to make the ignorant people stop and asking them to instead look at these hungry children and feed them the milk.

My husband came back and handed me the medicines and many juice bottles. I put all of it into the bag. As he went to look for rickshaw, I bought one milk bottle and ran towards the kid and handed him the bottle. He opened it and started drinking the milk. I thought doing this will give me a sense of contentment but instead seeing him pouring the milk into his mouth, my eyes welled up. I closed my eyes, looked at the temple and all I could say was, “Oh My God”! #####

The Chicken Rolls We were invited to the eleventh anniversary party of our ex neighbours. They belonged to the same cast and were somehow related to the family. A lot of my husband’s cousins were also invited. As one of my husband’s cousin’s marriages 48 | P a g e

was nearing, I was following a strict diet and thought of skipping lunch that day.

Also, my husband told me that there is going to be a huge amount of delicious dishes as the host is a big foodie. By evening I was so hungry that I thought I could eat an elephant.

The invite was from 7:30 onwards and it was only 7:00. There apartment was on the second floor of a standalone building. By stand alone I mean that this one did not have a big garden, pool etc built around it and thus one could easily see the main road from the balcony. At the opposite of the building was an eatery serving delicious non-vegetarian food. As I entered the gate, the smell of the rolls cooking on the huge flat pans and the shawrma made me even hungrier.

It was getting dark and there was no sign of food anywhere. They only served orange juice and the little thing did worse to my hunger. The host planned no starters as they did not want the guests to eat much before dinner as the food was ordered from the very famous non-vegetarian restaurant. I had no idea what was coming and how famous the restaurant was. I was not even able to concentrate on anything that people were saying as the hunger was getting out of control. My mind was telling me to go down by making an excuse and eat something.

I thought to give it a try. Everyone was in a joyful mood. People seemed so busy and so engrossed in talking about the upcoming marriage and about who is wearing what, I thought I would quickly slip out of the gate. But as soon as I opened the gate, one cousin called out my name aloud, “Hey where are you going? Come here�. I had no choice but to go. I spent 10 minutes in the group and the only thing I understood was that the food which would be coming is going to be very good and the sad part was that it will arrive only after an hour.

One of the cousins was boasting of the restaurant from where the food was ordered. I could not take it anymore and went straight to the living room balcony. I sat on the chair there and started watching around. It was 7:45. I looked down and saw the cook making rolls and shawrma in the open counter of the eatery. I cursed myself for skipping lunch. I decided to keep myself busy by watching around the street and observing people.

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After a little while my eyes went back to the rolls counter and I saw a boy standing at the corner of the shop, leaning to a pole and watching the cook making shawrma. He seemed poor by the way he was dressed. As the cook was making the rolls, filling, flipping and then rolling, the boy’s eyes also followed the activity. His eyes were stuck on the pan. A few times the cook asked the boy to leave but he said he did not want anything and would just watch.

I heard my name and as I looked back I saw the lady of the house.

“Why are you sitting here alone dear?”

I confessed my condition to her. She insisted me to eat some chips, juice or other refreshments but I said I would wait. She said that the food will arrive soon and I thanked her and she again insisted me to come inside. I agreed but as she went into the crowd, I came back to the balcony.

The boy was still there. Now there was a couple standing at the counter waiting for their rolls to get ready. The boy’s eyes were still on the pan. This time as the cook packed two rolls for the couple, he gave another one to the boy and with no expressions the boy took it immediately as if he knew that he is certainly going to get one. He immediately asked the cook, ”ek aur milega kya (Can I get one more)?”.

The lady standing there was also looking at this and as the eyes of the cook and the lady met, she gave a nod to the cook conveying that she will pay for the second one. The cook gave another one to the boy. Taking the second one, the boy ran away immediately with both the rolls.

I could see the boy running to the next side of the street and there I saw two more children and a man with balloons standing there selling them. He handed the rolls to the man and the man then kept those rolls inside a polythene bag.

After about half an hour the family settled down at the corner. A women and one more child joined them. The man took out the rolls and handed one to the woman. She divided the roll into two and handed them to the older children. The man divided the other roll into two and gave the half to the woman. The wife again divided it into two and gave it to the younger children. The man then took 50 | P a g e

the remaining half and took a bite and gave the rest to the woman. When they all were finished, they took all their belongings and stood up to leave. They clearly did not have a full meal.

I was looking around the streets to keep my mind busy until the food arrives and here these people do not have any choice but to accept the hunger as a part of their life. Whether I had witnessed it or not, this was going to happen. But now that I know that someone who is not that privileged to be hungry by choice, shouldn’t I go and feed them instead of ignoring them? As I turned, I realised that the lady of the house was there too. She was observing me and knew what I would be doing next. As I tried to speak something, she said, “aaj mood mat kharab karna yaar (please don’t spoil the mood today). Come inside, the food has come”. As I followed her I struggled to keep my eyes dry as I did not want to “spoil the fun mood” of the young crowd by allowing myself to feed a hungry family.

Food parcels were opened and the plates were passed. As my plate was passed to me, I sat down on the chair to eat. Chicken rolls and kebabs along with two chutneys and salads were served for the first course. #####

The Holy Month and the Eggs I was worried. The holy month of “Chaitra” was arriving the next day and there were still around 25 eggs lying in the fridge. My husband had a habit of buying everything in bulk. My mother-in law asked me to throw them away but I did not want to throw those eggs.

I was thinking hard on what to do with them when my sister called me. I shared my dilemma with her. She said, "It’s not a problem". She asked me to boil all of the eggs the next morning and bring it to our uncle’s house where we were supposed to meet for a random get-together. She would take it all. I asked her what would she do with the eggs and she said that she would give them to the poor kids living in the slums near her society. I told her that I have 25 eggs and 51 | P a g e

would the children be able to eat them all and then she said, “Don’t worry. Even 50 would have been less”.

The next morning I boiled all the eggs and packed them. When we met at our uncle’s house, I handed the bag to my sister. She had come with my mother.

When we left, I told my sister that I want to come with her to see where she is going.

When we reached to my sisters building, I asked my mother to take our kids up.

My mother asked us to return quickly as the kids were hungry.

My sister started walking hurriedly and I followed her. We were walking for 5 minutes only when my mother called and asked us to come quickly as the children were getting cranky. We decided to take an auto rickshaw. The auto driver asked us where to head and she said she does not know the name of the place. She was instructing the auto driver on where to turn. As the auto took a right behind a huge mall, I started to see a bushy area which was deserted. After few seconds, I could see dirty cloths hanging on the two feet broken walls on the left side. She asked the driver to stop near that broken wall. She got down and quickly started walking inside those bushes. I was a little afraid to go inside those bushes but then she did not even give me a chance to stop her. I followed her.

The auto driver also came out of the auto to see where we two are going. As we went in I could now see shanties. My sister called aloud, “Hey children, come out” and then she ran back towards the road.

Within seconds a huge number of children came running out of that area. I was surprised to watch them all. They were as little as one year old to 10 year olds.

They surrounded my sister and literally started snatching the eggs from the bag.

My sister was good in handling those children and made sure that she gave one to each child. In a fraction of a second all the eggs were gone and the children who got the eggs ran back into the shanties and little ones who arrived late started crying. Now I understood why she was saying that even 50 eggs would be less. She consoled the little ones and turned back to the auto. We sat in the auto and asked him to drop us at her building. On the way back my mother called again at my sister’s number.

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When we reached her apartment we saw that our kids were playing out in the lobby with her neighbour’s daughter and her grandma was also sitting there watching over her.

My mother asked where we two went and my sister told her that we went to give those eggs to the children in the shanties. Hearing this, the old neighbour got angry.

She said, “You have sinned. It’s the holy month and you have fed eggs to the children.”

To this my sister said nothing and went inside to cook. She knew the only sin was that we did not have enough eggs to feed them all. #####

The Children’s Day Burgers The eggs story made one thing clear that my sister knew that there were a huge number of hungry children in the hidden shanties. But how did she know it?

That area was deserted and the shanties were way inside for anyone to notice.

She told me that one of her colleague once took her help to distribute hundreds of thrown away burgers. “Thrown away burgers?” I asked and here is the story: My sister teaches in a reputed school. On Children’s Day every year, the school orders a huge amount of food items. These are burgers, veg-puffs, cakes and cold-drinks and these things are distributed amongst the children. To her surprise, many of the children do not even open up the parcels and throw them away in the dustbin. The calorie conscious breeds eat a bite or two and the rest again gets dumped into the bin. When the teachers asked them to share, they said that why would they share when they got one for each. Few said that they get to eat a lot better than these burgers and the school should be ashamed to distribute such items to the children.

Few teachers took stand seeing the amount of food wasted and on the next celebration they told the children to not take and throw the food in the bin. They 53 | P a g e

said, “Just do not take it if you do not want to eat”. They told them to consider throwing away half eaten burgers and asked them to share and save the food.

Few listened, few did not.

The remaining food parcels were collected and one teacher took the responsibility to make good use of it. She knew the shanties as her maid had told her about it and she asked fellow teachers to help her carry the bags with her. My sister volunteered. The teacher’s maid lived there and as they arrived the maid called all the children. A huge amount of children came and were given the remaining burgers. The children were eating a burger for the first time. Few opened them up and ate it like chapati bhaji, some ate it in few second and asked for more. Not a single grain was wasted. My sister tells me that anyone who would have seen those children eat the burgers would never throw them again.

Few teachers cried seeing how desperately the children were eating.

Seeing the scene there the teachers decided to talk to the management. Their demand was to reduce the amount of food items on such occasions to reduce food wastage. They said that instead of wasting the food in such huge amounts, some could be donated to the needy children. They submitted a written request to the management and a couple of representatives were called for the meeting.

To their surprise the reply was, “We are a reputed school. Can’t we afford a little extra to maintain our reputation? Our institute is already into a lot of charity and we are not stopping you to do anything. Do not make an issue out of this.” Some teachers kept quite but some didn’t.

On every such occasion, a very few teachers take the responsibility to utilize the wasted burgers. The only help they got from the school was that before throwing away the garbage, it will be scanned for food items. Some children also listened to their teachers and voluntarily donated their burgers and asked their class mates to not throw them in the dustbin and give them to those teachers instead.

The “Reputation” of the school is growing. Thanks to the prayers of those hungry children who get to eat those burgers. ##### 54 | P a g e

Shalini Sharma Samnol Shalini Sharma Samnol is a banker turned stay at home mother living presently in Ahmedabad.

Email: samnolshalini@yahoo.com

Crossroads She swirled her dainty dress and adjusted it prim. For the last time she glanced at herself in the mirror. “Pretty, gorgeous, beautiful” were all understated descriptions for her. It seemed that God himself had crafted Rihanna , and today she graciously thanked Him for that. After all this was the sole attribute that could fetch her this once in a lifetime deal…a trade that could buy her , her long deprived happiness…a bargain that would finally put an end to her miseries.

She walked the flight of stairs from her miniscule flat and sat in the rear seat of a long slender Jaguar in a beautiful shade of copper, which was parked outside the rusty gate of her shabby society. She never had the audacity to even glance at such a beauty …and today she loved the plush ride of this gorgeous car. And, if all went well today, she would get habituated to such luxuries, in time to come.

"The Copper Beauty" dropped her at the gate of Hotel Royal, one of the most prestigious hotels of the city, which opened its gigantic doors to only a select few, who were deemed worthy of it. Rihanna walked inside, loaded with perplexity, incessantly wiping the droplets of anxiety that appeared on her brow, every now and then.

A young attractive man waited for her right next to the elevators and as soon as he recognized her , he escorted her to a huge conference hall on the fourteenth 55 | P a g e

floor. This was a huge room which could take in about a hundred people in one go and still leave space for a free movement, for its occupants. Once the gentleman was sure that Rihanna was seated and appeared relatively comfortable, he left the room for the “real people� to take charge.

Rihanna was born to an economically less than ordinary family in a small village.

Her father, the sole bread winner of the family, worked in the post office of the small village. Farthest that her childhood memories took her, she only remembered her family struggling beyond all odds to make their ends meet . Her austere childhood had made Rihanna extremely stubborn and at the same time immensely brave towards life. She spread an aura of glee and courage with the radiant smile that decorated her face all the time. The severity of moments was never able to snatch this ever shining asset from her. She had just stepped into adolescence when her father’s life was overtaken by a fatal disease. It was then, that she took the responsibility of her house and family, that was now, only her mother and herself. She gracefully fulfilled her duty of raising this small family of two by taking up odd chores at the houses of the relatively rich people of the village. But life was yet not done with her. She still had some more harshness from life, to her share. Her only reason to live, her only responsibility and her only support, her mother, was mercilessly taken away from her .

For a moment she lost her vision to live further, but something from within, forced her to punch life right into its face. After laying her mother on the pyre, she left the village forever.

Next morning , her eyes opened to a dull grey sky full of smoke, quite unlike the azure blue sky of her village , which was more often than not, adorned with a glint of a slight orange hue, early in the morning. Fatigued to the core, she vaguely remembered the bus dropping her on the road. She had then walked aimlessly on the road and when her legs refused to carry her weight, she had fallen on the floor with a thud and gone into a disturbed slumber. The moment she woke up, she looked around to see a crowd moving hastily . Everyone seemed to be in a hurry, as if they were living the last day with a burden to finish a load of pending errands. Intimidated by this unusual movement, she tried to compose herself, and started moving fast, trying to match up the pace around 56 | P a g e

her. She walked and walked and ended up in the place where fear reached its zenith and was thereon taken over by insolence. She landed in the world of flesh trade. She reached an address which had no road for return.

Rihanna sat alone in the enormous room waiting endlessly. She felt a dearth of air to breathe in that humongous space. Blood gushed at an incredible pace inside her head. She was having this nauseating feeling of being strangled.

Amidst these feelings, the door opened behind her. A man and his wife walked across the room and took positions right opposite to where she sat. She tried to control the adrenaline rush that had overtaken her senses. She thought to herself, “I have to behave myself today, else be ready to be doomed forever.” Both the parties waited for each other to get comfortable. After a few minutes of display of etiquettes the negotiation started.

Circumstances had forcibly put Rihanna into the profession she was practicing.

She yearned to get out of that dirt, right from the time she had landed in this soup. One fine day, one of her well wisher, who usually saw her sulking in the nights of gloom , ashamed to be a part of that world, gave her a proposition, that could liberate her from this trap. Following that option, here she was sitting in this room, talking to this couple who had flown all the way from the United States of America.

Mrs. and Mr. Bhargava were a couple in their late thirties and were quite in love with each other. They had everything that money could possibly buy and ‘almost’ everything that money could not. This ‘almost’ which made their life just less than perfect was a child to complete them. The lady with a feeble child bearing body was unable to fill this void of their otherwise complete life.

They had employed this young attractive man to find a surrogate mother who could bear their child for nine months and fill this vacuum of their lives with a ‘child of their own’. They were just looking for attributes in the prospective person to do their job. The girl should ensure anonymity and she should posses such good looks that every passing glance would envy.

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“Anonymity was just fine…but good looks? What a whimsical condition to be laid”, thought Rihanna. May be the surrogate mother could pass her good looks to the offspring…may be they had consulted on this…or read about it…she suddenly came to her senses and controlled her thoughts. She was not here to analyze the reasons to the whims and fancies to these people. She was here to do what she had to do.

By the end of the discussion, every point came on paper legalized by the signatures of both the parties, in form of a contract.

Next day on, the process of surrogation would formally and medically start.

Rihanna would be given a queen like luxury for the next nine months, till she handed over the baby safely to them. In return she would get a handsome sum of a Crore Rupees at the end of everything. This much money would be enough to free her from the filthy life she was living and to start a new life full of respect.

Rihanna could not recall how nine months had passed with the blink of an eye.

Her pregnancy was quite a trouble free one but at the same time, very mundane and dull.

She hated the regular visits to the doctors…the pathology labs …the sonography centres. The only good thing that happened in this time was that love bloomed in her life. She had not been so happy ever in her life before this. She fell in love with the young attractive man whom she met just next to the elevators for the first time, right at the start of this deal. Rahul had the paid task to take care of Rihanna from the beginning of her pregnancy till the end.

Their daily meetings somehow brought them close to the extent of falling in love with each other. In most of their interactions they planned for their bright life that awaited them. Both of them eagerly waited for the day when Rihanna would be relieved from her task to handover the result of the deal to the rightful owners and walk away with her much deserved remuneration, to live a life of happiness with the love of her life.

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Rihanna was rushed to the hospital in emergency . Her waters broke. Mrs and Mr. Bhargav waited impatiently outside the operation theatre. The news could flow in anytime now.

Rihanna stared aimlessly at the leafless tree from the window of her plush room.

Her life was so much like the tree whose leaves had blown away with a sudden gush of wind. Her happiness had also vanished in no time due to this unanticipated event. All her expenses had been paid in advance till she had fully recovered and was able to move out of the hospital. Apart from that she was left with a million rupees to start her life afresh.

Rahul sat by her side. He waited for the apt moment to discuss how they would move forward together after this setback. Gathering a lot of courage, he spoke to Rihanna. “Worst is over and cannot be undone, but we must move on, on a reasonable path to build a beautiful life together, and in order to do that we cannot afford to carry a burden with us right from the beginning of our life together.

Rihanna had given birth to a beautiful daughter. Inspite of fulfilling the condition the girl was not taken along by her prospective legal parents because she suffered from an unusual ailment where her eye sockets were empty and hollow. The contract did not mention what was to be done in such an unprecedented situation.

She understood where Rahul was heading to, but something inside her said that this was the moment of decision ‌she was standing at a crossroad where she had to choose the love of her life or a new life which she had suddenly begun to love. The decision was already made.

Rihanna had again entered the vicious circle of struggle which had almost become a way of life for her. It was very difficult for her to cope up with the needs of a baby who could not see the world around. Rihanna herself was not too old and mature to handle such an odd situation. However she had discovered an infinite love for a tiny life that meant nothing to her a few days ago. As this mother- daughter bond grew, it gave her the strength and desire to weave a beautiful life for both of them. She accepted the “donation of sympathy and 59 | P a g e

regret” that was left to her by the people she hated with her whole heart and soul, to move forward. She was aware of the hard fact that she could not raise a livelihood purely on love, money was equally important. Though it would not last her a lifetime, but it was enough for her to start a decent life with her little bundle of joy.

She started a small business which earned enough to take care of her daughter’s desires…now that she had no desires for herself. She breathed only and only for Aasma.

She ensured an excellent education for her. Education, she thought, would equip her to fight any hardship in life. Aasma was always a bright student. May be she was gifted with an excellent brain to compensate for what she was deprived of.

Time flew and Aasma was nearing eighteen. Rihanna too flaunted a few greys in her otherwise beautiful hair. Up till now Rihanna had meant the world to Aasma, who had superbly substituted for her missing vision. She saw and felt the world through her mother’s eyes. But recently things had started taking a strange turn.

Aasma was much in love with Ahaan who always saluted her for the courage she showed towards life, never letting her handicap interfere with her achievements.

Rihanna had observed this since quite a few days and was happy for Aasma once she had ensured that Ahaan was just the companion for her. Life was just going well when one night Rihanna had some unforeseen guests in her house who secretly entered inside. They were about to give a deadly blow on Aasma’s neck when Rihanna saw them and ran towards them with a long sharp knife. Like a wounded tigress protecting her cubs she ripped them apart with her weapon.

Why were they trying to kill her innocent Aasma who meant to do no harm to them or anyone else in this world She probed and probed and finally came to know that the guilty couple …the Bhargavas ….in their last moments had named their entire wealth to Aasma when she reached the age of eighteen. However in case Aasma was proved dead, it would pass on to one of their distant relative’s charitable trust.

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Why had they once again brought trouble in Rihanna’s small beautiful world? She never yearned for limitless wealth for herself or her daughter. Probably they, themselves, had not realized that their way to shed their own guilt, buried inside their hearts since eighteen years, could shatter someone’s world .

Now Rihanna’s only task was to meet the ‘owner of this mission’ of doing harm to her daughter.

She got up and reached the address given by the forced entrants in her house.

She had taken gracefully whatever life had given her. But now she had had enough. She had to destroy the seed that could harm her only reason to live or die , anytime in future. She rung the bell of the house where the owner of the trust lived. As expected, he was awaiting his men to come and give him the news.

She flung the door open with a jolt and before he could realize, he fell to the floor with a life taking blow that Rihanna had instilled in his stomach.

She sat alone on a bench in a park , engrossed in deep contemplation, with the blood stained knife next to her. Her purpose of life was met. Her spirits were absolutely contented today. She wished lots of love and happiness to her daughter, deep inside her heart. Her thoughts were broken by the increasing sound of the police alarm approaching in her direction. She had nothing to lose today. She was completely ready for her life further from this point. #####

Day of Love The four letter word laden with supreme power, brimming with hundreds of emotions Willing to confront any extremity, happy to cleanse all dismissive notions.

Beyond a definition, free from explanation, enduring an unknown reason of existence, Love is an urn full of a mystical potion that binds the universe with an infinite persistence.

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Complex yet astounding, arduous yet charming, love knows no kind of pretence, It seeks no expectations and demands no rewards or favours, affable yet so dense.

To cage the honour of love in the frame of a day is an unsuitable decision to make, As love is celebrated every moment, felt every second, it solemnizes each breath we take. #####

The Soul Connection I wish you were my lover...holding your hand, I would live through the most beautiful night gazing at the stars, amidst the gentle breeze.

I wish you were my sibling, born to the same childhood, running and playing all day, non-chalantly, when you would try hard to appease me, after a perky tease.

I wish you were my best friend, to share my giggles and laughs, the one to manifest my whims and fancies, promising to hold me tight, if ever I fell apart.

I wish you never met me like this, to arouse a whole volcano of emotions, and maybe we just crossed paths like the wind, only to stir up a sweet melody in the heart.

But alas! Not all promises are to be made, not all desires to be fulfilled, we live in a world full of follies ,where not the purest of wish is meant to be true.

So my content soul holds close to the heart, this heavenly bond, with no name and no expectation, an ecstatic feeling not to be known, few thoughts so clouded that are beyond understanding, as I celebrate this surreal alliance with you. #####

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Banani Das Dhar Banani Das Dhar is from Assam and is based in Bangalore. An Ex-Clinical Data Analyst and Founder of the Ezine, BananiVista.

Email: bananivista2017@gmail.com

An Uncertain Journey!

I opened my eyes to the pitter-patter of rain drops. It was 10:45 P.M. My sleep was disturbed and mind disoriented. My ears picked up anxious whispers. An hour ago, I had adjusted myself on that cosy and comfy seat next to the window.

I had dozed off and I remember that the bus was moving then. Yes, I recalled through a mesh of confusions that I was returning home, after a 3 day vacation, on a bus traveling from Pondicherry to Bangalore.

Thud! Thud! Smash! The ugly threatening sounds made me open my eyes forcefully. I was wide awake now. Feverishly, I gathered my scattered thoughts and started sorting them out. My eyes turned to my co-passenger sitting next to me in bewilderment.

The whispering sounds were further dimmed by the harsh and erratic sounds of pelting stones. It grew louder and to my horror, the stones were being hurled by a furious mob that was deaf to sanity and alive to rage and notoriety.

The bus halted and I found it surrounded by a mob-plagued by rage and revenge.

The emotions were akin to senselessness.

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The passengers were tense with frowns and terror written large all over their face.

As the couples held each other’s hands, the innocent kids clung to their mother’s chest and being all by myself; I felt panic stricken.

“Keep Quiet, don’t make noise and duck your head”, one of the mothers instructed her toddler. We sat quietly inside the bus drawing the curtains of our windows as the goons and political mafia were busy destroying the bus.

The attackers aimed at spreading terror across the city but little did they know that they were hurting fellow civilians. They were showing their disgust towards government and in the process vent out their anger by destroying the vehicles with Tamil Nadu’s registration number inside Karnataka. The rage arose due to the Cauvery water issue which was a much discussed political issue since ages and was successfully creating a significant impression currently.

I covered my head with a shawl and lowered it to hide my face.

“What we commoners have done?” my co-passenger said in a petrified tone.

“We have to suffer in some way or the other.” He added.

I was terrified, could hear my heart thumping and sweat streamed all over my face.

“Sir, what are we going to do now?” I asked him as the stone-pelting continued.

“We can’t do anything. We are helpless and can just wait till the attack stops”, he responded in his strong voice.

My lungs were aching for some fresh air and I opened my mouth in suffocating desperation. I knew what was coming? I was in shock, frightened and unable to breathe. We were stuck on the Karnataka-Tamil Nadu border. Not knowing what to do, I was staring at my phone with the intent of calling my husband. But what was the use of making him panic? I thought and suddenly my mind replaced the turmoil with peace of Auroville. *****

I was smiling with a content heart. The sun was hidden behind the clouds and the weather was calm. The sea breeze was blowing to spread the sweet fragrance of flowers.

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The coconut trees nodded agreeably to the pleasant weather. We could only hear the swishing sound of our bicycle wheels. That morning, Manisha, my bicycle companion, and I were among the few people on the road.

“It’s such a nice weather”, I broke the silence receding down the road drenched after the nightly shower.

“Yes, you are lucky to ride across the city today unlike other days it would be too hot for a pleasant ride”, said Manisha.

I smiled and we continued riding. Manisha was a member of the Sita Cultural Centre for quite a long time. Being a regular visitor, I make sure to meet everyone in the Centre whenever I am in Pondicherry.

“Let’s visit the church once”, Manisha suggested excitedly.

The church made her nostalgic. She narrated few moments of her childhood as we entered and silently sat on the pew and prayed.

I gave a quick glance around to admire the architecture, the high walls and colorful glass windows. Moving out, we mounted our bicycle and continued the ride. Pondicherry, known as the French Riviera, is also a shelter to many Islamic families. Those lanes smelled of freshly ground spices that didn’t fail to attract my chemoreceptors that reminded me of freshly prepared Biryani surmounted with dollops of Ghee, Star Anise, Cardamom, and Clove, topped with Beresta.

“I’m tempted to have Biryani now”, I announced with a wide smile.

Manisha gave an instant laugh. She made me aware of an old mosque which has its own historical importance. We stopped our bicycles occasionally in order to take amazing clicks of the city and create memories.

Pondicherry has its own charm which attracts tourists from all over the world. It has got simplicity, peace, originality and a character of its own. The hundreds of year old quasiTamilian mansions were picturesque and the big brown pillars were unique to the architecture as they presented an amazing concoction of French and Tamil culture.

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Women seemed sitting on their haunches drawing figures with rice powder in front of their homes. “It is one of the features of Tamilian culture and is popularly known as Kolam in Tamil Nadu”, Manisha pointed to the lady clad in her gold bordered sari immersed in dark blue color. Fascinated by the indefinite patterns drawn at a stretch, I decided to learn more about this traditional art.

To quench my creative thirst, I decided to learn those geometrical patterns, by enrolling myself in the Kollam class.

We crossed the Promenade, the Aurobindo Ashram, and the Auro School which Manisha described me with great enthusiasm. I couldn’t understand her emphatic feelings until I discovered her being the alumni of Aurobindo School. I visited her school, the play-ground and listened to some of her childhood experiences. We had our breakfast and headed towards the centre.

With much eager and interest, I followed my heart to learn Kollam. My Kollam teacher was Tamilian by birth and a mother of two. She had a dark-brown complexion, kumkum between her brows, mangalsutra tied loosely around her neck and pendant dangling in midst of her bust. Her hair was dark as a raven, plaited and tied with a rubber-band at the end. A bunch of fresh-jasmine flowers clung to her hair, I happily submitted myself to her for the next few hours.

We took the stairs towards the terrace, an open space, much bigger than what I imagined. It has got roof made of straw in the form of huts. She joined her hands and greeted “Namaste” before the class began. I was asked to sit on the stone floor right opposite to her. We were surrounded by yellow bowls filled with muti-coloured rice powder. Anita handed me a copy of the designs and educated me on various patterns.

“Muggu, Rangoli, Alpana or Kollam, it’s all the same” , Anita

mentioned.

“It is a complex art and has historical significance, may be it is used as an invitation to Goddess Lakshmi to bring luck and prosperity, a tradition that has been passed from mothers to daughters from generations or it is a way of keeping the women fit. Each 66 | P a g e

family has their own style, their own personal inspiration which can be seen in their different patterns”, Anita continued.

It was my first experience of making a Rangoli or Kollam. Unlike me, Anita’s fingers were moving at a fast pace as she placed the rice powder in between her thumb and forefingers, drawing lines and connecting the dots. The result of a long experience, I thought.

I was struggling to hold the powder in between my tender fingers. I didn’t observe any flexibility in my movement but I was trying hard to get it done. Gradually, we moved from simple patterns to slightly difficult ones.

“This simple pattern is known as Sikku Kolam and the one with the complex pattern is Flower Kollam”, she mentioned. Rather than drawing the patterns, I was enjoying filling in the colors.

At times, I used to get confused and was not able to connect the dots and form the figures.

“Was geometry your waterloo”, Anita said with a laugh.

“Oh yes! That’s so true. I hate numbers and structures, I mentioned.

“Don’t worry, you are doing well”, she assured me and I believed her assurance.

We spoke about different Tamilian food habits, her daily routine, and lifestyle.

Back to my guest house, I hurried to my room. The guest house was serene and calm, built and was taken care by a quasi-Tamilian family. I freshened up, took a shower, skimmed off the tiredness from my body, washed my hair and dressed in a comfortable black colored culotee matched with a blue t-shirt.

That evening, I spent my time visiting the Sea-Food festival. Crabs, fishes, oysters, prawns, my eyes rolled over the wide-range of sea-food collection.

“Good-evening Mam, what you would like to have?”, an unusual voice approached me.

He handed over the special menu for the evening and left me in isolation to decide my order. I scrutinized the menu, picked few from the lot and gave away the order. I indulged myself with the amazing delicacies straight from the sea-bed.

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On my way back, I could see the other side of that city. The city was calm, roads empty, street dogs barking, vehicles were parked at the respective homes as few people tottered on road, and beggars slept under the dim street lights and a cool breeze swept through the city calming the heat that blazed during the day.

I woke up to a bright sunny morning. I tiptoed towards the terrace, an open space decorated with ceramic pots fixed with flowers, succulents, and creepers. The streets became busy, shopkeepers occupied in opening their respective shops, dogs stretching and basking in the sun, newspaper boy found throwing the daily across the gates, cargo van tootling the horn making space for the vehicle with the goats tied behind.

On completion of my breakfast, I headed for my Yoga class. I and my yoga master reached the venue almost at the same time. He was on his green mofet bike; slowly parking the vehicle greeted me with a wide smile. Seeing him after almost a year pleased me.

Greesh was from Kerala but based out of Pondicherry. He was skilled in Yoga, Vedic Massage, and Kalaripayattu, a martial art form of Kerala. In spite of being an active member of Sita Cultural Centre, he runs his own Ayurvedic clinic in both Pondicherry and Kerela.

“Breathe in and Breathe out”, he instructed. My body was involuntarily following his instructions and demonstrations as if in a pleasurable daze. The breathing techniques, stretching exercises unlock my body’s stiffness. Suryanamaskara, Adho Mukha Svanasana, Ananda Balasana, Bhujangasana, , and finally Shavasana! Tired, exhausted, I slept for few minutes not knowing when. ***** Why wasn’t I feeling rested despite the Shavaasana. Oh! Now I knew. The night of terror was intact etching bruises of dread on my sub conscious mind. None of the passengers moved even an inch from their respective seats. The terror paralyzed us. Time too was stranded in fear and I didn’t remember when but 68 | P a g e

finally the violence ceased. The horror of death left us as we started shifting in our seats as if to confirm that we were alive.

The evil beings ran away into jungles and we were announced safe to a certain extent. To our delight, another bus arrived to our rescue, which was going to Chennai. Luggage transferred and we were shifted. My body still shivering with terror as soon as I stepped out of the wrecked bus and boarded another with hurried foot-steps along with my fellow passengers.

Few minutes after, I sighed of relief.

The bus started, people expressed gratitude to the Almighty. and I, dialed my emergency contact.

“Hello!” a sleepy voice answered the call after few minutes of the ring.

“I was desperate to talk to you”, I told anxiously. I narrated the whole incident in one go and gasped for breath.

“Don’t worry and calm down nothing will happen to you!”, my husband conveyed.

We hung up the call, the turbulence in my heart somehow slowed down. I felt safe and connected. I sobbed as a strange warmth enveloped me. I now felt hungry, thirsty and peered out but to my remorse the aftermath of terror was still there. I turned to look at other passenger and spotted the toddler looking at the empty water bottle with weak eyes and a starved look. I smiled weakly and my eyes closed its lids within no time. *****

When I opened my eyes, I strangely felt relaxed and fresh but yes I was very hungry. I bid good-bye to my yoga teacher. Manisha was already there, waiting for my yoga class to get over. We were going for the market trail; pick some essentials for our lunch. She was in her green and white cotton suit, Dupatta wrapped up around her neck, hair tied up in a clean bun carrying a jute bag, all prepared to head towards the market. We exchanged smiles and asked me to get ready for the market trail. “This is going to be fun!”, I thought.

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Manisha took the charge of the rider’s seat and I being the pillion enjoyed the ride to the baffling bazaar. We crossed the designer boutiques, ecstatic café’s, the popular restaurants and slowly entered into a crowded place. The roads got narrowed down, smelled of cattle dung, vehicles parked in frenzy.

“This is Goubert Market-the largest covered market in Pondicherry”, Manisha told me in a loud voice.

The market was huge, lively, surrounded by big walls, a typical place in the heart of the city. It smelled of fresh flowers, Marigold, Jasmine that awakened my senses. The Tamil women visit the flower corner to buy flowers for offerings, marriages and for their own personal use. Flowers, fruits, vegetables, kitchen wares, jewellery, and fabrics - the market has it all! The shrill voices of the shopkeepers can’t get unnoticed! They never fail to tickle your ears.

Fishmongers have their own separate section. It was a big area clustered with women of all sizes and ages sitting on their haunches cleaning, cutting and selling fishes. They were smart at bargaining! Manisha was a known face in the market, while she was busy in having conversations with the vendors I started capturing the moments in my lens.

“No….No…No photos”, few of the fish vendors shouted. They became furious and were bawling in their own language which was alien to me. I could understand of their denial from their big rolling eyes which were bursting anger. However, few fisherwomen were enjoying getting clicked and gave poses too!

Manisha picked few fishes of her choice for the fish-curry, got it cleaned, cut and bought at a reasonable price. We continued exploring the market visiting the spices shops, vegetable, and fruit vendors too. We picked cabbage, green chilies, some tamarind chunks and ground spices. “Oh! Wait, we need to get a coconut. We would require grated coconut for the cabbage poriyal”, Manisha mentioned.

We went to the coconut vendor and demanded a coconut. To my surprise, the vendor broke the coconut into two halves and gave us the cold, fresh coconut water to drink. The 70 | P a g e

water quenched my thirst in that hot, sticky afternoon. As it was searing heat, we managed to move out of the market.

Once we reached the center we hurried to the kitchen. “Let’s wash and start chopping the vegetables”, Manisha told in haste. Like me, even Manisha’s stomach had shown the signs of hunger, I thought. Manisha was instructing me occasionally for the preparations.

“You have to make slits in a slanting way, this helps the salt to permeate into the skin”, she was demonstrating, making me understand and giving me quick cooking tips. Rice, Sambar, Cabbage Poriyal, Meen Kozhambu, and kheer were all ready to serve hot. Manisha took out a plastic dinning table along with two Nilkamal chairs outside the courtyard. Our table was placed just below the big mango tree. The sweet breeze flowing by, the smell of the ripened mangoes and the perfect lunch! ***** Phone rang. Where am I? I opened my eyes as weakness plagued me to realise that I had not eaten and was still travelling in a rickety bus that had rescued us. I picked up the phone “Honey, Karnataka is in turmoil. Bangalore is burning. ,” a familiar voice blurted from the other side of the call.

“What are you talking?, I questioned my husband belligerently.

“The city is under hue and cry, the situation is out of control here”, my husband informed.

I felt disturbed and confused for I was desperate to reach my sweet home.

***** Few minutes before my mind and soul were at peace in my sleep. I was excited to be back, to be in the arms of my husband without having the slightest idea of the tragic turn of the plan.

Annoyance, Displeasure, Anger, Impatience plagued my mind.

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Inner peace metamorphoses into agitation and distress and my mind juggling between the tranquil waters of a lake and uncertainty of my own life. I reached the Chennai airport safely with some other passengers.

Suddenly our eyes widened as the news channels displayed the horrifying scenes of burnt vehicles and political vandalism in Bangalore. I was terrified at the thought of being stranded and not being able to reach the safe confines of my sweet home.

***** It was 2 P.M. and I reached Chennai airport. Thanking the Almighty for keeping me safe, I informed my husband of my arrival at the airport. Both of us sighed in relief!

The wait was impatient; the 4:30 P.M. flight to Bangalore was on time though. I was tapping my foot keeping a check on my watch incessantly. My ears became attentive at the announcement. I gleefully joined the boarding queue, checked-in the flight, grabbed my window seat and minutes later I was high up in the sky. ***** My husband was waiting for me in the Bangalore airport and with his sight after 3 long days, my happiness knew no bounds. I found myself into his arms.

It’s the commoners who get affect the most!

My journey encountered an unexpected situation when I was unsure of my own life as any random person can be a prey to political violence. Driving back to my abode, none of us spoke. I could see the gray fumes whirling in the air, the broken vehicles, the shops shut, roads empty, the smog masked the whole city which was mourning of terror and loss. I was grateful that I reached home safe, back to my own room, into the arms of my dear husband but my mind still wanders into the dirty political tides in which the commoners drown with no reason, with no association in real.

Why they get punished, for what reason? ##### 72 | P a g e

Karan Purohit Karan Purohit is a Software Engineer from Nagpur.

Email: karanvpurohit@gmail.com

Empathy Just like most of the budding graduates struggling to start their career and post graduation pursuers aiming to bear their expenses, before deciding and diving into the field of work they take up as career, Karan too, went with the trend and joined a call centre, in Pune, away from hometown, staying with Masi. BPO is what they utter, when asked about what they are doing nowadays?

Technical support it was, earning him eight thousand a month with additional sales incentives, working five hours a day part-time for five days a week. This was indeed a pretty handsome amount to start with considering his unfortunately poor academics, where he was batting from six years then and still not-out with second year of three years Computer Application course. A kick-off was the dire need of time.

Though being nervous, he managed to impress interviewers, they considered him for the position despite of him being an undergraduate. His typical working day use to start at 4:30 in the morning and use to end with a big Breakfast Feast 10:30 am, followed by a cab to Home. Every person in the team he was part of, had a target of handling at least 10 calls a day making Average Handling time, AHT, to half an hour, along with selling premium services and network devices to callers.

Karan was a notable performer with his technical and conviction skills, winning 73 | P a g e

salesman of the month title from 3 consecutive months. It's been 3 months since he started.

Day started just like any other, with sleepy eyes locked at computer screen, headphones and mic around ears and 3 cups of coffee over desk, waiting for the first caller to present him with the biggest challenge a shy-introvert can handle talking. Screen Notified a caller, Karan received and greeted the call with crammed up welcome line chant, “Thank you for calling Blinksys, this is Karan with badge id 71LS88. How may I assist you today” “Hello”, a deep-shaking voice, with a country-side accent, answered from the other end. From the voice Karan gauged that caller must be of more than 65 years of age and from some remote area.

Such a combination usually leaves the Technical Support executive frustrated and irritated at the end of the day, due to the colossal efforts they have to give to resolve the callers’ queries, because of an extensive gap they share in terms of technical understanding. This leads to long duration calls affecting AHT and sales. Executive, in such situations, need to speed up remaining calls or stretch time to meet targets or in worst cases had to live with missed target and less incentives, affecting performance, which is monitored with very strict parameters.

Receiving this as, first call of the day, slightly alleviated Karan’s enthusiasm. He was now sure that he will need more than 3 cups for the morning.

Moving ahead with the conversation Karan gathered some basic routine information about the caller like name, email and contact number and started probing to locate the issue.

“So, how may I assist you today, sir?”

“Oh! I am not able to go online” “May I know which Blinksys device you are using and also if you may help me with the Internet Service Provider’s name?”

“A… A what, device…. and service provider? I am sorry, I have no idea.”

Karan understood that it was going to be a long day, he rephrased, “Where did you find our number from, sir?”

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Old man replied, “Oh! It was written over the box, my grandson, Marwin, gifted me a week before, on Christmas, he is 6 you see, they stay in L.A, my son, daughter-in-law and sweet Marwin, I’ve seen him for the second time now and….”

“Can you read, what else is written over that box, sir”, Karan interrupted.

“Oh Yeah, sure, it says, Blinksys Router, Model number WRT…. some number, wait… 100N”, old man replied with an effort of reading.

“Fine sir, I got that.”, taking charge of the conversation, Karan continued, “Now the device, that you got in this box, we will refer as router from now on, is around you?”

“Yes” “Please hold it” “Held” “Now it has a top shiny surface and bottom slightly rough surface” “Yes, you are right” “Now, Sir, flip the device and look at its bottom, you have to look for something like Serial number or S/N number there, let me know once you find it” “Ah….. Serial……. Number…….. Oh! Yes, I found it” It felt like an achievement to Karan, with a smile, he asked, “Please tell me the serial number, sir” Karan verified the serial number and found it to be valid and in warranty, which meant further alleviation in enthusiasm, the service must be provided and the next set of questions started.

“Sir, before starting with troubleshooting, I need some of your information for the record purpose, if you may please help me with your email id, phone number and address?”

Caller, Mr. Tom Hawkins, 75, belonged to the outskirts of Great Barrington, MA. “Sir, can you tell me which Internet Service Provider you are using?”

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“I don’t know, I just have this wire coming in from the window, my son told me to connect it with this device I am holding, start my computer system, connect to this network and then through Skype, I will be able to see Marwin. Oh! Wait a minute, do you mean Romcast by that?”

“Yes sir”, Karan sighed a relief, he felt like somehow this divine existence came to his rescue by making the name Romcast click into Tom’s head. Romcast is the largest, cable net internet service provider in U.S, gave Karan a surety that he is dealing with the cable net type of connection and he exactly knew the procedures he need to follow to resolve this issue. But here, challenge was more than, mere technical complexity.

Next, Karan asked him to connect the device and update him about what appeared on the screen.

“Nothing, it’s blank and black, exactly the way it was, when it was in the box and I took it out and connected to the power socket.”, replied Tom with sheer innocence and confusion.

Karan realized that Tom had not connected the monitor to any, CPU, Keyboard or mouse, though he understood that it was going to be a long day, he felt bad for him, thinking how his son just left the system with his father and asked him to do things on his own, understanding the fact that he is way too behind the technological advances this world had made in recent years and he won't be able to cope up with it. The only thing Tom wanted, was to see and talk to his grandson.

Karan asked, “Sir, I think you hadn’t connected your system properly, if you may please do that and call again, we will surely assist you with it then.”

Tom replied, “It is my 7th call here and every time it's a new agent and I have to explain everything to this guy, then he walks me some steps forward until we get stuck somewhere, then he gives one reason on another as to how it's not his job and he tells me to get over that obstacle and call back and things repeats.”

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“Boy” with a shaking, choked, whisper-mixed voice he whimpered, “I am tired of this, feeling helpless and hopeless, please make me see my grandson.” Voice and words made Karan’s heart sink.

Karan looked up and from a distant cubicle, saw a headphone wearing bald head, slowly rising, it was shining with the reflection of the light above it, small hair marginally scattered, gave it the outline of the sun, rising between the hills, just like, what he used to draw in 4th standard drawing books. Head began rising, further revealing, the frown on forehead, the pair of peeping eyes staring directly into his, snarled nostrils and clenched lips, it rose until the bottom of chin. Karan never thought that he ever will be relating his manager with the scenery he used to draw in his 4th standard.

Staring at each other his manager signalled to give excuse and make Tom to end his call. Manager was barging the call at other end, in Skype he texted Karan that we will handle Tom some other time. Karan just recovered from the emotional swirl and asked Tom if he can put his call on hold for a minute and went straight to his manager, Nagesh.

Sitting with the left leg curled and its ankle resting over the right knee, leaning back on chair till the extent it allowed and locking his fingers behind his head Nagesh said, ”Let's handle it some other time.”

“It’s his 7th call in 3 days”, said Karan “Fine, let's arrange a call back” “We already did every time from his second call onwards, I checked records, never happened.”

With a frown on forehead, Nagesh asked, “So, what do you intend to do?”

“Attend”, replied Karan Leaning forward with a maintained gaze Nagesh said, “Karan, sales are part of our job and so is meeting targets, you have been a best salesman this month with an average sale of $150 per day, and just $30 short of hitting the incentive jackpot of $500 this month and I don’t think I need to tell you that if you fail to make sale of $30 today, you won't be eligible for it. Further to that this call will take hours, which will impact on AHT and will also drag you to red circle of escalations. This is the situation and I won’t be able to help you in anyway if 77 | P a g e

things go bad, instead I will have to stand with the people pointing fingers at you.

Choose wisely” “I did”, affirmed Karan and left to assist Tom. Nagesh barged the call after an hour and was surprised to see that Karan had just finished helping him connect his computer system and Tom was now able to start it. This assistance was certainly out of company’s scope of work and more to that Call Handling Time was increasing, if anyone finds about this, Karan will be in big trouble and being his Manager so will Nagesh be.

“20 Mins” he pinged Karan indicating the time he was left with to wrap this call up.

“It will take more”, He received as reply.

Rising up from the chair Nagesh glared a frown at him, their eyes met and Karan again started instructing Tom and gazed back to screen. Nagesh, was surprised at this oblivion. But chose to give 20 more minutes to him, before diving into the scene.

Another 45 mins passed, Karan’s call clicked into Nagesh’s mind again and just to be sure before approaching him, he pulled up the headphones, wore them, to make sure the call was still going on, he wasn’t surprised that it was.

He strode out of his cubicle and paced straight to Karan. Everyone on the floor noticed his speed. He approached Karan catching all the eyes on the floor.

Gestured him to put on hold.

“It’s been 2 hours now”, Nagesh continued, “This is not excusable and acceptable, it might have already been escalated to higher management by the system, I won’t be able to watch your back now.”

In the voice, as calm and normal as possible, Karan responded, “You’ve already made that clear, I took all the responsibility of the call. You might have not checked, but I’ve already dropped you a mail stating that I am assisting Mr. Tom for his issue, knowing that most of its scenarios are out of scope of my work domain, I have stated that I had been warned by you beforehand of all the 78 | P a g e

consequences and still I chose to own-and-go with it.” With raised eyebrows and blank expressionless face Nagesh stared at Karan. Karan continued, “No matter what it may Nagesh, I will complete this call.”

“So, you made the decision”, said Nagesh with a sigh, sensing the determined oblivion in Karan’s gestures and continued, “Be careful about not breaking any of the company's policies or we will have to end the call and you will charged with legal penalties as well apart from losing all the incentives, which you will be anyhow now.” Agents can’t end calls from their end.

All the awestruck eyes and curious ears, tried hard to gulp the conversation and interpret their own way as Nagesh was not the kind of person who simply listens and agrees, He is the man of loud and dominant personality and was notoriously infamous on the floor for hyping issues. To everyone’s surprise Nagesh left quietly.

Unmuting the call Karan continued assisting Tom. From the corner of the floor Nagesh saw Karan struggling and thriving on the call. With raised brows that perfectly sketched three lines on his forehead, he thought, “It will make him loose his incentives, big jackpot sales bonus which he is very close to achieve, over to that, this will bring an enquiry on him, his rating will impact badly as no one yet had taken a call with more than 2 hours of handling time. No benefits, more losses, still I wonder what is making him so adamant on this.

Nagesh engaged himself in other works, helping other team members with their issues. Around 2 more hours went by, Karan’s call again clicked his mind.

Turning his head, he found Karan still on call. With a raised brows Nagesh wore his headphone and clicked on Karan’s name to barge his call. With a sigh he exclaimed, “Oh! God.” It was still Tom. There was also a notification of one new mail over his mailbox. He switched to his mailbox window and found a mail marked critical waiting for his attention. He opened the mail, it was from Sr. Process Manager. Nagesh rested his head on both of his palm with thud. It read, “There’s an agent in your team, who’s on call for more than 4 hours now, I need an explanation.”

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With an impulse Nagesh got up from the chair and strode straight, with a pace to Karan.

“That’s enough Karan, hand it over to someone else or you will lose your job, I just received a mail for Sr. Process owner about alarming AHT violation, because I have to put it all on you if asked.”

“I’ve a reason for that Nagesh and If I had to lose the job for doing it with dedication, I feel it's better that I do. Most of the things are already done and Tom might just be few minutes away from seeing his grandson. Let this be my last working day, but I will make sure Tom does so”, replied Karan, with a calm and soft voice. He was very clear about what he was doing as well as its consequences.

Perplexed Nagesh, stood there for some time, blankly staring at him and then with a raised brows and three sharp creased forehead he turned with a sigh and walked back to his desk.

Karan got back on call. “I think I should end this call and we can continue with it some other time”, in a rough, sore voice, said Tom. Baffled with a frown on his face Karan noticed that he forgot to mute the call, so Tom now understood the scenario. “One more policy broken”, uttered Karan within his mouth. With confident and convincing tone said Karan, “That’s fine Tom, nothing will happen.” Though Karan knew that the warning was severe and cold.

“You had been very helpful and empathetic, I don’t want you to lose your job for me.”

“I won’t”, replied Karan with confidence, despite knowing deep down that he can’t be sure, Karan assured and calmed Tom down.

Getting back to business he said, “Now click on three adjacent bar icons, which indicates available wifi connections, at the bottom right corner of your screen and tell me what can you see there?”

“Oh! I can see a lot of things here, actually, hang on, I can also see the name Marwin, that we have just given to our wifi, I think. You want me to click on it?”

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“Yes Tom, please.”

“It’s asking me for a passphrase? Should I enter the password, that we have set?”

“That’s correct Tom, please enter that.”

“It’s saying Connected.”

With a sigh of relief and achievement, Karan said, “Congratulations Tom, you just went online.” He continued, “now let's verify that. Double click on internet explorer icon and in the address bar, where we have typedwww.google.com earlier, type www.google.com again in there, press enter, and let me know what you see.”

With a happy voice Tom replied, “O! Great, you’ve done it Finally, now internet explorer…… wait a minute….. Ok, its launched…. Typing in w..w.. w... dot… goo… gle…. dot… com, pressing enter... Oh! It has given me that google’s page.”

“Bravo!”, said Karan, “Now let’s download Skype, and create your account there, do you have Marwin’s or your son’s Skype id with you?”

“O! They have given me something, hang on for a second, I have noted it down in my diary. Yes! There it is, it says, marwinhawkins2001 just that, is this what you are asking for”, said Tom in his usually confused tone.

“I think, that’s what I was asking for”, replied Karan.

For the other end of the room he heard a whistle. Looking up for the cubicle he again saw two surprised eye-balls peeping out of their socket and with upward held shoulders, frowned face and a peculiar hand gesture clearly conveying the rhetorical question - what the hell are you doing? - Nagesh snarled at Karan.

Over this Karan gave a sweet smile to him, for a shocking surprise to Karan, Nagesh smiled back, patting both his hand over his own forehead. Then staring at Karan with a smile, he joined both his palms, in typical Indian Namaste, raised it above his head and with sarcasm said, “Wrap it up fast, my lord.”

It took Karan another half an hour to guide Tom in downloading and installing Skype and creating an account in it.

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“Now double-click on the Skype icon sir, and in it, type the username and password we’ve just created”, said Karan.

“Ohh..ky…!”, followed Tom with a shaky-hoarse voice. With a swooshing sound Skype signed him in.

“Now, Tom, listen to me very carefully, you need to find a magnifying glass icon in there, let me know when you find it.”

After thirty to forty seconds, Tom replied, “Yes, I found it, it says search.”

“That’s what we were looking for Tom. Now in there, type marwinhawkins2001 and press enter, and let me know what you see there.”

“Ah! Alright, doing it.”, after around 10 seconds pause, “I can see some list coming up, Hey! I can see Marwins photograph on one of the name.”

“Perfect”, replied Karan with a joy, “Now double click on that and can you find something like 'Add to contacts', with a button that might say send request.”

“Ah! Hang on for a second, yes I do” “Click on that button now, Tom.” “There’s also a green ball below Marwin’s picture, Karan, just thought to let you know, if this piece of information is helpful to you.”

“That was indeed, Tom”, with a smile Karan said, “This is good news. Now Tom, next to Marwin’s name can you see a Telephone’s receiver like icon.”

Suddenly Karan heard Skype’s ringtone from the Tom’s end, in a panic voice Tom uttered, “Karan! Something happened, I think Marwin is calling, yes, this Skype says he is. What should I do?”

Hurriedly Karan instructed, “Can you see Answer with video there?”

“Yes.” “Click on it.”

Mistakenly and in panic, Tom clicked somewhere else and Skype vanished from the screen, in a panic-struck state, Tom said, “Oh god! Karan, I don’t know what happened, I think I clicked somewhere else and this Skype is gone now.”

Karan could still hear the Skype ringer, he enquired, “What happened Tom, describe.”

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In a panicked confusion, Tom said, “With a swirl, this Skype went down into a bottom of screen and now it is blinking yellow and blue.”

“Don’t worry Tom it just got minimized, click on that blinking Skype”, said Karan, calming Tom down.

“Yes, Answer with video.”, uttered Tom with a joy.

“Click it.”

In a phoney techno sound Karan heard a Toddler voice, “Hello, Grampa, are you there?”

No one replied for over 10 seconds, the toddler asked again, “Are you there, Grampa?”

Silence. Waiting for Tom to reply, after around 15-20 seconds, Karan asked, “Tom can you hear him?”

“Can you hear me Grampa?”, asked toddler in an anxious tone.

“Ye… Yes, my child”, answered Tom in a cry-choked voice. The weep had gulped few of his syllables to whispers.

“Grampaaaaa!”, cried toddler with joy.

“Hey, Marvy, so good to see you.” Karan, could sense the literally weeping and crying Tom, from his voice.

With a sigh Karan thumped both his elbows on the desk, joined palms with both the thumbs joined and outstretched. He rested his chin over the thumbs and his forehead touched the top of his joined index fingers. With a feel, which though is quite close to satisfaction, but he knew is something more than that. He experienced a blend of amicable relief, achievement, satisfaction and attainment.

“Karan, are you there?” enquired a weepingly choked Tom, in coarse-choked voice “Hmm, yes Tom”, said Karan with calm sigh.

“Have you ever experienced tears of joy?”

Overwhelmed with emotions, despite of hardest of his efforts to hold, tears burst from his eyes. He wasn’t able to understand the feeling he was feeling. Pouring just through his eyes and keeping the expressions of the rest of his face 83 | P a g e

maintained. Clenching his jaw hard to suppress crying, he lied in a calm and controlled voice, “No, Never.”

“If you would have been here, you could have seen how these unstoppable tears of joy looks on wrinkled cheeks.”, Tom dropped his defences and cried.

“Must be a beautiful sight, I am sure.”, said Karan, maintaining his chin-onthumb gesture and with drops rolling down his cheeks and dousing the desk below him.

Karan felt the warmth of hand over his shoulder. Tilting his head, he saw Nagesh, mildly pressing his shoulder. Without a sound Nagesh uttered, “Good Job”, through his lips and smiled. Wiping his own tears Karan smiled.

With a smile Nagesh patted his back twice and in a soft voice he said, "Get ready, process owners are already barging this call, they might come down here to talk to you anytime.”

It was 10 am now, another half hour was left for the part-timers shift to end. The incident spread like wild-fire over the floor in merely 10 minutes, everyone was now talking about it and Karan was well-aware of all the eyes looking at him turn by turn, as and when the news of incident reached them. People were not sure what will happen and so were Karan and Nagesh.

At around 10:15 am, Varun Nagpal, the process owner, entered the floor. All eyes gazed straight at him and then Karan. Varun immediately understood with this, who Karan was. Hinting Nagesh with eyes to come over, he strode straight to Karan, Nagesh followed. Stopping by Karan, he looked straight at him in eyes.

Karan got up from the chair. He was all normal, relaxed and contented. Taking a deep breath, in a deep voice Varun started.

“I was barging your call from last one hour, and Nagesh had updated me with the scenario beforehand.”, Karan stood expressionless, looking in his eyes, waiting for him to complete. Varun continued, “Though what you did is commendable but the way you did that is something which is not acceptable. We

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don’t support anything other than our products and services, which was the strict point of our policy. You knew it and you broke that.”

“I was doing my job with loyalty”, replied Karan in a straight crisp tone.

“You did the job, but you’ve extended support to the services that weren’t ours, which definitely wasn’t your job and more to that against the company's policies, breaking them is definitely a terminable offence. So, to whom were you being loyal to?”

Taking a pause to compose himself, Karan replied, “That old man was calling from past 7 days and we were treating him nothing more than a file in government office, moving from one hand to another, ears in our case. When I checked with his details I didn’t even find a case description. No one even cared to make his case. Isn’t the customer satisfaction our policy as support engineers?

I think the only reason for the way we behaved was that this customer didn't have any credit card to purchase any premium product or services from us, so agent will not benefit monetarily by giving time to him. I was $30 short of hitting the incentive jackpot, which I could’ve easily achieved even in a single call. But I chose to help Tom, because I wasn’t sure anyone else would do that in future. To him we already made lot of commitments but fulfilled nothing. I agree that my approach was not correct, but that’s the only thing that clicked to me at that time and unsure of meeting the commitment we make, for the next time. I did my job.

I am loyal to my work and my conscience. As I told Nagesh, I am aware of the consequences, just not sure about what will happen. No matter what it may Varun, I will accept it wholeheartedly.”

All eyes were glued at Varun. He stood blank and thoughtful, staring straight in Karan’s eyes.

Maintaining his expressions, Varun answered, “I understood your point already, Karan, but I want you to know that, if breach of policy occurs, which has happened and if client insists on action, there will be loss of job. You took initiative which is commendable, you maintained your stance, which signifies a responsible person, the man who knows what he is doing. All these are the 85 | P a g e

qualities of a leader. I appreciate them in you. I will watch your back but client’s word will be final.”

With a mild disappointment, visibly clear in eyes, Karan asked, “Will there be a notice period or will I be asked to leave immediately. Do I need to come tomorrow?”

With a gloom Varun answered, “Yes, you will need to come tomorrow, at least for the formalities.”

Shift ended, people started walking out, this incident was the hot gossip that day.

All their batch moved to canteen for breakfast. Everyone knew what happened, nobody asked nobody answered. Karan kept mum.

He was quiet, in company’s cab dropping him home, people around him knew the incident, nobody asked nobody answered. Though his colleagues looked at him in pity, he was calm and contented. Smiling as usual and not talking much.

Alone at home he slept, at around 11:30 am, got up at 6:00 pm. Enjoyed the setting sun with a cup of tea, in balcony. He drenched himself in a book, didn’t go outside with friends, cooked his meal, had dinner at around 11 pm, took a nap of around 2 hours. Woke up by alarm at 2:00 am. He got ready for the office, all this time thinking how much he might miss his office and friends he made there.

Cab arrived, he boarded, no one talked, all were sleepy. Everyone dozed off.

After few more pickups, they reached office. Karan realized he had been a star already, people now know him by his name from his last call.

At 4:30 am they hit the floor. Karan went straight to Nagesh, to enquire about his status. Nagesh said he didn’t receive any information as of then, Karan may continue with the work. if there is any update they both will come to know.

As a routine Karan reached his desk wore his headphones, started checking his mails. Stumbled on one, he smiled ear to ear. It was about the incentive jackpot of $500. Though he hadn’t achieved his target, he won it. There was one mail above that it was from Client itself, they awarded him with $500 more for exceptional initiative and customer satisfaction benchmark. It stated that it was the first time they received a weeping appreciation on call and client regarded it as most genuine appreciation for any agent till date. Third mail was from the 86 | P a g e

Indian counterpart who gifted him Rs. 2000/- for the initiative, responsibility and efforts.

Overwhelmed with happiness Karan looked at Nagesh and found him smiling.

With a sigh Karan relaxed back and started with new adventures on calls.

[A true incident experienced by author.]

#####

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Dipnanda Bhaduri Roy Dipnanda Bhaduri Roy is a professional content writer at Bangalore Email: dipnanda@yahoo.co.in

Mirage? Really?

I Down. Down. Down. I can feel that I am being sucked into a whirlpool. I am heading towards a black hole… I am struggling hard to fight it out, trying to escape from the dark alley that I had once left behind.

I am looking at Ramesh… my eyes are stuck on his dull, tired eyes that seem to have been passing through a long sequence of sleeplessness. His overly chiseled face, that is now partly covered with unevenly-grown grey hair seems to be experiencing an unnatural aging process with dark under-eye patches and prominent blackish-green veins that have created complicated crisscrossing patterns. I am noticing those wrinkles on his forehead… he might be thinking too much over these days. His lips look cracked, pale, and undernourished. His hands and legs are tied to the rails of the bed and he is receiving intravenous fluid through his stiffened, darkened left hand that is bearing prominent marks of multiple inoculations.

I am seeing Ramesh after 3 years- the first time since I left my previous job at BKS Global. I never really imagined that I would ever meet my handsome exboss in this time and space…in a mental hospital. He is staring at me… but his expression seems to be hollow. Hasn’t he recognized me? Or is he just looking at the wall behind me?

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“Ramesh, Hi.” I am finding it hard to avoid him. The words just came out of my shocked and confused state of mind. Ramesh… in a mental hospital? In the midst of crazy, arrogant, money-minded psychiatrists and mocking, fun-making nurses who seem to have forgotten their service vows?

A man who was once used to be one of the smartest guys of our office is now tossing on the bed of a mental asylum. A man who was once noted for his achievements and problem-solving skills is now appearing entrapped into an invisible maze. Helpless. Worthless.

No. I am not sad. I am not sad at all. Somewhere in the corner of my mind, I can feel waves of hatred gushing out of a hidden chamber of my memory. I can feel heat emanating from my ears and cheeks. My teeth are getting pressed against each other.

“Ah..ah..”. The blood pushing through my veins up to my brain suddenly seems to have halted at a point.

Ramesh is trying to talk to me. Probably, he might have recognized me.

“Wwooo…wwwoo”. A strange sound comes out of his mouth as he tries to establish communication with me.

My curiosity is driving me crazy. I really want to know why he is here. I want to feel happy.

As I step toward his bed, I feel a hand on my back.

Shocked and a bit annoyed, I look back.

My ex-colleague, Vijay Lawrence, from BKS Global is standing behind me.

“Hey, how come you are here? Long time. Ha? So how’s life?” Vijay seems to be shocked to find me here… with Ramesh.

“Hey Vijay, how are you? I just dropped in to get some realistic inputs to support the concept of my novel… my second novel. My uncle’s friend is the head of the department here.” I myself can feel a tinge of pride in my words.

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“Oh wow. Really? Great job yaar. From selling life insurance and mutual funds to selling your words. Whoo. Long way to go boy.” Vijay pats me on my back. That same old touch! Vijay was one of the few friends that I could trust in my 5-year tenure at BKS Global. He was senior than me both in age and rank, but we shared a lot of things in common. We had a large family to support, both of our fathers were suffering from chronic conditions since a long time, both of us were looking to settle down, but were not able to do so due to job insecurity and absence of a strong financial background, and both of us have had been the victims of dirty office politics and favouritism.

“So what’s wrong with this man?” I prefer coming straight to the point. Curiosity seems to be controlling all my manners and behaviours at this point.

“Well, it’s quite sad. You know? He has been seeing hallucinations… dark shadows, dark corners of our office basement… you remember na?”

“How could I forget the basement?” Vijay notices my satiric smile.

“Yeah Vijay, please continue. So what else does he see? Since when is he is undergoing such a situation.” I know that am sounding like a person without sympathy or empathy, but I have my own reasons as well and Vijay is aware of it.

So he continues….

“All these started soon after you resigned… three years ago. He began complaining about whispers, hissing noises, noises of water droplets falling on a filled tub, noises of wind travelling through his back, someone watching him and following him in the office basement, someone touching him whenever he would be doing overtime late in the night. His family initially ignored it, thinking that it was just stress that he surrendered to. So they asked him to take some days off from work and travel to his native Coimbatore. Things started taking a worse shape there. He would be looking at the ceiling for hours, he would reject food, he would talk to the wall… and most surprisingly, he would feel scared of his wife’s presence around him. It’s as if he was seeing hell. He would even feel that his son’s life was at stake. He would not let his son and wife stay together. His parents were forced to keep their grandson back in Coimbatore when they 90 | P a g e

decided to shift him back to Bangalore for advanced mental health treatment. He could not stay with his wife longer than three nights. When he did not turn up at office without any prior notice, we went to his home and found him in a state of utter confusion. He was lying on the floor… unconscious. We found him a PG accommodation where he stayed for quite a few months and came to the office regularly. However, he still complained about an unexplained presence in our office basement. And the days were worse when his wife used to visit him. ” “Interesting and quite scary too.” It’s not that am concerned, but my heart has started beating a bit faster.

“Yeah man. The entire office is concerned. He has been one of our most productive managers and the top management will make a decision very soon.

I’m not sure, but he may lose his job.”

Lose his job? Wow! This means he will pass through the same phase that I have passed through once. Uncared. Abandoned. Insulted. It’s not that I am feeling very happy, but I am not feeling anything … for this man.

“Vijay, I have to leave now. I will call you later. Your number remains the same.

Right?”

“Yes, Pritam. You can call me on the same number.” Vijay smiles at me as we shake hands.

II It’s 1 am now and it’s raining outside. I am enjoying my loneliness as I am speaking to my heart. Me and my laptop, the glass window in front of me, and my complex mind- all together they are creating a mystic chemistry. I can see the blurred street lights and feel the roar of winds. Everything else outside and around me is lifeless.

Ramesh Subramaniam. My boss from my previous office. My fate maker and breaker. A so-called family-man and an intellectual professional who proved an already-established truth- Men love exploring opportunities. I am a man too and I 91 | P a g e

did not really care about his ways, but I did care about how it impacted me, my family, and my future plans.

Oh God! I cannot write a single word now. The past is pulling me back.

My achievement certificates and awards are neatly showcased in a glass rack fixed to the wall of my room. Those were the days of youth, recognition, fulfilment, and hope. I can shout out to the entire world even today- I was an achiever- a star performer- a vital resource that the top management could have trusted upon at some point of time. Back then, I was that Pritam Bannerjee who believed if there was another family made for me on this earth, it would surely be my office and office colleagues. I had started loving my company more than my job.

Days after days, months after months passed. My career was soaring high. I was planning to get married.

In all my success and failures, I found Ramesh beside me. Perhaps, he was the best mentor, supervisor, and manager a professional can ever come across. This was my first job and Ramesh was there for me- helping me close deals, making my sales calls successful, and boosting my spirit whenever I felt that nothing was working out. I had started viewing him as my father figure. He would congratulate me personally during award events, he would talk high about me in front of our company’s President, he would be the one who could understand my true potential.

Then things changed as Monica Kapoor entered my life. She had high ambition and she knew other routes to reach her goal. Through her dark long hair, neatly done, long nails, perfume that smelt like wild orchid, and dreamy, ever-thirsty eyes, Monica enslaved Ramesh. This triggered gossips throughout the office.

Surprisingly, neither Ramesh nor Monica ever cared about anything. They got drowned in their own world of passion, flesh, opportunity, promiscuity, and selfish interests. Ramesh was a married man and Monica was married too.

I could hear people making derogative comments about their relationship. The talks were everywhere- in the canteen, inside cubicles, in the restroom, and even over informal telephone calls. I used to feel hurt, but how could I let my boss know what was happening behind him? People were not liking the fact that I did 92 | P a g e

not show any interest in taking part in the discussion. They used to call me Ramesh’s ‘chamcha’. I did not really care.

All I knew was how he was good towards me and how he helped me jumpstart my career in a field where success meant nothing other than investment figures and customers’ instalment cheques. I had no interest in Ramesh’s personal life, but I definitely reacted when someone raised questions about it. There were the stories of their hot romance, crazy private meetings behind shut cabins, steamy kissing sessions in the dark basement during late office hours. Ramesh looked so much absorbed into her… into her feminine depths and peaks. Did he ever realize that she was using him to climb up her career ladder? Maybe. May not be.

I had spotted them together… several times… in the basement. I had seen them behind the pillars…inside Ramesh’s car. I found them in the midst of intense kissing sessions. I found him pulling her long dark hair. I found her scratching into his chest. Lonely and deprived, I used to stand still… spellbound.

As the days passed by, I started realizing that Ramesh had changed a lot. He would not show any interest in other teammates except Monica. He would accompany her to all her client visits, he would help her make presentations, and he even persuaded the top management to set easily-achievable sales targets.

I found that Ramesh was no more interested in me and my performance. In fact, he seemed to have forgotten all my past achievements and started behaving in a way as if my recognition was just my fate and not an outcome of my hard labour.

He started insulting me every now and then… in front of other employees and in front of Monica. The top management set very high KPI figures for me that year.

I worked hard and harder to achieve the yearly target. I travelled to clients, selling them hope. I remember, I used to skip my lunch every day so that I could meet clients during their lunch times. Sometimes, I had to catch them early in the morning before they left for work. Weekends were no exception. In many instances, I had been badly insulted by clients who believed that salespeople were nothing but money-sucking leeches. My sweat, my perseverance, my commitment finally paid me back. Luckily. But….

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Now I desperately need a cigarette… it’s 1:30 am now. And so far, I have written just one line. My mind is travelling to the past… again and again.

I got my figures…but they could not save me. My boss Ramesh, who I trusted so much – more than myself, played a dirty game. All the new deals that I earned were registered with Monica’s name. I resisted, I cried, I begged… I begged to be recognized for my hard-earned achievements. All I received was an assurance that my job would be safe. I stayed in fear and anxiety, I took anti-depressants, I cried in solitude, I misbehaved at home, I drank gallons and gallons of alcohol after office hours. I could not show my face to my family. At office, I was an under-performer who was living under the mercy of the management and at home, I was a loser who considered his household to be a burden. And finally, one day… I got the piece of paper in my hand. My termination letter.

Surprisingly, I found myself stronger than what I expected myself to be. I did not cry, I did not challenge, I did not expose Ramesh. Rather I felt freed… freed from this nasty word of worthless gossips, betrayal, falsehood, and cheap politics.

This was the time I found a new “Me”. The creative “Me” who had always been neglected in the course of fulfilment of life’s basic needs. I brought words back to my life. The small saving that I could make in a span of five years was inadequate for my family’s needs, but I had no other option. I never wanted to go back to an unrewarding professional life. People changed their workplaces, but their stories remained the same. Pushed against the wall, I had no other option but to turn back and rewind my life. The fire in me kept burning as I went on weaving my thoughts… nights after nights… months after months.

A sense of satisfaction is healing my wounds. I am touching the pages of my debut novel, “The Worthless Fellow”- one of the bestselling novels in 2016.

People in the literary circle know me today, my readers love me, they write to me.

Ramesh, Monica, and the gossipers are lying on the same old garbage today, unheard and unrecognized.

The rain seems to be subsiding. No, I am spending my time unproductively.

Counting stars in my dream and fulfilling my fantasies in the subconscious world seem to be a better option. Good Night.

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III Oh, it’s already 9:00 am…God! My head is feeling so heavy. I am still carrying the burden of my past. And that dream… I am not feeling well.

I don’t really remember when I slept last night. I kept tossing and turning on the bed as my experiences continued to haunt my senses.

Soon I found myself drowned in the scenes of the past as my body started surrendering itself to the subconscious world. It felt like an office outing in a suburban resort… I was boozing with Sushant, Sunil, Ramesh, and Vijay. The others seemed to be busy with snookers, snacking, or photography. Suddenly, Monica appeared into the scene… the same way she entered my life. I noticed the eye-to-eye communication between Ramesh and Monica. There was only one message- “Now”. Ramesh got up, accompanying Monica through the resort’s elaborate pathways. I saw them fading gradually.

The subconscious showed me what I could never see in my real world. I reached their bedroom. I found myself witnessing their intense lovemaking – unobserved, uncensored. I saw her dark, long hair winding him up like a hungry python. I felt as if he had started struggling, looking for help. His feet thrashed against the bed as if he desperately wanted to breathe. I approached them and shouted “Monica”. She turned back at me- slowly…

No, I don’t want to remember my dream. But still…

She turned back. It felt as if her head was gliding smoothly on her neck… loosened. She looked directly into my eyes. Her eyeballs were pushed upward… in fact, there were no visible eyeballs. I screamed. She smiled at me, her teeth looked broken and darkened. I found a deep red mark around her neck. By then, Ramesh’s feet had stopped moving.

Oh Lord, just give me strength. I want to get over my bloody past and I don’t want them to haunt me in any form even in my dreams.

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IV 9223456499…

“Hi Vijay” “Yeah, buddy, tell. What’s up?”

“I will be visiting the asylum one last time today, say around 1:00 pm, so I was thinking if you are coming too.”

“No yaar, I have a sales call around that time. We can possibly catch up at around 3:00 pm today. What do you say?”

“Done, Vijay. Let’s meet at J.P. Nagar CCD at 3 today. Bye, see ya.

“See ya, take care.”

I have to see Vijay. I want to know about the status of Ramesh and Monica’s lust story. I am feeling curious to know where the dirty water finally emptied itself or whether it is stagnant and polluting the environment with its stench. Not only because of its relevance in my life, but also because of my present identity demands such details!

V Very honestly, I am not liking the hospital environment. The nauseating smell of anaesthesia… sounds of sudden hysterical laughter… the glares… the smiles of strangers… the arrogant doctors and the super-arrogant ward-boys… hardcore reality sucks. Strangely, people like reading about the harsh reality in its original form even though reading is supposed to be a relaxing and joyful pastime!

Yesterday, I could gather a few life stories of patients who had been admitted here for the past several months. I realized my struggle was never the toughest.

Today, I have to meet the head of the department of the female psychiatry ward to gain some insights on female psychology.

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But more than anything else, the deep-seated desire of seeing Ramesh one more time is pulling me towards his cabin.

I can see that he is talking to himself. His hands and feet are still tied to the bedrails.

“Ramesh, Hi.” Ramesh stops. He looks shocked.

“Ppppritam… ” . I am feeling that Ramesh is in pain. Extreme pain.

Should I touch his hand and let him know that I have forgiven him? Should I let him know that I am feeling very happy about his present situation? Should I shout out and let him know that Monica is a slut?

Before I can do anything, I feel a presence behind me.

It’s Jyothi, Ramesh’s wife. Is she aware of her husband’s deeds? I don’t really care now.

Jyothi knows me very well. Ramesh has invited us to his home several times.

Strangely, Jyothi is behaving very indifferently. Her eyes are looking cold and still.

She bypasses me and heads towards Ramesh.

“Aawwwww”.

A strange sound comes out of Ramesh’s mouth. His eyes are protruding out and he is trying hard to free himself from the bed.

Jyothi is standing still, her face is focused towards Ramesh. Her body is appearing unusually stiff.

“Ramesh, what’s the matter?”

The words just came out of my heart… suddenly, without my control.

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Jyothi turns back…

A sudden electric shock seems to be passing down my veins. The same face… that same face that I saw in my dream last night. Pale wrinkled face, prominent green veins forming a network throughout the face, and those eyes… those eyes without their eyeballs.

“Get Out” Jyothi … no, not actually Jyothi. The woman is commanding me. Her dark long, open hair are flying up, against the gravity.

Her teeth look black and they are broken and uneven. That same face… same…

I am feeling that my legs, down below my knees, are becoming feeble. Cold perspiration is flowing down them. I cannot look at the woman and I cannot even take my eyes off her.

VI I am feeling a deep pain at the back of my head. I can see curious faces leaning over me.

“What happened?” Why are you lying on the floor? – A nurse asks me as she wipes my face with a wet tissue.

Shit! I am feeling it difficult to drag myself up. Possibly, I had fallen on my back.

Everything is appearing like a dream. Was it all real? Or it was my sheer hallucination?

I have to get an explanation!

“Yes, sister, I’m fine. Maybe my blood pressure dropped suddenly. I will leave now.”

I am trying to look through the crowd towards Ramesh’s bed. He seems to be sleeping now. There’s no trace of his wife.

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“Excuse me, sister. Did Ramesh’s wife leave? I know Ramesh, he was my excolleague”. My heart is really beating very fast.

“Yes, she left for the day. She comes to see him every day. But sadly, he behaves as if he is not liking her presence.”

“Thank you, sister. I have to leave now.”

I am really feeling sick. I seriously need an explanation.

“Hello, Vijay” Yes, Pritam. Coming at 3:00?

“No. Vijay. I cannot come today. But I need to know something.”

“About what?” I can feel a tinge of surprise in Vijay’s tone.

“About Ramesh’s wife. Is she fine?”

“What the hell! What will happen to Ramesh’s wife? She is fine and she comes to see Ramesh in the hospital every day. But why are you asking about her?”

What will I tell now? Will Vijay believe me?

“No, actually I met her today. She looked disturbed.” I can feel that my voice is trembling.

“She has a reason to feel disturbed. Doesn’t she”? There seems to be a bit of frustration in Vijay’s voice.

“Where is his lover now? In times of his need?” My anxiety is now transforming into the state of hatred. Probably, this is a better way to divert the topic.

“Oh, you don’t know? Monica became pregnant, shortly after you left the company. There were gossips, but the two of them survived the talks. Monica stopped coming to the office after 3-4 months. She went for a medical leave. She was supposed to join after a month. But she never came back. During this period, we used to find Ramesh smoking heavily and taking more leaves. After a 99 | P a g e

month, we came to learn that she had committed suicide. Her husband’s friend’s brother-in-law had recently joined the company and he was the one who informed about it. ” I am not liking the sudden pause.

“Vijay, are you there? What happened after that? Why did she commit suicide?”

“Apparently, Monica’s husband came to know about her extra-marital affair and realized that she was carrying Ramesh’s child. He demanded abortion. Monica begged for mercy. Her husband exposed her in front of everyone. She begged Ramesh for help. Sadly, Ramesh was already the legal father of his legal son, born from his legally and socially-recognized wife. He denied support. Monica… torn, insulted, exposed, wounded… hanged herself. She is no more.” I can feel Vijay sighing.

There’s something happening in my brain. My legs are feeling unstable. The ground below my feet is shaking.

I saw Monica in my dream. She was making love with Ramesh… her long, dark hair, long nails… the woman I saw in the morning… long hair, distorted face… white protruding eyes… the mark in her neck… the fear in Ramesh’s face… his wife’s unnaturally-cold behavior… Ramesh’s reluctance to keep his son with his wife…

The equation seems to be becoming clear.

I am feeling giddy. I have to get out of this place.

I feel like looking back at Ramesh for one last time.

No, I can’t. #####

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Anusha Garg Anusha is a split soul between a hard working, sure to be a doctor and an aspiring author from Delhi.

The Wet Shirt She was standing on the other side of the road at the bus stand . It was raining and she was wearing a white shirt with her school monogram of two leaves on its pocket. The rain was making its way through her skin. Her hands were around her chest, wrapped and her bag was already wet. The rain drops were non periodic in their departure from the leaves of the tree nearby, making their way from her eye brows to lashes and then at the side of her lips, which were tensed.

She was pressing her lips hard every now and then to release some tension . Her hands were shaking and were clamped in a tight fist. She had kept her hair in front of her to cover some transparency.

Every eye was on her from the auto rickshaw driver to the fruit vendor and even the serviceman at the stand.

In front of that bus stand , there was a petrol pump. A red car stopped there with the woofer playing kudi patola. Four school guys came out and started looking at her, laughing and commenting.

Yes, she was afraid but bold, standing straight and confident. She grasped the strap of her bag in a tight fist in case she had to run. She stood looking on the empty road on the left side , so as to avoid eye contact with them. She knew if 101 | P a g e

they captured the coloured part of her eye moving , they may change their way on this lonely rainy road . She had learnt her ways in the so called urban area of this big city.

The low-floor bus flooded with people arrived on the stand. She somehow managed to enter and as she was wet, she made her way through. She had been gifted nasty watery untouchability on this day. She stood near the window to save at-least two of her sides from hazy perverted touches and with harsh eyes filled with a bit of discomfort from the wet shirt, she decided to just look at the road and not the people around her ...

Hola there..

El Adios..

Is what I want to say..

Cause I am the pilgrim of my own voyage. #####

Dharti Masi was looking keenly at the fifth door from her left side. It was 9:30, as suggested by a massive ring on the brown coloured pendulum clock which had been ticking through the ages and had survived with an old patch named Patel’s textiles written in Gujarati. It had seen so many girls grooming up into beautiful ladies and the innocent smiles turning into a mischievous laugh. It had seen the 9 o' clock run for clinical postings and the 11:30 bribe with eloquence to enter the hostel after roaming around with their adolescence.

Below that personified clock was a table with an old cream coloured cloth which was no longer creamy but muddy with stains of oil, chai and Indian curry here and there. The cloth was there since always and nobody even thought of changing it and such was the signature style of the entrance of this old medical hostel which was named after the 15th Thakore Saheb of Rajkot, Manoharsinghji.

Masi was sitting on the broken plastic chair. Her look was rigid and became stiffened each time she heard the creaky sound of a door's closure around. Her eyes were moving in the direction of disappointment until that particular door of 102 | P a g e

the gallery with Bob Marley’s poster with a quote, "Love the life you live and live the life you love", opened.

Nobody knew Masi's real name. Sometimes I feel that she might also be confused when she had to go to the bank and tell her real name. Because, she is Masi not only for the hostelites but even for Kaka working there as a security guard. At exact 4 of every afternoon, he squawked his lungs out coughing in between, from this signature table while opening the small knot of packet with chai, 'the cutting chai'. I had never ever had such an amazing chai. And the name was also appropriate for such a chai ; it was in such a small quantity that it could be filled by four table spoons, but enough to satisfy the thirst of caffeine for people like me, the addicts.

The door opened making a characteristic shriek and Masi knew this one. She sat quietly on her chair without blinking even for once. The girl wearing white kurti and blue boxers came out and put the half-filled milk packet into the dustbin and went inside her room. Masi ran like Jhansi Ki Rani , holding the palla of her sari.

She bent to take it out with caution and looked around. Nobody was there. She hid it with her palla and directed herself to the backyard of that hostel.

She made an onomatopoeic sound "meow", and a cat came moving her tail and running from the bushes. She was black and malnourished, fulfilling the criteria of racism and superstitions in her dwarf self- unaware of human laws. Her puppy eyes were shining. How ironic- a kitty with puppy eyes. But she was no different from our Masi. Masi caressed her gently and smiled. She was moving her finger on her head while the cat drank the milk with so much zeal and aggression. Masi started singing a lullaby as if she was an infant to be calmed down.

‘Hala re hala, Virane hinch ka vala Viro maro che dayo Patle besine re nhayo Patlo gayo che khasi Viro padyo maro hasi ‘Hala re hala, Virane hinch ka vala’ It means "Sleep my baby, sleep, 103 | P a g e

My baby loves to swing in his crib, He is a quiet little baby, I propped him on a plank to bathe, The plank swung a little and the little one burst out laughing."

The lullaby basically was for a baby boy but I guess Masi knew only this one and that small kitty didn’t want to poke herself into meanings anyway. The Kitty was just like me- listening to Turkish songs while reading Surgery.

The little kitty was named DHARTI by her. I asked her, "Why Dharti?"

She replied "Because just like Goddess Sita I found her in a furrow of soil near the construction site opposite our hostel."

I could remember only these lines at that time..

You left me, sweet, two legacies,— A legacy of love, A Heavenly Father would content, Had He the offer of; You left me boundaries of pain Capacious as the sea, Between eternity and time, Your consciousness and me.

—Emily Dickins

#####

Five Inches of Childhood ‘Yar bachpann ka koi purana mile’ Jagjeet Singh’s melody in my ear was whispering my childhood to me. I was sitting on my easy chair in the veranda with Amish’s book Sita and I could remember every single detail of her house. 'Her' is my girl, who used to be my friend and the other important thing was that she was my only friend. Nobody else thought I was good enough to be befriended but her. She made me feel that I didn’t need anyone. She used to live in our neighbourhood. There is an old carpenter set up that separated her house and our hospital. At least for me it 104 | P a g e

didn't make sense until, some doctor friend of my father commented "You let your daughter play with such low class people!" To which my father replied "Childhood doesn’t know any class, let them be kids and I don’t want to ruin them by making them mature idiots like us.”

I was standing at the door; I didn’t know the meaning of maturity but I knew one thing, that my father had taken my side and spoken on my behalf and now I loved him even more.

I went down running on 25 stairs from my house that I counted to the front yard of our house, jumping on woodblocks at the sides, I walked through the wooden gallery with big gates made out of ply on both sides making that gallery a walkthrough of a palace. It lead to a big tin gate. I went inside it, without even knocking and Pooja was sitting in her mother’s lap and aunty was making braids through her beautiful black hair. She had already made 4 braids- this one was the fifth one. I loved that thing. So many braids with beads stuck like stars on them.

It gave colour to the black wavy hair of hers and made her look like the Somali tribe.

I asked her “Masi , what is maturity?”

She replied "It's something you will earn when you will turn 16.”

“I don’t want to turn 16 then!”

“Why?" she asked, curiously grinning.

“It will detach me and Pooja!”

She didn’t interrogate further and went into the kitchen that was on the backside.

It was in the open, covered by a black tarpaulin. She started lighting her chulha by blowing into it using a hollow rod. And after lighting it up she asked if I liked pakode. Sitting on a wooden plank, she was trying to hold her palla on her head.

“Yumm” we made a sound and smiled.

She started chopping onions and potato with a big knife having a harsh grip; it was four times the size of the knife we used in our kitchen. Me and Pooja went near her and sat in a squatting position. We were looking at her periodic and symmetrical movement with our curious little eyes. She knew both of us were having questions.

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"What do you want to ask?" she finally asked "She is planning to stay with us tonight " Pooja replied.

"What? No, she cannot", she replied almost immediately.

"Why?" We both said in unison.

"Umm, because Pooja and I have to go somewhere urgently."

"Oh ma, where now?", asked Pooja disappointedly.

"You don't know the place", said Masi.

"Can I come?" I asked, interrupting her.

"No, beta you have to be here with your parents, we will be back in some days."

"I will miss you", I said melancholically putting my lower lip over my upper lip in a sad, disheartened tone.

"There is something for you."

"Oh really!" I said with my face almost lit up.

"Yes, go inside and look in the shoe box on the side of the almirah."

I ran inside while Pooja was smiling from there looking at me like this. I opened the box haphazardly in excitement, tearing the gift wrap over it. It was a doll. She had made a doll for me from the scrapping of clothes; it was a beautiful doll with long limbs, it had a small face with red bindi and red lips and a little black scalp.

She had dressed it with a small blue skirt and a red top. I came out with 5 inches of life in my hand, dancing. Though it looked like as if stuck with some syndrome, but it was alluring.

This is one of the best memory of my childhood and perhaps the best present I ever had. Pooja's family actually dispersed from there for better employment options after that day. I went there for almost a year after that but she was not there.

I used to sit in front of that door for hours and dig almost everything of that wooden hut in order to find some kind of letter but it was not there- nothing was there. I still go there sometimes to feel my childhood. Because she had taken it with her and instead of 16 I became mature at 9. I go there to relocate my 9 year old self and to find it in that air. So I actually had my childhood in that 5 inch doll just like the life of a magician in a parrot.

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Tanya Yadav Tanya Yadav is an 11th grader studying in Sardar Patel Vidyalaya, New Delhi.

E-mail: yadavtanya83@gmail.com

Childhood Memories: Aunt Berry My Aunt Berry was approximately made of 50 parts brainy stuff and about 50 parts love. She lived in The Clouds, two floors above my abode; in the Tower of Symphony situated in the middle of the little isle of Blair. We would often meet up to discuss matters of grave importance, like where one could find the sweetest mangoes or why strawberries never tasted like they looked, why food had to be eaten slow or why people actually grew up. She and I shared a fantastic friendship of fun, frolic and food.

She was age forty and I was eight yet we were an unbreakable bond of love.

•

Mangoes and Chicken:

“Howdy do, Tanya?” asked aunt Berry.

“Hullo aunty! I’m fine! Off to work, huh?”

“Yes dear. I’ll see you in the evening. Uncle has made chicken today. Come over for dinner, will you? Oh and I’m going to bring a special variety of Sri Lankan mangoes today. Uncle is trying out a new recipe so I guess we must have something nice to fall back on, just in case...”

“Oopsy-daisy! It’s already 8:00 a.m.! You should rush! Bye-bye!”

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“Right. See you in the evening, dear!”

That’s where we stood in three years of kinship- her and me and a bunch of mangoes.

Mangoes, no ordinary thing! They were the ‘second’ foundation of our affiliation, the first being un-sweet strawberries.

Oh dear! What a day that was, as I whined around the house, growing weary of the heat, sweating out intolerance and feeding uninterested pigeons. I kept cursing my vacations and eventually went off to sleep when the pigeons wouldn’t eat my grains. The day melted into a stale evening that smelt of heat and sounded like flies. I woke up absolutely un-fresh to the buzzing of tired mosquitoes that hummed the song of the twilight, when the clock in my mind struck six and I heard the burdened footsteps of aunt Berry. I rushed down the stairs and helped her with the mangoes, blabbering lies about my prestigious day all the way into The Clouds.

Uncle busily prepared for dinner while aunty and I broke into deep conversation, slowly (mind you, very slowly) savouring the first of twenty mangoes.

“Aunty, mummy always whines about how slow I eat my food. She says it’s irritating.”

“Well dear, I eat my food slower than you. It’s good to chew your food well and slow. It aids in digestion and doesn’t burden your oesophagus with huge and hurried bites of un-tasted savoury. It’s just right to savour every bite of food that you eat, its food after all! It isn’t meant to be swallowed till it tingles every taste bud and just turns sweet in the back of your mouth.”

“I wish you could tell that to my mother.”

“Oh I will! She’ll be here any moment.”

And so went on our conversation till it had just turned sweet in the back of the mouth.

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•

Strawberries and Strawberry Shortcake:

“I’m sorry we didn’t eat the chicken last night, uncle. The mangoes were too heavy. Actually, I haven’t had a very neat morning.”

“Ha ha! That’s alright, dear. But I must say that your father savoured every bit of it. It’s the best recipe by far!”

“I swear I won’t eat mangoes for a month now, at least. It’s just chicken from now on.”

“Goodie-good! Works for me!” And suddenly he looked outside the doors of The Cloud and found a little girl peering in. He curiously pinched his eyes together and then hastily jerked his head. His eyes shot out of his sockets and his belly jumped with laughter. Uncle was a sight to see!

He exclaimed with unprecedented joy, “Oh! We have a friend! Come in, dear.

What’s your name?”

She hurried in with lightening speed, dressed in pink from head to toe; looking like a superbly energised mouse and exclaimed with an air of pride, “I am Strawberry Shortcake and I love strawberries! I have been keeping an eye on this house for long and I insist that you take me into your gang. I’d love to be a part of your meetings and eat strawberries with you! I’m very smart and you’ll love to take me in!”

“I beg to differ.” I said, “You aren’t smart. You indulge us in a grand, grand entry like that yet all that you come up for a name is ‘Strawberry Shortcake’? Isn’t that a cartoon character? She shows up every morning on Cartoon TV... not cool.”

“Yeah well, I’m Rita.” she sighed. “Can we please ignore the terrible name?”

And if, dear reader, you’re wondering whether ‘Strawberry Shortcake’ is what she called ‘terrible’, then, I’m sorry but you’re wrong.

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•

Aunt Berry’s OCD:

“Ingeva, Samuel! (Come here, Samuel!)”, shouted aunt Berry, clearly angry with uncle who had just returned from office and was happily bustling around the kitchen.

“Did you come inside with your dirty shoes?”

“Uh, huh...y..yess...”

“Well, you know what to do. I’m very tired and I’ve had a rough day. I’m going in to take a shower. You don’t want to give me another reason to lose my nerve, alright? So make sure you do the needful.”

Uncle hurried into the kitchen and wiped all the grime off the floor, carefully with a broom first and then with a wet cloth.

“Uncle, how does aunty always come to know whether you bring your shoes in or not?”

“Oh, well you’ll see.” he softly chuckled to himself and ran off into kitchen.

And well, I did see how. When aunty returned from her bath and sat down on the dining table, I quickly looked down and realised that she had a master move.

She would sneakily remove her slippers, manoeuvre her feet on the floor and quietly check for dirt. The best part, however, was, that our lovely aunt would always manage to move her feet around without shifting an inch of her torso.

While uncle would merrily cook chicken in The Clouds, aunty would always make sure that the Earth beneath them was clean.

•

The Puppet Fiasco:

Shortcake and I became the best of friends. We planned elaborate puppet shows and came up with some beautiful performances. Our puppets were famous all around Symphony Tower. They were made out of thermocol glasses and had colourful woollen hair. Aunt Berry, Shortcake and I spent most of the evenings 110 | P a g e

binging on strawberries, mangoes and generally, just food. We broke into deep conversation every time Shortcake proposed her wild ideas about ‘The Possibility of Entering into Dreams’, ‘The Noble Idea of Building a Tree House, ‘The Benefits of Establishing a Solitary Club for Secret Meetings’ and so on.

Life became a ritual with Aunt Berry until we realised that she, like all good things in the world, wasn’t permanent. Aunty had been issued a transfer out of the isle of Blair; somewhere in a place they called the ‘Metropolitan of Chennai’.

She said she and uncle would leave for a week to meet her mother in Madurai and come back to Blair to pack up till when we could stay at her place and stage more plays.

Days passed and we grew weary. We had nothing worth waiting for the whole day and no aunt Berry to welcome us in the evenings. The flies grew to prominence and our time wiled away in discussing about the ‘Inevitable Irritation caused by Incessant Buzzing’. Mornings melted into twilight and twilight flowed into dark, lonely nights. Life was stale and ‘Berryless’ until we decided to leave aunty a parting gift before school reopened. So we started working on making her twenty adorable puppets, all of which would come to her as a surprise when she would return to Blair, incidentally on the same day as school was to reopen.

Every day smelt like eager wool balls, waiting to be cut and knit into puppet hairstyles; life had become as lifeless as a puppet show with no one to pull our strings together. Days turned into lazy afternoons and then into quiet nights, yet our puppets just lay idle; with minimal purpose and no life. We felt like we were growing up, like even if aunty returned, things wouldn’t be the same. That even if she had a month with us after her return to Blair, things would fade into oblivion.

Finally, a day before reopening, we carefully enshrined our puppets inside aunt Berry’s grand fruit shelf. We left them there with aching hearts as a memory of our happy times together while we packed for an unknown adventure we once called school.

The next day life unfurled new colours, for it had been the first time since seven days that we had smiled. We descended from The Cloud, happy that we would 111 | P a g e

come back there and meet Aunt Berry after school. Yet school hours melted into agony and intolerance rose up our bodies like fever. The wait was terrible, as terrible as either of Shortcake’s names.

When school closed, we weren’t happy. Something was wrong and we could sense it. Anxiety metamorphosed into panic and panic into hysteria. The birds were restless, the air was stale, the sky was cloudless and the heat pushed us into a trance. We rushed up into The Cloud and opened the door to find that everything was perfectly still, so still it seemed like something had been taken away. We looked around in search for ‘Inevitability, The Monster’. Our eyes unseeing the foolery, our backs ready to be stabbed and a monster lurking behind us, were just the few bad things happening when Shortcake pointed at the shortcoming. “There!” she exclaimed. “Our puppets! They are gone!”

•

Seven Years whence:

Shortcake and I never told anyone about the missing puppets. We investigated into the matter yet nothing yielded. We are no longer in touch and Aunt Berry still lives in the strange metropolitan. Till date, I wish to seek answers. Life had turned into a strange question until yesterday when after seven long years, I received a letter, a letter that melted into an answer:Dear Tanya, Time melts into more time, age melts into more age, puppets melt into more puppets as strings pull you up tighter; the strings that I call adulthood. Your puppets are still there just that the strings have throttled them above ‘The Clouds’, into a space I call ‘The Vacuum’. I come and go, like all good things, like rain, like sunshine, like seasons- seasons of berries and mangoes...

With lots of nostalgia, Your Childhood.

##### 112 | P a g e

The Red Bag I am sleep deprived, in a beautiful sense. Sitting in my niche corner, in a cosy bedroom substantial for a silent survival; (are you counting the alliteration?) I write. And I smile; smile at my own little jokes as I deliberately play with my words and bracket out the grammar references that light up my page. This night is beautiful. All I hear is the distant call of the train and the silent banter of my keyboard as it voices the mess in my head. My coffee is cold and sweet, like I like it and it gives me due company as I rub slumber out of my eyes, desperate for a story to wake me up. We are a cult of nocturnal citizens, writing away into the starry night; tales that no one will wake up to -these are great stories, these are great men, the world drowns in the power of their thought as they dream and wish and pour their hearts out. Their silence is their story and it engulfs you with all its might, as you sleep the night away.

This person, this silent, cowardly person could be around you; melting away into insignificance as all of humanity overpowers him, with noise and talk and an incorrigible sense of life, a life that requires you to work and speak and fight and socialize and rise above everyone else to make it to the top, in a place above the clouds, where everything glitters and looks pretty- a place where he doesn’t belong. This person does not like the day; he rises in the night, significant and wanting to be heard. He has opinions, he has thoughts, at night he doesn’t melt into insignificance; he screams above your snores and into his computer as his hands type away a million words. He is not ignorant, he has a story to tell but when the sun comes out, and you wake up, he buries himself back into insignificance.

So, I walk up to him and hold his hand and we sit on the bench (in silence). We sense we are both part of the cult, of nightwalkers and nocturnal citizens and soon enough, we binge on our stale coffee and write together.

Day time and we write letters to each other; waiting to meet in the warm afternoon sun, where we start with our first coffee, regaining our strength for a beautiful night of distant train calls and clicking keys, of random strolls at the terrace of the globe; where for once we look down at the world of sleep-stricken 113 | P a g e

humans perishing under the night, the night when we whisper to the stars and spread the beautiful silence that rocks you to sleep. We relieve you of your own banter, we stay quiet so you have someone listening to you, we sweep your words out of the air and sing lullabies of silence, to put your chattering mind to a peaceful sleep.

So just this one time, hear us out, look at us, notice us, and you’ll find a story.

Look at him, this man with his stale coffee, he’s alone in a crowd…

Look at his light brown skin, shy and waiting to come out; his chequered shirt and dark blue jeans, high black shoes with a line of red in them. His eyes, they say it all, they are black and deep, and if you look close enough, they have a story to tell. Just jump into the ocean and he’s an open book, the shy boy’s an open book, his eyes never stop talking! And have you ever seen his red bag? Ever thought what went into it? Oh, you’ll say it has a pen and a secret diary, the picture of his long lost love and blah blah…

You just took our man for granted. So easy, isn’t it? To judge. That red bag is a perfect mess. It has crisps and candy, forlorn wrappers and half-eaten breakfast.

Broken pens, crumpled paper and a tattered copy of “How to get a girl in 7 days”.

This man, he was taken for granted and for way too long…

So, again, look at him. See where he’s going. Walking with his gaze down, a big red bag (bigger than usual) burdening his shoulders, he crosses our coffee shop, not looking twice. He walks beyond the town and on his way, takes off his high black shoes, wearing them in his hands and with a sudden skip in his walk.

“Hey!” I shout, “What’s with the shoes?”

He turns around, shocked, “Uh, nothing. They lose shape if I wear them for too long…”

“Where are you heading to?”

“Uh, nowhere... I’m just, uh, strolling to uh…”

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“It’s okay, I’ll see you around, then? Tomorrow night’s Cult night.”

And he leaves without an answer, cautious enough to melt back into insignificance; pretending to be ‘himself’.

So we follow our man, cautious ourselves. Tip-toeing into his candid space, we see him unfurl himself, slowly, prudently. Taking his shoes off from his hands, we see him pull out a packet of ‘Nerds’ candy from his bag. Sitting on the steps of the cottage he headed us to, we see him wait. Waiting in silence, candy in hand; he’s alone in a wilderness when we hear a whimper. Our man breaks down, memories flash back in an instant and you can see him pour his story out…

So, there it goes in the dump: Judgment Number 2. Candy and ‘How to…’ books are just an easy way to normalize his existence, aren’t they? You took him at face value, again. Once for a shy, mysterious man and then for a normal one.

You never heard him out, you never saw him, you made him what you thought he was. You never listened. We see people, we judge them and we forget their stories. Their silence makes you judge them, their conversations too. A man is a canvas for the world and until he can find a wilderness to weep; his life is yours to paint.

#####

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Vedika Srivastava Vedika Srivastava is a professional from Hyderabad.

software

E-mail: vedikasri@gmail.com

Rainy Season I love rainy season, because of many reasons.

I get a chance, to see the peacock dance.

I make paper boats, and love to see them float.

Trees become green, environment becomes clean.

I like to get soaking wet, but my mother gives me umbrella to protect.

I jump in muddy pools, breaking all her set rules.

When rain makes me joyful, to Rain God I feel grateful.

When I am gripped with some sadness and fears, Rain helps me hide all the tears.

The seven colours of the rainbow, make all the sadness go.

Every time it rains, it never goes in vain.

It spreads all smiles, but, yes, only when it rains for a while.

When Rain God shows his fury, and refrains from hearing any jury, then there is a flood 116 | P a g e

and there is blood.

Life is devastated, and God is hated.

People in pain, have nothing but complaints.

Little do they understand, Trees were God’s magic wand.

When they were mercilessly uprooted to construct a cemented mall, it was like playing with nature giving way for the human downfall.

It is high time we worship and thank Nature, And understand our true small stature. #####

A Purposeful Murder “Paradise – A heavenly abode”, the nameplate which adorned the entrance of our villa looked dismal today. Each time when a police van made its way inside, its wheels greeted the gold embossed letters with a cloud of dust. Our mournful watchman would help them regain their shine and glitter with his cloth which had become equally dusty by now.

The drooping flowers and the trees which seemed to be stooping low today gave company to the melancholy gardener who was busy plucking unwanted weeds.

Every time a policeman stepped out of his vehicle, the gardener left his chores to salute the officers and made himself available for a quick conversation, rather investigation. The chirping birds and colourful butterflies seemed to have taken a break today as our garden, respecting its caretaker’s mood, looked equally gloomy.

The doorbell could have provided some respite as it played a soothing tune upon being pressed. However, it was not required today as our front door was left ajar with continuous movement happening in and out.

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My maid shifted my trolley bags which had not been unpacked yet, in the room where the policemen had completed their investigation. She asked for my handbag too but I did not oblige her. The senior officer stepped out from the other room, where my husband’s body lay in a pool of blood. He moved towards me signalling his colleague to get ready with his writing pad.

I had been crying inconsolably all this while but now, respecting the officer’s duty, I acknowledged the cooperation that was expected of me. I wiped off my tears and sat on the sofa besides him. He started speaking with comforting words, “Mrs. Jackson, I know it is a very difficult time for you but again, you can proudly say that Mr. Jackson is not dead, just that his noble soul has departed his body while serving his motherland. This country will always respect him and pay homage to him, sincerely wishing that he finds a heavenly abode up there which matches the paradise he had built for himself down here.” After a brief pause, he added, “Would you mind narrating all you know about this murder?”.

Reminding myself of the fact that an army officer’s wife is supposed to be an epitome of strength and power, I calmed down but hardly had I uttered a few words when my daughter arrived. She hugged me while I read the expression on my grandson’s face who was in his father’s arms. He looked all around the clumsy house which had never been this way before. He had always been welcomed with the widespread arms of his grandfather and big grinning smiles on his grandparents’ face but today those arms were not there, those smiles were not there.

With tears and a disbelief in her eyes, my daughter inquired, “How did this happen Mom? Yesterday evening, we had spoken to Dad and all was good then how, why?”. She could not speak more.

My husband’s body had to be driven now for post-mortem. As the officers moved past us with the body, the pedestal fan removed the sheet from his face.

His eyes which were known for being vigilant and attentive throughout his demanding times demanded rest now. His ears which could hear and trace even a cat’s footsteps from a distance were now stuffed with cotton balls. His big moustache which he showed off in pride as he nailed down the enemies looked 118 | P a g e

lost today. The sight, again, sent shivers down our spines as we could not hold back our tears.

My daughter accompanied the officers outside the house while I started my narration, “Mr. Jackson held some confidential information which was key to our country’s security and if leaked out, could lead to mass destruction. He was being traced and chased for this information for the past month by several terrorist foundations. We had received innumerable phone call threats. He had been attacked too. Those were minor attacks just to scare him. He had given a thought to discuss this with his seniors but eventually assumed that he could deal with it and hunt and track down the terrorists by himself. Also, he had kept those documents quite safely at a place which even I was not aware of.

Last week we had planned to be at our daughter’s place for our grandson’s birthday celebrations. He had flown with me as per our travel plan, but had to return two days prior owing to his work commitments. I had thought of talking to his seniors on my return without informing him to ensure his safety. But destiny had scripted its own story. Unfortunately, I stuck to our travel plan and now have been left with a lifetime regret that I did not accompany him back. Last evening, when I talked to him over the phone, I sensed unrest in his voice but never had I expected that the terrorists would barge in and stab him with a knife.

I had given a week’s leave to all our household helpers too so today morning I was the first person to enter the house. I rang the doorbell initially, but when it was not answered for a couple of minutes, I opened the door with the keys I had, thinking Mike might be in the bathroom. When I entered our bedroom, I saw him lying on the floor unconscious with a deep wound in his stomach. I tried talking to him but it was too late. He kept pointing to our cupboard, trying to indicate something. But by the time I could react, death had snatched him into its arms, far away from mine.

I wish I’d been there earlier. It might have made all the difference. So all I can tell you is why he was murdered. How – stabbed, but the weapon is yet to be found.

Who – terrorists but ‘who?’. Please do find out.

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Trying to find some possible clue, I searched my cupboard inside out and found those confidential documents which I have been talking about thus far. I would now like to hand over those documents to his trustworthy senior officers.�

I was interrupted by a soft tap on my shoulders. I turned around to find Mr. Rajput standing there. I brought the documents and handed them over to him.

The officer then took my leave assuring me of a thorough investigation and of nabbing the murderers soon.

I was now surrounded by all our relatives, neighbours and friends. No wonder, we had many well-wishers who not only loved us from the bottom of their hearts but respected us more because of Mr. Jackson’s noble profession, his valour, his courage, his selfless devotion and honesty towards his country.

It was by late evening that I could bid adieu to one and all. All this while, I had ensured not to leave my handbag out of my sight.

After dinner, the four of us, sat on our balcony gazing at the bright moon in the sky. I tried to figure out among the countless stars, that glowed in the sky, as to which one was Mr. Jackson. I said a small prayer for him and a big Sorry.

My grandson then dragged his parents into the bedroom as his body demanded rest now. Indeed, it had been a long and tiring day for each one of us. We were physically and mentally drained. Left all alone, I had made my way to my room. I locked it from inside and then unzipped my purse to take out the knife which had been used for stabbing my husband. There were faint blood stains on it as I had not been able to wash it thoroughly. After doing so I kept it back at its place, in the kitchen drawer.

I was lying in my bed but could not get sleep. Each of my body parts were in pain but my painful heart knew no bounds and kept me devoid of sleep. The past month had been a real struggle for me. The hero of this country, the hero of my life had left his past heroics behind and had made up his mind of deceiving his country, his own people. He had been offered a huge ransom for sharing the confidential information he had been keeping a guard of and had unwisely 120 | P a g e

accepted the offer. We had argued often on this but he was adamant and was not ready to budge from his decision. When he preponed his return from our daughter’s place by two days and sounded uneasy over the call, I became suspicious. On return, I found out that he had brought the documents home and was planning to hand them over to the terrorists that evening. We had a heated argument and when I failed again to make him understand his mistake, I was left with no other option but to murder him, thus saving my country and my husband from being tagged as a traitor.

May his soul rest in peace and may I find some peaceful sleep. With those thoughts, I closed my eyes. #####

The Scary Night Nisha woke up in the middle of the night gasping for breath as two strong hands clasped her neck. As her hands struggled to loosen the grip of those hands, she noticed that the finger nails of those hands were way too long and sharp enough to slit one’s throat.

She was sweating with fear and with her struggle to free herself. Suddenly the hands left her neck only to hold her hand with the same strong grip that had held her neck. This time she tried to figure out this enemy but strange enough, she saw only a long overcoat with two hands coming out of the sleeves of it. The overcoat was all black and dark with no human figure inside. She was scared to death.

The hands then pulled her mercilessly out of the bed and her bedroom. They dragged her down her staircase giving her enough bruises on her legs. She was unable to resist moving out of her house as the strength of her sleek body was unmatchable to the strength of those hands. She yelled for help only to hear her echo in the dark as she was finally dragged out of her house. She was wondering where her husband could be at this hour of the night to miss her yells and not stand up for her help.

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It was pitch dark outside her house. Strangely, the street lights had decided to make the situation worse for her and had blacked out to petrify her further.

Blood oozed out from her bruises as they became more painful when the bushes and plants in her garden touched them. Her yells turned to loud cries now but all her neighbours seemed to be in dead sleep.

She inquired the devil for the reasoning behind making her frantic today but heard no answer. Her horror stricken eyes, which had become wide enough figuring out any clue or chance for escape, then saw a sight which sent shivers down her spine.

On one of the high trees, that adorned the pathway which led to her house from the main busy road, she saw her husband’s corpse hanging on a branch. She fainted for a minute only to regain her senses to come out of this plight. She made extra efforts now with all her strength to free herself and reach out to her husband, to bring him back from the shackles of death. But it was of no use as she herself seemed to be joining him in sometime. She was half dead already with the hands not giving her any respite.

She was then thrown in a dark deep pit. The hands released her now but climbing the pit to escape from this scary place seemed to be an impossible task. She lay there for the devil’s next move.

The gusty winds made the trees sway to and fro making a deafening sound which added a further horror element to the dreaded night. While she was composing herself with the devil nowhere to be seen now, a knife came from nowhere and struck her in her leg. She was left with a deep wound with blood coming out of it profusely. The knife then took dips in her blood as if it was a paint brush and cut through the clouds to paint in red bold letters, in front of her bloodshot eyes, ‘REVENGE’.

She was in dismay, unable to conclude on any one who could seek revenge from her husband or/and her. Just then, loud cries of an infant almost made her deaf.

She heard, “Do not kill me Mom!! I wish to see the world!!”

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This was enough to wake her up from her dream. As she sat in her bed now with her husband sleeping beside her, she saw that the horrifying night had ended and beautiful rays of sun were peeping into her bedroom from the floral curtains.

It was seven o’ clock by her watch and she knew how she had to spend her next three hours – restless and waiting.

As soon as it struck ten in the morning, she called up the clinic to cancel her appointment for aborting the female foetus she was carrying inside her. #####

A Salute to the Fighting Spirit As I took my position at the centre of the stage, being the showstopper for this fashion event, the spotlight which had followed each of my step, now focused on me. The bridal wear which I had adorned was a unique and celebrated piece of art. The heavy embroidered gold work and finely sequined thread in between, spoke of the weight of the attire, but this burden which I was flaunting today had, to an extent, unburdened the burden which I had been carrying all these years.

The applause was deafening and made me wonder if the designer collection was being appreciated more or if these models were being saluted for coming back on stage after a sabbatical and taking the stage by storm.

My left eye which had lost its right partner years ago, was left blinded with the camera flashes and as I gazed around at the audience, with the photographers busy doing their job lined up in front of the stage, I wondered if our outfits shone more or our faces glowed more today.

The show was a huge success; response abounding, manifold surprises.

Our dates were booked for consecutive six months. Sweet success was helping us forget our bitter past. We had become celebrities whose autographs and 123 | P a g e

surprisingly photographs were sought for. We did not shy away from taking our decisions and making our choices anymore.

When I was not walking the ramp, I used to be busy taking calls; the designers, the event organizers, the beauticians, the hair stylists. It was a busy life yet again. ***** My doorbell woke me up from last night’s hangover. We had partied hard last night celebrating yet another success and had promised ourselves not to look back from here now. I opened the door for my maid making me realize that I had spent almost half of the day sleeping. I switched on my phone now as I had planned to spend a lazy Sunday without offending it with any calls till my sleep’s lullaby ended.

The moment my mobile screen flashed the half bitten apple, a call made its way through and the loud jingle made me hastily accept it. The person on the other side introduced himself as a renowned director from theatrical background and asked me if I would be interested in trying my luck in this new genre for me. I was still rubbing the sleep off my eyes but the idea sounded quite interesting to make me attentive to his words.

He told the subject of the play: “The Untold Story” with the tagline “I wish I could turn back the clock and bring the wheels of time to a stop.” He said, “I am sure you can relate to this very well” and asked for my time. I remembered the promise I had made to myself last night which did not allow me to give a nod to this play but something within me jolted me and pushed me to meet this person.

All this while, I had been walking the ramp and taking a few interviews which just inquired about my fashion statements and about basking in the glory of my success. Perhaps, this was a chance where a celebrity will open up to the world and speak about the hardships she had been through. While everything seemed to be a cakewalk now, it had indeed taken a lot of effort and courage to enjoy this success. I decided an agenda for this lazy Sunday and invited him for a cup of coffee at my residence.

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***** A man in his late forties entered my living room and made himself comfortable on the sofa. His thinning hairline seemed to talk about his wisdom. His ill-fitted shirt and trousers hinted of his non-inclined attitude towards the world I came from now. He sported a long beard which he used as a prop when in a thinking mode. After finishing his coffee, he took out a diary and pen from his bag and asked me to start narrating my story.

While I was figuring out where to start from, he quietly and keenly observed all my paintings in the room. I was not a great painter but I tried painting my heart out whenever I found some time. The canvases made over the last two years fell short of colours with the black and dark shades dominating them while the art work before that, was colourful and bright.

He started scribbling as I went down my memory lane.

I was born and brought up in Goa amidst the beautiful beaches and its rich flora and fauna by a middle class family whose survival was solely dependent on the tourism industry that Goa boasted of. So while my parents spent the latter half of the year working hard and capitalizing on the peak tourist season, earning to raise their two kids, I parented my younger sister. Most of our relatives lived in proximity hence all of our time was well spent in Goa and we rarely visited any other city. This was bound to raise a lot of opposition by one and all when I expressed my desire to try my luck in the entertainment and financial capital of India, Mumbai.

I successfully completed my graduation and all these three years, I tried convincing my parents about my big dream. Luckily, they gave me a year of my life to pursue my dream with a condition of returning to them if I was not able to succeed in that time period. I could not thank them enough.

With big dreams in my eyes and after a lot of struggle, I managed to land up a few assignments in my kitty for some fashion shows. I still remember my nervousness when I had to walk the ramp for the first time but thankfully, I was noticed by a few big names and eventually I started climbing the success ladder.

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Few advertisements came my way but there was still a long way to go. There was a lot of competition all around and I was trying to make a mark and stand out of the crowd with my experience teaching me my best lessons. I was enjoying this learning phase when one doomed evening, while I was returning to my rental apartment, three guys driving on a bike came rather close to me and the pillion rider threw acid on my face.

A tear rolled down my cheek and shiver down my spine as I remembered the horrifying incident, but I chose to continue without a pause, valuing Mr. Director’s time.

I had to undergo several operations and surgeries but I could not regain my lost right eye vision and my half of the face remained deformed. The physical pain which I went through was nothing compared to the mental trauma I had to undergo. I thought of ending my life a couple of times but then I did not want to set a wrong example of being a coward for my sister, hence hung on with my shattered dreams. I feared and shied away from glancing at a mirror and it took me an entire year to accept myself the way I was now, thanks to all the support and love I got from my relatives and friends.

For the next one year, I read all about the acid attack victims and met many of them. We shared our stories with each other and with the world. Eventually, we were roped in by a fashion house for their first ever fashion show with the chosen models being the acid attack survivors. We walked the ramp for a cause and tried questioning the society if this brutality meted out to us was justifiable in any way.

Mr. Director, with moistened eyes, raised his head up from his diary now, and asked me, “I wish I could turn back the clock and bring the wheels of time to a stop. So would you like to bring back the time that was, prior to you being struck with this tragic incident in your life?” I answered, “I would like to bring the wheels of time to a stop where I could catch hold of my molesters and question them, looking into their eyes, if their prank was an achievement for them and if they ever felt apologetic for the tremendous amount of pain that they had filled my life with?”

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***** The entire next month was spent on preparations for the play. Not much effort was needed from me since I was playing myself in the play. It was an enriching experience to meet a new set of talented people and exploring this new territory.

Life had come full circle where I had once been an optimistic person when starting my journey in Mumbai, then a low lying pessimistic who could just feel the negative vibes all around her and now again living life with a new zeal, like a victorious me.

The play was successful in making its audience realize that no one, just no one, deserved such a treatment and a conscious effort was needed from society to stop such heinous crimes. It became a talking point for many days and there were heated discussions on the social media.

Amidst this furore, it was another lazy Sunday morning for me when the doorbell woke me up. I opened the door and saw a bouquet placed at my doorstep. I picked it up and found a card in it which read “Sorry�. My ears heard a bike speeding away from me at a distance.

#####

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Ranjana Tripathi Ranjana Tripathi is an International Life Coach, Motivational and Corporate Trainer Angel card Reader.

Connect to her at @ranjana.tripathi on Instagram.

Email: divinedecree2@gmail.com https://www.facebook.com/ranjana.tripathi.75 https://www.facebook.com/divinedecree/

MYSTICAL MEMORIES It was a dark and endless night for Robin. He knew things would be difficult but had no idea they could be this appalling. Setting aside his blue duffle bag along with his files’ folder, he sat for a while on a bench. The empty platform on the dark tunnel-like railway station seemed horrendous and scary at first. He folded his trembling hands and concealed his pale face as if he is hiding his fear with weak hands.

The cool breeze on the noiseless platform was no solace for him. Robin was a 32, handsome, well-built and a successful photographer.

Capturing human emotions by his camera was his forte. Best photographer awards on many events and competitions were his few prized possessions.

The phone rang. A few days back his very dear friend Tuhina from Bangalore called him and asked him if he would be interested in taking up an interesting assignment for her.

He had always been an adventurous and courageous guy and he loved to challenge himself often with new projects.

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But this project was life changing for him, it was more than a challenge, in fact, the whole experience was irreparable.

Tuhina on 13th May 2008 called him from her office to his mobile, and they had spoken about everything from weather to sports to fashion and life. Suddenly she popped this question “Hey would you like to cover a photo shoot for me?”

Robin jumped with excitement. “Yes, of course! Why not? When should I come to Bangalore?”

“No, you won’t have to come to Bangalore. This project is to be completed in Kolkata.”

Robin’s heart dropped.

“Okay done! I have an important project tomorrow post which I will book my tickets,” confirmed Robin.

Even though an opportunity of being in Tuhina’s company and touch was ruled out, he was excited, if only because it was her project.

“So, let me tell you. This photo-shoot will cover all the old places in Kolkata where my childhood was spent. Capture them with your eagle eyes and I will caption them for you,” she had said.

“Ok, send me the details of all the areas you want to me to cover.”

Robin couldn’t sleep that night. He had fallen in love with Tuhina when he first met her in Delhi. Tuhina was in his city for 6 months for the same software project as him and they had soon become friends.

There was something unusual about her. She was unlike most girls he had met.

Her persona exuded calmness, elegance, and honesty. But the aura of mystery that surrounded her was what hooked Robin. As if she and her own dreams are the only things she possessed.

Their conversations ranged from topics of life and death to that of true love, fairies, angels, God, and supreme power. Robin was in love with her encapsulated thoughts and her mystical world. Her unusual demeanour would often bemuse him. But no sooner did she have to leave. While Robin continued to stay in Delhi, Tuhina shifted to Bangalore. Tuhina was never active on social media. It 129 | P a g e

had already taken him a lot of to get her mobile number. How difficult would it be now? Would she still be the same?

Robin one fine day left his corporate job and started his freelancing work of photography. He discussed with many friends and relatives. He also approached Tuhina, and she showed lots of interest in his passion and said he should pursue what he wants.

With his eyes on sky and stars, he took a life-changing decision. He had decided to leave his job to pursue his passion for photography. He had approached his friends and family, including Tuhina who further supported his decision. After all, as she said, “Life is a miracle, Robin, and the human body is hard-earned, live your life on your own terms!” One year down and he was now a sought-after photographer. Tuhina knew everything about him, he made sure of that. Be it anything trivial to important. Thankfully, she also stayed in constant touch and never felt distant. Tuhina never expressed any other emotions or feelings for him, always creating confusion in his mind about the relation they shared.

Back to the present, he realized he has to get up early for his project near the Delhi bird sanctuary.

Yet, the next morning he woke up and left for his work sleepy, secretly hoping that Tuhina surprises him by travelling to Kolkata. Isn’t she so attached to those rustic, crowded roads and by lanes?

The day to depart for Kolkata arrived. He had his list in his bag and was ready to embark on a journey where his best friend Tuhina was born and brought up. It would be reliving her life through his camera lens.

His flight reached Kolkata around 10.30 at night. Kolkata city was bustling with noise, the noise of excitement, people all around laughing and meeting their dear ones, few were separating too. Cab drivers approaching people like a fish market.

He was smitten by the energy of the city. “Rashogollas and Puchkas” the language was very sweet and people seemed to be helpful and polite.

Well, here I am, he thought. It was the exuberating excitement of the new project and new city that made him feel as if it were his first project all over again.

He was supposed to start his work tomorrow morning, with some sightseeing.

He was instructed by Tuhina to stay in her old flat in New Alipore. The flat had 130 | P a g e

been closed for over 8 years. Tuhina ensured that the house was clean and tidy before he arrived.

As soon as he entered the society he got a call from Tuhina around 1 o'clock at night, “Hey, you reached?”

“Yes, I am on my way to Block B.” “Great! You will be guided and taken care of by Masha, my old servant, who takes care of my flat.”

Robin thanked her and wished her a good night. The wheels on his suitcase screeched as they walked in the eerily silent society. Soon taking the lanes from the main gate he reached Block B. It was too dark and the channel gate of the block was open. The security man was standing and a very old man was waiting who was staring him in that dark quiet night. He was wearing a brown kurta of khadi and white dhoti had white hair and a thick moustache. He was tall, strongly built enough to be at that age. He took the bag from him, introducing in a very low voice “I am Masha, Tuhina asked me to be with you in this flat”.

Oh...thank you, Masha, he answered and for the very first time, he felt uncomfortable. There was some kind of unnerving cold wave that had just passed from his side. Masha held his bag and opened the lift and they both in dead silence reached 3rd floor. Flat no 32 was a cream coloured door which was made of two doors and not a single door what we have today. Masha opened the door and switched on the doorway lights. The doorway had a room at left and a big drawing area. Old furniture and old paintings were still intact in this flat.

Masha kept switching on each light and while doing this asked him “Sir what would you like to have now, tea, coffee or dinner?”

“Dinner” Robin answered.

The flat in new Alipore was in one of the oldest society and was near to the Rabindra Sarovar metro station. A four bedroom flat with old architecture and old paints gave an idea of the age of the building. The lift was still managed by a lift man and the corridor had 4 flats. He liked the society and also the flat, there was something uncanny but soothing which he was not able to ascertain.

“Masha please don’t call me Sir, this sounds very odd” smiled Robin.

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While stretching his both hands he again called Masha, "You can call me beta."

Masha turned back and looked at him in an outlandish manner, and smiled faintly. I have kept all your stuff in this room, he pointed towards one room that had doors in the drawing area. The door was open and lights were on. A big double bed with corners of old carved furniture was neatly made and the room had very old almirahs that had posters of rock singer Remo Fernandes.

Robin laughed and asked Masha, "Is this Tuhina’s room?"

“This must be her room, in 90’s she was a fan of Remo, she would often share.”

Robin murmured.

The dressing table across the bed was also very old and furniture was still spick and span. A study table which had an old computer was covered with a plastic cover. There was a closed door towards the right of the computer table. He curiously moved towards it, pulled the doors inward. The door opened to a lovely long veranda. The veranda had a beautiful scenic view. The whole south of Kolkata was in sight. Lights of the city gave an image of stars lit all together. A tall building far away was giving a clue of people still awake. Just opposite the apartment, there was a big mosque but quite old. Soft wind touched Robin's hairs and he closed his eyes. He wanted to feel the presence of Tuhina when she as a teenage girl would be staying in this flat and often would have graced this balcony with her soft demeanour.

“Babu the dinner is served”, Masha called Robin from behind. Robin was a bit perplexed as the word babu, seemed to be so attaching, as if he had heard it before, he wanted Masha to call him again but it would undoubtedly sound a senseless plea.

He moved towards drawing area and there was a 6 seated dining table near to kitchen. The table had a plastic cover and the fridge was kept beside that. From the dining table, the kitchen was adjacent. Robin’s mind immediately went to the past. He could visualize how Tuhina and her siblings must have had fun here in this flat, making noises and playing near this dining area while her servant Masha and parents would have handled them with calmness, patience and sternness.

Why was he so fascinated and deeply attached to Tuhina or her past? He came here for a project and merely doing that should be his priority. He wondered.

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The well spread dinner made him more hungry. He could make it from grumbling noise inside the stomach. Begun bhaji, Dal, rice, and chapati were looking appealing. He had his dinner relishing each and every bite slowly and got up once he finished, kept the plates in the kitchen sink. Washed his hands and went to the room. He was very tired and his muscles were aching. He knew he would sleep like a log today.

Morning around 4 o clock his sleep was broken by the Namaz prayer outside the apartment. He rubbed his eyes and stretched his body a bit. Walked till the balcony gate and came out on his balcony. Stars were still twinkling and the black sky had no signs of rising sun. Roads were clear with no sound of traffic. All yellow and black taxis were parked near the petrol pump outside the apartment.

The silence was enigmatic and had some sort of magnetic pull.

Robin was wondering about the different feelings he was undergoing since he had come. He really was in awe and preposterous mood as was unable to decipher the mixed feelings he was getting.

He came back to his room and switched on the light, took his small bag of all accessories he will require for the photo-shoot.

Slowly the sun rose bright and the whole black sky turned into golden yellow and bluish colour with white splotches of creamy clouds.

He had his breakfast, took shower and left for the work.

Tuhina called him at 7.30 in morning and gave him the list of places to be covered. Robin booked a cab for the whole day and started his project in anticipation of great work. Mahavirtalla and the street vegetable vendor was a delight to be covered. The bridge was a very busy road with vehicles continuously moving on it but still, Kolkatans would gather there for buying fresh vegetables and fishes.

Rabindra Sarobar Metro station and rickshaw pullers waiting for their customers were another photo shoot location.

The list continued and next stop was Kalighat Mandir and adjoining shops selling religious items and daily purpose utilities.

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Hindustan Sweet Shop in New Alipore, Behala Market, New Market, Park Street, Minto Park, Victoria Palace, Gariahat Market, Sarees Shop there, Tuhina’s old school St. Teresa, College Shivnath Shastri, Bhartiya Vidya Bhawan.

Old Puchkawala (golgappes), Jhallmuriwala. What better day could he have asked for? A full day spent in those lanes and roads where Tuhina grew up. Writing caption was easy. Robin could feel coupled to each place due to his connection with Tuhina. He stopped in afternoon to have lunch at a restaurant she had guided that was Peter Cat. He entered in Peter Cat and sat for a while checking the pictures. This place had nice ambiance and as soon as the food was served the quality could be judged easily. He thanked Tuhina for this suggestion.

Post lunch he checked the lists there were few more places left and he will be done. He was sure that the late night train would be convenient to take.

By evening 6 he was done and had left for home, Tuhina’s home. Masha, as usual, was in his blank impassive face waiting for him. Robin informed him about his travel plan. Went for a shower, by the time Masha had prepared tea and snacks. He sipped his Bengali tea and was relishing Bengali pakodas while sitting in the balcony. His heart was in unusual rhythm and the thought of leaving that place was so painful. He could not make it what was there which was strange, he was oblivious but something happening within him did not seem to be aligned.

He could feel the sudden fear on his body especially when Masha used to come near to him. His silence and expressionless face seem to be daunting.

And this house of Tuhina sometimes gave him a sense of his own existence here earlier to this trip. Why did he meet Tuhina? What does he know about her? Why Tuhina wanted to capture her memories through his lens? Why she never reciprocated her feelings for him? He had met Tuhina in person only a few times but why he felt so attracted to her as if he knew her from ages?

He was deep in his thoughts when Masha came and reminded it was 8 and he should leave for the station.

Robin got up and thanked him for his warmth and service, got ready and pulled his small luggage out of the flat. Masha for the first time was smiling with tears in his eyes. He was holding the doors and bade him goodbye. Robin drooled with so many questions toppled a bit while taking the staircase, as if he had drunk bottles of wine and not tea. He called Tuhina to share his plan of leaving Kolkata and to update her on the project.

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“This number does not exist” the voice message over the phone. The service provider issue, he mumbled and walked towards stairs. He came downstairs but he could not see the same guard who was there when he came last night. Then he walked towards the security gate of the apartment. He turned back and saw the lights illuminated in the building, people of all sorts walking in and out of the building. Children were playing until this time. Old women chatting on the benches provided. He went to one of the security men and asked “could you please get me the intercom number of B block flat No 32, I need to speak to the caretaker” Security Man looked astounded and gawked at Robin as if he had just shared a horror story. He then in a low tone asked Robin “Sir seems you have come here after a long time?”

Robin was stunned, he was about to share that few minutes before he was in that flat. But he had no chance to do so, as the Security Guard continued “Sir the flat is locked for almost 8 to 9 years, the owners died in a car accident, the young girl Tuhina, her brother Rajiv who grew up here, all were dead. Her family had one servant Masha who also died a few years back.”

Robin could not muster the courage to ask or clarify, his heart seemed to be doing bungee jumping and before he fainted he saw a cab coming towards him, he waved his hand and hired it to take him to the station.

Throughout the journey, the images of Tuhina, Masha, and that flat haunted him.

He reached the station and was on the platform waiting for the train to arrive. He tried Tuhina’s phone the same message of the number does not exist came. (In context to the first Para..)

The dark tunnel like railway station and an empty platform was horrendous and scary at first glimpse. He folded his trembling hands and concealed his pale face as if he is hiding his fear with weak hands.

The whole night he could not sleep. He was talking and thinking insane. As soon as he reached Delhi he called his friend Montu. His dear friend after hearing his story realized he may need a counselling session and took him to a psychiatrist.

Meanwhile, his friend a Past Life Regressor asked them to meet.

The PLR session got finished, Robin seemed to be normal now. He went home, took out the film from the camera and developed the photographs. The sight was unbelievable; all the photos had Tuhina in them. Strange yes, but her presence 135 | P a g e

was in a form of hazy glow lost in a crowd. Robin finally divulged the mystery behind everything to his friend. Tuhina and Robin were inseparable friends in one of their past life and had grown up in the areas he covered in Kolkata. Masha was Robin's father and he was against their friendship. They both wanted to live their life together, and for once wanted to travel together in their own city to cherish each moment in the same places they grew up. But cruel life experiences and due to some circumstances, they both could never meet. Robin’s father now Masha separated them and at a very young age and that infuriated both and they killed themselves.

Later Robin and Tuhina were born in separate places and were living their life.

But as a soul, Tuhina’s desire to meet Robin in that present life also could not happen because of untimely death. To fulfil her desire, Tuhina as a spirit tried to connect to Robin again. The souls and karmas led his father to help Tuhina and so he served her till she was alive and then posts death him and Tuhina both worked together as a spirit.

All this time, Robin was with spirits of his past life girlfriend and his Father.

Unanswered questions of why Tuhina took so long to be connected to him if she died so many years back. Where was his father all these years? How the two different souls met and decided on this reunion? Probably few questions should always remain buried, if all is revealed we may not be able to balance the metaphysics and reality of human life.

A dream or a reality but Robin has not yet come out of this mystical love story experience in the form of memories forever.

#####

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Hemali Ajmera Hemali Ajmera is a Sports Nutritionist working and living in Ahmedabad. Writing is her passion and hobby. She is an active member of Rotary Club and is involved in many social service activities for the empowerment of underprivileged and economically disadvantaged women.

E-mail: hemali@ajmeragroup.biz

The Forgotten Queen Disclaimer - This is a purework of fiction based on relevant facts. I have read and reread the Mahabharat and other texts ancillary to this epic many times over. One thing that has always amazed me is that so little is written about the private lives of the Kauravas. the antiheros of the great saga. We know their personalities as sons, brothers, cousins, friends, students and warriors but not as husbands and fathers. Who were they married to? How was their relationship with their wives? Did they have children? What kind of fathers were they?

And with the mention of Kauravas, Karna’s name immediately pops up in our minds.

Personally, Karnais my favourite character in Mahabharat – the most intriguing and enigmatic of all. Though he is loved by most and loathed by some, one common emotion everyone feels for him is pity or sympathy for his misfortunes. He is one character in Mahabharat who seems to have had a raw deal in every aspect of his life. Despite his stellar qualities, he was a prisoner of destiny. This star-crossed character suffered at the hands of fate right from the time of his birth to his un-warrior-like death.

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Providencealways played foul with him but he was gallant enough to accept it and hold his head high. Yes, he made mistakes, but his valour and nobility of character far outweighed his blunders, which if analyzed rationally, stemmed from the constant insults and humiliations he had to face for no fault of his.

We all know him as an extremely loyal friend, a generous and benevolent Kshatriya (warrior) and a loving son to his foster parents. But what about his domestic life? It is mentioned in Maharabharat that he was married and had sons. But who was he married to? How was she? Was he a good husband and father?

It is interesting to note that there is very little information about Karna’swife in the Mahabharat or in any other related books for that matter. Makes one wonder why that is so. Perhaps she was not as exalted or distinguished or beautiful as Draupadi, but she was the wife of one of the most significant characters of the longest epic in the world.

That fact alone merits that the Queen of Angadesh should have been duly acknowledged.

This story is a humble attempt on my part to glance into the imaginary world of a forgotten queen, the wife of the venerable warrior, Angaraj Karna. ***** The Sun God did not rise today. How could he? How could he bear to see his dear child being consigned to the flames? The smell of rotting flesh and burning wood pervades every corner of Hastinapur. There are thousands of burning pyres and their cackling flames pierce the dark gloominess that hangs over this ill-fated city.

The maid has neatly laid my red wedding attire on the bed. She is waiting for me to rise so that I can once again be dressed up as a bride. My sairandhri (a specialized maid) is waiting to do up my hair. She is preparing garlands of jasmine, my favourite flowers, to adorn my long black tresses. My hands and feet will be painted with alta, a red dye used by women as a symbol of their married status. I shall dress up once again, as I did decades ago, to accompany my dear 138 | P a g e

husband. The first time I followed him to Angadesh as his new bride. This time I will be following him to eternity as his widow. ***** There is a festive commotion in my father’s home today. Our modest home is being decorated with flowers and rangoli (traditional Indian floor decoration).

My parents are very excited and happy.

My friends are helping me get dressed in a lovely red wedding dress. My feet are being painted with alta and garlands of jasmine are being woven into my hair which has been perfumed with sandalwood.

My friends are all teasing me. They say I am lucky to be married to such a handsome man. They say he looks and behaves like a true Kshatriya (warrior), though he is not. The stories of his valour, generosity and good looks have been trickling down to me since the day our families decided on our match.

Last evening my mother gave me a milk and honey bath. She said that this will make my skin smooth and shiny. Since the past one month, she has been scrubbing my body with a paste of milk cream, turmeric and sandalwood. She says that this is necessary to make me desirable for my son-to-be husband. The scrubbing really bothers me. I hate waking up early in the morning and going through this ritual which seems to last forever. I rather sleep in, snug in my cozy bed. I don’t know if doing all this will make my husband happy or not. It certainly isn’t making me happy!

This morning our family priest also came to bless me, accompanied by my father.

He placed his hand on my head and said, “Sada sukhi bhavantu (May you always be happy). May God grant you the strength to face every challenge in life.”

I was surprised. Normally a typical blessing to a newlywed would be, ‘ashta-putra saubhagyawati bhava’, or ‘akhanda saubhagyawati bhava’ – May you be blessed with eight sons or May you always remain married. When I looked at him 139 | P a g e

inquisitively, he just smiled and said, “Remember that ups and downs are a part of life. If God gives you hardships, he will also give you the strength to face them. So stay strong, you will need it.”

But I was too caught up in the excitement of my impending wedding to pay any heed to the priest’s words. At that moment, the only thing playing on my mind was the anticipation and nervousness of spending the coming night with my husband in our marital home. ***** Actually it was Prince Duryodhan, my brother Satyasen’s master, who proposed the match. My brother is Prince Duryodhan's charioteer. The events that ultimately led to our betrothal are truly very unusual for our time.

I had actually seen my future husband some two years back on the banks of river Ganga. He was riding with his brother Shona when my friends and I almost collided with them. We were carrying pots of water. So startled was I that the pot of water fell from my head and water splashed all over my future husband. His lower garment was completely wet. I was so mortified that I could not look up to him even to apologize. I was also scared of being reprimanded by him because his bearing and clothing indicated that he belonged to a royal household. My friend apologized to him on my behalf. When she addressed him as Prince, My Lord told her that he was no Prince but a mere Suta-putra (charioteer’s son). At this my friend happily informed him that we too were Suta-kanyas(charioteer’s daughters),and that I was the sister of Satyasen, the best charioteer in entire Bharatvarsha (old India). My Lord knew my brother well and had seen him often in Hastinapur. His eyes lingered on me for just a few seconds and my friend says she glimpsed in them deep admiration, and perhaps attraction. As we hurried away, I saw My Lord pick up a piece of my broken pot. He then rode away without glancing back.

The second time I saw him was once again on the banks of Ganga. I had come there one early morning for my ablutions. As I was taking a dip in the river, a strong current pulled me inside and I found myself drowning. I started screaming for help as the waters pulled me deeper into their depths. Suddenly I felt a strong 140 | P a g e

arm circling my waist and pulling me out of the water. By this time I had swallowed a lot of water and was in a semi-conscious state. I could not discern who my saviour was but knew that I would be eternally grateful to him for saving my life. He pulled me to the shore and waited until I regained consciousness.

Then I saw those deep brown smiling eyes I had encountered some two years ago and blood rushed to my cheeks. I suddenly noticed that my shoulder cloth had been swept away by the water. Crossing my hands over my breast, I looked down in embarrassment. He discreetly dropped his shoulder cloth on the sandy shore and turned away. I immediately picked it up and covered myself. When he looked at me again, a shy smile crossed My Lord’s lips. He was about to say something but refrained from doing so to spare me further distress. Mortified, I quickly made my retreat, too shy and red-faced to even thank him.

I hear that after that day, My Lord regularly frequented that particular spot of our chance encounter in hopes of catching a glimpse of me. The news of this unusual meeting somehow reached Prince Duryodhan. When he learnt of his friend’s predicament, he approached my brother Satyasen with a marriage proposal for his best friend. My brother had had the opportunity of meeting My Lord many times in Hastinapur. So impressed was he by My Lord’s persona that he was absolutely convinced that the cherished son of Adhirath baba and Radhamaa would be a perfect match forme.

My brother excitedly informed my parents regarding this marriage proposal. They were thrilled with this exceptional development. Since we both, My Lord and I, belonged to the same Suta (charioteer) caste, there would likely be no opposition from the Panch (5-member panel) of caste elders. Prince Duryodhan then approached Adhirath baba and told him about his choice of bride for his best friend, Karna. Adhirath baba was more than happy to oblige because he had been pestering his eldest son to get married for some time now. The fact that his future daughter-in-law was not only a Suta-kanya but also a beautiful, virtuous and mild-mannered girl with an impeccable reputation, was truly a matter of great pride for him.

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When Prince Duryodhan asked his best friend if this marriage proposal was acceptable to him, he simply blushed and replied coyly that if his parents approved of me, he had no objection.

Accordingly, my future in-laws came to our ancestral home for the betrothal. My parents received them with due honour. When I was called, I had a thousand butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Oh! How nervous I was! But when I sat next to Radhamaa, she fondly placed her hand on my head and lifted my chin. She exclaimed that I was the most beautiful bride she had ever seen and that I would be a perfect partner for her virtuous son. Then she placed a coconut in my hand and declared that from that moment on I was no longer my parent’s daughter but the betrothed of their beloved son, Vasusena, as My Lord is fondly called by his foster parents. ***** I am told that my future husband was adopted by his parents. The childless couple, Adhirath and Radha, had found an enchanting baby in a box filled with gold-jewels, drifting on the waves of the Ganga while offering their morning ablutions to the Sun-God. They were overwhelmed with joy and adopted the abandoned baby as their son. They had yearned for a child since many years and finally the Gods had decided to reward them with this extraordinary gift. They named him Vasusena, the boy with the golden ornaments, and bought him up most lovingly.

They believed that he was a celestial child because he was born with a golden kavach (golden armour) and golden kundals (earrings) and his angelic face shone with a divine light. He was also called Karna because of the golden earrings in his ears. After Vasusena’s adoption, Adhirath and Radha were blessed with other sons of their own. But to this day my husband remains their favourite.

As per tradition, I am not allowed to see my beloved until after we are married.

But I have to admit that I have had just a tiny glimpse of him last week. My younger sister had informed me of his arrival at our home. Out of curiosity, I hid behind the door and peeked outside into the open courtyard. I fleetingly saw him as he was leaving our house. He was dressed like a King. Of course, he is the 142 | P a g e

King of Angadesh, but he was not born to be king or even a prince for that matter. The crown and kingdom had been bestowed upon him by Prince Duryodhan. So technically, by virtue of birth, he was still a Suta, not a Kshatriya.

He had come to meet Father, alone and unannounced. My father was flustered.

It’s not often that a groom visits his future in-laws for a casual visit. My father left no stone unturned to welcome his future son-in-law.

After the visit, Father called me. He told me that my future husband had informed him that he will not accept anything, not even a copper coin, from my father as a wedding gift. He had enough to provide for me for the rest of our lives. Strange, I thought. Why would he deny accepting something that he was entitled to? But in my heart, I was immensely proud to be married to such a man. ***** Now all these memories seem so distant. Our wedding, our life in Angadesh and then in Hastinapur, the birth of our nine sons, the hostility in the palace between the Pandavas and Kauravas and finally the dreaded war.

Kurukshetra!! The dreadful war that took away everything that was dear to me – my sons, my nephews and finally my dear husband.

Now he lies, covered in a white blood-stained shroud. His mother Kunti, the one who bought him into this world, is weeping inconsolably for her son with his head on her lap – a son who she was too afraid to claim as her own when he was alive. If only she had the courage to reveal the truth before the beast of war devoured thousands of innocent lives, leaving behind wailing orphans and widows.

Just a few days ago, on the eve of the Great War, My Lord had come to my chamber looking most distraught. When I prodded him to tell me what was bothering him, he revealed something that made the ground shift under my feet.

A noble lady(perhaps someone from the royal household of Hastinapur, thought my husband), had visited him incognito on the banks of river Jahnavi while he was offering his evening prayers. My Lord could not recognize her because of her 143 | P a g e

veil but her demeanour was stately and her voice, measured and soft. Her grace and poise gave away her royal lineage.

“Who are you Mother? And what can I do for you?” asked My Lord.

“Wait until the Sun dips beyond the horizon and the world is engulfed in darkness. I shall then reveal myself and the purpose of my visit,” replied the lady.

“Your presence so close to me awakens a deep emotion within me. I do not understand what it is but I feel an enigmatic bond between us,” My Lord remarked.

“Child, I am the one who introduced you to the world. Today I have abandoned all shame to give you my identity,” murmured the lady, her voice breaking into a sob.

“Your words awaken an exquisite agony in me. Pray tell me how my birth is tied to you?” pleaded My Lord.

The mysterious lady lifted her veil. My Lord was startled to find the great Queen Kunti, the Mother of the mighty Pandavas, standing before him. She then revealed to him that he was her first-born child.

The earth shook under My Lord’s feet. He was stunned and overwhelmed by this revelation. Queen Kunti was his birth mother!!

“You are not the son of a charioteer. You are a Queen’s offspring. You are of royal blood my child. Forget all the insults and banish all the animosity toward your brothers. Come back and take your rightful place as the eldest of the Pandavas,” said the Queen Mother, tears staining her ethereal face.

“Why, why after all these years, O Queen do you want to claim me as your son?

Why now, when my days could be numbered and I may not survive this war?”

“Please don’t say such ominous things. If you join your brothers, there will be no war. You can talk to Duryodhan and stop this war between brothers. Yudhisthir will happily give you the crown of Indraprastha and your brothers will gladly 144 | P a g e

serve you for the rest of their lives. Come and claim your rightful place in the Kuru clan,” the widowed Queen pleaded.

“You want to accord me my rightful place in the Kuru clan after all these years that were filled with nothing but angst and ignominy? Where were you when I was humiliated in the arena by your sons, by Kripa and Drona and all the elders of Hastinapur? Where were you when Draupadi reviled me and asked me to leave her swayamvar (practice of choosing a husband, from among a list of suitors, by a girl of marriageable age) because I was a charioteer’s son? Where were you O Mother when your son needed your warm lap to cry on and console himself?”

The Mother of Pandavas had no answers.

“O child, you are right to rebuke me. When I decided to forsake you, my heart broke into a thousand fragments. Though later I became the mother of five mighty sons, I could never forget you. My heart always yearned for you. I always looked out for you - wept when you were insulted, grieved when you were hurt and pined for you day and night. I know I have committed a great crime my child. I was young and unmarried. I was scared of what people might think of me. I did not want to bring disrepute to my father. Please forgive your mother.”

“So are you not afraid today to acknowledge me as your son? Are you not worried about your status and reputation in Hastinapur after people come to know about this long buried secret?” My Lord asked with a sneer.

“I don’t care anymore what people say. You are my son and that is the truth. I am willing to face the ire and admonition of the whole world just to hold you in my arms once again after all these years.”

“Dear Queen, please do not try to fool me. It is not your motherly love for me that has bought you here today. It is your insecurity and deep love for the five Pandavas that has prompted this visit. Otherwise you would not have chosen this time and place for your visit. You know very well that after my evening prayers, I do not turn away anyone who comes to ask something of me.”

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The Mother of Pandavas tried in vain to convince My Lord of her undying love for him. She pleaded with him to break away from Duryodhan and join the Pandavas as their eldest brother. She promised that all the five Pandavas would gladly submit to his leadership out of love and respect.

My Lord was partly relieved that his life long quest to find his birth mother had finally ended. But he was very bitter at the same time. After all these agonizing years, his mother had mustered the courage to put her reputation at stake, not because of her love for her first born, but because she wanted to safeguard the lives of his five younger brothers from the wrath of his arrows. He therefore vehemently refused to part company with Prince Duryodhan.

“Dear Queen (for his heart could not yet address her as Mother), the Kuru Prince held my hand and protected my honour when everyone else deserted me, including you O Mother of the mighty Pandavas. The time has now come for me to repay his kindness with gratitude and loyalty. Please do not ask me to steer away from this path of righteousness”.

The great Queen was distressed. She knew that both Arjun and Karna, arch rivals and challengers, had vowed to kill the other in the great battle. As a mother, she would be the ultimate loser.

My Lord saw his mother’s crestfallen face and asked her for two boons – One,not to reveal the truth of his birth to the Pandavas during his lifetime, and two, to keep his head on her lap and cry in acknowledgement of his parentage, if he were to be slain in the battlefield.

In return, he promised Queen Kunti that she was and would always remain the mother of five sons even after the Great War. One of the five would be either him or Arjun. ***** They called her Yagnaseni – the woman born of fire. And fire dominated every aspect of her character, from her temper to her tongue. Earlier, I was truly fond of Draupadi. She always carried herself with much dignity and grace. But after 146 | P a g e

the unfortunate game of dice, her disposition had completely changed. She became haughty and vile. Anger dripped from every pore of her body and her untied hair reminded everyone of her resolve to destroy the Kuru race. Spitefully she accompanied her husbands to the forest for 13 years after heaping curses on the Kurus and promising retribution for her humiliation.

During the ill-fated Game of Dice, after Dharmaraj King Yudhishtir of Indraprastha had lost everything – his kingdom, his riches, his horses, his elephants, his brothers and even himself, Shakuni, the King of Gandhar, cunningly tricked him to bet Draupadi in another round of the game. And shockingly the latter agreed to do the same, though with some reluctance. Such was the lure of the game that Yudhisthir was completely blinded by greed to redeem himself and could not see doom slowly riding towards him.

Earlier in the day, My Lord had heard the evil Shakuni tell Duryodhan that to subjugate Draupadi, they would have to make Yudhishthir put her on stake. My Lord had vehemently protested against this blasphemy. The sly Mama Shakuni had then reminded my husband of the insults hurled at him by the dark-skinned Panchali at her swayamvar.

After my arrival in Hastinapur as a young bride, I had often heard whisperings about My Lord’s secret love for the Queen of Indraprastha. He was rumoured to be besotted with her beauty and charm. I had heard the old maids gossiping in hushed tones that the feeling had been mutual. Many years ago in the kingdom of Panchal, as her swayamvar was nearing, Panchali had heard of My Lord’s radiant personality through the palace grapevine. His righteousness, valour, generosity, knowledge and noble appearance was legendary. He seemed to possess all the qualities that she was looking for in a husband. She had secretly desired him but her friend, Lord Krishna, had caught wind of her longing. He advised Krishnaa(another name for Draupadi, the dark one), against choosing a charioteer’s son as her spouse and filled her in with the details of his illegitimate birth.

On the day of her swayamvar in Kampilya, Draupadi, the fiery one, had insisted that she be declared a ‘Veeryashulka’ - a bride to be won only by the worthiest 147 | P a g e

and the very best. When My Lord had risen to attempt the test that could win him the winsome daughter of King Drupad, the Princess of Panchal, on behest of Lord Krishna, had vehemently protested against the lowborn suta-putra entering the contest to win her hand. She had called him objectionable names and even questioned his parentage (since he was adopted). That pain and humiliation had burned deep into his soul, scarring him for life. It was a wound that had never healed and the sight of Panchali always awakened those sore memories in my husband.

Duryodhan and Shakuni never failed to remind my husband about that unfortunate incident. Just the mention of the swayamvar was enough to incense my husband. Yes, she had to be punished for her arrogance, he decided. The haughty Queen of Indraprastha had to be shown her rightful place. When My Lord came to my chamber that afternoon, he related all that had transpired at Duryodhan’s palace. I pleaded with him to not indulge in this mindless power game. And insulting a woman to avenge something that had happened years ago?

It was such a degrading act, especially for an honourable man like him. I begged, cajoled and cried. He seemed to relent but in my heart I knew that the wicked influence exerted by Duryodhan and Shakunihad invoked the fire of vengeance in my husband’s heart. His bruised ego had taken over his intellect and reason had completely deserted his mind.

And that’s when I decided to visit Draupadi in her guest apartments at Hastinapur and beseech her to leave the Kuru King’s palace and go to her father’s palace in Kampilya. On any other day, I could just visit her by asking my attendant to inform her of my impending visit. But today I had to make a special request. It was her three-day resting period and she would not be entertaining visitors or paying visits until the ritualistic bath.

When I entered Draupadi’s chamber, she was resting on her bed, draped in white and gold garments. Her hair was untied and she wore very little jewellery. Yet she looked resplendent and very regal. There was something about her demeanor that was so endearing that any person who came into her proximity would instantly be swept away by her allure and comeliness. No wonder men pined for her, I thought. Even Krishna loved her immensely, albeit as a friend.

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The maid announced my arrival and the Queen of Indraprastha rushed to welcome me warmly at the door.

“Welcome O Queen of Anga. What a pleasure to see you again,” Panchali gushed.

She may have secretly loved my husband before her marriage to the sons of Pandu and then openly reviled him because of his association with the Kuru princes, but those conflicting emotions had never dampened our relationship in any way.

She made me sit next to her on the soft bed and asked for the reason of my impromptu visit. I hesitantly told her that I feared for her safety and honour.

Shakuni and Duryodhan (I conveniently and deliberately avoided mentioning my husband) were not be trusted, I warned her, and that she must leave Hastinapur immediately before any harm befell her.

Draupadi listened patiently and smiled. She held my hand in hers and said, “Thank you sister for taking the trouble to ensure my safety. I have never trusted that wily Shakuni and haughty Duryodhan, or for that matter, any Kauravas or their friends. But what can they do to me? They cannot possibly drag me out from my chambers, not if I can help it. As Kshatriyas, they are bound by a strict code of conduct. They will never dare to lay a finger on a woman, especially the Queen of Indraprastha and wife of the illustrious Pandavas.”

She said that like a true Kshatriya queen, she preferred to stay back with her husbands in Hastinapur rather than stealthily escape to her maiden home. That would bring shame not only to her five husbands but also her father, the mighty Drupad of Panchal. I left her apartments with a sense of dread.

As fate would have it, Yudhishthir lost everything to Duryodhan – his kingdom, his wealth, his horses and elephants, his brothers, himself and lastly even his wife.

Riding high on his ill-gotten success, Duryodhan ordered his younger brother Dushasan to bring Panchali before him in the main hall. She was now their slave and would have to do their bidding.

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Upon hearing his orders, there had been a clatter in the women’s quarters. Never before had a woman been summoned in open court. We women knew that emotions had been running high during the game of dice and insults and barbs were being traded quite openly between the Kauravas and Pandavas. But ordering a Queen and daughter-in-law of the Kuru household in open court was sacrilegious.

What followed was shameful not only for the Kuru dynasty but also the entire human race. A woman was dragged by her hair to the main hall and stripped of her modesty before her husbands, in-laws and family elders. A woman, who was born a princess and who was now a Queen, was called a whore because she was married to five men. She was reviled and jeered at. She had begged Dushasan to stop, implored the Kuru elders to intervene and invoked the holy men to protect her but no one stood up for her nor asked the perpetrators to end the tyranny.

I must also admit to my husband’s shameful participation in the outrage mounted on Draupadi’s modesty. I must admit that his actions have played a significant part in sowing the seeds of destruction of the Kuru clan. Up until this horrible incident, I had always loved and respected my husband singularly. But his role in maligning a woman’s character and outraging her modesty has created an unseen barrier for my love – an emotion that once flowed in abundance, freely and uninterrupted, and which now ebbs during our intimate moments together. My Lord is aware of this change in our relationship but he is too proud to ask and I am too timid to confront him. I am aware that this change in my behaviour has prompted him to visit his other wives more often than before.

But Draupadi is ‘ayonija’, not born of a womb. They say such individuals have divine powers. That and her ardent devotion to Lord Krishna saved her from complete humiliation on that blighted day. But she was born out of fire to seek revenge and bring about destruction. Her raging spirit cursed the Kurus of complete ruination and no amount of pacifying could make her take back her words. The intense desire for vengeance against those who had wronged her made her take an oath of leaving her hair untied until Dushasan had been killed and her hair washed with his tainted blood. ***** 150 | P a g e

Like a hungry lion, the Great War devoured all of my sons except Vrishaketu.

Their father had insisted that they all take part in the war. I had protested – why should they fight in a family war? What had we to gain by fighting on the side of the Kauravas whose reputation was smudged with injustice, deception and impiety? But my dear husband had pledged his unfailing loyalty to the Kuru prince, Duryodhan. As his sons, my children were bound to his pledge and it became their sacred duty to aid their father in fulfilling his promise.

The Kauravas are all dead. Gone with them is their naked ambition and treachery. I would have mourned for them, but they took along my brave husband and my dear sons. For that I despise them. King Dhrithrashtra’s natural blindness and Queen Gandhari’s forced blindness had obscured their inner vision to the foolhardiness and ambition of their sons and the machinations of Uncle Shakuni, resulting in the annihilation of their entire clan.

My new found family – my mother-in-law Kunti and younger brothers-in-law, is also distraught. They try to console me and assure me that I shall never be alone as long as they live. But when I look at my mother-in-law, my heart swells with anger. If only she had the courage to claim her parentage to my husband, he would perhaps be alive today. Now she tries to tell me how much she loved my husband and how he would always have a special place in her heart as her firstborn child. But I am not swayed by her proclamations. To me, she is an epitome of selfishness, a morally weak woman who is more concerned about her status and reputation than the feelings of her loved ones. There were many times and circumstances where she could have stepped up and claimed my husband as her legitimate son. But every single time, her position and stature overrode her love for her own flesh and blood. I now find her lamentations completely insincere.

But I cannot say the same for my brothers-in-law, Yudhishthir, Bheem, Arjun, Nakul and Sahadev. Their grief over the loss of their eldest brother is genuine. I am sure that if they had known of my husband’s real identity before the war, they would have never raised even their voice against him, forget raising any weapon.

Out of the five brothers, Arjun is most inconsolable. He is incessantly cursing himself for the death of his eldest brother, a sin most unpardonable according to the scriptures. He cannot forgive himself for this misdeed. I think that now, deep 151 | P a g e

down in their hearts, the Pandavas foster a silent hostility towards their mother Kunti. They feel she is somehow responsible for this great abomination.

When I look back at my dead husband’s life, I am faced with a horrible truth – that he never experienced any real happiness. Throughout his time on earth, he was rejected, reviled and humiliated for no fault of his. He was denied respect and dignity right from his birth until his death. His life was bereft of love and acceptance.

Despite his stellar qualities as a human being and warrior, he was never ever bestowed the recognition and honour that was due to him. My Lord was a true Maha-rathi(warrior having mastery of all forms of weapons and combat skills) but his unfortunate association with the Kauravas, most often than not, earned him inferior treatment. Even Bhishma Pitamah, the Kuru patriarch, who never had a bad word to say about anyone, spurned my husband as an Ardha-rathi, half of a capable warrior. My husband was so incensed by this insult that he refused to fight in the Great War until after the great Bhishma fell.

Shalya, the king of Madra and the maternal uncle of Nakula and Sahadeva, never missed a chance to insult my husband during the war. He was to be My Lord’s charioteer, as decreed by Duryodhan. But Shalya never forgot the humiliation of being a charioteer to a suta-putra and hurled disparaging words and insults at my husband to break his spirit and weaken his resolve.

The burden of living under a cloud of insults, treachery and collusion ultimately ripped apart my husband’s tender heart. After the war began, he told me many times that he was alive just to fulfil his obligation to Duryodhan. His life held no meaning anymore because now though he knew his real identity, he had to turn his back on dharma (righteousness) and fight on the side of adharma (nonrighteousness). His words had pierced my heart like a dagger and I could feel his intense agony. Fate had indeed dealt him a very cruel blow. He had been robbed of his royal lineage and rightful place as the eldest of Pandavas. If he had known the truth of his birth, he would have been a legitimate king. I am sure that he would have made a better king than Yudhisthir because he possessed all qualities that each of the Pandava brothers possessed individually.

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I see Draupadi coming towards me. The Queen whom I once held in great esteem now makes my blood boil. She was responsible for my husband’s death and the death of thousand others, including her own sons. The Great War would have never taken place, if it were not for her thirst for retribution.

She is dressed completely in white and her eyes are swollen with incessant crying.

She hugs me tight and tells me, “I wish I had forgiven him before he died. Yes, I secretly admired him, perhaps even loved him. I am often tempted to believe that if I had married him, I would not have been gambled away, publicly humiliated and called a whore. For he was a man who would have done anything to protect my honour.”

“But I was born out of vengeance, to seek vengeance and hence I had to fulfil my destiny by marrying the five Pandavas. I was invoked from the fire to be the spark that would ignite this Great War. My destiny was to seek revenge for the insults borne by my father, my brother Shikhandi and my husbands. This great, roaring fire of revenge has burnt to ashes so many near and dear ones that now this victory seems completely worthless and futile.” ***** I wipe my tears and stand up as my husband’s brothers lift his lifeless body onto the sandalwood funeral pyre. I know that my end is near and that I shall be forever lost in the annals of history. What could antiquity offer an obscure wife of an unfortunate and misguided braveheart whose lapse of judgment in siding with evil and injustice would forever eclipse his goodness and integrity? Would posterity be more kind to him than his contemporaries? If fate could stain his illustriousness with its conspiracies, did I stand a chance of even an acknowledgement?

I look intently at the Kuru elders - mother Kunti, King Dhrithrashtra, Queen Gandhari, and Uncle Vidur and offer my final salutations. They gesture their blessings with tears on their eyes. I feel a strong pang of pity for them. How were they going to live out the rest of their lives after seeing so much death and destruction?

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And then my eyes meet those of the Pandavas. They stand with their heads bowed and hands folded. I beseech Yudhisthir to take care of Vrishketu, my only surviving son. The King of Hastinapur places his hand on my son’s head indicating that now my son is under his care and protection. My son is weeping and pleads with me to step down from the pyre. He says that he still needs me.

But I must follow tradition. He will survive without me but I will not be able to live without My Lord.

I can see the intense anguish on the Pandavas’ faces. Draupadi and Mother Kunti seem most affected. That makes me feel strangely serene and calm. I know that very soon the flames will rid my soul of grief and heartache. But my husband’s family, who shunned him during his lifetime, will burn in an inferno of remorse, guilt and loss for the rest of their lives.

I take my husband’s crownless head on my lap and smile to myself. Justice has finally been served. #####

Marriage V/S Live-In Relationships- A Debate Someone recently sent me a funny anecdote (and rather offensive for some) comparing marriage with live-in relationship.

It used the analogy of a cow and the milk it gives to describe these two states of cohabitation. With this analogy in mind, it described marriage as follows: “It is my moral, social and legal responsibility to buy the cow if I want to get milk for free for the rest of my life”. Whereas, a live-in relationship was described as: "Why buy the cow, when you can get the milk for free?”

To give the author benefit of doubt, I presume that by free milk he meant the physical and emotional intimacy and companionship that two people enjoy when living together, whether in a marriage or otherwise.

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Marriage is a moral, social and legal responsibility undertaken by two consenting adults who want to enjoy the benefits this union offers. It is a promise, not just between the couple but to the community at large, to generations past and to those yet to be born. It is a promise to love, respect and support each other no matter what the circumstances. It is a selfless journey in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.

On the other hand, live-in relationships are the exact opposite of marriage. The two consenting adults want to enjoy all the benefits of marriage, while avoiding, to some extent, all the moral, social and legal obligations it entails.

Over the years, most of us married folks have accepted and realized that marriage does not guarantee happiness. Then why do we marry? Why do we gamble away the best years of our life to this institution when we are not sure what the outcome will be?

The simple answer is, because society expects us to! We are taught to bow down to this pressure. Marriage is a legal and social approval given to two people by others around them to live together and procreate.

Traditionalists of marriage will argue that there is no comparing living together with marriage. There are enormous differences between being a "husband" or a "wife" and being a "partner," a "friend" or a "significant other"; between a legal commitment and a voluntary association; between standing before family and community to publicly announce one's commitment to another person on one hand and simply living together on the other.

In my younger days, I perceived marriage as an adventure –venturing into an unknown realm that may or may not turn out to be pleasant. For me it was a costly affair in terms of the time, commitment, compromise and sacrifice it demanded.

After being married for over 20 years, I feel my perceptions have been more or less justified. It is indeed highly demanding and expects the best out of the two people involved. I find this especially true in the Indian context, where the onus of making the marriage successful primarily rests on a woman’s fragile shoulders.

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She is expected to leave her parents’ home, adjust to new surroundings and to a new family, forget all that she has learnt over the years and adopt to the customs, traditions and lifestyle of her partner, someone she may barely have had the time to know. She is tested, time and again, for her values, her temperament, her patience and her adaptation skills. And God forbid if she fails or falls short!

I am not against marriage per se, I am against the loads of expectations, responsibilities and unwanted obligations it brings along. Once the honeymoon is over, the romance between married couples gets buried under these mountains of expectations, responsibilities and obligations. Monotony sets in. Most couples start feeling that they were much better off single than married and start looking for ways to wiggle out of the situation. As someone has aptly said, “Marriage is like a public toilet. Those waiting outside are desperate to get in, while those inside are desperate to get out.”

On the other hand, people who live together or who support live-in relationships often argue that marriage is nothing but a piece of paper and they do not need a piece of paper to prove their love and commitment towards each other.

One stumping question that comes to mind is, if marriage is only a piece of paper, what exactly are you afraid of? Why do you fear a mere piece of paper?

Either you are lying to yourself or your partner because you know that this piece of paper is far more important than "being only a piece of paper”. If you truly love and respect someone, why are you afraid of committing yourself to that person for a lifetime?

Many traditionalists believe that by not agreeing to matrimony, live-in couples are keeping the trapdoor open so that they can escape whenever the situation gets uncomfortable or when they have had enough. They are ensuring that there are no moral, social or legal repercussions to trouble them afterwards and that they can nurse their emotional wounds and move on in life.

They also argue (and it is a general perception in our Indian society) that live-in couples are no more than friends with benefits. I strongly disagree. A live-in relationship is still a commitment. It is a choice exerted by two consensual adults.

If you equate it to free sex then it is your misdoing, since sex is available anyways 156 | P a g e

to anyone, anytime, anywhere. You don’t have to be in a relationship for that. As far as love is concerned, it is very much there in a live in relationship as well.

Except for the legal agreement, it is the same as marriage - You have to share costs, household chores and most importantly space. You have to learn how to negotiate and accept that you can't always have everything your own way.

According to me, what makes a live-in relationship so appealing, especially to the millennials, is the freedom and flexibility it offers. Couples involved are not bound by the complications of marriage, either legally or otherwise. It is free of hassles such as pressure to produce children, socialize with annoying relatives, caring for in-laws, and generally keeping all people around you happy. It is ideal for people who are not ready or mature enough to take on the responsibilities and obligations associated with the institution of marriage.

In a live-in relationship couples are free to set their own rules. There are no established social norms for a live-in relationship, handing couples a clean slate to write their own rules for the relationship. Couples involved in a live-in relationship hardly need to sacrifice or mend ways to suit each other. There is a lot of freedom to be your true self when in a live-in relationship. There is no compulsion to compromise your values, sacrifice your career or financial independence or worse, completely give up your identity.

Compared to a marriage, breaking up a live-in relationship is also much less stressful. There are no legal obligations to fulfil before parting ways. You only have to deal with the emotional aspect of a breakup, no financial wipe-outs and if there are no children from the union, no ugly custody battles.

One can say that for committed couples, a live-in relationship is essentially a dress rehearsal or test drive for marriage where the partners can gauge each other’s commitment towards sharing a future together. It is an open-ended relationship that gives each partner an opportunity to find out the real side of the other, without the unwanted pressures of married life. If they find they are not cut out for each other, they can always separate amicably.

Another baseless argument is that it is against our Indian culture and values.

Quite frankly I do not understand the hypocrisy in our society. We turn a blind 157 | P a g e

eye to many evils of marriage such as dowry, marital rape, domestic violence and abuse but if two people love each other and want to stay together as a couple, it goes against our culture and values. Uproar on this issue, just for the sake of preserving cultural identity is silly. How can anybody claim that there is no place for bonding or attachment is such relations? It is far, far better than a marriage that exists without love or commitment. Because, in a live in relationship what keeps two people together is mutual trust and love, and not fear of family and social pressure.

Although it's long been thought that marriage offers all sorts of health and psychological benefits, it has now been proved that cohabiters do just as well as those who are married -- and in some cases even better because the happiness quotient is way higher.

But the truth of the matter is that in today’s uncertain world, legality definitely matters. Being legally bound to, and responsible for another person matters. It is an announcement to him/her and to yourself that you take this relationship with the utmost seriousness. No words of affection or promises of commitment, no matter how sincere, can match the seriousness of a legal commitment.

I strongly believe that no matter what you think when living together, your relationship with your significant other changes the moment you marry. Living with your "boyfriend" is not the same as living with your "husband." And living with your "girlfriend" or any other title you give her is not the same as making a home with your "wife." Likewise when you introduce that person as your wife or husband to people, you are making a far more important statement of that person's role in your life than you are with any other title.

Experience has shown me that only with marriage will your partner’s family ever become your family. You become an “in-law” rather than just a boyfriend, girlfriend, significant other or live-in partner. It may not always be a good thing yet, your family expands, in turn increasing your love and support system.

Nothing comparable happens when two people live together without getting married. They may not find this kind of support from their parents, siblings or relatives in times of need. Marriage is an automatic sanction to receive 158 | P a g e

unconditional support and help not only from your family but also from your partner’s family in troubling times.

Many young couples see living-in as a smart way of avoiding responsibilities and obligations. As social creatures, we have to bear the burden of responsibilities. By saying that you don’t want to be straddled with them means that don’t wish to weather the ups, downs and complexities of various relationships. According to me, it is a form of escapism. It is same as saying, “I want to enjoy all the benefits but I am not ready to pay the price.”

In a time when nothing is more certain than change, the commitment of two people to one another, to their families and to their communities in the name of matrimony is a beautiful and priceless thing. Marriage is a partnership of two unique people who bring out the very best in each other, and who know that even though they are imperfect as individuals, they are perfect together as a couple. A happy marriage means a happy home and a happy home means welladjusted children and better citizens. So according to me, marriage wins hands down to live-in relationships because its advantages by far outweigh those of livein relationships. #####

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Radhika Dabral Radhika Dabral lives in Indirapuram, Ghaziabad (NCR). She is a teacher in DPS Indirapuram Email: radhikadabral@yahoo.co.in

THE INVISIBLE UMBILICAL CORD (GIRL) When you first hold That beautiful bundle of tenderness In your arms You know Your life will be filled With her fragrance… …The fragrance of her love.

You fall in love And smile, …N she smiles back Coz she knows That you’ll love her, and Protect her for life The Umbilical Cord joins two hearts together That of Mother and Daughter!!

She is like a floret With an aura of warmth She hugs you She kisses you With abundance of the heart And makes you wonder at times …If you are protecting her, OR 160 | P a g e

She is comforting you?

The Invisible Umbilical Cord is stronger now.

She blossoms into a beautiful flower Filling your world With her laughter and love!!

She is the apple of her father’s eyes too He would do anything To keep her shielded and protected From the big bad wolves of the world, And she…

She just adores him.

The Invisible Umbilical cord just got connected once more!!

Then the time comes…

The most joyful and painful of times When you have to cut the cord And let her go!!

And go, she does…

But with half a piece of the Invisible Umbilical Cord Attached to her heart.

And You know that this time It is not only your promise Of being there for her It is her promise of being there for you Till Your Last Breath!!

THE INVISIBLE UMBILICAL CORD (BOY) When you first set eyes On your son's face Something in your heart Gives way.

You fall in love N smile ...............and he smiles back Coz he knows.

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The umbilical cord joins two hearts together....

That of a mother n a son.

You fall in love And smile .........N he smiles back Coz he knows.

The umbilical cord joins two hearts That of Mother n Son. He becomes the centre of your world You revolve around him Like earth around sun.

He holds your hand And you promise to be there always.

The umbilical cord is still there Although now invisible.

He grows up To be a young n handsome boy Still depending on you But, getting his wings ready To fly...

And you are always there To support him To protect him But the invisible umbilical cord Is now loose Then, one day...

You find your nest empty N your heart so lonely Coz you are left holding the invisible umbilical cord at your end.

He has broken free He has spread his wings n flown away Cutting the cord at his end Leaving only memories.

Why! Oh Why!!!!

You cannot cut that invisible umbilical cord He may not be there But you keep your promise You are always there 162 | P a g e

Till your last breath Holding on to that That broken invisible umbilical cord.

WHEN I MET MY HUSBAND I can never forget the day When I first met my husband!!

It was in 1983 When outside Venky Under a tree, I saw him coming towards me!

His words were audible But did not register....

'Cause my ears stopped functioning My eyes had difficulty focusing My heart started to flutter....

N in reply, I started to stutter!!

A bus came, He got on it, n went away...

But he took my heart with him.

That night...

I cud not sleep a wink.

That much I remember, After that...

I was in a daze N my days passed in a haze.....

It was the beginning....

Of a beautiful relation, Which culminated in a home creation.

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A WALK IN THE WOODS We went for a walk in the wood Not sure whether we should Wondering if we would meet Red Riding Hood The arrows showing the way Were skewed It became a lil scary While walkin in the woods Suddenly...

Out of the wood The meadows Oh! So good!!

What about the Pond So black!!!

In the midst of the greens!!!!

I love the ferns They are there at every turn Then there is the Lachung River Which slivers n quivers With the water from the falls To us the nature calls After a mile or so The snowy peaks began to show As the clouds parted The sun upon them glowed So we went n time we spent Gazing at the peaks Listening to the river squeak The water swirls n curls Its eagerness to meet its love unfurls As we took abode in the lap of the valley Beyond the meadow was the solitary hut In no hurry towards it we trudged We sat around the fire In our evening attire And sang to our heart's desire 164 | P a g e

No rigmarole of life Stands to its prior Nature's benevolence in abundance we embraced Its impeccable generosity is a boon for the human race That night the clouds in the sky With the silver lining were laced The sky told many stories with cloud face We made sure our footsteps could be traced For a walk in the woods By all who think Being in love with nature is good Protect n Preserve it...they should.

This rendezvous with nature awakened our souls And gave us stories forever to be told.

FLYING AGAIN Flying again Looking outside the window Time's standing still Two brushes in hand Dipped in blue n white God painted the sky And added the glittering Sun Creating the perfect setting Sun rays trying to pierce the white cover of clouds Spreading warmth Illuminating the blue sky Up here The earth is forgotten Suddenly God's mood changed Maybe he got bored Of the plain white He had stored He created an ocean 165 | P a g e

With waves Froth rising from the sea But the sky was still as blue The Sun still shining brightly As the aircraft turned Clouds took the shape of cotton balls Nursing the nature Wounded by men God dipped the brush in grey And changed the mood From sprightly to sombre Indicating the end of another journey Yet the blue of the sky And the shining sun Still the same And the green of the earth below Signifying the beginning of another journey to be continued after landing

THE MOTHER Mother is‌ All the sweetness of honey All the beauty of rose All the love of love All the gentleness of a dove & Above all A heart of gold In fact She is the incarnation of god She is the creator of a child She is the maker of a person It is her guidance that takes you to the right path It is her love That helps you in different tasks She is like the sunshine Whose rays of love Brighten your days And help you bloom like the sunflower 166 | P a g e

She might scold you But then it is she Who holds you In her arms And wipes your tears With her own She will do all your work for you And not a grumble from her She will bake for you The cake you want She will do just what you wish for & Won’t even expect you to say— Oh Mom!! That was great!!

That is the greatness of a mother That is what a mother is An Epitome of Love and Affection!!!

(This poem was written for a friend whose mother was no more. Although she didn’t remember much of her mother, she missed her very much. Hence the next n the last few lines) And that is what I miss All her love Her gentleness!

Her affection!

Her sweetness!

Her care!

And, above all I miss her…My Mother!!

Who was all what a mother could be And probably friends…

What your mother is So Please, Take care of your mother As she takes care of you Coz’ You are very lucky to have her.

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LOVE : A QUESTION? What is Love?

Lots of hugs and kisses?

OR Is it someone you misses?

Is it Joy? Is it Torture?

OR Is it a dream you have to nurture?

What is Love?

A feeling great?

OR Is it just a mistake?

A Mistake‌ Neither you can live with!

Nor you can do without!

OR Is it something very sturdy and stout?

What do you fall in love with?

The face?

The body?

The mind?

The spirit?

Is Love blind?

OR Is there a doubt in the mind?

Once she was beautiful.

Will you love her now that, She has become ugly?

Once she was faithful.

Will you love her now that, 168 | P a g e

She has strayed, But has come back to you‌ Feeling guilty & promising faith!

Will the intensity of your love change OR After knowing all her faults, Same will it remain?

Once he was rich.

Will you love him now that, He has lost all?

Once he was healthy.

Will you love him now that, He, for life, is crippled?

Will the intensity of your love change?

OR After all this‌ Same will it remain?

Love is a Question!!!! #####

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Rupam Sabharwal

Email - rupam.sabharwal@gmail.com

Rupam Sabharwal is a Brand Manager Artist, Traveller, Writer and a great Human Being. She holds a degree in Management from IMT Nagpur.

Writing rejuvenates her and is her passion.

Her thoughts and experiences can be read at her personal blog: www.roastedpapad.blogspot.in Instagram @rags_storyteller

The Girl Next Door “There is no friend like someone who has known you since you were five.”

-Anne Stevenson Our friends and siblings give meaning to our lives. They play, they fight, they laugh- they don’t realise they are making memories; they just think they are having fun.

But, some of them come with a special purpose…

2nd Feb 1992.

It was a sunny winter morning. I was at home, when I heard some noise on the street. My curious 5-year-old self rushed to see what that was.

“Mummy! That’s a big truck!!” I was astonished to see the truck in the narrow lanes of my colony. I was used to seeing two wheelers and sometimes a rare sight of cars. That was the first time I had seen a massive vehicle.

I was born and brought up in Karol Bagh, the heart of Delhi. Karol Bagh is a popular place in Delhi for shopping, food and Punjabis. I lived in a locality about 10 minutes from Gaffar Market. There were 2 lanes in the block, with a park in the middle and kothis on both sides of the lanes.

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Some people lifted cartons and furniture from the truck and carried that to house no. 57.

“Bhaiya, jaldi jaldi karo!(Finish the work fast!)”a man who looked my father’s age

instructed them. I looked towards him and saw some 7-8 people standing with him- some men, some women, two little girls and a toddler. Mom told me that they had bought house no. 57 and were moving in that day.

A few days later…

The wind felt slightly warm, summer was coming. My brother and I came back from school. Our sweaters knotted around our waists.

“Mummmmyy…. Mummmmyy.,.!!!” I cried as I dropped her bag and mom came running.

Without saying a word she understood that Ishank and I had been fighting. We were in the same school and with the age gap of only 1 year we were both friends and enemies. He was chubby, cute and had bunny teeth. Being elder to me by a year, he would want to set the rules and I wouldn’t want to follow them. It was a task for mom to handle us together.

“I will lock both of you in the bathroom!!” Mom scolded us as Ishank pulled my pony tail again and ran inside.

Mom helped us change our uniforms and made us sit in the veranda as she prepared lunch for us. As we were having food, the two new neighbour girls passed by. They were wearing white shirts and green skirts and carried a backpack and water bottle. They were coming back from their school.

After some time, mom slept and I tip-toed out of the house. I saw the girls again, this time closely. They were dressed in floral frocks. One of them drew something like a fishbone on the road with a chalk. I leapt on a car and watched them.

“Nariyal (Coconut)”One of them, may be the younger one, spoke as she threw a stone behind her, over her head.

I had never played this game and was naturally intrigued. The elder one then saw me and asked me if I wanted to play. Little did I know I would cherish and remember the friendship that was about to develop.

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We introduced ourselves and I told them I stayed in house no. 55. They were cousins and the elder one was Vijeta, about my height, brown silky hair and a clear complexion. She was a year elder to me and was Ishank’s age. The younger one was Samiksha. She was my age, a little shorter than me, black hair, bright black eyes and clear complexion.

The friendship that started at 5 years of age only strengthened with time. I had friends at school, but Vijeta and Samiksha were my best friends in the locality.

Over time our parents also got to know each other and became friends. Soon they started going to each other’s place and play board games like Memory, Monopoly etc. We were inseparable, as they say- sisters from another mother.

We used to look forward to evenings when they would play Nariyal, Hopscotch, chocolate and other games.

When it would be really hot we would play inside the house. They would have meals at each other’s place. With no cell phones available at that time, our Moms would know where to find us if we were not in the park or the locality.

We made an awesome gang, with my brother Ishank, cousin Manish, Vijeta, Samiksha, Sunny, Honey didi and some more kids. In the dark we would play hide and seek in the locality itself and hide behind cars, staircases of the kothis and sometimes even terraces.

“Jaldi ghar aao, subah school janaa hai!”my mother would scream and ask us to wind up, have dinner and sleep in time for school in the morning.

With best of times we had our own arguments too. The favourite topic would be school. Everything would lead to an argument- from mode of transport i.e. their Van or our auto rickshaw; whose school was better- Manav Sthali (their school) versus Cambridge (my brother and my school); uniforms- our blue versus their green. We would fight and want to prove our things were better than the others and sometimes not talk for days. I laugh when I recall all this today.

We used to look forward to our birthdays and wait for the gifts we would get and the games we would play. Birthday parties were always at home with our relatives and friends. Vijeta, Samiksha and I were so close that we treated each other’s relatives like our own. My mama, maasis and buas were theirs too and I would address their chachas and chachis like they would. I remember that Samiksha’s 172 | P a g e

mom would dress her in beautiful frocks and she used to look like a doll.

Everyone loved her a lot.

March 1996 We were friends for almost 4 years now and were inseparable. It was a part of our routine to meet each other. When one would go to Nani’s place the other would feel sad. But something happened in March 1996 that I wish I could change if I had the power. Samiksha was not around for some days and we missed her in our games and park time. It doesn’t click you too much when you are just 9-years-old. You miss your best friend but then you have other friends, you start playing with them and it is easy to handle. You know she will be back in a few days.

But then we learnt that Samiksha was unwell and had high fever. She was in the hospital for some days. Mom assured me that she will be back soon. I didn’t quite understand at that time the severity of illness when someone is admitted in the hospital. I thought she had gone for a few days and will be back soon.

Our routine was going as it is, Vijeta was there and we were having a good time together.

27th March 1996 It was Ashtami i.e. eighth day of Navratri- the 9 days of Goddess Durga. In North India, Poori, Chhole and Halwa are prepared and fed to small girls or kanjakein as prasad. Our gang of girls was roaming from one house to the other in our locality and collected our Ashtami Prasad and gifts. I used to be really excited for this day as the neighbours gave us gifts and money. We would eventually buy wafers and some small things from that money. Samiksha was missing from all these celebrations.

It was a weekday but a holiday for us. After the puja Ishank and I were in Vijeta’s room and playing Monopoly. Most people were not at home and hence her mother asked us to be with her and play inside the house. Something felt odd that day; something was not right. We were playing but mentally something was affecting the three of us.

And then we got to know why we got that feeling. We heard people crying. The three of us looked at each other not knowing what to do.

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“I.. I.. can’t…play in this noi…” Vijeta stammered as Samiksha’s mother ran inside the room and hugged her. She was in a really bad shape. Tears flowed uncontrollably from her red eyes. We exchanged glances and our eyes spoke of our nervousness.

“Samiksha.. Samiksha…is no more….”

We were numb.

Vijeta’s mom came and asked us to take her along with us. My parents also rushed to their home. The ambulance arrived and brought Samiksha’s body.

Tears didn’t flow for some time, the shock was too much for us to handle. Then the first tear dropped and the rest followed in an unbroken stream.

I had heard about other people’s deaths but I had never thought that as a 9-yearold kid I would have to deal with my best friend’s death. The next few days were difficult.

“As per Hindu religion the soul takes 13 days to leave this world and till then it keeps roaming around it’s loved ones.” I had heard someone say this and it stuck with me.

One evening mom told me to go to the park for a change of thoughts and to refresh the mind. There were beautiful flowers and I plucked a red one. Recalling those words and thinking that Samiksha’s soul may be around me, I placed that flower in one of the bushes.

“This is for you Samiksha. I love you a lot. I will miss you.”

When I reached the same spot after 5 minutes, the flower was not there. I smiled and looked at the sky. “Oh! God, take her with you, give her home and bless her.”

I kept giving her flowers and she kept accepting them. A few days later, I plucked another flower and kept it aside for her. This time, it hadn’t been taken. I was glad, for I knew she had moved on from this world into the world that belonged to her. She had finally rested in peace.

It’s been 21 years since Samiksha left us. I didn’t spend a lifetime with her, but the few years were enough to keep her in my heart for a lifetime. Her death made 174 | P a g e

me learn something about life- ‘Life is unpredictable. It is breath that helps you cherish moments as well as material.’ #####

The Gift Parvati’s day typically started at 5am, when she would wake up and cook for her family. An hour later she would wake up the kids, get them ready for school and cook breakfast for them. She would then head off for work- She worked as a house maid.

At 30, she was mother to 4 kids, the eldest one was 15-years-old and the youngest was 8-years-old. She was petite and less than 5 feet in height but possessed the energy of a dynamite. Even after doing household chores for 5 houses, she would have the energy to cook for her family and manage her house.

May be, it wasn’t the energy but the fact that she had no option. Her house was like many other houses in India where ‘Men’ didn’t help in household work.

Her earning was only Rs 10000 per month. Her husband worked as a labourer on construction sites. He didn’t have any fixed earning; it could be Rs 400 per day or nothing if he didn’t have work. Resources were scarce for this family but Parvati put in her best to ensure her kids got good education and upbringing.

Vedika got to know Parvati through her cook Anita. She desperately needed someone who would take care of dusting and cleaning her house. Anita introduced her to Parvati. She started with the cleaning job at her place in May 2017. She was taking care of the house like it was hers. In no time she felt like family.

For a woman, the maids are more important than the husband. A day without the maid is like hell.

A few days later, a little girl accompanied Parvati.

“Iski chhuttiyan chal rahi hain to le aai ki madad kara degi. (Her vacations are on, so I thought she can help me here.)” Parvati said as she introduced Babita, her daughter.

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Babita was a bubbly 14-year-old, a regular teenage girl who loved spending time in her school and with her friends. Her friends fondly called her bak-bak, for she would speak for hours at a stretch. A little short in height for her age, but a lot more wise, that’s Babita for you.

She was a highly pampered kid at home, being the only sister to three brothers.

With this pampering came some ground rules too, for they wanted to remind her that she was a girl. She was also her mother’s favourite kid as she was the only helping hand both at home and at work.

Vedika greeted Babita and got the best smile in response. Vedika asked her how old she was and she told her she was 14.

“Arre, ye to bilkul 14 ki nahi lalagti. Khelti nahi hai? (Oh, She doesn’t look like

she is 14-year-old. Don’t you play?” Vedika asked.

“Khelti hun na meri friendon ke saath. (I play with my friends.)” She responded with a smile on her face. Vedika couldn’t stop smiling as she heard her sayfriendon.

They talked for some more time, she told her that she loved Mathematics but was not too fond of Science and English. Vedika told her that she could come over to study Science and English from her. She was excited and told her that she would come to study.

Babita started coming regularly, along with studying she helped her in the kitchen and soon they became friends. She used to eat lunch at her place. One day Vedika had made pumpkin for lunch.

“Didi, main ye nahi khati. (Didi, I don’t eat this.)” She said as she looked disapprovingly at the pumkin.

“Oh, so what do you eat Ms Babita?” Vedika asked her in English, to see if she was getting better at it.

“I eat Maggi and Pasta, they are my favourite. Mummy tiffin mein deti hain.

(Mummy packs these for lunch in school.) She replied innocently, clearly getting better at her spoken English.

Vedika felt happy and smiled. It is such a beautiful bond that a mother and child share. Parvati worked more than 14 hours a day and didn’t earn too well. She still 176 | P a g e

managed to save enough to make her child feel loved and pamper her with her favourite food at times. Vedika cooked Maggi for her as she relished it.

A few days later, Parvati told her that Babita loved coming to her place. What she didn’t know was, Vedika loved Babita’s company equally. She didn’t know that Vedika was reliving her childhood with her and that she taught her one of the best lessons that somewhere we all forget as we grow up and start earning.

It was 22nd May 2017 and Vedika’s brother’s birthday. She had spoken to him in advance about what he wanted for his birthday. He had given her a list of things to order from Amazon and Vedika had ordered them so that they reach him before his birthday.

“Babita, mere bhai ka birthday hai.(Babita, it’s my brother’s birthday.)”Vedika said as she offered her sweets.

“Arre waah, aaj to mere bhai bhi birthday hai, bade vale ka. (Oh nice! It is my brother’s birthday as well, my big brother.)” She responded as she stuffed her mouth with the ladoos.

Suddenly Babita became sad. Her brother had gone to the village with their mother and was returning only after 2 days. She told her about the birthday party she was planning for him, but he wasn’t there.

“It’s ok. Kya gift de rahi hai bhai ko? (What are you gifting him?)”

“Geometry box!” Her big eyes were bright and filled with excitement.

Vedika asked her why she was giving him that. She told her that he didn’t have one and they had to share. As a result, he would leave it for her and get scolded in his class.

It took Vedika back to her childhood, when her brother and she would do things for each other. It took her to the care and love hidden amidst the fights that only a brother and sister can understand. Vedika asked her if she had bought that already.

“Aaj lungi, 1 month se paise jod rahi hun. (No, I’ll buy it today. I was saving since a month.)” She replied with the same brightness in her eyes. Vedika asked her the price of the Geometry box.

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“100 rupees!” She sounded proud of herself. When Vedika asked her more, she told her that she didn’t get any pocket money. Parvati gave her money as and when it was required. She saved this because of the small jobs she would do by helping her mother and earn 10 or 20 rupees.

This 14-year-old girl taught her the meaning of life. Someone’s necessity is a luxury for someone else. Vedika gave her 100 rupees and told her to buy the Geometry box as a gift from her and now keep the 100 rupees with her forever.

She will cherish them when she will grow up.

Sometimes we forget who we are and how small things in life give us happiness.

Happiness is not in luxury but in being what you are. Babita became an inseparable part of Vedika’s life for she sees herself in Babita. #####

The Black Dress Rose was a beautiful 5 year old girl. She was the apple of her parent’s eyes and her mommy’s princess. Her innocent talks and laughter brightened up their lives.

She started going to the big school a few weeks back. The first week was a roller coaster of emotions for both Rose and her parents. On the first day of school, Rose was all emotional and cried as her mom dropped her to school. Lily, her mother, stood there with wet eyes till Rose entered her class accompanied by her teacher.

It was a little different now. Rose was happy and looked forward to going to school every day. Her parents were happy too, for their little girl had made friends and loved her school. It was more because of Susan, her best friend at school. Rose would spend hours talking to Lily about Susan. Lily, would smile at her innocent talks and relive her childhood.

Mom, pack 2 sandwiches, one for Susan as well." Rose told Lily as she got ready for school.

Lily smiled as she packed another sandwich. She drove her car to the school to drop Rose like every day.

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"Hi Susan!"

Rose got out of the car and ran towards Susan as she spotted her. Susan was a little early to school today. She was accompanied by her mother who smiled at Rose and Lily.

Rose's mommy was furious. She didn’t smile back and instead called out to Rose.

She said something that made her unhappy.

The next morning, While Rose was getting ready for school, she called her mommy.

"Mom, I am confused, should I wear the red dress or the black one?" Rose asked Lily.

"My love, all colours are lovely, wear either of them. You will look good in any colour you choose." Lily replied.

"Oh, no mommy. You told me not to speak with Susan, as she is black. Black must be bad." Rose’s bright eyes were inquisitive.

Something died inside Lily that day. She was ashamed of herself. A tear dropped from her right eye.

"No, my dear. Black is just as lovely as any other colour. I am Sorry. Give my love to Susan." Lily cried as she hugged Rose tight. #####

Rose Oh dear Rose.. teach me your skill, You cheer up my friend when she is ill!

The love of my life, you make her smile, She throws her hair back and hugs me in style!

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A birthday or a wedding, you make them special too, Your beauty attracts everyone towards you!

Red, yellow, pink or white, Oh, all of them are equally bright!

Your life may be short, and you die a painful death, You spread happiness and love, till your last breath! #####

Home Sweet Home When did you move from four walls to my home?

Your silence spoke to me when I was alone, Dear home, you have been a true friend, Love or fights, you had your ears to lend.

I see you wearing and growing old, But you stand tall with your heart of gold.

One moves out and the other comes over, They paint you in their colour, to make you newer.

Today we pack our bags, and move to another, I see you preparing to befriend the other.

As I move out, you must know you have been kind, You will always be special to me, do keep in mind. #####

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Tulika Mukerjee Saha Tulika Mukerjee Saha based in Ahmedabad, is an avid reader and prolific writer. Her writing has been published in the Chicken soup series.

Email - tulikasaha@gmail.com

Moonlight Chetna, a single woman in her late forties, lives in Mumbai and marries Vinay who has lost his wife to cancer in America. Chetna's adopted son Ashok and his wife Jyoti life in Bengaluru with their son. The story that follows begins with Chetna and Vinay's married life.

Chetna switched off the TV and wondered how the woman could be so foolish.

She had been watching one of her favourite movies for the umpteenth time Maid of Honour. What made the heroine give up a perfectly good match for a man who at best could be called a mediocre. The husband-to-be was titled, wealthy, sophisticated and head over heels in love with the heroine who runs out on her wedding to marry the man she had declared her maid of honour! No doubt, he had been her friend for a long time....but still. Chetna sighed. Love was certainly an over rated emotion in her opinion. Hadn't she gone through most of her life without it? She made herself a cup of coffee and settled into her favourite chair in the balcony. Vinay had gone to the States to keep the colour of his card green. She had returned when the winter had become cold. He would be back after another month. Strange how her attacks of insomnia only came when he wasn't there. She cradled her coffee and looked up at the sky. The stars were 181 | P a g e

twinkling at a great polluted distance in the Mumbai sky. The moon seemed to have become just a faint dot, its silver light no longer cooling.

Wait a minute! Was it her imagination or was the moon moving? Chetna rubbed her eyes and looked up at the moon again. Yes, it seemed to becoming larger and larger until it was simply looming in the night sky. Must be some strange atmospheric phenomenon, Chetna thought and put it out of her mind. She closed the window and went in finally being lulled to sleep by the sound of the morning traffic and the calling of school children.

The day crawled forward at millipede pace despite Ashok's morning call and her long chat with Vinay in the early evening. Shubhash was now a teen who rarely spoke to his parents but still regularly called Vinay and Chetna. In fact, his conversations with Vinay were personal and confidential. Chetna remembered his first trip with Vinay to the zoo and his excitement and joy that followed. She was glad that things had worked out well. Chetna called her close friend, Suja.

She told her of her strange lunar experience of the night before.

"I am sure you are just imagining it, dear," she said laughing. "Your moon is far away so you probably are seeing things too!" she added teasing.

"Maybe," said Chetna, "But still for my sake will you take a look today?"

"Sure, Chetna," Suja replied.

Chetna hung up smiling. Trust Suja to put her in good humour. She had mentioned her experience to Vinay too, who had probably something else on his mind and had not registered it at all. After a light supper of poha and soup, Chetna walked, played a movie on her player. This was another of her favourite movies - Serendipity. She had never enjoyed the tearful melodrama of Bollywood cinema and found the realism of Hollywood more in tune with her self controlled and reticent nature. There it was again. Another foolish woman throwing away a good life for love. Why did she like these movies anyway? She questioned herself for the first time. Did she identify with the woman or did she like the idea of a bumbling male who could not recognize his emotions, and finally came to learn of his true feelings through a series of fortunate or 182 | P a g e

unfortunate accidents? She also wondered what made the other guy give up the woman he had walked to the altar and planned to marry so easily.

It was not like her to dwell on a notion. She went to bed and stopped herself from thinking about it. ***** It had been about four years from that day, before he met Chetna, while Sheela was still alive and well, when Vinay and his colleagues had been watching the sky from the NASA observatory. There were definite signs of celestial change. Now with powerful and more accurate instruments, Vinay and his friends detected the signs of a new celestial mass inching closer to their own solar system. Vinay's colleague, Sam had reported definite signs of the Andromeda galaxy which seemed to be somehow, disrupting their own constellation. They spent weeks checking calculations. There was no mistake. They had to face the truth. Now was the time to act. Vinay and Sam took their observations to James, the NASA head. "Amazing," said James, "We need to tell the President." ***** President Barama could not believe what he was being told. How had the NASA managed to keep such a big secret from him.?.....And all the while he had prided himself on controlling expenses and checking all major inessential expenditures.

James could not bring himself to tell him the entire truth even now. That would have to be done by Parekh.

"Why do we need to tell him?" asked Vinay. "The world has gone without knowing for centuries now."

James looked at Vinay meaningfully. There was no need for words. Vinay knew the answer to his own question.

"Well, we could work around this issue, couldn't we? It's just a matter of a few more years."

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"I don't believe you are saying this Vinay! " James asked incredulously. "Don't you know how useful those funds would be to America on Earth?"

The President was ready to see them. They looked at each other and went in to the oval office.

"Good morning, Mr President" Vinay greeted the most powerful man on the universe shaking his hand firmly. "Good morning, Vinay , James" replied the President shaking their hands in turn. "Please be seated." said Barama smiling grimly.

James and Vinay sat down. A potent silence filled the office room. The morning was pleasant enough. The temperatures were not yet plummeting. But the future was completely unpredictable. Despite careful calculations, few scientists would stand by their weather predictions after 12 December 2012. It filled Vinay with a sense of deep responsibility to his adopted country and the lengths to which the American people had selflessly given to the world its sense of security and completeness. He had always known of the American large heartedness but had never imagined the magnanimity of the decision his colleagues had taken.

"Sir," began James for he was the head of the NASA. He stopped and cleared his throat nervously." The matter which we are about to present is real and grave."

Barama looked at him. He knew that what he was just going to learn would be far from pleasant.

James continued, " Our astronomers have been working night and day and for the past 2 years have all concurred on the calculations."

Barama looked at him expectantly.

"They have observed unusual planetary activity. According to them, the constellations appear to be crisscrossing. Our own constellation, the Milky way has been slightly grazed by its nearest constellation Andromeda spiral. This has led to the emergence of gravities of those planets coming into play in our own constellations. We had hoped that any activity would be as far away from our solar system and had predicted initially some interference with the Sirius star 184 | P a g e

which is quite close to the sun. But the Spiral continued on its path it became clear that it was not going to avoid our solar system. Still all calculations indicated that there were no known planets at the edge of the Andromeda which would be drawn into our solar system. Therefore our scientists kept up the observation but did not seem to think there was any need to share these alarming facts with our people.

All amateurs who came up with observations close to ours were asked to observe the nearest sun of the Andromeda and told that there would never be a collision.

However Vinay and his team did calculate the path of the nearest planet of the galaxy closest to us of the Andromeda and discovered that its orbit was almost 20 light years long and its orbit followed an elliptical path like our own." James paused wondering if the facts had been too heavy for the President to absorb. To his surprise, he found the President listening intently and with complete understanding of the matter. "Carry on, " he said sensing James's hesitation "I was interested in astronomy as a boy of six or seven though completely out of touch since then," the President said smiling.

James and Vinay smiled back. It certainly helped. It would have been nigh impossible to explain things at this level to an ignoramus. Then James looked at Vinay who continued. "About two years ago, the And Rock, a planet of the Andromeda galaxy came into focus. It turned out to be much greater in diameter than we had estimated. The orbit calculations too were slightly variant." ***** Vinay paused. "However a slight variation in astronomical terms would mean 507 million miles more at the very least. That is sufficient for it to interfere with our solar system."

Barama looked up from the piece of paper he had been doodling on. "So it would appear that the orbit would not pass somewhere near Jupiter but closer to our planet Earth, am I right gentlemen?"

"Bang on, Mr. President," replied James admiringly.

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"Yes Sir. And two years ago we have calculated that the orbit of the And Rock will pass in a plane perpendicular to earth's own. As you are well aware Mr. President, each planet has its own gravitational pull which is directly proportionate to its mass. Put simply, the larger the planet, the stronger its gravitational pull is likely to be."

"Okay so is And Rock small ?" the President asked hopefully. "And," Vinay said with deep gravity creeping into his voice continued, "The And Rock is about four times larger than the earth. " He paused letting the significance of the fact sink in.

"So its gravity, most probably is four times greater, isn't it?"

"Yes sir. It further tells us that any objects in our solar system which are orbiting around planets but not directly orbiting around the sun may be taken into And Rock's orbit provided it is close enough to the earth at that time." Vinay looked almost pained now.

"Are you saying what I think you are? Tell me it's not true,"said Barama rubbing a palm over his brow. Vinay's voice was almost a whisper as he said, "Yes sir, the moon."

"What are we looking at then?" the President addressed this question to James.

"Well for starters, the moon plays a very important role in the weather of the Earth. Its gravitational pull makes the tides rise and fall. It has a cooling effect on the Earth as it blocks the sun's rays and causes nightfall. We are looking forward to a moonless night on earth Mr. President, to say the very least. With the absence of tides, there may be complete disruption in the normal oceanic streams which govern weather.

Mr. President, this is only an indication of things to come and forgive me for sounding like a soothsayer but the planet's survival is in question."

The Oval office suddenly became quiet with a stillness which was filled with heated thinking. "Do you have any possible solutions?" Barama asked in an apprehensive tone.

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"Well, "Vinay said, "We could simulate the moon and set up a gravitational source in space to mimic its effects." "Nice thought. I doubt that the treasury will look forward to it," said Barama with a wry smile. "And how would a small artificial satellite be able to cause nightfall, gentlemen?" Vinay looked at the President with new found respect. He had not expected him to be able to think through these issues in such a short while. Just accepting the fact that the moon may move away from the Earth would have shocked another man to the point of numbness. Not for nothing was he the most powerful President on Earth.

"Alternatively we could try to move the moon to a distance where it would not be affected by the And Rock's gravitational pull." said James.

"Could you elaborate?" said the President raising his eyebrows in surprise at the astonishing suggestion." I am not as well versed in theories as you may be, what causes gravity has always been a big question, hasn't it? If we don't know what causes it, how will we increase it?" "Sir, we do not claim to have solved the problem and have not sought to do so. We have worked around it trying to find a way of increasing the gravitational pull of the earth," said Vinay.

"The earth's gravitational pull needs to be increased so that the moon's orbit will not intersect the And Rock's. In order to do so we could install a large concentration of iron in it closer to the center. The iron needs to be concentrated at a few spots around the equator and not spread out as it is right now. We tried it on a model using relative planet and orbit sizes" explained James.

A look of incredulity crossed Barama's face. "How do we plan to get it there, James" "Uhhh.. we really haven't found a foolproof solution but the closest we could get was to dig a corridor and inject it in to the crust. It would remain liquid as the temperature goes on rising below the crust unless it meets a glacier pathway. We are working with geologists on the pathway. It would be like injecting into a vein . The most likely veins are the ones in volcanoes as the lava emerges from close to the core."

An impressed silence greeted this volcano of information. "How much?" was the next question.

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"Four million tonnes."

The President let out a low whistle. "You know we don't have it."

"But if all the countries put their reserves together, we could come up with the amount. After all, it is a temporary situation which will last a few years. " Barama pondered over this for a while. "Have we run through the menu? I must admit neither of the options appeals to me. A world which could not agree on a limit to arms in each country could hardly be expected to agree on anything that would cost them so much in the time span that you would desire action, gentlemen."

The men looked at him.

"The second one is the one we are aiming for is it?" Barama commented.

The men nodded. "How do we explain this to the other leaders?" was Barama's next question. Vinay and James looked at each other taken aback. Then James began, "errr hmmm we could tell them the truth."

"Oh yes of course we will. We have to if we expect aid " "Mr. President, if I may say so, it is not America's concern alone. This issue is faced by the planet and so has to be a collective responsibility. There are other nations which should be made to chip in." Vinay said. ***** It was a few weeks later that the US president sat in the NASA observatory which monitored the moon closely. The fear of the moon drifting into And Rock's gravitational sphere was very real here. The moon had been moved closer to the earth by about a 1/3 of its original distance of 384,400 kms. The American government had drilled a hole through the crater of a volcanic mountain in Africa, Asia and South America and with the help of a mechanized robotic drill which had been controlled by NASA and the team of geologists and the metal was injected in its molten form. Then the team just had to wait.

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James, meanwhile, had spearheaded another group of astronauts who had picked a giant asteroid from the asteroid belt with the help of a robotic space arm. This asteroid was intended to be dropped under the sea at the Marianna Trench so that the mass of the earth would increase. This would result in a further increase in gravitational force. The asteroid had been covered with a film of cold nitrogen to prevent it from catching fire as it was brought into the atmosphere. An alert had been sent out to cancel all maritime activity during that week. The water levels would rise and may cover up familiar land marks. The team of astronauts waited while the asteroid was dropped slowly into the water.

A variety of thoughts filled Vinay's head of moonless Karva Chauths and Eids.

He also wondered what effect the absence of the moon would have on the tides and then flippantly, on lovers. Besides, the entire lunar Hindu calendar would become defunct.

It was about 48 hours before the moon was drawn closer to the Earth, just in time for the And Rock. The calculations had been precise this time. Now they waited for the And Rock's gravitational pull to intersect their own. The moment came and passed. A cheer of jubilation went through the observatory. Barama, who had been there for most of the 2 days, loosened his tie and heaved a sigh of relief. Vinay and James were overwhelmed with emotion as they hugged each other. The Earth need not know what it had just escaped. ***** Vinay was back in Chetna's Mumbai flat, sitting in the balcony and sipping some warm water before bedtime. "Vinay, doesn't the moon look much larger than it used to?" asked Chetna. "Yeah, it does. Maybe the pollution in Mumbai is decreasing!" he said laughing.

Chetna smiled and said, "Maybe." Vinay could not help thinking how little man really cared for everyday things now. There had been no newspaper reports on the increase in size or even queries about it. The internet seemed to have killed man's curiosity for his environment. Not bad, given the circumstances, not bad at all!

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***** Rama looked at the And Star longingly. He and his friends boarded the little capsule and took off for the And Star. Rama smiled to himself. Finally, they were going home.

Shankar stood still on the surface of the moon waving his hands folded in learnt behaviour, looking wistfully at the capsule. Maybe he would be next. ***** Vinay sat in his apartment balcony and meditated. The word 'Om' was heard in his deep sonorous voice in the whole apartment. Chetna loved to hear the sound of his voice chanting and joined him as soon as she could. They chanted for almost half and hour, with controlled breath and sucked in stomach muscles.

This had become a set pattern between them. Then they started on their daily routines. Chetna started cooking up a simple meal while Vinay indulged the plants with more conversation. Chetna thought to herself for the umpteenth time, that it had been worth the wait. Vinay was an extremely caring and gentle being. He seemed to match her every mood, almost as if he had ultra sensory perception. She heard him pause and stare at the skies, as he was wont to do. Her thoughts drifted to the house help who would come in anytime now. After Vinay had moved in, Jiva had been the epitome of good behaviour. The plants, too had greatly benefitted from his presence.

Vinay sat down with the morning paper and his cup of tea. He read rapidly skipping over the political news, to the scientific diary. The diary contained the fact that star gazers had observed a small object, which they described as looking like a meterorite break off from the moon. Fortunately, for earthlings, this object had been sucked away into space and had somehow escaped out of earth's gravitational pull. Vinay felt relieved but a little wistful. Pushing aside the thoughts along with the paper he looked up and smiled as Chetna came in with a sumptuous breakfast of parathas and raita.

"Mmmmm delicious," said Vinay digging in. "How did you learn to cook like this?" " Oh come off it," Chetna said, laughing happily, " You know the whole 190 | P a g e

story." " Do I ?" asked Vinay as if searching in his memory. It always broke Chetna up.

Later that night, moonlight filled Chetna's balcony while the earth smiled heavenwards in grateful calm as Mumbaikars danced on in their unmoving lives. #####

Rain The cloud looked down on the earth wondering why it looked so pale, bereft of its green shade, salt white and grey; brown burnt grass covering its hard, cracking face.

The earth looked at the cloud heavy darkening like a smouldering anger tinged with pain harboured a festering blackening heart wounded deepening its growl over it's face.

A thunderous clap rang through the sky echoing fearful hearts, deafening minds, cowering souls splitting the cloud; tearing and gushing drowning the earth with rain.

The raging sea covered the land quickening it's pace over while thickening like a milky fog over men waiting for salvation with dry throats cooling the smouldering flame.

Drowning land, covering seas, with rain! #####

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A While The world can care for itself a while, while I lie easy and listen to your voice; drowning my fears in its deepness; filling my soul with calm; pacing my goals in its rhythm; Cocooning me in its tenor Mellifluously adding to the chorus of life.

The world can take care of itself for a while.

Let me sit down and enjoy the smile that spreads over your face filling with mischief sometimes; touching the hearts you embrace; spreading calm in a stormy life; that reaches the tear in your eye; as thoughts of old are revived; The world can take care of itself for a while.

Let me savour the silence that seeps into a moment As the sound of our whispering rustles the leaves as our voices reach each other's eyes.

Your laughter breaks my silent fear; from the distance of many miles.

This world can take care of itself for a while Let me caress your strong clasping hands As your breath warms my shoulders As your scent floods my senses setting my heart aglow seeping into my pores' desires from the proximity of miles This world can take care of itself for a while. ##### 192 | P a g e

The Mother "Are you ready now?" whispered the wind, gently folding its warmth around her enveloping her in a tight embrace, holding her away from all living eyes.

The path's been chosen, the leaves are black, the blood's been washed off your hands; The bells have tolled and through it all the wasteland is now a green grassland.

"No," said the mother. "I must stay, I must see it through. It's the only way."

The wind held her closer, warmer still, fearing she might break under the mill.

The leaves of grass grew to reach far. away from where the seed first lay.

Mornings grew to sunny days, once helpless hands carried the lay, Whizzing thoughts through young minds, reaching out to others of their kind.

Delving into the temple spires, for faith, for love, for another hour.

Hearts filled with love now wept, weary in the mother's arms slept.

Grown now, the trees leant, heavy with fruit and somewhat bent.

Morning and sundown filled with work Eventide's laughter now stealthily slept.

"Are you ready now?" whispered the wind The mother looked around, then looked away.

"Yes," she whispered and then turned Stretched out her hand towards the golden ray rose above the earth, on her way.

"Goodbye," said the wind. "Rest in peace.

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I hold them, mother."

The earth rose to meet the sky and waters welled from every eye. #####

Teardrop This teardrop I shed for the little girl who could not see the light of day One for the child who was a mother before she knew what to say.

Yesterday, I shed one for the teen whose hopes were crushed by men Another for the girl's glass of milk.

It was given to her brother then.

Yet another, I shed got the river of pain when blood covered her thighs.

Though cramped in agonizing pain No tear flowed from her eyes.

Let me weep now, for the little one who grew without being heard.

Whose smiling face covered the pain of being one in a large herd.

Whose arms were way too small to defend her from her father.

A tear for her silence through it all unloved, by a weeping mother. #####

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Chains That Bind It was that day. Ma prepared herself to make the difficult yet happy journey. In fact the preparations had begun the previous day. Maashi had prepared Labang latikas and Ma had prepared Kaka’s favourite payesh with the season’s fresh jaggery, spending hours cooking on the mud-baked stove in the kitchen. There were tears and reminiscising of how Badal, for that was Kaka’s name, would have livened up the house with his jokes and pranks. I was dressed in my best cotton frock and had new ribbons for my hair. Shona and Baby were whining and pleading with Ma. They wanted to go too. “Only two visitors allowed, beta, you know that,” Ma said smiling and patting their heads. I was secretly pleased at their desperation and felt enormously privileged. Finally it was time to leave.

Babul dada was carrying all the goodies in a large wicker basket on his head, covered with a shiny, new gamcha, me, firmly clasped in my mother’s arms.

‘How much longer?’ I asked for the umpteenth time. ‘Just a little further,’ Ma answered. My new frock was stained with perspiration and the sun beat down cruelly through the overhead shade of the Tonga. Suddenly, I wished I was back in the shady confines of my home with Shona and Baby, playing at our new doll game, till slumber embraced me. I awoke at the front gates of the entrance of Kaka’s new home – the central jail. The gate was bedecked with bougainvillea.

The lawns were well kept and a familiar serenity seemed to envelop the entire premise. Ma walked demurely up to the guard. I could feel her heard pounding and sensed her fear. ‘Chalo na lets go Ma I don’t want to go in,’ I cried. ‘Ssssh, we have to,’ Ma said. The guard called out ‘Hariprasad Sen,’ with a roughness which cut through the well kempt interiors. ‘Who is that?’ I asked.

Ma walked down the corridor which seemed to stretch endlessly. The walls smelt of the damp mustiness of our cellars. Human smells emanated from the far end.

We entered the small visitor’s room where Hariprasad had been led. ‘O Kaka! I haven’t seen you for so long. Do you know …,’ I started chirping delightfully, till I looked into the stern eyes of my mother. ‘How are you Badal? Don’t you eat?

You are so thin.’ She handed over the basket of goodies to him after it had been thoroughly checked by the guard on duty.

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‘And how is my Putul rani?’ Kaka asked looking at me.

‘I am fine. Who is Hariprasad Sen, Kaka? They called his name, didn’t they Ma?’ Kaka burst out laughing. ‘That is Kaka’s bhalonam (formal name).’ Ma said.

‘Oooh. Why are your hands in chains? Have you been naughty?’

‘Hmmm, yes according to the police.’

‘And according to you?’

‘No’ 'Oh, then you must come with us’ ‘When will you be released?’ Ma asked.

‘In a few weeks I think, before poojo.’

‘Time’s up,’ the guard called. Ma quickly adjusted her saree and stood up. Kaka touched her feet. Ma picked me up and we walked back down the corridor to the Tonga where the horse and Babul da stood waiting patiently in the sun. The midday sun made my eyes water and as I shielded them I saw Ma wiping her eyes the corner of her pallau. The air was heavy with sadness and silence. I fell asleep, overcome by exhaustion and the heaviness in my heart and did not awaken even when Ma put me in my bed at home.

I awoke to the sound of a poignant silence, unusual in our household. I tiptoed into the living room still clutching the edge of my favourite sheet. I heard Thakuma’s voice holding audience to the entire family. No one noticed me as I joined the group. She absorbed their entire attention with her words. ‘… he often came home at dawn. I fell asleep waiting for him,’ she said ‘but could I deny the mother her son? Badal started doing more for the group that he worked for. He was now a leader of one of the groups…… I don’t recollect which. He was often in contact with Chitranjan Das and also met Rabi Thakur. He never spoke of his actions. But I often listened through the keyhole……. I was worried you see.’

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The lamps had been lit. ‘Then one day the police came for him. Badal, he was clever. He covered himself in his shawl and went to the terrace even as the police entered. He leapt from our terrace to the Ratna kakima’s and then to Dolon mashi’s till he reached the corner and jumped down and hid himself at Ghosh kaku’s in the next pada.

‘The next time the police came during kali poojo. He thought of doing the same thing again. I must say, the British police are smart. This time there were several policemen waiting at the end of the lane and when he jumped down. He couldn’t see them because they were well hidden in the shadows of the houses. And there he is in jail now.’ The audience was now thinner as the women of the house were busy preparing the evening meal. It was soon served. I was so glad that I could cuddle up against ma and sleep for I was still quite exhausted.

The days blurred into years and after 12 more visits to the prison over a period of 2 years, finally Badal Kaka was free. Nothing could mar the joy of his homecoming. He was garlanded and welcomed by everyone in the locality. A huge crowd gathered to see him. But he did not come back without scars. His body was so weakened from the beatings and the lack of food, that he could hardly walk a few steps without support. The chains had been so tightly bound on his arms and legs that the scars on his flesh refused to heal. They were bandaged with a poultice made from turmeric and wheat flour which kakima made for him regularly.

Finally, Badal kaka became strong enough to work. The house now appeared to shrink like a dried prune as children grew and more were added. Dada, my elder brother,was to take his matric examination that year. India was now free. Badal kaka no longer had to report to the police. Nehru’s speech was heard over and over again on the All India Radio, over the shuffling feet of people crossing borders and the screams of slit throats that overpowered the AIR. These happenings did not affect our lives much. We just had to stay indoors all the time.

One evening, as I was helping my mother put away the clothes; I overheard the men of the house discussing the lack of space. It was a span of three short 197 | P a g e

months before 3 houses were purchased in the same street and each kaka moved out with his family. Thamma continued to live with us in the old house. The old house was given a facelift, major changes were made and there was finally empty space. We now had running water and electricity and even a bathroom inside the house!

I was now to attend school. I had received some schooling at home from tutors so it was thought fit that I should attend the fifth standard. In fact all three of us girls were enrolled in the same class at the local girls school. It was an enjoyable time for us. We dressed in our best saris and walked to school everyday to learn a little English, History and Bengali, some Science and basic Mathematics.

Days rolled into years. Shona and Baby were married soon after they completed their matriculation. I had turned out to be a dedicated student and managed to excel at my studies. There was no discussion at home when I was enrolled by Baba to study Chemistry at the University. I was the only female student in my class. It was only when I completed my masters in organic chemistry that I realised that I was one of the few women in the country to have done so.

But marriage was now an urgency. I was all of 22 years. Shona and Baby had 2 children already. A groom was found and the wedding arranged. Soon I was married. I moved to Lucknow, where my husband lived and worked. I settled down to a life of domesticity. I had 2 children in the span of 4 years, Paakhi and Raja. The children seemed to grow all too soon and at the ripe old age of 30, I felt almost as if my life was over.

Badal kaka had kept in touch with me through regular postcards. I had rarely replied; what with two young children and meeting their needs. Now I shared my loneliness and frustration with him. He wrote back, sympathising with me and telling me how he too was now lonely and felt that his job was fruitless. After independence, he had been given the job of a despatch clerk in the government pensions department. Today, he even felt that his contribution to the Independence struggle had been in vain. All the ideals that he had held dearer than life itself, were now thrown away with the wayward breeze of overpowering want. The country’s system did not seem to be heading in the right direction.

Badal kaka felt helpless.

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We corresponded regularly with each other now, sharing the aspects of the past and present which we could not completely share with our spouses. It was in one of these letters that he came up with a suggestion. I had a degree from one of the best universities in the country. Why didn’t I look for some suitable occupation?

Time weighed heavily on my hands. So I decided to act on his suggestion.

I asked Shankar for his opinion. ‘I think it is a good idea,’ he replied, ‘in fact the only reason that I did not suggest it myself was because I did not want to force you into it,’ A few days later he brought me the cutting of a newspaper advertisement. It said that a quality control officer was required with an MSc in organic chemistry. I almost jumped for joy. I painstakingly wrote out an application, attaching attested copies of my certificates (that took up almost 3 days). The certificates had been put away so carefully, for so long that even I could not remember where they were. After several expeditions into my trunks, to Paakhi’s great delight because she wanted to wear everything I took out, and Raja’s thrill at the old photographs and the silverware that had suddenly appeared, I finally discovered them in the innermost recesses of a double locked trunk. We spent a week running from one office to another to get the copies of my certificates attested. Finally, the application was posted.

I spent days wondering whether or not I would get the position. The postman who was known to be quite a grouch, seemed like a celestial being, whose footfall I listened for each day.

‘Any letter for me?’ I would ask.

‘If there was, would I keep it?’ the postman answered.

One day, when I had almost given up hope, for more than two months had passed, I heard a shout ‘Malavika Ghosh’. It took me a while to recollect that I was being called for, for my pet-name was the only one which had been used for years now. I wondered what bad news the postman carried. He handed me a registered letter with my name on it. I signed, and opened it. My hands were trembling with joy and trepidation, when I found that I was called for the interview for the quality control officer’s position. The interview was of no great significance as I was the only qualified candidate. The other interviewees, were 199 | P a g e

just graduates. I took up a job in the quality control department of an agricultural branch of the government. I spent the first few months agonising over long forgotten facts. The work was slow, so I could take my time. Besides, the chief of the department took on most of the work himself. We shared all the work between ourselves as we were not provided any help. There were times when we spent up to two hours cleaning beakers and test tubes and putting away chemicals after having performed a test which might have taken just under an hour!

I enjoyed my work and soon fell into the rhythm of rushing to work after cooking and coming home to look after my children and home. My life was full and I felt that I couldn’t have been luckier. But as it happens ever so often , the proverbial silver lining is just the outline of a large, ominous cloud. There was no rain that year. There was drought as the rivers dried and the sun continued to scorch dry the fields, there was a famine. The country needed food in large quantities. The government did not have enough money to buy food grains and requested aid. The aid came in great quantities. The capitalist world saw it fit to feed the third world the pungent, rodent ridden grain that its cattle had rejected!!

And we sat there pouring over samples, wondering what part could be sent to the Ration shops for distribution. The grain was washed, dried, sorted and sieved in lots and sent out to fill hungry sun blackened stomachs. We had done our job.

Then cholera struck.

I went to work into the laboratory with a heavy heart. With each newspaper report of cholera deaths, my guilt grew heavier. For months after, Sharmaji, the chief could eat nothing made of wheat and was haunted by the smell of the grain.

I spent nights of wakefulness, pondering the righteousness of our actions. But considering that the only other alternative, for a large number of our countrymen was starvation, we had had little choice but to do what we did.

Shankar, my husband, was concerned. “Why do you care? You just did what the government asked you to,� he said in an effort to throw off my guilt. I said nothing. But I did care and cared, so deeply that it hurt me to eat, thinking of the poor people of my country. I started looking for a way to change their condition.

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white world again. I thought of a plan. It was small but I thought it would work. I wrote to Badal kaka about it. He was quite aged now but replied enthusiastically.

The plan was simple, and therefore, he felt could succeed.

My husband, Sharmaji and I, spent the next week working out a proposal which Sharmaji would present to the government.

‘How can you present a proposal without stating how you will get raw materials?’

My husband asked.

‘But who is going to do the digging, behnji?’ asked Sharmaji mildly.

Badal kaka came down from Calcutta to go over the final draft of the proposal.

‘Arre, you don’t know anything. Do you think the government will agree to this without political backing?’ he cried.

The chattering stopped. The excitement evaporated.

‘Then what should we do, we don’t know anyone Kaka,’ my husband said. It was not as if the thought had not crossed our minds. It was just that it was a question we had no answer to and so chose to ignore.

‘Let me see. I think one of my friends is in a good position in the government.

Maybe he will help,’ Kaka said looking at the bangle shaped marks on his wrist which were an indelible reminder of the past.

My husband had consulted some of his friends, who had obliged by giving him the outline of a successful proposal. After several writings and rewritings, it was ready. It had taken us a fortnight to make. Kaka had spoken to his friend, who happened to be the new governor of the state. He was a good honest man and was pleased with the proposal. He promised to push it. It took the government an entire year to approve the proposal, though it required the government to spend just about Rs.10,000. And another year would have passed before the implementation of the ‘Wells for irrigation’ programme even began, if it had not been for the village panchayats pushing for it. A journalist friend of ours had taken it upon himself to spread the word along with the details of how it would help the farmers to each village panchayat in our district. Our efforts (Sharmaji’s 201 | P a g e

and mine) had not been in vain after all. Badal kaka had lent a helping hand in West Bengal where he was touted as a freedom fighter all over again.

The results were not miraculous; nothing in India can ever be except the fact that something does get done. But slowly and surely, sometimes picking the shovel myself and sometimes being pelted with stones by irate landowners, there was some progress. We started helping farmers with seeds and fertilizers with accurate advice on keeping the fertility of their lands. A small group started marketing their produce. The idea however, caught on much more quickly.

Youth groups and Colleges started digging as part of their social reconstruction activities. When the next year came, we all waited for the rains, it would have been a fitting finale to a task well done. But it was not to be. I stared at the clear blue sky, willing it to fill with dark clouds. The rain never came.

The clouds however did, darker than any that I had ever imagined bleeding into the darkness of an endless night. I found myself being led down the long corridor which was damp and covered with moss, smelling like the cellar of my Calcutta home, arms shackled in irons, the stench of human urine flooding the corridor.

There hard, uneven floor cut my uncovered feet and the saree scratched my skin.

The chains were so heavy that it was an effort to move. I wondered why I had to wear them when I was not even held for criminal charges The cockroach infested, rat filled dungeon was the reward for my efforts to drive away a little bit of hunger.

What had I done wrong? ‘It was roses, roses all the way and myrtle mixed in my path like mad…’ The rain gods had not answered my prayers and the farmers who had hoped for deliverance were irate. Ram Prasad Chaudhary, the local politician whom I had to often cross swords with to grant permission for the wells, had seized the opportunity and levied charges of misappropriation of funds given to my small non-profit venture. Shankar’s rundown Vespa was brought up as evidence. Melted bangles and anklets which had been sold to pay for the children’s fess were cited as being bought from the allocated funds.

I sat with the other woman inmates, to a paltry meal of chapattis which smelt familiar, and potatoes and wondered when I would be able to get out of here.

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The next day, I met my husband in a little room where I was allowed 5 minutes.

Neither Paakhi nor Raja were not allowed in.

Kaka came to visit me. The tears flowed freely down his cheeks when they called 'Malavika Ghosh' and I walked down the long corridor to the visitors room. I had read the papers. 'Embezzlement of funds in the name of social service'.

"Maa, don't worry...freedom does not come easy........but it does come."

It seemed an age before I felt the sun warm my skin. The mirror spoke of the years the month had added to my age. Shankar stood with me as I stared at my image. Then he put his arms around me and kissed my forehead. "I am with you," he said almost in a whisper. I looked at the marks on my wrist. I could not give up. Freedom doesn't come easy. *****

Putul ( Malavika Ghosh) was sent to jail on charges of misuse of public funds and office. Her husband’s run down scooter and their single bedroom house were presented as evidence. She was released on bail after a month because of public pressure, built by the journalist friend and the village panchayats. She continued her efforts in providing adequate water for cultivation through wells and the state benefited from it in the years to come. She was offered a position in politics which she refused. She passed away, still living in the single room house. #####

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Debolina Coomar Debolina from Bangalore, is a freelance content and creative writer, blogger and author for various short story and poem anthologies. She shares her thoughts on her blog-debolinacoomar.wordpress.com Email: debolinaamity@gmail.com

Waking Up! Her life is like a dream – but for others around her. She has everything a teenager could ask for – a prestigious name, good fame, inherent wealth, the most handsome guy in college, and the power to get anything and everything.

Rachel Dawson is nineteen years old, confident yet controlled, a high school heartthrob, bold and beautiful. She is rich and famous. Her father, Thomas Dawson, the owner of Parker Industries, is a millionaire and one of the wealthiest persons in town. Her father loves and pampers her to the core. Rachel lost her mother in an accident, when she was ten years old. She fell off the stairs and suffered a brain haemorrhage. It was a traumatic loss for her, and she was in deep shock for a long time. But, when she recovered, she emerged as a fighter, who was ready to take on her life- head on.

Since then, there was no looking back for Rachel. But, everything was going to change soon, very soon.

It is Rachel’s 20th birthday. Her dad gifted her a brand new Lamborghini and the bright red colour triggers her passion for driving and she is excited for her maiden ride.

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She decides to drive to her favourite place up the hill- a small orchard, where she used to go for picnics as a child with her parents. She has fond memories of that place. She wants this drive all to herself, so she doesn’t invite any of her friends.

She wants to surprise everyone, rather flaunt her new possession when she zooms in college with it. But, that can wait.

She steps on the accelerator, and the car races away out of sight. It is early in the morning, so there are not many cars on the road. As she comes onto the highway, her speed increases and so does the acceleration of her thoughts.

Behind the steering wheel, Rachel believes that she has full control of the machine and her life too.

But, life has some other plans for her. Rachel is speeding through life with excitement, but suddenly, life leaves her behind. Her eyes are so brimming with enthusiasm and confidence that they do not see the truck coming from the wrong side of the road. Before she could understand and control the situation, her car rams into the truck and topples off the road. For a moment, Rachel feels that she is floating in the clouds; memories of her parents, her childhood, her room, her friend, Jason, her boyfriend and her perfect life flashes in front of her one by one like shots from a Polaroid.

In the next moment, Rachel is lying, drenched in blood, inside her brand new Lamborghini, which is upside down on the side of the road with flames and fumes coming out from everywhere. Rachel Dawson is not dead, but she is NOT as alive as ever.

The phone keeps ringing- calls from her dad, her friends, Jason, some unknown numbers kept flashing on the screen, probably to wish her and to know her whereabouts. God knows how long she lay on the side of the road, inside the charred car until a passing car stops near the accident spot and calls 911. The police informs her dad, and soon everyone gets to know. Everyone rushes to the spot and they are shocked to see Rachel in that condition. Her dad is utterly shocked, and not able to talk. Her best friends- Sharon and Meg are crying vehemently, Jason stands on the side of the road staring at her face, which is now bruised and bleeding heavily. There are so many other people shedding tears, 205 | P a g e

looking traumatized and feeling concerned, but you never know who is a friend and who is a foe.

The police seals the entire area and Rachel is rushed to the hospital as she is still breathing . The doctors attended to her immediately, and everybody is in great anticipation of what might happen next.

Rachel has no clue what happens over the next couple of days. The top doctors in town are on the case. After a series of unsuccessful attempts, it is declared that Rachel Dawson has passed into a coma.

Rachel is very close to her dad. But, his business engagements keeps him busy.

He has become a vivacious businessman, especially after losing his wife. He loves Rachel a lot, but they hardly get any time to spend with each other these days.

But, he makes every possible attempt to make Rachel happy and give her whatever she wanted. Along with Rachel, his life seems to have come to a standstill.

Now, every morning, he comes to the hospital and sits by her bed for the entire day. He brings Rachel’s things, something new every day and tells her stories about them. He talks to her in hope of a response, but alas, he is disappointed every time.

Her eyes wide open, her body stiff and still, but her heart beating in a rhythm.

Rachel Dawson’s body is alive, but it seems that her soul is lost, forever.

Her friends and acquaintances visit her, but gradually the numbers and frequency decrease. Only Sharon and Meg come every alternate day. And, one more person, who visits everyday is Jason. He brings her a fresh bouquet of white lilies every day, Rachel’s favourite, and spends time, holding her hand, talking to her, and listening to her heartbeat.

Two weeks pass by and the doctors are hardly seeing any improvement in Rachel’s condition. Gradually, everyone is giving up hope. But, Rachel is a fighter, still fighting for something unknown.

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It is a Saturday afternoon, and Rachel’s Dad has brought her favourite cushion pillow. He carefully lifts her head and places it below her head and says, “Daddy will always be here for you. Please come back soon.” A drop of tear rolls down his cheeks.

The doctor-in-charge comes in and asks him to join him in his office to discuss something. Rachel’s dad kisses her and leaves the room...

“Rachel, Rachel, the doctor is calling you, it is your turn. "Rachel is startled back from a trance, when the nurse calls out her name. Rachel Andrews finally decided to visit the psychiatrist because of her current spells of delusion and depression. She always suffered from short term memory loss, but this time it is something else bothering her, something keeps disturbing her, something or someone very close to her. And, she needs to find out.

Rachel Andrews lived thousands of miles away from Rachel Dawson’s city, but today they are about to meet. They will become one body and one soul. Today, Rachel Dawson’s unconscious self travelled miles across to be in Rachel Andrews’s body, when she was in a session of hypnosis. God wanted to tell both of them, something.

Rachel Andrews remembered seeing her cousin Tracy last week with her old boyfriend, Joseph, who she didn’t like at all. He was a local tout and a small time gambler. Tracy had broken up with him after incidents of physical violence. Rachel was disturbed and wondered why Tracy is with this guy again, when she saw them kissing.

The doctor brought her out of the spell, when he saw her choking. As soon as Rachel came back to reality, Rachel Dawson’s soul went back to her body. In the hospital room, Rachel’s heartbeat was pacing faster for the past fifteen minutes and the nurses were surprised at this strange development. Everybody rushed in and hoped for a miracle. Suddenly, everything became normal and calm again.

The hospital authority wanted to shift Rachel to her house, but her Dad insisted on keeping her there, and agreed to pay thrice as much as he was paying.

However, his visits reduced as his business needed his attention.

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A week passed by. One a Friday night, the nurses were busy attending to an accident case, when Rachel’s heartbeat started going up and down, vigorously. It started showing irregularities, but no one was there to attend. Suddenly, Rachel woke up...

Rachel woke up for her night shift at the pole dance bar in a different country. Rachel Dawson woke up as Racy aka Rachel Madison. But, she was not sure why. She looked at herself in the mirror- her barely covering revealing outfit, heavy makeup and a bruise under her left eye.

As she started walking towards the stage, she knew she was getting another link here.

God was trying to say something. She started her act and her regular clients cheered.

Soon, one drunk guy hopped onstage and tried to kiss her. Then, came one blow from a macho guy, who started beating the drunk man so badly that it seemed that he will kill him. Rachel and the bouncers pulled them apart, and Rachel dragged the guy into her changing room.

He was hurling abuse and when Rachel tried to say something, he held her by her neck and said, “I will kill anybody who touches you.” She replied, “But, that is my job, Victor. I am paid for it.” And tried to move away from him.

Victor pulled her closer and said, “It’s time that you quit your job. We will go very far from the city, get married, have kids and settle down.”

Racy smirked, “And all these dreams need a lot of money.”

Victor replied, “I have that kind of money now, baby, which can give us a decent life.”

Victor took out bundles of cash from his jacket and placed them on the table.

“Where did you all this money from?” Racy's eyes were gleaming.

“I got paid for a job.” Victor replied. He moved closer and whispered, “And, there’s more.”

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Suddenly, the conversation faded away and Rachel’s heartbeat started stabilizing again. Her soul was back in her body, lying in that hospital room. She had strangers in her mind now, but what was the missing link? .

Her mind was trying to solve a puzzle. Rachel Andrews – Tracy Houston – Joseph – Rachel Madison – Victor, how are they related to her?

A few more days had passed by. There is no promising development in Rachel’s condition other than the sudden changes in her heart beat once in a while. They still remain unexplained for the doctors. The hospital authorities were trying hard to convince her dad to take Rachel home. But, he is adamant that she will not get proper care at home as he keeps travelling.

Now, people visited her once or twice in a week. Sharon and Meg have almost given up all hopes to see their friend again. Jason still came every alternate day.

He is not able to move on. His parents wanted him to visit his cousin in another city for some time to get his mind off Rachel, but he disagreed. He still hopes that she will recover.

A week had passed by, and one day, Rachel’s family lawyer, Mr. James Patterson came to visit her. He brought her flowers. He kept them on the table and looked at Rachel’s face. ‘You are as beautiful and charming as your mother. God knows why all this happened. You would have grown into a successful businesswoman one day, just like your mother’, he thought in his mind.

Suddenly, the door opened and a little girl entered the room, along with a nurse.

Mr. Patterson thanked the nurse for bringing her here and she left. The girl came running to Mr. Patterson and hugged him, “Dad, I am done with my check-up, and the doctor said that my teeth are all fine. Now can I have an ice cream?”

Mr. Patterson smiled and said, “Yes, Rachel, you can and you must. You have been a good girl. Let’s go to your favourite ice cream parlour.”

Rachel Patterson looked at Rachel Dawson and asked, “Who is she?” Mr. Patterson replied, “She is Rachel, the daughter of one of the best person that me

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and your mother have known in our lives, Martha Parker. I was not here, so I could not come and visit her earlier.”

“Why is she lying like that?”

“She met with an accident, dear.”

“Will she never get up?”

“I don’t know, but I hope she does. She has a lot to do.” James remembered something from the past that Rachel needed to know.

“Dad, dad, let’s go.” Rachel Patterson was pulling Mr. Patterson’s hand. He kissed Rachel on her forehead and said, “Wake up, get well soon.” As they were leaving the hospital, there was a sudden spike in Rachel’s heartbeat once again.

Her soul was probably ready for it’s last journey.

That night, Mr. Patterson patted his daughter to sleep, kissed her and switched off the lights of her room. He went straight to his study and opened a secret chamber in his old-fashioned wooden desk. He took out an envelope and laid the contents on the table. There were a document, some pictures, and an old cassette. Mr. Patterson looked at the pictures with a sad face, trying hard to smile, but then he wiped off his tears. He inserted the cassette in an old tape recorder that he had on his desk, and it started playing...a female voice started speaking. It sounded familiar.

‘These are probably my last words. I don’t know how long I can live like this, whether I can live through the night. I loved him, I gave everything to him, everything I had, but he betrayed me. He chose someone else, he forgot out love and deceived me. I love my daughter a lot, and I hope one day she gets everything back. James, you might get this when I am no more. Keep my will safe and take care of my daughter. (some noises in the background) Someone is coming, I have to go.’

Then, the tape ended abruptly. Mr. Patterson took it out and packed everything back in the envelope and kept it inside. He checked twice to make sure that the chamber was properly locked. He switched off the lights and went away.

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A pair of eyes saw everything, but they wanted to know more, see more.

Rachel Patterson was no longer a little ten-year old girl, she was Rachel Dawson trying to find the missing link. She knew that Mr. Patterson knew a lot about her and her family and he had some key to her past, present and the future. She meticulously remembered the process and tactfully opened the chamber, took out the envelope and sat with it on the table.

She knew that her father aka Mr. Patterson will not come as he had already taken his sleeping pills and was fast asleep. She looked at the pictures. They were pretty old, but she could figure out – they had a young Mr. Patterson, his wife Margaret, of course a very young version (they didn’t seem to be married then) and the third face shocked Rachel the most. It was her mother, Martha Parker. All of them looked like college kids. It also had pictures of her mother’s wedding, Mr. Patterson’s wedding and a few more – all happy and smiling faces. Rachel had already listened to the tape and recognized the voice as her mother’s. She wondered how come Mr. Patterson’s daughter was so young, when he and her mother used to be friends. But, there was something more important to see.

She opened the papers and it was her mother’s will. It stated that on Rachel’s 20th birthday, all her property and belongings, which included Parker Industries, the house, and everything else will be entitled to her and she will legally own everything. There was also a letter.

It mentioned that she felt insecure with her husband and that he was having an affair. She also feared that he had been slowly poisoning her every day and might eventually kill her. He had coaxed her to hand over all her property to him as he was just a school teacher and owned nothing. They had fallen in love and she married him. But, he had betrayed her for the last few years.

Fearing the worst, she had only given him half the rights to her Company and its decisions. Apart from that he was just a caretaker of the rest of the things. If something happened to her, James will make sure that Rachel inherits everything 211 | P a g e

on her 20th birthday. And, if anything happens to Rachel, then her husband, Thomas Dawson should be held responsible.

Rachel could not believe what she read. Her dad loved her so much and her parents always seemed so happy and in love with each other. Then, what was all this? Her dad?

Trying to kill her? Did he have anything to do with her mother’s death too? But why and how?

Too many questions bewildered the innocent minds, both of Rachel Patterson and Rachel Dawson. She kept everything back in their right places and went up to her room.

Rachel’s heartbeat was faster than usual, and it kept racing up and down. The doctors and the nurses were trying hard to stabilize her. Her body moved up and down as if she was possessed. Then, suddenly with a thud, everything stopped, no movements at all.

Rachel’s dad got a call early in the morning, and he sat down, holding the receiver in shock. He rushed to the hospital, and saw his daughter. RACHEL DAWSON WAS OUT OF COMA. She survived, she was breathing and she was back to life.

Her dad hugged her, and said, “Oh Thank God, I am so happy that you are back.” Rachel was still weak and still trying to get the equation right.

She knew that everything was fake. Her dad had tried to kill her, and she had to find out why.

Rachel gradually recovered over the next few days. Sharon and Meg were overwhelmed to have her back, and Jason would never leave her side.

Rachel asked Jason for a favour. A few days later, Mr. Patterson visited the Parker Mansion. He had an envelope in his hand, and the police trailing behind.

Thomas Dawson confessed everything and he was going behind the bars. He wondered how all the conspiracy came into light.

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He married a millionaire, Edward Parker’s only daughter Martha Parkar as they were madly in love. After her father’s death, Martha inherited the Parker properties. Soon, Thomas became greedy, he wanted everything for himself, he wanted Martha to transfer everything in his name. But, Martha denied. She would have done it, but she became suspicious. Soon, a lovely daughter was born to them. She named her Rachel. Thomas loved his daughter, but he had other plans.

Gradually, Thomas started drugging Martha to eventually pronounce her mad or push her towards suicide.

Meanwhile, James Patterson’s wife and Martha’s dear friend, Margaret saw Thomas with another woman in a hotel. Martha never wanted to believe that Thomas was cheating her, but she finally did. Realizing the truth, she left everything to her daughter with the letter to James, if anything happened to her.

One fateful day, Martha was heavily drugged, Thomas brought her till the edge of the stairs and pushed her down, making it look like an accident. Rachel never got to know all this because her parents never showed their differences in front of her. Thomas had shares in the Company, but he wanted it ALL. Tracy Houston, her mother, Emma Houston, Joseph, and Victor were arrested too. Apparently, Emma was Thomas’s extra marital affair and Tracy was his daughter, Rachel’s half sister. Emma and Thomas fell in love during one of his business trips and that is why they wanted Martha out of their lives, but divorce meant losing all the wealth as well.

So, Emma waited long enough to get rid of Martha first, and then Rachel to come out clean and with Thomas inheriting everything (if anything happens to Rachel after her 20th birthday) as per Martha’s will, where Thomas has taken signature by fraud. But they did not know that Martha made another will and sent it to James with a letter.

As per the plans, Tracy Houston got in touch with her old boyfriend, Joseph when she got to know who her real father was. Thomas and Emma had kept it a secret till now. Joseph hired Victor to drive the truck on the wrong side of the road when Rachel will be racing in her new car. Thomas knew her daughter too 213 | P a g e

well, so he knew her every move. Everything was planned to kill Rachel framing it as an accident, but she did not die, just passed into a coma.

They were waiting anxiously for Rachel to give up, but God intervened, and Rachel was back. And, she had all the missing pieces of the puzzle.

Rachel Dawson rather Rachel Parker became the rightful owner of the Parker empire. James was by her side to guide till she was ready. She also had Jason by her side.

One fine morning, Rachel was sitting in her office, sipping coffee with James.

Suddenly she asked, “James, how come your daughter, Rachel is so young when you, Margaret and Mom used to be friends?”

James smiled, “You see, my dear, I loved your mother a lot, but she chose Thomas. So, I was heartbroken and did not want to marry. After many years, I met Margaret in a business meeting. We fell in love and got married. After many years, Rachel was born. Your mother wanted me to keep the same name as yours if I ever had a daughter. I fulfilled her wish.”

Rachel felt that her name was special - special in different ways.

She smiled and looked at her mother’s picture on the desk. And thought, ‘My life is truly like a dream, a dream you had seen LONG AGO; a dream, which I will fulfil NOW’. #####

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Knock, Knock, Anybody Home “Let’s do it tonight.”

“Are you sure there will be no one in the house?”

“Yes, I have inquired. The whole family is going for a wedding.”

“Ok mate, then we strike tonight.”

Two men have zeroed down on a house in the locality. They have been watching over it for a couple of days and they knew it was the right target. The right moment for a burglary came, when the thieves got to know that the Tripathi family is going to a wedding and will be out for the next two days. They got to know that there is cash in the house too. They were ready with their plan, and looking forward to making a fortune.

The Tripathi family is a middle-class family. Mr. Ashok Tripathi, Mrs. Meena Tripathi and their daughter Pinky Tripathi. The eldest in the family is the widowed mother of Mr. Tripathi- Mrs. Bhanumati Tripathi. They have just shifted in the neighbourhood around a week back and have hardly socialized with anyone. He said they came to the city for his mother’s eye treatment. People have mostly seen Mr. Tripathi, they saw his wife once or twice, and their daughter stayed in the house all day. Mr. Tripathi told someone that she is still searching for a college nearby for admission. People have also heard the shrill voice of an old lady, who either curses her daughter-in-law or cribs about her old age. Mr. Tripathi said it was his mother, who hardly came out of the house. People have seen her sitting near the window sometimes. Overall, the Tripathi’s looked like simple, down to earth people.

The building maid, Shanti, gave most of the information to Ramu and Susheel.

She said she heard Mr. Tripathi talking about some cash, he needs to pay someone over the phone. She had gone to their house for work, but they refused.

She was a bit skeptical about their behaviour in the beginning, but later, Shanti presumed that it might be because they had cash in the house, they did not want to let any stranger in. That is when she decided to tell them.

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Ramu and Susheel worked as mechanics in a nearby garage, but they did have their profile registered at the local police station for petty thefts in the past.

Shanti is Susheel’s so-called mistress and gets them a lot of information. They had tried a few times earlier, but were never successful. But, this time, they were determined to make the kill.

The Tripathis were to leave on the Friday night. In the evening, they saw a little boy coming along with Mr. Tripathi. They wondered who he was because he was almost in rags and looked like a beggar. They waited for some more time, but the kid did not leave. They decided to come back in the evening.

As they were re-calculating their plan, they saw a taxi halt in front of the house.

One by one, all the Tripathi family members got in with their bags and baggages and left. They could not make out whether the kid was with them or not, but they presumed he did go away. And, if he was still in the house, they anyways had the chloroform handy.

Around midnight, Ramu and Susheel made their move. By 12, the entire neighbourhood fell asleep like a baby. Even, the cats and dogs were too lazy to make a sound. So, they decided to sneak in.

Apart from being a mechanic, Ramu was good with locks and keys. So, it wasn’t a difficult job for him. As soon as, they entered the house, they switched on the torches, but kept the light low so that no one noticed from outside. Suddenly, an awfully pungent and obnoxious smell came to their nose. There was a sweet fragrance too, as if someone has deliberately used room freshener to mask the bad smell. It was so nauseating that they felt like vomiting. They took out handkerchiefs from their pockets and covered their faces. It was almost all over the house, especially coming from the kitchen. They wondered what it was.

But, they were here for a loot, so they directly went to the bedroom, and Ramu easily opened the cupboard. To their utter surprise, there was nothing- no clothes, no papers, nothing. They searched almost every room, but they were shocked that there were almost no personal belongings in the house- only funtinure and a few utensils.

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They figured that it might be a wrong information or Shanti might have misinterpreted, but it appeared strange to them that there was nothing at all.

Disappointed, they hurried towards the door, when Ramu tripped on something and fell. The torch light revealed something horrific, they had never could have imagined.

It was a rotten face of a small boy. They saw that the entire body was lying there, making the entire house stink. They showed the torch lights properly and saw the horrific condition of the body. The flesh was raw and dangling, blood was oozing out, and it was like a human sacrifice.

Ramu was about to scream, when Susheela stopped him, and both them ran to the kitchen sink to vomit. The kitchen scene was more gore. There was blood everywhere on the utensils. Two little ears lay in the sink, covered with blood, and little fingers were kept on a plate. They could not believe their eyes.

They ran out of the house and didn’t even bother to lock it. They didn’t stop anywhere and ran to the slums. They came to a deserted spot and vomited. They were in shock. They did not know what to make out of it. They could recognize that the little boy was the same beggar who came with Mr. Tripathi. They kept on vomiting till they were out of breath. They promised each other, not to tell anyone about what they saw.

They woke up very late the next day, it was almost afternoon. They were still horrified and recovering from last night’s incident. Everybody was talking about something- they overheard something about a murder. Suddenly, the garage owner switched on the news and everybody got glued to it. The reporter spoke and the headlines flashed.

Cannibal family kills and eats their third victim. They are on the run, and the police is trying hard to track them down. This family first ate their own child, when their four month son died due to a heart disease. They did not burn the body, but ate him instead.

After that they were chased out of the village by the villagers. They came from a small town near Mumbai and settled in the slums. Then, they victimized their neighbour’s daughter and fled from there too. They ran away, and the police were unable to trace 217 | P a g e

them. They had circulated their pictures, but they are known to be the master of disguise as they used to work in the village theatre group for ages and also the man, Ramakanth is efficient in working with different chemicals. They can completely change the way a person looks and this skill has been helping them.

The third victim is from the small area in Delhi, where they ate parts of the body of a beggar and left the body in the house. Locals reported that they were staying as the Tripathi family, and they left on Friday evening saying that they are going to a wedding. But, it was surprising why they had left the door open. The neighbours got an irritating smell in the morning and called the Police. Police are still trying to figure out how they manage to get the cash for the rents and their daily expenses. They believe they might have killed other people too, and robbed them for money. How many more little children will become their victims before the family is caught? Who is answerable for this inhuman crime?

Then, they showed their photographs. Ramu and Susheel were shocked. They didn’t even look close to the Tripathi family, but actually they were.

Police interrogated Shanti, but she was too scared to say anything. Ramu and Susheel did not come in front, and decided to forget the whole incident. Later, they told Shanti, but all three of them decided to zip their lips forever.

Four days later, a middle-aged man, a middle aged-woman, a teenager and an old lady, dressed in traditional Rajasthani costume, arrived on a railway platform.

They came out and looked confused. A local tout saw an opportunity and approached them. They promised to get them a new house in a locality. The man smiled and accepted. The so-called Tripathi family has found a new home in a new town. Hopefully, they will find a new victim to satisfy the hunger of their body and the sickening evil of their minds. #####

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Saswati Borthakur Dixit Saswati Borthakur Dixit is an engineer, exbanker, part time writer from Lucknow.

Email - planetsash@gmail.com

Bloodline KANPUR 1992 Parth was hiding, crouched behind the Sintex water tank at the terrace of their government quarter. It was almost noon, with the sun at its fiery best. He was thirsty but he was too scared to go downstairs to fetch himself a glass of water.

But it was nothing new. The black plastic of the water tank was getting hotter by the minute, almost scalding Parth's back. He stared blankly at the shadows cast on the ground. Absentmindedly, he picked up a twig and started outlining the shadow.

He was really thirsty now. With no option left, he got up and peeped inside the tank. There was water. He climbed on top of the tank and quenched his thirst.

He cringed at the plastic-tasting water, but that was the best he could manage. It was nothing new. It happened frequently, more so during the weekends when his father was home.

Parth had rarely seen his father sober. Not only was his father a raging alcoholic, he was abusive too. He would beat his wife mercilessly without any apparent reason. Although he spared his kids, he would hurl the choicest abuses at them.

For Parth and his sister Siya, school was their only escape.

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They had spent many nights not getting even a wink of sleep. His mother and her kids would lock themselves up in a room while his father created a ruckus outside. The next morning, the house would look as if it survived a storm. Food from the fridge would be found hurled at the walls. The sofas would be urinated on. Clothes were torn to smithereens. Even while at school, he couldn't help himself looking over his shoulder every now and then lest his father made his way to school.

Both Parth and Siya did exceedingly well. Both were not only good at academics but were very active in other activities too. The teachers adored them. Parth didn't know then but this was their defence mechanism. In their young minds, they thought school would keep themselves away from the muck at home.

Parth and Siya walked to their school. They would stop near the cycle stand and look at the hordes of fathers who dropped their kids to school. The feeling of jealousy would gnaw at them. Why were they different? They didn't deserve this.

Their father was surprisingly good at his work. His superiors appreciated him although he got into trouble many times for being drunk on duty.

The best time for Parth, Siya and their mother, Rekha was when his father was on official tours. The three of them would go out for ice-cream treats and watch TV for as long as they wanted. And most importantly, they slept well without fearing alcoholic outbursts or being embarrassed about the neighbours hearing his father calling his mom a whore.

Rekha and Mahesh had a love marriage, a fact hard to digest after looking at them now.

'I was 16 when I first met your father. He stayed at one of the rooms my parents rented out. He had somewhat of a reputation. He studied at the University and was a topper for two straight years. Your Grandpa asked him to help me with my studies, which he did. And he was a charmer. He was the first man I sat so close to. While he taught me I would look at his firm wrist, his slightly crooked thumb and wondered why his nails were so pink. Yes, I was so young that I couldn't see anything bad in this person. We had to wait till I was 18 to marry. We were in a 220 | P a g e

hurry to be with each other and those two years of wait seemed like a punishment. Little did I know I was being sucked into a black hole. I can't find myself now. I live for you both now.'

Parth could understand his mother's plight. His parents didn't talk anymore. All they did was argue, complain and crib. His mother was sinking deep into depression. She just about managed to go through the daily rigmarole. ***** KANPUR 2004 Parth and his sister were in their teens now and things weren't any better. They had stopped talking to their father completely. Unlike others of their age, they never invited their friends home. They had mastered the art of making excuses.

But they secretly thought their friends knew. However, they kept up the charade in front of anyone. If his father wasn't there, there would be his mother. His mother's face bore a look of perpetual irritation. She would snap at the slightest provocation and would scold her children for no apparent reason.

He was happy for Siya, for she had managed to escape the drudgery of their home. After her 10th standard, she won a scholarship to study at a prestigious university in Boston. But Parth had no respite. He would stay out of his parents' sight for as long as possible. His room which he had shared with Siya, became his little haven. He missed Siya and how they talked about something funny whenever his father created a scene. They both blocked those haunting episodes from memory and created a facade for themselves.

And he had started to smoke. Long after his parents went to sleep, he would sneak into the tiny attached balcony, hide behind the chair and smoke. He would look down at the world drag by on the streets. Although theirs was a government colony, their apartment stood at the periphery of the colony.

He could never understand what put him in such misery. Will he ever be able to leave these things and enjoy the simpler joys of life without anything beating him

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down? He didn't know what the future held for him but he promised he would never turn out anything like his father.

'Mom, could you wash these jeans for me. I have to wear them tomorrow.'

Rekha didn't reply. She never did. She simply snatched the jeans and headed towards the washing area.

She must have been gone all of 30 seconds, when she came screaming back.

'What is this? I thought better of you. If one was not enough, you are turning out to be the next.'

Before Parth could understand anything, Rekha took out a lighter from the pocket of his jeans. He turned red.

'But it isn't mine. It must have...'

Before he could finish, his mom cut him short.

'Oh, don't you dare fool me Parth. You are just like your father.'

Her words stabbed him in the heart. No, mom. I'll never be like him, he thought to himself. But words wouldn't come out of his mouth.

Rekha marched to his room. For the next hour, she turned the room upside down, looking for evidence. She was so mad that she smashed everything that came her way. His study lamp, his prized bookshelf, his coffee mug-nothing was spared. But Parth wasn't angry. He knew his mother needed help and was more frustrated with herself than with him. ***** BANGALORE, 2016 Parth has been working in Bangalore for over 8 years now. He did his Communications Engineering and had joined OneSoft Tecknologies. He was in a happy place now. He was married to Shweta, who he had met in college. They had a simple court marriage, with only Siya for family. He didn't inform his father and chronic depression had killed his mother long ago.

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He had been honest with Shweta and told her everything there was to know. And for her part, she had accepted him with all his flaws and all of her love. Yes, they would have their share of ups and downs but there was nothing that couldn't be sorted out.

One night, his friends invited him for a party and Parth had too much of drink.

He was completely wasted and his friends dropped him home.

Shweta was aghast. She had never seen Parth like this and she was livid with anger.

'Look at yourself, Parth. I thought you would be different but I was so wrong.

You are just like your father.'

That night proved to be the night when everything changed. Everything started going downhill from there. Parth and Shweta would bicker constantly. She would accuse him of ruining her life. She would find faults in everything that he did. If he worked late, she would keep on calling him. She shouted, screamed and cried on the phone. She was so loud that his colleagues would leave the room when she called.

He became the joke around office and had to face snide remarks. He was losing it. He spent more time at the bar than at home. He would somehow manage to get back home and Shweta would be waiting to pounce on him. And he was losing it. The fights would get physical and more often than not Shweta ended up with black eyes. They were considering a divorce. ***** BANGALORE, 2017 Parth was wrapping up work when Shweta called and demanded he come home early. He knew Shweta must be up to something. She was proving to be a bitch.

He wanted things to turn out differently but guess he was falling into the same pit. The things that he had abhorred since childhood came back to haunt him.

The traits that had made him hate his father where raising their ugly fangs inside him.

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Parth reached home and found Shweta on the couch. She seemed calm and that was unusual.

'Parth, I want to confess something. I had an abortion yesterday. Yes, I found out I was pregnant but I don't want to bring up this baby with you. In fact, I don't want a part of you growing inside of me.'

He was stunned. He couldn't move. His mouth was dry.

He couldn't control his rage. With a swift motion, he struck her with his lunch box. Shweta fell with a thud. Blood oozed out from her nose and ears. She was gasping for air.

As he kneeled down beside her sobbing, he wondered what went wrong. All the promises he made to himself came to nought. Why didn't he ask for help? Why couldn't he control himself.

Lying in a pool of blood, his love was in front of him. Why couldn't things turn out differently?

Shweta was making furtive attempts to stay alive, but in vain. She was having seizures. But before she could breathe her last, she said something in a waspy voice.

'You are just like your father'. #####

It was there...And then it wasn't The day I confessed my love to you, I wished I hadn't In an instant, your lips puckered into a victory Oh! I was not the only one. Yeah I just knew Your smirk said it all.

The sleepless nights I spent perusing screenshots of your moments, Imagining things that were scared of getting real You blurred me when you rolled out your joint 224 | P a g e

Like you must have done a thousand times And yes, your smirk said it all.

I was the trophy that sat among the many dusty ones The one you wouldn't look back at anytime soon Because the fun is in the chase, isn't it?

To make someone fall for you feels great And your smirk said it all.

You juggled my emotions faster than a left swipe But you did it beautifully I must say Almost made me believe in angels Winged bitches what they turned out to be When your smirk said it all.

You made me grow up real fast I give you that made me discover the crests and troughs in my heartbeat I never knew existed.

You couldn't care less about the flickers of ash on my knuckles Because your smirk said it all.

Your eyes twinkle, maybe at the thought of a rendezvous You look at me but look through me Fingers clasp, maybe at the thought of the routine orgasm Awaiting you under the sheets. Yes I can make out As your smirk said it all.

No, you don't say no.

You don't want the sensual fillers to go away You sip the flat drink in one hurried gulp Yet you make no efforts at cajoling. I am not worth it.

Your smirk says it all.

I die a little every day, But your smirk refuses to go away. ##### 225 | P a g e

Vaishnavi Gupta Vaishnavi is a sixteen year old girl trying to make some sense out of her random thoughts. She is currently in 11th standard and hopes to pursue travel journalism in future as travel is her passion.

Instagram-@theenigmagirl Email- vaishnavigupta2012@yahoo.in

Let Me In Let me in Let me see those depths And explore them for myself Let me in Let me reach for What's beyond those walls Let me in Let me breath In that chaos of yours Let me in And see what lies Beyond that horizon Let me in And allow me To play with your fire Let me in And take away What's mine.

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Dark Humour Walking by these old streets My heart shivers a bit That tiny piece of paper Is still somewhere in the back of my wallet I remember when you gave that paper Making me promise to wait till the right time To open and read it I never asked when was the right time I just let it die within me With time I forgot about it Maybe my heart never forgot Maybe that's why standing here In front of this cafe Where I once made my happiest memories It starts to shiver Trying to make me remember That I have a promise to break You left me in chaos Chaos that you raised From the ashes of me I look for it and find it crumbled This little piece of paper Faint smell of your scent still lingers Something in me sparks again That night flashes in front of me Night when I burned in flames And you sat there like a martyr Making me look like a devil I burned in my demons that night I look at the paper And open it with curiosity 227 | P a g e

My heart is beating fast My mind has lost all control I am nervous I don’t know why I read it I read it again And I read it out loud And then it sinks in And I get why you did what you did I get why I am left in pieces I get why I feel empty.

“It was always a game It was always just these words Dark humor.”

Porch And then she left On the porch now where I stand Upon your funeral she left Left without a note Or even a goodbye From the porch now where I stand I saw her run away Leaving oceans behind her Her depth lost within those roads That connected the paths Of our past together That connected our hearts From the porch now where I stand I saw her take away All her glory Spreading wild fire In that symphony of chaos From the porch now where I stand 228 | P a g e

Alone I watched it all break down Alone I watched it all fade I suffered it all from the porch now where I stand Porch just above your grave Where I lost my shadow Rest in peace my soul For now nothing remains Except this vast emptiness That I sleep into.

It Was Him shadows and monsters crowded the hollow trains and those empty streets in a saturated sunrise with sky colder than the blood in my veins I could not wake up could not stop feeling that awful energy that scarred me to live I begged to wake up but this was not a dream that pain brought this wildness in me ripped that heart apart dipped it in some ink and stared at those blank pages not knowing what it meant covered in those words I woke up every night a voice sang me to sleep but didn't leave me alone that blurry vision and 229 | P a g e

those smoky dreams rise up in a vast sky some peaceful waves some wild tides same calming shore eyes like paradise that's what took me high it was him I found when I thought I lost myself.

My Dilemma It's not me who is reckless Neither is my mind It's my heart who Always runs wild I tried to tame it But it only hurt me I let it go free But it didn't leave My heart is more powerful Even my mind is ruled by it But I couldn't let that happen I had to hide it away Now it's hidden Deep within me Waiting for that day When it can again be free But how can I Let it out of its cage It was meant to beat And not breathe.

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It’s Us Again It's you and me tonight Just us again this time I cried while you were away And you there smiled With my face in front of your eyes Kill me once Kill me twice A hundred times You and I Made that happen Made that alive In your love It's my life In this sky We dance alone to The beats of your heart And beats of my heart Rhyming all together here The fire jumps The water falls It’s all so fancy Yet so nice I don't want to leave this time Don't let me go Hold on to this It's not fake It's so real.

What will you say at my Funeral?

“He wanted to die alone but he didn't realize he will always be alive in my memories.

He will truly die when he fades away from my memory and that's when we will again meet at a party thrown by Lucifer in hell” that is what she promised to say upon his

death but here we are. He tries to let out a laugh but it was just pure sadness, standing next to her lying in the casket made him lose all his thoughts but nevertheless he continued-

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“There was once a girl who changed the way he looked at the world, who told him that goodness exists. The irony here is that she never believed in goodness herself but then her existence contradicted herself. She had built huge gates to prevent anyone from entering but then he was lucky enough to be permitted to enter, he was lucky enough to know her, love her, get her love . Maybe he could not accomplish her last wish , she wanted to die alone but then he hoped he gave her a reason to live with that. He is going to cherish every moment with her especially the one they called special.�

Shush Vast heart Toxic teen Starry night Drowning eyes Torturous demons Suffering souls Troubled minds Sleepless nights Broken words Scarred skin Fragile thoughts Shattered wings Tired limbs Flightless journey Scared child Sorrowful destiny Blurry life Pure bliss.

Lost In the end, we all are somehow somewhere lost, always. All we can do is wait for all of it to end, which you know will never happen till the day you are alive. You very well know that but you don't wanna believe it. Something in your mind is stuck which you cannot get out no matter what you do and that's so irritating.

You don't even know what it is, you wanna but you also don't wanna get it out. It makes you go crazy but the memories are so many. You cannot manage, so many promises, so many conversations, everything is so much. But you know you have 232 | P a g e

to get it out no matter what. You cannot live like this cause that is not right.

Why do we have to leave to get something? Why do we have to taste pain to appreciate happiness? Why pain spoils us after a point? This was inevitable and I know it.

Here I am Again And here I am, waiting for you to come back. While my arms are aching to be around your neck again, my mind is yet again full of thoughts, some are clear, some are strange fantasies. Some are being spilled with ink right now, and some are still busy eating me alive. As I look out from my small window, sipping my coffee, its aroma reminding me of the time we spent in cafes, my mind refuses to come back to reality. It is busy living those old gone days, it is missing those faces, which once made it happy. Come back soon, cause those faces are gone, my mind feels lonely again, it needs to rest in someone's embrace.

Agree?

Hearts are cold Souls are lost Wishes are made Just to fade Over time everything has changed Not to our preference For we wished For it all to stay But time didn't listen And we grew up.

Something to Look at?

Her eyes found something to look at. Something nice, something that made them curious, they found someone's face to search for. Her brown eyes saw something in his woody brown ones, sadness maybe. She was curious to know him, she wanted to know him. Her eyes searched for his face, they just wanted to look into them, a beautiful pool of forests, passage to his soulful thoughts. She wanted to search for the answers, she found some in him. His face was the only thing her eyes wished to see, as if their eyes could talk, they never spoke their mind even 233 | P a g e

when they badly wanted to, they just kept quiet and said everything they wanted to, in silence.

Brokenness She was quiet like a fight Was smooth as a hurricane She was made of glass Broken by thorns Just like a white lie People came n went One, two, three to infinity She was broken at one And continued to be broken till infinity She was now like a broken crystal No one could break her anymore But everyone scattered her Some took away a handful of her Some came to help Ended up taking her core from her Irony, she knew she was in pain But didn't feel a thing Until she saw him there Making those promises He once made to her It was then when she saw him for the last time.

Pain of Losing 'And he left. Leaving all the pain far away from him, sorted all the mess and just left.

He promised he won't leave until the right time comes but he left without saying a word.

"Hey, its fine, stop crying love." "Be strong dear." This is what I get to hear.

He just left without any grief and suffering. All the pain he went through, though we were there for him but he was the one living on medicines which numbed his pain, but who knew that one day he will numb his soul and would departure for heaven?

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He will be fine and I know it because I loved him, but I m gonna miss him cause he was something special to me.

I know he must be looking at me from heaven, thinking of how to stop us from crying, he knew this was best for him but maybe it was not best for us?

Before he left he must have thought about me because I was his beautiful princess and I know it because he loved me from all his heart.

I wish I could talk to him before he left. I wish I could just hug him before he left. I wish I could just tell him that I love him and will continue to love him till the end of time, but the truth is, I can only wish now cause he is really gone.

But, he knows I love him, and he knows that he will always find a place in my prayers cause he has a place in my heart and I know he will smile at all of us from above and would be proud to see me strong.

Around that Street Someday Maybe she'll come around someday Right across that street Just as drunk as I am maybe?

Her face never leaves my mind I can still hear those rain drops Washing away her blood I can still see it all clear Even with tears clouding my vision How she gave up on herself But still continued to fight Only to be sent to heaven to make peace with herself?

She will come around someday And then I'll burry my face In her those soft blonde curls I'll inhale her sweet faint smell again My life will bloom once again She was my rain Washed away all my sins Just to leave me to dirt once again She will come around, wont she? #####

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Geeta C. Yadav Geeta C. Yadav is a writer by choice. She lives in New Delhi.

Email: geetayadavgcy@gmail.com

THE ETERNAL ILLUSION What the hell is going on between my husband and that bitch?' Maya's patience was at its lowest ebb and she was ready to burst.

Sanjay knew that she was serious. 'Look, Maya. There is nothing going on between the two of them. Just a little bit of healthy flirting, I'd say.'

'Flirting! Healthy flirting? Really Sanjay . . .' she rolled her eyes in disgust. 'That's what you men call it? There is nothing healthy about flirting, Sanjay, not for a married man. Healthy flirting is a term introduced by perverted men who want to lend legitimacy to their extramarital dalliances. Flirting invariably has a sexual connotation to it.' She got up from her seat and walked around the room gesticulating and muttering something to herself. Suddenly she stopped, turned back, looked at Sanjay and asked, 'Did my husband sleep with her? You are his friend. Did he ever tell you anything about it?'

‘Now look here, Maya... this is getting out of hand. Don’t belittle Kartik, he is my best friend. I think I shouldn’t have entertained your queries.’ said Sanjay disgustingly.

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‘Yes! Sanjay, why would you entertain me... Now, I am like a second in command... Sorry if I bothered you. I think I should go.’

With this, Maya picked up her handbag and moved out of his office like an apparition. Sanjay rushed after her but she had just vanished. Quickly he called her up but her phone was out of reach. He realised that he should have been careful with the use of words. ‘Healthy Flirtation’ had given away a dark shade of doubt that was enough to make Maya distraught.

Sanjay tried Kartik’s number but cancelled the call. He started to think aloud, ‘I should meet Maya to clarify ...but what is there to clarify? I don’t think she would do anything silly... like hanging herself. No! No! No! God please help her love life for a couple of days... four days to be precise. I really don’t want to get tangled in this mess... handle her for another four days, god... just another four days.’

Sanjay tried hard to dismiss the thought of a distraught Maya but all in vain.

Strangely, he felt responsible for being too casual about his utterances. Aimlessly, he browsed through some notifications and came across Maya’s recent Facebook post. Hurriedly he clicked to read the distressed post and sighed in relief to realise that only the living pour their vengeance on the virtual wall. In the evening, he clung to his spirited companion to blur his mind and put himself to sleep.

But sleep evaded Maya as she sat combing her tresses and stared into the mirror.

She smiled as if the happiest moment had touched her. Suddenly she whispered, ‘Yes! Kartik I’ll marry you... Oh! God this is like the sweetest dream come true. I love you Kartik. You are right, we are indeed made for each other.’

‘Yes! My eternal illusion... we are inseparable.’ whispered Kartik.

Suddenly the sound of the phone brought her back into the present. She still smiled for being the ‘eternal illusion,’ when she saw Kartik’s name flashing and lovingly she whispered, ‘Hello Kartik... No I didn’t see your message or the image you had sent in the afternoon. No! Nothing is wrong,’ and with this, her voice trailed off. She was like a shadow... dark and silent lurking in darkness. ‘Yes! I am fine. It’s just a bad headache. I think I should rest... Yes! Yes! I’ll be fine.’

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Again she looked into the mirror and saw tears smearing her face. The black mascara bled from her eyes and sobs gave way to hiccups when she realised the seriousness of the happenings. Kartik was spending a lot of time with Kavyaa Patnaik, the famous writer whose novel, ‘The Fire of Hatred’ was now being released at the Jaipur Literary Festival. This was not the first time that Kartik had sponsored a Bookafest but as CEO of Eagle Publications, this was the first time that he was being so actively involved with a female author. It was weird when he made public appearances with Kavyaa. He was travelling with her to the Jaipur Literary Festival, using his media relations to get interviews published in the popular newspapers and what irked her was the way the author posed with Kartik. It had been more than a month and Kartik always had some plans or the other with Kavyaa and what set Maya on fire was the message that read, ‘Kartik, my love can you please stay on in Jaipur till the last day of the fest?’

Maya had spied on Kartik but to her disgust Kartik had deleted the entire conversation. That is how the whole fire had begun... the fiery fire of jealousy, doubts and disdain. The tumultuous mind had guided her to find out the truth from Sanjay, Kartik’s best friend. Maya was broken and distraught. Her tear smudged face and disturbed mind played truant with her. She tiptoed into Kartik’s study and sat on his chair. She saw his picture smile at her and she smiled back. Unknowingly she picked up the picture and hugged it as if it were him. She bumped into the bar and the glasses clinked together. The Scotch jar beckoned and Maya poured out the spirits that always worked well for Kartik on weekends. She gulped it down once, twice and thrice. Her cold heart warmed up and her mind felt light. Maya began to laugh but she was not alone. She was with her memories, with her heart but her mind had switched gears to go back into the past.

She was smiling and was talking in whispers to the 20 year old Kartik on phone...

‘Are you nuts? Are you really on my terrace and do you really think I will join you there in the middle of the night? But then I will.’

Maya began to laugh. She oscillated into the present where Kartik had betrayed her and all of a sudden a giggle escaped her mouth and she laughed mindlessly probably recalling how Kartik flirted with her in college. Tears welled up again 238 | P a g e

and a deafening laughter followed. She gulped down the bitter drink another time to muffle the mirth that mocked and maimed her mind, then with a staggering gait she pushed open the window to gape at the full moon.

She saw herself smiling softly at Kartik who went down on his knees and said, ‘Will you marry me, my childhood beloved.’

‘Yes! Kartik, you cradle snatcher... let’s go to the altar right away.’

The breeze blew with the fragrance of flowers as the 21 year old Kartik embraced the young 18 year old Maya... so sure about their feelings...so sure about love.

Maya’s mind brought her back to the sordid present.

She lisped deliriously, ‘Have you really strayed my love? I don’t want to believe it but then a lot is there to see. My heart says No but my eyes say Yes.’ The moon blurred and looked like a wobbly ball of dwindling light as darkness began to lurk from all sides. The breeze changed course leaving a vacuum for Maya who was suffocated with the reality of her stoic present. Maya looked grey and lifeless with her revelation, her head spun as her eyes swam in a fresh pool of tears. The moon looked hazy as Maya fell with a thud to appear lifeless and forlorn.

Dark clouds threatened the light and hovered as if in grief. The rain poured out, the wind picked up speed and far away, somewhere in the wilderness, the church bell chimed. It was four o’ clock in the morning. Maya lay there with her hair streaming all over her face in a way that was fiercely protective yet so vulnerable.

She had opened her eyes after a couple of hours. Her head felt like a cold and heavy rock. Slowly she became aware of a pounding headache and a weak body.

Emotionless and totally drained she dragged herself to the door as the doorbell screamed in the deafening silence.

She opened the door to find Kartik staring at her as if he had seen a ghost. He embraced Maya with a strange strength, turned to bolt the door, kicked his bags aside and carried Maya to the sofa.

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She struggled and mumbled, ‘You cheater! You don’t love me any more... how could you be in love all over again... with that... with that... what is her name?’

‘Maya is her name.’ whispered Kartik. ‘Yes! Maya is the name of the woman I love. She is stupid, naive and silly but still I love her. I would like to crush her for doubting me but she is too frail and dainty... What if I kill her for doing this to herself?’

With this, Kartik rocked her like a baby. He stroked her back and tied her hair into a bun with an expertise that came with practice. Maya was curled up on his lap for long and neither spoke. She wrapped her frail arms around his neck and went off to sleep. She slept like a child as Kartik stared ahead.

Maya woke up to find herself on the bed. She could smell coffee and breakfast.

She tried to recall the happenings but gave up. Strangely she felt calm and secure.

Kartik came in with a huge tray and settled himself in front of Maya. He could see eye to eye with her but Maya looked away feeling the hot rush of shame crawl upon her tired face.

Kartik fed her with toast, scrambled eggs and coffee. Then he polished the tray and carried it back to the kitchen. Maya climbed out of bed, feeling strong, and pulled out her clothes to go for a shower. When she emerged, she found Kartik waiting for her. Like an obedient child Maya went and sat in front of him and said, ‘Your silence is going to kill me. Say something Kartik, please don’t punish me. Is it true that... .’

Kartik stared at Maya and whispered angrily, ‘Oh! Now am I punishing you?

Here comes another allegation, my love. You have punished me for all the love I feel for you. I can throttle your neck for what you’ve discussed with Sanjay but it’s my love for you that is stopping me. Do you really think I can love someone else?’

‘But she has the audacity to call you, ‘my love’. What do I understand?’

‘Does that mean I love her? Yes! Kavyaa made few advances but then it happens.

That doesn’t make me a cheater... Yes! That’s what you called me. Look here 240 | P a g e

Maya, Kavyaa doesn’t love me... she loves her work... she loves my status. I didn’t go to Jaipur to sleep with her. I went there because my GM’s pregnant wife had slipped and injured herself. I had to go... simple. Let me tell you that Kavyaa knows I will never be in love with her... because she knows how much I love you. Damn it! How could you doubt me?’

‘I saw your picture with her... Oh! She was so close... I... I... I’m sorry,’ muttered Maya.

‘Don’t be sorry Maya... just remember that if men stray then even women do.

Why don’t I doubt you? Doubts can kill a relationship as they lurk on. It lurks even more in the mind of the accused... How easily you accused me of infidelity?

Why didn’t I doubt your love for me? Pictures, words, messages just everything can be an eyewash... love needs trust to fit into a marriage... you know, how perturbed I was when Sanjay called up? Generally in life, he doesn’t know what to say or do... he is simply a dumb guy because neither is he in love nor is he married... he still thinks life is a bachelor’s party. He was keeping track of your sanity through your Facebook wall. I left everything to be with you. I just couldn’t have asked him to... It had to be me... it had to be me in body, mind and spirit. It was my problem or let’s say it was our problem. It had nothing to do with Sanjay or Kavyaa for that matter. Step into my shoes to feel how I feel with the allegation,’ concluded Kartik in a broken voice.

Maya just embraced him in silence to feel how wrong she was. In hearts of hearts she knew how callous she had been. She just shuddered at the thought of being in Kartik’s place some day. Oh! How helpless she would feel... how broken and distraught.

As if sensing her thoughts Kartik whispered, ‘Don’t worry I will not put you in such a tight spot ever... because... it takes hours to settle a drunk Maya, muttering nonsensical utterances, weeping and blowing her nose. It is a back breaking and smelly exercise. I love you my eternal illusion. I need to go now. Will you be fine for just a couple of days?’ With this Kartik withdrew a little to plant a kiss on Maya’s creased forehead.

Maya smiled.

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Kartik’s phone rang. He walked out to the patio and just listened for a while.

Then he said, ‘Yes, Maya is fine now. I am in a mess. I waded through a storm to reach here. I have to go back now.’

Again Kartik was quiet, listening intently and before replying he spared a cautious glance as if measuring the hearing distance and then whispered, ‘None of them knows about the truth Sanjay. I’ve handled it for now. It was easy.’ With this he switched off his phone and put it in his pocket.

A slow grin spread to cover up the ugliness of the mind and Kartik looked towards the sky with glinting eyes. It was easy! So damn easy! He sauntered inside the bedroom to where Maya was and hugged her. He drew her close and whispered, ‘I hate to leave you but I will have to go. See you in a day or two my lovely.’

Maya smiled as Kartik rushed to board the flight to Jaipur in time. The sun was up and the cabbie from Sunbeam Resort knew the way to Kartik’s next abode.

He alighted from the cab like a panther and within no time tapped on the door of the royal suite and lazily strolled inside. Kavyaa turned to look at him with fire in her eyes.

Kartik gazed at her passionately and pulled her close to whisper, ‘May I stay with you for the night? Say Yes or Yes, My Eternal Illusion.’

#####

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Kajal Mehta Kajal Mehta is a practicing image consultant. "My brain functions for my work, while my heart beats for writing. My work exposes me to variant places, people and situations, that's exactly where my stories are born; and that's how my brain and heart is woven with each other. Touching souls through my stories is a therapeutic journey, which I wish never ends." She quotes talking about her journey as a writer.

Email: kajalslsh@gmail.com

A Bond With No Tag “I will be a good girl. I promise.” Soha pleaded to Karan. “I will neither drink nor smoke, will not even sing aloud, nor will laugh loud on super silly jokes in the hotel lobbies. Please let me go with you.” Karan was off to his back pack vacation and Soha wanted to go with him, come what may.

“It’s not a leisure vacation lady. You may need to work hard and live under rough situations as well, for I don’t know how many days. Walking, climbing, starving, not bathing, being just under open sky and sleepless nights too is what I can foretell. I would not want you to go through all such pains. Moreover having you with me will restrict my movements and plans. I will end up looking after you Soha. Not this time at all.” Karan had no plans to take her along; he was very firm and blunt.

“Its bloody 20 days and I will miss you to death. On such rough trips for how long your cell phone will let me be connected to you? Moreover I always wanted one such trip, why can’t it be with you?” Soha was persuasive. She herself was 243 | P a g e

confused why was she so desperate to go? Was it a backpack trip or the anxiety of being away from Karan?

Karan and Soha share a relationship. It’s a relationship to which they don’t want to box by putting a tag on it. Idea of being away from Karan churns her stomach.

If she doesn’t want anything more from this bond than anything less would shatter her too. Their chats, their personal jokes, their hugs and kisses and everything about them were so special for Soha and for Karan too.

Karan behaved stubborn as always; and left without Soha. Soha was lonelier than angry or sad. She tried being engrossed enough to make sure she didn’t miss him all day and night. Her cell phone went silent again. She was not a cell phone slave before Karan happened to her. And as history repeats itself; she was back to her ape era. Days passed in various activities but nights challenged her sleep. She was convinced that the earth was fooling her by moving slow, giving her 48 hours a day. Even with the whole world around her and increased level of activities, she found the days to be slow; very slow. She remembered how her mind and heart poured on Karan asking “how was your day?” Her days remained incomplete without sharing with Karan, how happy, angry, silly, tired and sleepy she had been.

Would can he be even missing me? He just got engrossed so much in things he does that I have to chase him like CIA. Soha smiled all alone at her own joke.

And a tear rolled down her cheeks. She wanted Karan to laugh with her. She burst into tears. She hated the calendar hanging in front of her. She stopped keeping the count on the remaining days. Her laze and mood swings were on peak. She did more and more work to fill her day. Nights were killer though. It was the best bonding time if day hours were not enough. She would want to run to Karan and slap him for leaving her alone and to hug him tight to wipe off lonely moments of these many days.

Twenty days got over; there came the day. His twenty days of trip is to get over.

Soha had turned into a zombie in these days from inside, but did not allow the world around her to know, how dead she was. She could not count the number 244 | P a g e

of glasses of water she gulped down out of anxiety. Karan must have been back and will soon message or call me. Clock was tic-tocking at half the speed of her heart. Her patience gave up by the time the sky turned orange and the sun decided to spread light in some other corner of the world. She decided to call him, as holding it more was like walking with a dagger in her heart.

“The number you have dialed is either switched off or not reachable.” This answer had torn her heart apart, for a 1000 times before in last 20 days. How much she wanted to kill that voice. How much she wanted Karan to be next to her. How much she wanted to hug him to feel everything was same between them. The only bridge between them was lost. She kept calling his name everywhere; under the shower, in the elevators, in her car, in her dreams, in her prayers, in her mind and heart all the time.

Days passed and Soha continued being more and more miserable. She knew where she could find Karan. But it was something Karan would not want her to do. Minutes to hours, hours to days, days to weeks, Soha started living in a black hole. Life without Karan had everything, friends, fun, laughter, movies, music, work, and success. But it missed about a pinch in everything. It was something very difficult to understand by her.

“What time are you free in the day?” Soha came across this message a few hours later from when it was delivered. She checked it for 5 times to ensure that the sender was Karan. Should I reply him now? Should I pretend to be angry?

Should I make him wait for what he has done? Should I let him know how troubled I was? Should I wear some attitude to make him realize something?

None of these questions hit her mind, Karan was back and she wanted to run to him just then. “Anytime you say” she typed back immediately.” That was Soha for Karan. No masks, no diplomacies.

“Usual time, my place.” She read and checked the time. Checked herself in the mirror and moved to reach on time. Karan had always been ok to waiting a while but she didn’t like him to wait. She had an hour and had to buy his favorite cookies on the way. Finally she could smell him around. She wanted to run and 245 | P a g e

hug him tight. She managed to walk slowly and calmly, as being as mad as she was will not be up to his comforts, she knew. She wanted to make sure that her reactions were not loud enough to disturb him. Why should I be so mellow to him? Wasn’t it unfair, what Karan did to me? So can I be now.

“I am so sorry Soha.” Karan said exchanging a casual hug.

“What for Karan?” She wanted to listen to it, loud and clear. She was not angry but was hurt for sure.

“To make you wait.”

“I did not wait for you Karan. I waited for the complete happy days. If you think I waited for you, you are wrong. I waited for myself. Bloody, you complete my days.”

“O.K.” The cold blooded reply Karan would give many times.

He confirmed how much time she had. Knowing she had ample free hours; Karan rolled down the curtains making the room darker.

“May I ask your permission to blind fold you Soha? Do you trust me doing that?”

Something, but not fear, made her skip her heartbeats, when she nodded.

Karan held her shoulders and turned her back. He slowly tied a black strip on her eyes. His fingers moved through her hair arousing many emotions in her. Tying the knot slowly but firmly, Karan asked in his alcoholic voice “Are you comfortable? Is this hurting you?” All Soha could say was “No, I am ok.”

Karan held her hand and made her sit on a couch. Karan left her there wondering what he was up to.

There was something more in the air than chill waves from AC, giving goose bumps to Soha. Every silent moment increased blood circulations, resulting in sweat, contradicting the chilled room. “Karan I am not habitual to surprises, specially coming from you,” Soha said, which was followed by a deep silence. She 246 | P a g e

decided to unwrap her eyes. ‘May be the monkey boy is playing a prank’, she thought.

He stopped her by holding her hands. “Give me two more minutes girl.” She smiled when his palms confirmed that it was not just her who was sweating. The sweaty palms held one another.

“THUMP” she heard a loud sound in the room. Karan softly unfolded the blind fold divulging it for her.

Karan’s name as the producer of a film, was there in BIG fonts, on his 52” inches TV screen, waiting for her eyes to glow. Just the way she always dreamed about it. She turned around, looked at him - they kissed and kissed and kissed.

“If staying away could mean this, go away forever and shine like a star. I will forever look at my star twinkling above me with a twinkle in my eyes.” #####

Anvitha Anvitha is 13 today, Tarun - Our daughter turns a teenager. I remember the day when you put her in my arms and her tiny hands touched my chest. I did not know how to love her, in fact I was scared of touching this little pink looking body. She made me look at her; as I let her suckle my body to satisfy her hunger.

She just looked like you. Same forehead, same lips, and I waited for her to open her eyes - I wanted to see the same brown eyes too. I told you that we will call her “Anvitha”. She is a result of our love Tarun; she is a gift of God to us. We have been one and we will always be. I think it’s right time for her to know the facts of her life; I think it’s a time when she meets you. She must know the man who showers so much love on her from an unknown corner of the world. ***** 247 | P a g e

“Anvitha, beta you are 13 today, a teenage girl, a grown up girl.”

“Yes, maa. Thank you for buying me this smart phone.”

“Anu, that’s a gift your father has sent for you. I have another gift for you” Anvitha was spell bound. She had never heard this word “father” in my communications to her.

(She in fact never bothered to explore this untouched corner of her life. I always gave her more than we as parents could have given. I always had you within me. I always knew how you would want to nurture our daughter. You always wanted me to pour love of your share on Anvitha in your absence. I have been doing it for all these 13 years - I am sure that is the only reason I never needed to talk about her father to her till now.)

“Anvitha, you are a grown up girl, and I am happy to have you as my daughter.

But you are not only my daughter, you are our daughter. You are the daughter of me and TARUN.” She rushed to me and gave me a tight hug, we both tried to hide tears rolling out.

“Maa, I always wanted to know this, but I feared you being hurt. Knowing the name of my father would have made no difference in my life. But the efforts to know that would have hurt you, it would have put you in pain, and that would have made difference in my life.” Our daughter has really grown up.

“Anu, I just wanted you to know this at the right time. There is no pain inside me. You are a result of our love. We have begged for you from God. You are the best gift your father has given me. I and your father have always cherished every single day as your parents.”

“But then why don’t we stay together maa?”

This left me speechless for a while. I wanted her to know everything about me, Tarun and our life with and without him.

“Anu, even before I and your father joined our hands to urge God to send you to us, God already had sent an angel to his home. He had to take care of that angel; he became her father before he could be yours. Believe me every single day he has been showering us with our share of love. He has not given an inch less to 248 | P a g e

either of us. He has been around us protecting, caring and giving all the love and care we deserve, from wherever he has been.”

“Mumma, can I meet him for once?” I could not see her expressions properly, as tears blurred my vision.

“He stays far away I will ask him to come and see you, as and when he can.” I am sure Anu too could not see my resisted tears, as tears blurred her vision too.

(I never knew that my daughter is so grown up that she would handle this conversation with enough maturity and calm. I feared deep inside about this being her appropriate age. Was 13 too early? Was I doing good to her by introducing her to her father? Will this bring happiness or turbulences in our lives? Her right to know about her father made me take this decision; I had to tell this to her.)

Anvitha and Tarun are the best decisions of my life and I am not at all worried about how things will be now on? ***** “Tarun, Anvitha, wants to meet you.” I called you. It took me a while to tell you those words which let you astounded. I am sure the silent moments were result of choking caused by tears. I knew I had to wait for your coming. It has been 13 years that I am seeing you in Anvitha. It was the first decision that you made without talking to me. I knew that you will have to go to your other daughter when you left us on 7th day of Anvitha’s birth. You handed her in my hand after you kissed her forehead, and you did not need words to convey what all you were about to do. You arranged everything for me and Anvitha. Many times I felt you being around us like a shelter protecting us. But every day that passed without gazing in your brown eyes was a day not worth living. ***** The wind chimes are singing new songs; the air smells more flowery; my heart is beating faster today. I am staring at the road to the gate of my house, for no reason. I am singing all our favorite songs since morning. I have a smile on my face which is not going away for a single moment. Are you coming, Tarun? I am sure you are – my heart knows it every time you are coming.

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Anvitha looked up in your eyes.

*****

“Don’t I look like you Papa?” Every night when she slept next to me, I thought she is growing up – I was wrong. I saw our daughter like an infant in your arms, when she hung on your shoulders. You people loved each other so much.

Anvitha lived her 13 years in your arms that night. You wanted to give her all she has waited for all these years, what all you wanted to give her. Every time you kissed her forehead I was in tears.

“You are the best Papa.” Anvitha told you while you were singing for her to make her fall asleep. Smile on her face said a lot to us on behalf of her heart. ***** Next morning we were back to our routine; neither had she asked anything about you nor did I say. #####

‘HIGH’ Manchester United bar @ Goa was less crowded that evening which was not usual. The reason did not bother me much as it was favoring my idea of being there with Veer far away from our worlds. We wanted to explore each other and get lost on busy Goa lanes. Busyness of this city will hide us somewhere letting us live life as we dream. Where people won’t claim knowing us and eat away from stolen moments of privacy. Why life at a small town has to be so difficult to have some private and personal moments which is the basic right of two people in love?

I am Shona, born and brought up at Nasik. I am thankful to my city for giving this man I love, Veer. Yes we both belong to Nasik. In addition to many small things we like about this place, we love it for putting us together. Though we met each other on a social media platform but our friendship grew in the coffee shops, cinema halls and in the lanes of this city. This city is storing the moments 250 | P a g e

when we realized that there is something magnetic about the bond we share.

Veer likes me for no fuss attitude and I like him for all the honesty he has.

“Let us give it a shot Shona, I am all alone home? Why don’t you come, it will be fun” He texted and our chat continued.

“What’s on your mind - Sex?” I was agitated to accept the invitation, though I knew that Veer will be honest and won’t manipulate if the answer is yes. I was enjoying the comfort where I could raise the straight questions than to move the earth round to know what was cooking on the other side.

“What if I say YES?” I need to think before answering this guy. What if he really has sex on his mind?

I thought before typing down what I really had on my mind.

“I want to eat Maggie, sip coffee and to watch a movie with you. How does it sound to you?

He called up avoiding text messages further.

“What if I say ok about movie and Maggie and then I force you? What will you be able to do, all alone at my home with no help?”

“Veer I really don’t know what will I do? But I am sure you will never ever do that to anyone.” I actually meant it. I did not know Veer for more than a few months. But he had something which made me believe in him.

He never tried to draw a perfect picture about him in front of me. No efforts to impress me. No efforts to hide out anything ever. He had been sharing a few things which could have put any girl at discomfort about the kind of person he was. The slangs we used often in our text messages were such that I am sure I would never use them with my friends even. My best of the male friends would not know in their life that I can ever talk this way. Just in few months I was there being 100% myself in front of this man. All these convince me that I need not feel insecure about whatever he said or did.

Somehow Maggie over movie did never happen. But what happened next was enough to start a Bollywoodish love story. A drive to a “broken bridge” happened. It will always remain one of the best drives and date I ever have had.

He kissed me first time: the way he held me was an amazing feeling. Vodka was running in our blood.

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“Is it you or Romano?” Veer asked me, holding my face softly and smelling my hair. I couldn’t make out if he was teasing me or was really trying to know whether that was the passion ignited by alcohol or was it my own fire?

“It’s you, you make me feel high,” I was at a new level of high about him being so magnetic and romantic.

Here we are @ ‘Manchester United bar’ trying to live all our unfulfilled wishes.

We wished to open our eyes together some morning; we wished to sleep holding each other for the whole night; we wished to be together without bothering about people around us; we wished to know how annoying we could be to each other; we wished to know how we live in our worlds when we are not together.

I thought beer will reduce the risk of being too high. Company of a drunken woman could mean snag for Veer; how wrong I was. After three beers I was high enough that my visit to the loo increased and my head started feeling heavy. My stomach started churning increasing my concern about throwing up there and then.

I rushed to the loo, where I threw up and reached back to him feeling better and lighter. We kissed standing there; not at all marking the presence of a number of curious eyes around.

“Yuck Shona, you smell puke. Don’t mind but I disgust it.” How much I loved childlike honesty peeping from his eyes. He could have hidden those feelings and tried to be nice with me offering some care and help. Such a kid he looked. He too puked following his disgust displaying statement.

We laughed. He held my hand and walked with me to loo; where we gargled, washed and made sure to smell better to stop the sequence of disgust. He shared stories since he was a kid till now. I remember almost everything we talked.

Moreover I remember smell of his breath; I remember the way he cared for me to ask to come to loo with me (it being a women’s pride zone), worried about my shaking legs.

I kissed him again. Alcohol was working on me, I don’t know about him. Love was dominating my senses. I wanted him to make me feel that I belong to him and he belonged to me. My left over senses was holding on me from acting crazy; 252 | P a g e

It made me think, “Shall I be here with this guy whom I know from just last few months?

“I want to go to wash room; will you be ok being here alone for a while?” I heard his soft voice, so full of care.

I managed to nod as I realized he is just too perfect to be with. He was thinking if I would be ok being there alone and I was busy checking him to be a right person to be with; I felt ashamed about my insecurities. Sick and silly I was.

He was smiling, looking straight in my eyes to respond to my message which I sent him while he was not around. “I trust you wherever you take me, whatever you do to me.”

We bonded stronger following that word ‘trust’. I am sure the occupants of other rooms around were all ears on our door that night.

It was just too divine a feeling to sleep next to him, in his arms for the whole night. Warmth of love, warmth of his heart, warmth of the bond we shared was none the less, then his warm skin brushing mine. Gazing him sleeping next to me was a dream come true.

“So was it you or Froster?” he asked with a naughty smile on his face, showing me my last SMS in his inbox.

“I am feeling high. High with your love, your care, the bond we share, Veer” #####

Deep Dark Water This world makes me run so fast. The world around me is very flashy. The light of success, fame, and money makes my life glittering. I own multiple businesses of myself and more than that I help other business houses to manage their business too. I am managing the worth of more than 1000 Cores in all. I fly all over the world and there are a large number of people who queue up to meet me.

While flying in business class is the dream of many people I fly in charter flights almost every other day. Business tycoons, private airline companies, politicians, celebrities and many who’s who want my time and a piece of advice from me for about various matters. I never have been asked about my fees in this long career, 253 | P a g e

my bills get paid with no questions. They know that my fees have saved their sinking tanks. And no cost is a big cost for what I did for them. 24 hours are not serving enough to let me accommodate people who all want my advice, help or intervention to solve their issues. Settling the issues between the two big corporate giants while making sure both of them are happy is my expertise, no…convincing a politician to lose a battle happily is my expertise (after all money matters). Even more convincing a celebrity to endorse some local brand is what I get paid the most for. No..No..Wait, convincing a powerful government official to create partnership with my clients is my most demanded skill. Every time I finish one assignment, I am convinced that I possess the skills to make the world run the way I want. And that skill earns the money for me. I suppose the confidence is shaping into ego, and I love it. This Ego makes me one up in the business world. Not just one up, I rule it from the top. I win half the battle just by my name and the other half when I walk in. I have become ‘The Arjun Pandya’.

Once on a charter flight from Delhi to Mumbai, I remember dominating the service staff to serve me my favourite scotch and my favourite business magazine. I also sent back the glass of scotch which was arranged as per my demand just because it was not served at the right temperature. I remember having a Jacuzzi bath in my hotel suite while one of India’s dominating businessmen waited for me for almost 45 minutes. It was just to give him back for cancelling my appointment 5 years back when I was not this big; this is where my Ego has taken me. I love to show off my wealth. As I think it is one strong pillar of my empire. I book suite rooms in two different hotels in the same city wherever I travel just because I may not like the colours of the curtains in one of the suits. I make people to treat me the way I want them to. But no matter how well I get treated I always find it falling short. People have learnt to take my tantrums and my ego in favour of money they were being paid. I pay lavish money to them and that makes me assume that I can take them for granted but the fact is that I am buying services. My whole life has become business.

My own people – my parents, my wife, my children, my friends, my cousins, my driver- who is working with me from last 10 years, all are showered with expensive gifts every time I travel. But they are most showered with my attitude 254 | P a g e

and growing ego issues as well. They fail to understand my reactions towards their gestures that make me feel like one of them. I am not one of them anymore.

I am ‘The Arjun Pandya’.

Once everyone from my house came out hearing my shouting, I was shouting at my driver because the AC in the car was not working properly making me sweat all the way from the airport to my home. My mother came running with a glass of water and tried to wipe droplets of sweat from my forehead with corner of her sari; I pushed her. “What are you doing maa? You have been wearing this sari whole day long”. That worn out sari made me feel disgust. My pounding heart filled my eyes with rage which didn’t even let me notice tears rolling down her eyes. I poured the single malt scotch in a glass, turned the TV on and sank down in my world. I was growing big and along grew my power and ego.

My brain never stops. I constantly think of the situations that I need to settle to be politically correct for each of my client. I need to be shrewd and controlling enough to juggle situations enough to justify my fees. I have to make things look much more complicated than they actually are; after all, those fake complications load my bank balances. I hardly can sleep. Body rests in my chilled office chambers but my mind never stops. Even when I want to sleep and give rest to my mind; I can’t. My brain has become a 24 X 7 factory, which keeps producing ideas and solutions. I successfully have converted my heart into mind, now I am function with two minds. I am convinced and don’t want to change my belief that heart makes a man weak. And ‘The Arjun Pandya’ can never go weak.

“No matter how powerful you are, no matter how much money you have, no matter how much smart you are; your smartness has made you a ‘pimp’ in the world of business. It earns you a lot of money but I assure, you have earned no respect. You think that you can buy people with your money but you will never be able to that.” Liza dared to tell this to me once when she faced the worst of my vocabularies at highest pitch of voice over her spelling mistake in an email sent to a client. Liza was my secretary from last four and a half years. “Liza you leave and you leave forever. Bloody poor people will never show gratitude. Don’t forget I paid for your father’s operation.” She neither cried nor pleaded as I expected. She walked out of my chamber and walked back with her resignation 255 | P a g e

letter. “I am working day and night for you; I never considered that as obligation, it was more than gratitude. I hold many dark and expensive secrets of yours Mr. Arjun, but they remain safe within me; as I am not a pimp who will trade or sell it for money and power.” Her resignation letter felt like a slap on my face and her words like spit.

This event turned the tables. I found Liza the most powerful person on the earth.

She made me realize that I, my money, my power, my ego was all equal to shit for others. There was no one to respect me. She was correct; I was a pimp in the world of business. People did not want Arjun Pandya they wanted my diplomatic skill to make their life easy and their business bigger. In the process they paid me as a ‘middle man’. I could not stop laughing at my own thoughts. High level of ego I was sitting on even now; I was not ready to accept the word ‘pimp’ for me….and my royal brain found out a nice name – ‘middle man’. Calling a prostitute ‘an escort’ doesn’t change the nature of her business.

Oh God! I want to cry this out. No single malt or no luxurious suit room will able to lift me from here. I am sinking down. It’s been one long month that I am fighting with this but nothing makes me feel better.

I am missing that deep dark place. It was so peaceful around me and I could sleep for hours. My brain did not need to function. There was no pressure to prove my skills, my calibre nor my power to anyone. There was neither any race nor flashy world around me. I could listen to the music heartbeats produced. All I did was to relax, sleep, eat and be myself. I constantly swam in those deep dark waters and never worried about the future. I was so much wanted, loved and respected for just being there. I was neither Arjun there nor ‘The Arjun Pandya’.

I am missing that deep dark place where I was a soul and no machine. Deep Dark Water in the womb of my mother is where I want to go back to regain myself. #####

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Vinisha Gupta Markan Vinisha Gupta Markan, 30 something from Delhi is a mind full of thoughts, thoughts that want to get read. Writing has always been very close to her heart. Currently, she is a freelance writer along with being a full time dreamy mother of a toddler.

Email :gupta.vinisha85@gmail.com

The Sunrise that Lasted Forever So, the day finally arrived. The day I dreaded, even in my dreams. After a sleepless and an extremely difficult night, I was getting ready to prepare myself to stay strong. All I knew was that my feelings would never change towards her, regardless of what is destined for me, rather us, after this morning walk.

While brushing my teeth, I silently walked into the living room. Looking at the vast dark brown wooden frame mounted on the wall with our beautiful pictures, I almost got lost in those sweet memories. Suddenly, I felt something on my left foot. It was nothing else but the toothpaste that trickled down. It brought me back to reality, the reality of life, the reality that hit me hard in the present moment. Within few minutes, I was in my black joggers and my lucky black Tshirt.I was in a desperate need of luck today.

There she is, my little sister, Dhwani, sleeping like a baby. Looking at her, I was still contemplating if it’s really necessary for me to do this today? But then, I thought I shouldn’t doubt anymore and just go ahead. Sometimes, the past has a big role to play in our present so that we can have a better future, I thought to myself. Cuddling her pretty face, I started to wake her up. Her long black hair were all over her face. I suddenly remembered that I forgot to knot them into a plait last night. Anyway, I hope this havoc in me finds some peace after this morning ends, I silently prayed to the divine with my fingers crossed.

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Me: Get up Dhwani, we are getting late for the sunrise.

Dhwani: (With her eyes still being closed) Didi, my summer vacation has just started; let me sleep a little more please. We’ll go tomorrow.

Me: (Hiding my real emotions)Get up. Otherwise, I am pouring a bucket of cold water on you right now.

Dhwani: No, no, don't do that. I am getting up.

I looked at those lovely big hazel eyes as she jumped out of the bed and gave me a tight hug. Within few minutes, she was in the new track suit that I had bought for her last week. As I can recall, it was ten to five when we had left the house.

Slowly, we started to walk towards our favourite, Bonta Park which is located on the ridge road. We crossed various university colleges and I was lost in my thoughts. I kept walking when suddenly she held my hand so firmly and stopped.

She said, "Didi, what’s wrong with you, you seem to be in your own world. You were the one who wanted to take me for the sunrise and now you don’t appear to be half as excited as I am. Don’t you think we should walk a little faster now?"

I tried to hide the agony in me as much as possible. However, she had become suspicious as she repeatedly kept looking at me until we reached our destination.

The sky was turning into a subtle blue, slowly fading away the darkness it was walled with. We could feel the freshness in the air sitting on a naturally carved wooden bench. The sound of the dried leaves on the ground felt so pleasant to the ears that for a few minutes I had completely forgotten the reason of us being there at the park.

And there, in that beautiful sky happily came out, the morning sun. Dhwani appeared completely mesmerized by the view of the sunrise when I abruptly intervened. I said that I have to talk to you about something important and sensitive today. And, that's the reason for us to be here. Witnessing the sunrise was just an excuse for me to get you here. She looked so petrified with what I had just said. Probably, she was trying to figure out as to what can be so secretive that I had to fool her for a morning walk. Honestly, I did not quite like that look on her face and I decided to reveal the unknown. Hence, I started speaking.

"We aren't sisters; what I mean here is, we are step sisters. I came along with mom when our parents got married. I was not even five when my father passed 258 | P a g e

away due to a heart attack. After a long while, mom remarried because my teachers told her that I used to cry almost every day at school because I did not have a father. A lot of matches came but none of them wanted to adopt me.

Fortunately or unfortunately, our father agreed with my adoption and the wedding took place.

Initially, it seemed like a fairy tale to me but then things became bitter after the second year of their marriage. Somehow, verbal abuse was still being managed but then, he started hitting mom for silly reasons like less salt in the food or mom going to Nani’s place without informing him. Recently, I overheard dad that he feels that adopting me was the worst decision he took. He also said that he hates the fact that you love me and he would soon destroy our relationship. Since then, I felt it's time for you to know the truth. Haven't you ever felt the substantial amount of difference between the ways our paternal relative treat us? I assume you would have certainly sensed it.

I have suggested mom file for a divorce as I do not want her to suffer anymore.

The daily episodes of domestic violence have become intolerable and it has to end now. I feel that we are big enough to take care of this problem now. Nobody is going to help us in getting our complications solved. We'll have to manage this on our own. By any means, don't think I am trying to influence you here. Rather, I wanted to tell this fact in the most unbiased way possible. Despite the gloomy fact of us being half-sisters, all I want you to know is that I love you more than anyone else in this world. Come what may, mom and I would always be there by your side at every given point in time."

As soon as I finished talking, she started crying and said, "Didi, only death can make us apart. I am in ninth standard and may appear pretty young to understand the nitty-gritty of life but I know for a fact that you are nothing less than a mother to me. You have sacrificed so much to fulfil my necessities and luxuries.

You did not enrol yourself to a regular college rather opted for a correspondence degree. You did this in order to work and support us financially. You have helped mom, paying my school fee when her salary did not come for months. I am aware; it's been years that dad has not earned a single penny. Perhaps, you have done what my father should have done for me."

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After a few drops of silence, I said, "This moment has brought me a lot of respite Dhwani. I was dreading thinking about the way you would react. All night, I kept thinking; if you'd still accept me and love me the way you do after today or would my world turn upside down. But now, I am happy because this sunrise has given us the rays of a forever bond. This day has given us both, a memory we would look back at and smile."

"Some relationships can never change despite the squalls that life throws at us. Rather these storms help us crafting everlasting memories."

This Sunrise would last forever!!

#####

The Destiny I Crafted As I recall, it had started pouring heavily and the clock displayed, 3:20am.From the time of my birth until this hour, my life had been planned by my family and the so called society. However, starting now things will be different andI am going to carve my own path. I said these words loud and clear looking at the family picture kept at my bedside.

And then the phone rang.

Oh no! I forgot to put you on silent mode. I ran towards my favourite brown rocking chair and grabbed the phone. It was Aalok.

Aalok : Akshi, come out quickly, will you? I am waiting outside the new Chopra bakers. We don’t have much time on us.

Me : I’ll be with you in less than five minutes. I just have to pick something very important from the garage.

I was in his brown ambassador within the next few minutes.

What took you so long Akshi, asked Aalok. To that I replied,"I had to make a quiet entry to the old garage to pick up my ghoongroos”. You know how much I love them even though everyone has always despised me for owning them. Since, 260 | P a g e

I am not going to live on their terms anymore; I decided to bring along everything that’s close to me, even my memories. I picked up the black backpack from my lap, kept it at the backseat and took a deep breath. I closed my eyes to provide some cool to the hush hush going on inside me thinking about what I have done. To my surprise, certain uninvited thoughts hit my mind hard, really hard. It all came as a flashback filled with nothing else but, darkness. How I wasn’t allowed to go to a college as soon as I topped first year. How Prakash, son ofthe MLA from our area abducted me and spread the rumours of me running with him. How I was forced by my family to marry the coward as they were afraid of the consequences. How he used to rape me every night even when I used to bleed. How I got pregnant and faced a miscarriage because of the ruthless marital rape I suffered almost every day. How I was forced to commit suicide but after a failed attempt, sent back to my own house. How I was forced to sign the divorce papers with a gun pointing my temple. I started trembling in my sleep.

Aalok shook my hand as he saw tears rolling down my cheeks. He brought me back from the blue memories where my mind just travelled. He started speaking, "Akshi, everything will be alright now, I have come back. I regret the moment when I agreed to go to the states leaving you behind. However, I had not imagined even in my wildest thoughts that, your life will be ruined. I still remember our fresher’s party at the college when I saw you for the first time and fell for you instantly. I had come to rag you and your friends but got trapped in love because of the blue eyes and the innocence you had. But now, you are braver than the brave. Just know that I will never leave your side ever.”

He still looked the same, that handsome tall guy I had fallen in love with. It had been three years but his love for me did not drop. I was thankful to God that I happened to bump into him at the colony gate and without wasting any more time, uttered everything. It took us one week to make arrangements for me to flee away from this garbage to live together. He took a house on rent at a place which was far away from the place I never belonged to. It was small yet a beautiful house with a lawn. I was shocked to see that he has converted one of the rooms to a space where I could practice my favourite, classical dance. He had put pictures of me with my ghoongroos almost everywhere in that room. I 261 | P a g e

couldn’t believe my eyes. It was all too good to be true. However, I trusted him and loved him and couldn’t even think of being without him now.

We married after a month, on my birthday. It’s been twenty five years together with Aalok and I turn 47 today.

Today when my children and Aalok gave me a lovely birthday surprise, I thought to myself, fairy tales do exist. You never know what’s in store for you. Destiny has a major role to play in our lives but sometimes, you have to design your own.

“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”Shakespeare. #####

A nightmare she will never forget!

And, she fell down the staircase. Dhananjay and the daughters quickly ran towards her and saw her right hand covering the forehead to control the blood.

Mandira, Dhananjay’s wife just fell down the staircase.

As Samakshi, the elder daughter, could recall, it was the afternoon of August 15, Independence Day when this incident took place.

"After serving lunch to us, mother went to the terrace to wash our clothes using the semi-automatic washing machine we owned. And all we could remember was the thud voice we heard when she rolled down. We saw blood dripping down from the right side of her head and I shouted looking at that. I was terrified that moment, and mother tried to smile looking at me and my sister, saying, 'I am ok Samakshi, just get me some water'. " "I quickly ran towards the kitchen and poured water in a glass and came running back to her. I didn’t realize, I had dropped half the water on the floor while running back, but it didn’t matter."

"In a few minutes, we were at a nearby hospital. Being a national holiday, the staff was less and it took them 15 minutes to find a doctor to attend to her.

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that bled. It was 5pm when we drove back home. The doctor had suggested that mom shouldn’t speak for some time, to avoid unnecessary strain on the stitches."

Samakshi called her Nani at her place as she felt that Mandira, her mother would be missing her and would want to meet her. At the time of dinner, she just couldn’t control herself and asked Mandira as to how did she manage to fall? She said, her feet slipped because of some oily stuff on the first stair. Hearing this, Dhananjay started shouting, “You think I dropped that so that you fall” She replied, "No I never said this; I am just telling the reason due to which I am in pain."

Samakshi was petrified as somewhere she knew that her father has done this. She told her Nani about her feelings and how he has been asking to use some savings. "I know that this was an act to scare mom and force her to break those fixed deposits etc. that he has been eyeing at for long, to pay his long due debts.

He has always just been after the money that mom has saved for our education.

But I will never let that happen. After all, mother has worked so hard to save some money", she told her Nani.

To this, Nani hugged the girls and said, "Samakshi, don’t be afraid at all. You both are like a shadow of your mother. She is blessed to have you and your sister in her life”. And, she collapsed.

Suddenly, Samakshi got up looking scared and in sweat.

She looked at the clock, it was 3AM and it was a nightmare that she just saw. Her sister was fast asleep right next to her. She went on to check on her parents and they were fast sleep too.

Samakshi took a deep breath, drank some water from the bottle on her bedside table, thought of calling her Nani, but it would have disturbed her sleep. So she postponed the phone call until morning and went back to sleep.

John Irving rightly said, "Of all the things you choose in life, you don't get to choose

what your nightmares are. You don't pick them; they pick you.” #####

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Dr. Sheetal Nair Dr. Sheetal Nair is a Human Resource professional with around 10 years of experience in assisting and training with companies like Barclays, Toyota and Suzlon. He holds a doctorate in Training and Development from North Central University, Arizona & is a MBA from Symbiosis International University, Pune. He also holds a Diploma in Corporate Law from IIM-Calcutta. He is an orator of repute and a trainer certified by National Skill Development Council and

Dale Carnegie Email: sheetalsasidharan@gmail.com

Of Extra-long Maggi “What’s for lunch, Amma?” asked Kirti.

“Your favourite, dear – Maggi!” she answered.

“Yippee!” cried Kirti, clapping his hands.

Kirti loved noodles, and most especially Maggi. He sat at the table on the terrace, and his mother brought him a heaping plate of Maggi. Kirti joyfully slurped the first piece of Maggi, waiting for it to slap sauce against his cheek before disappearing through his lips. But to Kirti’s surprise, the string never ended, as the entire plate was made of one single piece of Maggi.

But that was not all. When he finished the plate, he saw that the string of Maggi trailed back into the kitchen.

So, being a Maggi lover, he slurped the Maggi into the kitchen and past his mother, who was busy putting a bowl away in a high cupboard.

“Don’t forget to wash your hands and face before you go out to play,” reminded his mother.

“Wokay!” responded Kirti, as he slurped out the kitchen and onto the road.

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Kirti pursued the Maggi down the road and then through the front door of the Reliance Mega Store. He followed the Maggi past the fresh vegetables and the bottles of groundnut oil and into the back of the store. Before Kirti slurped out the back door, the guard offered him a shiny, red apple, which he turned down saying, “Nops!”

The Maggi string continued along the road, taking Kirti into a small building with a sign that read, “Masala Magic.” Here the best tomato sauce in the village was made. Kirti chomped his way past the large, simmering kettles of tomato sauce.

The sauce splattered workers nodded to Kirti and cried, “Taste it!” to which Kirti replied, “Yummy!”

The string of Maggi showed no sign of ending, so Kirti, noodle lover that he was, continued to dutifully slurp and chomp. He followed the Maggi next to Atul Dairy, the village dairy farm. The Maggi led him right underneath the cow Mr. Rabari was milking, and then into the house, where Mrs. Rabari was making some of her beloved Desi Ghee. As Kirti was slurping out of her house, Mrs. Rabari gave him a sloppy kiss on the head and put a glass of Desi Ghee in his pocket for his Amma.

By this time, Kirti was quite tired, but there was still more Maggi to eat! So, he slurped the Maggi up a hill and then down into a valley where there was a little house with a smoking chimney. This was the house of Devasiben, a plump old woman who made the best noodles in town.

Kirti slurped the string of Maggi through the front door of Devasiben’s house and then up to her table, where she was just starting a new batch of Noodles.

Just as Kirti reached the table, his string of Maggi came to an end.

Kirti gave a final slurp, made a little burp, and said, “Excuse me!” He plopped himself down on a chair at the table and let out a sigh.

“Kirti! It’s so nice to see you!” cried Devasiben, looking up from her doughy hands. “How is your Amma?

“Fine, thank you,” responded Kirti.

“And your Appa, Karthikeyan, how is he?” asked Devasi.

“Very good, thank you,” answered Kirti.

“And how is your darling little sister?” asked Devasi.

“She’s well, thank you,” he answered.

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“Oh, that is very good to hear,” said Devasi.

“Devasiben?” asked Kirti.

“Yes, dear.”

“Did you forget to turn on the noodle-cutting machine again?”

“Oh Taari!!” cried Devasiben, throwing her hands up in the air. She then leaned over to turn on the noodle-cutting machine, muttering, “I never liked machines.”

“Kirti, don’t tell me you came all this way just to tell me this?!” said Devasiben.

“You must be starving! Let me prepare something for you!”

“Oh no, that’s all right.” protested Kirti. “I had a little snack along the way.

There’s no need to…” But before he could finish his sentence, Devasi placed a plate of creamy Maggi Masala Cheese flavour on the table before him.

And, Maggi lover that he was, Kirti began to slurp… #####

The Best Malt is Single Always...

“I married her not just for silken curves & her dark green eyes but also for the fact that she had a stirring effect on me. Something only my mother could do, she used to inspire the Raphael out of me. As is the case with all men, my decision making in the earlier part of this relation was driven by the fire in my pants. Calling her amazing in the bed would be an understatement, it was like Vatsyayana himself had mentored her.

She had an interesting job, that of a muse. I met her in the spring of 2008 when she was posing for a friend of mine. I was into a lot of Gothic themed work at that time & her dark green eyes captured my imagination pretty quickly. We started chatting up, exchanged numbers, spent some sleepless nights on the phone. The next weekend was bed & breakfast at Matheran, it was quick. I always knew I had a knack of talking up women, especially pretty looking one’s could inspire the Romeo in me. I was like a child craving for sugar, eagerly waiting for the next weekend to come, to be with her. Slowly I became addicted to her presence around me, her mischievous laughter, the dimples in her cheek, 266 | P a g e

the smell of her wet hair. The warmth of her body calmed my restless mind, made me more focussed.

Things happened very quickly, in another 3 months we were married & living in a rented loft near Juhu. What mornings they used to be , waking up next to her…”

[Coughs a little, weary eyes] But my addiction to this [points to an empty bottle] , it cost me a lot. It made me angry , it made me beat her, rape her when she refused, bruise her, it made me destroy the best thing that happened to me. My single most achievement was laid to rest by my love for the Single Malt. In my drunken mishmash one night, I hit her as usual but the next day she didn’t wake me up like usual, she didn’t caress my cheeks, she didn’t bring me the regular java, she didn’t cry. She just lay lifeless on the floor….. This is the story of my life, my love for the good things in life made me lose the love of my life. Thank you for listening!!!

[Gets up & Walks out of the Room] ….The board above it read…..

ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS #####

Rizkhi goes Karate….

Daniel: Hey, what kind of belt do you have?

Miyagi: Canvas. JC Penney, $3.98. You like?

Daniel: [laughs] No, I meant…

Miyagi: In Okinawa, belt mean no need rope to hold up pants. [laughs; then, seriously] Miyagi: Daniel-san… [taps his head] Miyagi: Karate here. [taps his heart] Miyagi: Karate here. [points to his belt] Miyagi: Karate never here. Understand?……..”

Rizkhi made his way to the underpass, his shift at the Fermata had just gotten over. Images of the movie flashed in front of his eyes, Miyaka was impressed by Daniel-san, he too wanted her attention; but matching unto a movie character was tough.

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Miyaka wanted to follow Tezuka-san, she drew amazing anime; mostly Karate Kid & Katsudo Shasin. He had signed up for evening Karate classes at the nearest Shotokan temple. Today was his first day at the temple -he was excited, he could feel goose bumps all over. The walk from Fermata to the temple was supposed to take half an hour’s time but his brisk speed meant he was going to cover it in half of the time.

When he passed the Shinzo house, he saw a black van parked there & a lot of noise coming from inside the house. He could hear glass breaking, people crying & furniture getting thrashed around. He knelt beside the van and took a peak; he was stunned by what he saw. He saw a Yakuza member possibly the Inagwa-Kai clan (he could see the tattoo), holding a severed head in his hand standing in front of Mrs. Abe asking her where she had kept the keys. Her daughter was being held down by another ugly looking yakuza who had bent his knee on her chest and was smirking at her staring round-eyed at her bosom. Both the mother and daughter had tears flowing down their faces, it was then that he realised that the severed head was that of Mr. Abe. Horror of horrors… they had killed Mr. Abe & were going to kill his wife & daughter too. He didn’t understand how the yakuza got to this part of town, they belonged to the Kanto’ region not here!!

He knew he had to do something fast else both the mother & daughter would lose their lives. He flipped out his phone & dialled 110, explained to the operator the situation & his location. His heartbeats had increased, he could feel his veins throbbing. He sneaked a peek again at the situation, he could see the yakuza moving towards Mrs. Abe with the intention to slice her. The police would take at least 10 more minutes to reach the spot; he knew he had to do something , but what ??? Suddenly he remembered “Karate here…” he stood upright, he knew what had to be done. He tapped his chest, uttered… Karate here.. and moved away from the van & started running towards the Yakuza… shouting at the bald ruffian….(something incoherent) Headlines in Yomiuri Shinbun the next day: …The young Rizkhi is survived by an old father & a young brother. In recognition of his bravery he will be awarded the Medal of Honor, his bravery superseded his handicap. The Yakuza were taken aback by the young boy from Kobe who swung at them with his one hand. He managed to push down one of the Yakuza & landed a kick on the other one but he could not tackle them 268 | P a g e

further as the first Yakuza sliced his other hand, he kept resisting them & jumped onto the Yakuza with the sword and crushed him with his weight but by then he had inserted the blade into Rizkhi’s heart. The police had arrived by then, his last words while he lay in Mrs. Abe’s lap were “Karate”. The yakuza were stunned by the one handed boy, he managed to save the lives of two people but lost his own…..

“Karate lives in everything we do!! It lives in how we put on the jacket, how we take off the jacket. It lives in how we treat people! Everything… is Karate. #####

Goals for Life – Success Imaging If you want to achieve any goal, the path is simple: Accept a fundamental success principle: you have all the “right stuff” and anything anyone else has done you can also do. You simply need to learn the things they did to get their results. This technique is known as Success Imaging.

You must become a mirror image of the person who has succeeded in the activity you desire excellence in - be it running a country or a hotel. You must learn their habits, read the books they read, study their diets and learn their philosophies and strategies. You can learn any language, skill or concept with the right knowledge and proper coaching. Get into the daily habit of talking to new people and tapping their minds. Ask question after question. Read new books and listen to tapes on the subjects which are the centre of your focus.

Bill Gates became a billionaire in his early thirties, J.F.K. became President of the United States in his forties. You have all of the qualities of such people, yours may not be developed to their true potential. Shatter the beliefs which cause you to think that you are not well educated enough, intelligent enough, fit enough, rich enough or happy enough to make this life your masterpiece.

Many people dislike their jobs or their relationships simply because they focus on the negative aspects of each. They don’t like their boss and are not thrilled by the work and continually focus on these points until a negative association is formed.

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But things change when you simply ask them if their offices are comfortable, if they have a good pension plan, whether they enjoy the good friends they have made through work or whether the money is pretty good.

If you focus on the good, you will excel and reach higher planes. If you dwell on the negative aspects of life, you will get nowhere fast. Get into the habit of positive focusing today. You will reap huge rewards. And remember the words of H.G. Wells: “Man must not allow the clock and the calendar to blind him to the fact that each moment of his life is a miracle and a mystery.” Once you make the decision to focus on a perfect life and master all of its components, you will find signs of excellence and positivity everywhere. Then you become a leader and more importantly a human being par excellence.

In life too just like business, a little pruning is required, even when you have annual growth targets. Consider Jack Welch, the former CEO of General Electric. Welch pruned to push his business into the top two in the market. That meant cutting unproductive business initiatives, conducting annual layoffs, and paring away red tape. Under Welch, GE’s market value skyrocketed from a “mere” $14 billion to an astounding $410 billion. That’s some way to meet a target. It’s common to think of endings as negative occurrences. That’s why we tend to avoid them. But as soon as we see endings as normal, there’s no reason to be afraid and run away from them.

Imagine a small businessman. Let’s call him Blair. He used to be in the chemical manufacturing industry, but as technology advanced, his line of work became obsolete. He fought hard. He invested more money and searched ceaselessly for new potential customers. But it was no use. He was faced with the inevitable reality. Of course, it’s possible to fight and persevere. But that isn’t always for the best. Blair understood that so he folded his business. He went back to school and found a second successful career in investment.

The lesson: Good cannot begin until bad ends.

Many of us have a conflicted relationship with money that keeps us from reaching our potential. Some people love and obsess over it while others have come to despise the stuff. And while there are those who desire money, there are 270 | P a g e

also those who feel ashamed over having so much of it. If you visit a friend who has an impressive widescreen TV, you might feel the desire to buy a similar TV. But then you might see a person you don’t like bragging about owning the exact same TV. In an instant, you feel disgusted with yourself for ever wanting such a pointless luxury item.

Another misguided belief about money is that if one person gets rich, it means someone else stays poor. This idea stems from what’s known as a lack mind-set, which leads us to believe that there just isn't enough money or resources to go around. But think of it this way: If you eat a sandwich, do you think someone in another country is having their sandwich taken away? As a leader, you’re also putting out energy when you pay your workers. So, if you’re ripping people off and underpaying them, you’re giving out bad energy and creating a negative relationship. But if you’re being honest and paying your employees the right amount, the relationship and energy will be positive.

One day I was chatting with a friend over dinner and the conversation turned to exercise. He was reflecting that when he was on the basketball team at school, he had no trouble finding the time to work-out, but now, it seems impossible. “Not having the time” is a common excuse for why we can’t get something done, but if you really want to get to the bottom of why some tasks are so hard to accomplish, you need to understand The Four Tendencies.

The Four Tendencies are all about how we respond to the two kinds of expectations we face every day: the outer expectations that come from work and society, and the inner expectations we set for ourselves. The first of the Four Tendencies are Upholders. These are people who excel at meeting both inner and outer expectations. The second is Questioners, who are people who meet inner expectations but question and struggle with outer expectations. The third is Obligers, people who deal well with outside expectations but struggle with their own. And the fourth is the Rebels, who push against both inner and outer expectations. In the case of my friend, who excelled at basketball when he had a coach and a team, but doesn’t find the time now, he is an example of an Obliger.

Kaizen means constant, never ending improvement in Japanese. There is no pursuit more noble nor important than the pursuit of self-improvement. Good 271 | P a g e

people strengthen themselves ceaselessly. Consistent and constant improvement in all areas is essential to reaching your true potential. From Ben Franklin to Mahatma Gandhi, from Martin Luther King Jr. to Ivan Lendl and from Nelson Mandela to Mother Teresa, effective people do things daily to advance confidently in the direction of their goals and dreams. Personal mastery is like a bank account, call it the Personal Excellence Account. By improving daily, whether it is by spending some time exercising, reading, visualizing or forging better relationships, you are making regular deposits into your account. After only one month, for example, you will have improved the richness and quality of your world by at least 30%. And after a single year, your life will have improved by more than 365% (factoring in the power of compound interest). But when you sleep too much, worry too much, watch television too much or eat too much, you make withdrawals in your Personal Excellence Account. So go ahead shoot for the stars & piece by piece the whole map shall fall into place.

Credit:  The Four Tendencies - Gretchen Rubin  Kaizen for Success  Robin Sharma’s inspirational books

#####

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Nitesh Chitranshi Nitesh Chitranshi is a banker by profession, writer by chance and a poet at heart. He is from Lucknow and likes to experiment with different things that fascinates him, writing being one of them. Scribbling for more than 10 years now, he has been part of three anthologies and is coming up with his hindi poetry collection Email: nitesh.chitranshi@gmail.com Fb page : https://www.facebook.com/ChitranshiNitesh/

A Wish Broken she was..

She was hurt.

A little trust..

Faith a little..

She expected..

Expected some love..

He was the cheat..

Cheating was his game..

There was the knife..

Knife she used..

To cut her hand.

Hand he promised to hold.

It's saddening to read, Read the story of all the lies..

Where the wrong voice echo..

Echo of her cries..

Readers made a wish..

A wish to see him suffer..

He did his karma..

Karma to return, they wished.

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The Chair Awaits : Part 1 You threw stones at me, It was your way of fun.

In a castle years later, I invite you, see I won.

Don't be afraid, These are your stones, This is a special room, For you helped me, it's your zone.

Let's sit and dine, raise a toast.

You won't be disappointed, For you are still special, I am your host.

There's a dungeon beneath, Beneath the table we eat.

The chair awaits, Calls for the person, What's the purpose, Me? Why you create?

I see you are afraid, You don't want to eat.

Take your time please, Finish your meal, don't cheat.

It's the only time you have left, Sooner you get up, sooner you rest.

See, you have a choice, I didn't have, I will be honest, for like you I don't boast.

You are still special, I am still your host.

A Dark Room : (The Chair Awaits: Part 2) A few steps missing, stair goes down, Smile a little, for am in no hurry.

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There's still time, let's go up, To a room where lives a guilty clown.

See the red marks on the wall, They are the prints of suffering.

Keep moving, Open the red hinged door, Don't be scared, it's my art, hand prints on it are no gore.

Cummon! Move in, a push to a sinner, Oops! You fell down, you shiver..

I am Really Sorry! Please take my hand, That was not intended, please stand.

As I move forward, you step back, "Don't be hasty", for you I open my arms!

You will fall, crashing into old racks.

Stop! let me help, you are no scout.

It's a dark room, where are you, It was a mistake, please don't fight.

The moon shines bright today, Allow me to invite in some light.

There you are, lying all messed up, Keeping quiet, pretending to be a saint.

The white light shines on you, Fear had a leash, you had to faint.

The Shiny Closet : (The Chair Awaits: Part 3) A few drops of water on your pretty face, "Good morning! Are you enjoying this rat race?"

Wake up dear, It's been a long time, am bored..

Tilting the bottle I empty the it on you..

GET UP ! Smashing the bottle to the floor I shout, Owls cried, lightening flashed, thunder roared.

"Where am I ! What do you want! Let me go!", you shout, 275 | P a g e

Sshh.. SShh.. you will get your time to plead, have faith on me don't doubt.

Don't scream please, feel the fear in the breeze..

You might wake up the deads buried under the chair..

Have some water, Relax you are safe, for I am here now and am for you to hear.

I help you stand, you push me and ran..

"Run, Where will you go? There is no way out".

Lying on the floor I smile, adjusting my shades, you will be punished in style.

Holding the broken piece of the bottle, I see you through the red glass, it's my hotel.

Everything is locked, look for a shiny closet..

Find it if you could, there is food too, Might not taste that good, try not to vomit.

I can hear you breathe.. do you see the chair?

No? Move the clothes you will see two paths..

Your choice decides your fate, For one leads to a room and the other to the chair's wrath.

"Choose wisely, shiny closet might be the only way..

Only way for your shiny escape."

I suggest pulling back heavy red velvet drapes.

A Day To Remember In the morning dew, I met a girl, I never knew.

We talked, we smiled, Our path, we walked, As the sun, the morning grew.

Soon it was the heat, the noon, The wind changed, we had to reach soon, To the lake house at the distance few.

We reached the place at our pace, It was late, she said, �Could you wait?�

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Her eyes spoke, my heart had no clue.

Through the windows she looks, she waves, It’s sad, it’s late, I had to go, Will be dark shortly, the evening greyish blue.

I was her lead, the day had to end, Thinking of her, in the darkness I blend, With memories carved, journey to pursue.

In the morning dew, I met a girl, I wished I knew.

Expectation You wanted me to be a rain, I was the flood.

You asked for happiness and peace, I was pain and blood.

You didn't know what I was, I didn't understand, what you wanted.

You were precious, and I just can't, When you were happy thinking it to be a beach.

You relaxed and had a sip of wine, I was way pass the thresholds, Spoiled it and after a point , I was beyond the decent line.

You wanted me to be a rain, I was the flood.

You asked for happiness and peace, I was pain and blood.

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Angelic Beats In the cold of the sea, The misty breeze heats.

My instrumental heart echoes, Some angelic beats.

In the shadow of the night, Under the moonlit streets.

My enlightened heart portrays, Some angelic beats.

In the time we'll meet, With care tomorrow greets.

My cherishing heart skips, Some angelic beats.

With the bonds we tied, In the passionate streets.

My unsung heart sings, Some angelic beats.

Help A Child Sympathy is not what we seek, Those merely make us weak.

Come forward, hold our hand, Take us to a different land.

A land where we can learn, Explore our talents, Where our hearts don’t yearn.

A land where we write, Erase and rewrite, With a golden ink on the paper so white.

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A little caring, a little sharing, A little help can mean a lot, Give it some thought.

Before I say, Yes! I don't like it, please!

Drenched in the rain, I sneeze!

Yet, if I wish for drizzles, Will you find me an umbrella, Yet, if I wish for lightening, To torch the umbrella.

Will you cover me with your clothing.

For I am, at times senseless and crazy, Our future seems dull and hazy.

I don't like it, please!

Just finished my pasta with an extra cheese!

Yet, if I wish for Chinese, Will you cook me something stewed.

Yet, if I don't like your food, I will make faces and complain, Will you order some grain.

For I am, at times moody and lazy, Our future seems dull and hazy.

I know you don't like it, please!

But I will be as smooth as breeze!

Yet, I know you will make efforts, Will support me in distress and comforts.

Yet, I know you will my boy toy, Will go mad with happiness and joy.

For I am, at times carefree and frenzy, Our future seems bright and cosy.

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Sarahah I was surfing the net, it was a usual thing, No goals to get, it was an unusual ping.

There was one link, anonymous it made you, Anything one can ask, person won't know who.

It was a game, there were no players, I sent a riddle, there was depth but no layers.

Long back was an Inception, seeded on an occasion, After a long wait, conversation started with poetic sedations.

An Incomplete Letter The incomplete letter still lies there, On the first page of her diary.

A diary kept hidden, feelings kept safe, One had to win, it was the race.

There was no cure, she knew she would fail, 'How will I tell him, my story, my tale?'

To push him away, to make him leave, everything she tried.

Sadly it worked, he left. Lost in the darkness, she cried.

He knew her reasons, it was one rainy night.

'I will return with a cure, I won't give up and I will fight.'

Sharing her loneliness, she wrote in days left few, When he returned, incomplete were her emotions inked in blue. #####

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Aparna Prabhu Aparna Prabhu is a 3rd year student of Engineering. She stumbled upon writing, by chance and now, it has become an inseparable part of her.

Her write-ups have been featured in Woman' s Era, Indian Ruminations, Paperless Postcards, Indus Woman Writing etc.

Email: aparnaprabhuk@gmail.com You can check more of her writings and book reviews at her blog- https://thethoughtscribblersblog.wordpress.com/

A New Day It’s Monday today and I don’t have the sulking feeling anymore. I get dressed up, as it is my first day to work because I believe that every day is a new day. My wife helps me with the coat. When she’s done with it, I hold her hand near my heart for a while and finally let go. I have no clue as to what is in her mind or the expression she’s wearing now.

I decide not to take the car to my workplace. It’s hardly a ten minute walk from the place where I live. When I exit the gate, the watchman smiles on seeing me and I return his gesture. I don’t know whether he’s still looking at me or not.

I walk on the streets carefully, so as to not step on potholes. Even though I have been living in this street for the past three years, I feel I’m not familiar with it. I see the cream and brown bungalow of the Chawla’s. It looks different from what I had seen it from my car. The golden rays of the sun falls on the name plate, making it shine. The gardener is watering the plants in their garden. The water drops on the veins of the leaves resemble pearls. The children play a game of hide and seek in the backyard.

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I reach my office building. I can see the vehicles in the street clearly through the glass structure of the building. The receptionist in the office nods at me and I acknowledge her.

I settle in my cabin. There is a knock on my door. “Good morning sir,” says my PA coming near me with a file and reads aloud the appointments for the day. He informs me that I have a meeting after two hours. “Sir, do you mind if I ask something?” he says with a nervous expression.

“Yeah sure, go on” “You are in the third stage of your cancer and the doctor had told you that you had about 6-7 months to live. What drives you to work, even in this condition?” he asks me, gulping.

“It’s purely due to passion towards my work. I don’t want any job remaining incomplete, after I go. I have realized the value of life. I want to die with beautiful memories of my street, neighbourhood, house and people around me. I don’t want to have any regrets,” I reply to him with a smile.

He nods and leaves the cabin. I straighten my beanie and begin working on my computer. It has the wallpaper of my idol Steve Jobs along with one of his quotes written on the side. I read it for the umpteenth time

“If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you will most certainly be right” #####

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The Surprise Gift Anup was sitting alone at a corner table waiting for his friends. He looked at his watch, it was already 4. They were supposed to meet at 3:15, but there was no sign of them. A beautiful bird outside the window caught his attention, he began looking at it with great intent. Anup was startled when he heard someone banging on his table. He saw his friends Samarth and Kapil standing near him.

Anger was rising on Anup’s face. When he was about to say something, “I know you are mad at us for not coming early. We are sorry for making you wait,” apologized Kapil. “You call this late? This is called having no time sense” Anup bellowed. “Come on man!! You can’t be mad at us for a silly thing. We are meeting after two years,” said Samarth.

Anup, Samarth and Kapil were best friends during college days. They were planning their reunion for many months. It was delayed many times owing to their busy schedules. Finally they zeroed on a convenient date and decided to meet at the ‘Sunshine Cafe’ near their college.

When his anger receded, Anup greeted them and asked them to sit. “So guys, how is work?” he asked them. “Please don’t speak about work at least today.

When someone asks me about work, I remember my boss Mr. Motulal” remarked Samarth. “What? Your boss's name is Motulal?” asked Anup. “No, his real name is Kishanlal. I call him Motulal. He has a protruding belly. Whenever he talks to me, his saliva falls all over my face. I started carrying two handkerchiefs because of him”. Both Anup and Kapil laughed at this in unison.

“I too hate work and I badly miss my college days.” said Kapil sadly. “College days were the best. Do you remember the time when we told some juniors that we were lecturers and asked them to greet us?” asked Anup. “Yeah, you should have seen the look on their faces. Remember, once Dubey Sir had caught us. But he was a sweet chap, he let us off” said Kapil.

“Who can forget about the tasty chicken kebabs in the college canteen?” asked Anup.

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“They used to serve one for Rs 50/- per piece. But we used to sneak an extra one when Salim Chacha was away” said Kapil.

“Hey guys, let’s go to our college. It’s hardly five minutes from here” quipped Samarth. “Okay, but let’s eat something and go, no?” suggested Kapil. The other two agreed with him and ordered ice-cream for themselves. After finishing their ice-cream, they set off towards their college.

Excellence College of Engineering was situated in Nagarakola Village and was surrounded by Mandara hills. There were two security guards on either side of the entrance. The guards saluted them and let them in. The Ganesha temple was situated at the centre of college campus. They touched their forehead as a mark of devotion. There was a small ornamental garden on one side of the temple. At the other side, you would find a pathway with garden arch that led to the main college building. The main building had three exits. One of the exits led to the bus-stand, second one towards the college library and the last led to the cafeteria.

If you walked straight, you would find the college auditorium. Behind the auditorium, there was a way that led to a park. The trio named it as “Lovers’ Point”.

“Hey! Remember how we used to make weird noises to scare the couples sitting here at night” said Anup. There were standing at the entrance of the park.

“The funniest thing was when we had scared Shankar and his girlfriend. He even started chanting mantras loudly. When we started laughing hearing him, he and his girlfriend ran away,” said Kapil between his laughs. They spent some time at the park reminiscing their college days.

“Prakash uncle’s hotel is nearby. Let’s meet him,” told Samarth.

Prakash Variar ran a small hotel close to their college. He was known for his generosity and was a favourite among the students. They reached the hotel.

‘Hotel Surya’ was a restaurant situated at the ground floor of a dilapidated building. The place was old with plaster coming off from its walls. There was a glass rack to store fried items at the entrance of the hotel. A small table was present at the side were Mr. Prakash sat. Above him, there was a small rosewood 284 | P a g e

shrine with an idol of Goddess Lakshmi and other deities. Samarth’s eyes looked at the corner. At the corner, there was a broken TV; the tables and chairs for customers were situated in front of it. The place was empty except for few people.

“Too bad the TV is broken. Me along with the guys from 1st, 2ndand 3rd floor Gents’ hostel used to assemble here to watch cricket as we didn’t have a TV there. The hotel would reverberate with our cheers and laughter. Prakash uncle even served free snacks during cricket matches” said a nostalgic Samarth. Prakash Variar just entered the hotel carrying a small plastic bag. “Namaste Prakash Uncle!” the three of them greeted him. “Hello! Good to see you guys after a long time” he responded. Prakash Variar was a slender man in his early 60s. He took the flowers from his bag, placed them near the idols and folded his hands.

He asked the three of them to sit. “Even after two years you and the hotel have not changed a bit,” said Samarth. Prakash laughed at his and told “Same goes for you guys”. Samarth looked at the TV and asked “Prakash Uncle, why didn’t you replace the TV? How long has it been in this condition?” “Business is bit slow these days owing to the new 3 star restaurant nearby. I don’t have enough money to replace the TV, ” smiled Prakash sadly. When he saw some people entering the restaurant, he went away to take their orders. “I feel bad for Prakash Uncle.

He’s such a nice fellow; he had even lent me money and refused when I offered to return it,” said Kapil. “Uncle had once paid my rent when I was broke. I’m sure he might have helped many other students too,” mentioned Anup. “We should do something for him guys”, added Samarth.

“But what can we do?” asked Kapil. “We can gift him a new LCD TV” suggested Anup. “I don’t have so much money to contribute. There is still two weeks for salary day”, said Samarth. Kapil nods agreeing with him. “Neither of us has money, but we can convince other people to donate money for this cause. I’m sure most of them will agree”, added Kapil. “That’s a great idea, man” admitted Anup. “The WhatsApp group of the boy’s hostel is still there. I’ll post the message in the group”, said Samarth excitedly.

The three of them waited impatiently for a reply. No one had responded to the message even after an hour. Dejected, Samarth pushed his phone aside on the 285 | P a g e

table. After some time, they were alerted by the notification ringtone. Samarth grabbed his phone to check. “Guys, twenty two people have agreed!” he replied jubilantly. “Including us there will be 25 people to contribute. So if each of us pitch 1000Rs we can buy a LCD TV of 25000Rs”, said Kapil. They highfived each other on this. “We can surprise Prakash Uncle tomorrow. I have a plan, listen”, said Anup.

Next day, they went to ‘Hotel Surya’ in the afternoon. When Prakash was about to retire for his siesta, they stopped him. “Uncle, can you please allow us to look after the restaurant for today?” asked Kapil and Anup. “No, you don’t have to trouble yourselves. Karim will look after the hotel”, assured Prakash. “Please uncle, we have nothing to do. Let Karim chacha also rest. We’ll take care of the hotel”, pleaded Anup. After a lot of persuasion, he agreed to it. Kapil called Samarth and asked, “Did you receive the payment from others?” “Yes, everyone has paid through PayTm. I will be back with the TV after 45 minutes. You guys clean the place”, said Samarth and disconnected the call.

“Come on, let’s get to work. We have to clean the place soon before Prakash Uncle arrives”, said Kapil. The two of them picked up brooms and swept the floor. They saw cob-webs on the ceiling. “We have to clean those too”, Anup said, pointing towards it. “I can’t see a rag anywhere to clean them”, tells Kapil.

“Your hair is quite long, we can use it as a duster. You just have to stand on a table and whip your hair back and forth”, said Anup sheepishly. “Oh please! You are jealous of my hair”, said Kapil, flaunting his silky black shoulder length hair.

“Look, there is an old orange rag. We can use it”, added Anup. They clean the cob-webs in turns. The dust gave a tingling sensation in Kapil’s nose. He sneezes on Anup. “Dude, you could have warned me at least”, said Anup, wiping his face with a handkerchief. “You make a good hanky”, replied Kapil goofily. The call on Samarth's phone interrupts them. He puts it on speaker mode. “Guys, hope you are done with everything. I’ll come in 5 minutes”, replied Samarth and hangs up.

Samarth arrived along with some more people for installation. “Hurry! Both of you go and keep a watch outside to see whether Prakash Uncle is coming or not.

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Don’t allow him to come from the front door, bring him from the backdoor”, instructed Samarth.

Anup and Kapil waited outside for the arrival of Prakash Variar. When they saw him come from a distance they run towards him. “Uncle! Don’t go from this way” told Kapil. “But, why?” asked Prakash. When Kapil fumbled around, searching for reasons, Anup continued “A tree has fallen. It’s very difficult to go from there. We were waiting here to warn you. Let’s go from the backdoor.” “I can’t see any tree from here,” he said, looking straight. “If both of you are here, then who is looking after the restaurant?” Prakash asked with a serious tone in his voice. “Samarth is looking after the hotel. You need not worry, Uncle”, Kapil said, steering him towards the other route.

Anup, Kapil and Prakash reached the backdoor. The backdoor was opened by someone from inside. “Surprise!” the people in the hotel shouted in unison.

Prakash saw a brand new LCD mounted in front of him. “This is a gift from us” told Samarth, showing the TV and other people who had turned up. “It must have been expensive. I can’t accept this”, said Prakash in an emotional voice.

“No, uncle, consider this as our repayment towards your acts of kindness towards us”, replied Anup. “Ok, if you guys are done with your speeches, let’s take a selfie”, said Kapil taking his phone from his pocket. After other people had gone, Prakash uncle added, “I want something else in addition to this.”

“What do you want uncle?” the three of them asked him, perplexed. “Promise me that the next time you visit me, you guys will come along with your wives”, he smiled. “Yeah, sure” the trio replied after breaking into a laugh. They took his leave and exited the hotel.

“It really feels nice being a part of a good deed”, said a satisfied Samarth. “Yeah, you should have seen Prakash Uncle, he was so happy”, replied Kapil. “By the way, when are you guys leaving?” asked Anup. “We are going tomorrow afternoon by train”, answered Samarth sadly. “Happy journey guys and arrive in time for your trains”, smiled Anup. Kapil whacked Anup playfully on the head.

The three of them held imaginary glasses and raised a toast “To life”, “To happiness”, “And to friendship”, added Samarth. ##### 287 | P a g e

The Escape Plan "Why are you sulking Tony? Look at Mr. Gupta's son who has become quite an all-rounder." These were my mom’s parting words before dropping me at the gate of the boarding school.

The boarding school was no less than a jail. A student could be punished for various reasons, ranging from talking to a student of opposite sex to lurking outside the school campus. During those days, I despised my parents and did not befriend anyone in the school.

After a lot of pondering, I decided to leave the school and go away from my parents. I came out of my room at night and tip toed my way through the corridor. When I reached the basement, I kept a watch on the guard near the gate. After a while, when he went away to have dinner, I seized the opportunity and quickly headed towards the gate.

When I began walking on the main road, I saw a man cleaning a car. I began imagining myself in his shoes. I thought of starting a small business from my savings after a year or two. In a few years, I might be successful or even be richer than my parents. My train of thoughts was interrupted by my growling stomach. I spotted a tea-stall and asked for tea. When I stood sipping my tea, I saw few children jumping in the mud puddle. They wore tattered clothes, but despite of that they seemed very happy and content. I asked the tea-seller about them. He looked towards me and said, “Baba, those are municipal workers’ children. They live in the lane over there”. His finger pointed to a narrow dingy lane where I saw houses with tattered roofs and walls with plaster coming off them. I observed that they did not live in good conditions. “I can’t seem to understand; what are they so happy about?” I asked him. “The difference between us and them is that they find joy in small moments of life. We have accustomed ourselves in running behind happiness so much that we have forgotten to look around us,” he smiled sadly. I looked at their gleeful faces and exited the stall with a smile on my face.

The tea-seller’s words rang in my ears and the scene was playing in my head on loop. Realization dawned on me that there were people in the world who didn’t 288 | P a g e

have access to basic needs and here I was, fretting over some silly wants.

I understood my folly of playing hide and seek with my life and decided to return. Not finding the guard near the gate, I quickly paced up the stairs and reached the corridor of my room. I slowly went towards my room, so as to not be seen by the warden and reached the door of my room. I opened the door and quietly sneaked in. #####

The Box of Sweets It was a perfectly normal day. I was returning home from my college in the evening. The sun shone brightly on my face making its presence felt. Unlike other days, I was pretty much relaxed that day. The college would be closed for four days starting from the next day. Not that I despised college, but a small break didn't do any harm. Festivals of different communities fell on consecutive days. I wondered whether the people in those communities would ever come together like the festivals. There was more religious harmony on the calendar than in the real world. The shops in my neighbourhood were all geared up for Diwali.

I always made it a point to grab some chips or toffees from the local store. Even if I was left with few coins at the end of the day, I spent them on candies.

I entered one such local store for candies and chips. I checked my wallet for money, so that I need not have to be embarrassed on my inability to pay.

Thankfully, I had couple of notes and coins. This was a rather ordinary looking store in comparison to other shops in the locality. My hawk eyes scanned the store, hunting for the flavour that would satiate my taste buds. I made it a point to leave out the light-weighted airy ones. Maybe I'll buy them when I go trekking to Himalayas as a backup for oxygen tank. The one thing that caught my attention was a notice on the wall which read "20% discount on all sweets this festive season". It was common practice for a multinational retail chain to give these kinds of discounts. But for an ordinary store, whose sales suffered a hit due to the opening of these retail chains in the city, to give offers is quite commendable. I grabbed a suitable flavour of chips and headed towards the 289 | P a g e

billing section. An ordinary store does not have a billing counter as such, you just have to look for the shopkeeper. I paid the amount and headed outside. I turned to look at the store. At that moment, it stood out from the other better decorated stores in the locality.

The other thing that tingled my taste buds other than chips and cheap candies were instant noodles. To me, the half cooked cup noodles tasted better than fully cooked boiled rice. I set out from my home to buy cup noodles. I landed at the same local store. When I began looking for the cup noodles, my eyes fell on couple of sweet boxes. The reading bug bit me and I began reading what was written on the confectionery box. I was immune to most of the bugs but no one was spared by this bug. I reached the bottommost part of the packet where the batch number, price and other details were printed. A sticker of discounted price was pasted on the original price. I could still read through the sticker, the discounted price was indeed less than the original price. But this was not that caught my attention.

The sweets were to be consumed before four months of its manufacturing date.

The batch number was mentioned as 10-07-2016 and that day's date was 16-112016. The sweet box was one week past its expiry date. I checked the other sweet boxes, most of them told the same story. There were few of them which were consumable. I saw the garlanded photo of Goddess Lakshmi hung on the wall and wondered whether she chose to reside in this shop after knowing the reality or whether she was spared from stale sweets. I guess the people who had consumed stale sweets not only had to please Goddess Lakshmi but also had to pray to Lord Dhanvantiri (Indian God of Medicine) to reside in their house. I told a silent prayer for all of them. I looked at a garlanded photo of a stout looking man, whom I understood to be the founder of that shop. I pondered whether he tried to shout from the frame to warn the customers or silently wore a smirk on his face. Nevertheless, I had to repaint the picture in my mind.

This time, I headed towards my home without looking back. #####

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Manvi Sharma Living life at edges and marking her own dream sequence, Manvi spills her heart on ink with stories that aren't clichĂŠd. An English literature graduate, with a zest to write her own vogue, Manvi has accomplished her own piece of phenomenal credit by getting published in three paperbacks, followed by a few online books and magazines.

Email ID - manvi352@gmail.com

Deciphering Music The tones of music, Sprinkles the smell of roses Reminding me the essence That was lost in your presence.

While playing your songs, I convinced myself Of loving you indefinitely In the name of sensibility.

Today, after all these years These old tones Do not match your heartbeat anymore And, fails to fill into my hollow soul.

The sun beamed, through the cracked window On those white sheets For what you've been the reason But, never accepted my creation.

Now, the sun is shining even in the dark The music is still alive in my heart In the astonishment of my muse, I realized, the roses are still spreading the tones of life. ##### 291 | P a g e

Fistful Life In the fist lies the power; To break it down, Or, to make it up.

It shares the mystery That is known to fate But, never disclosed to humanity.

When the snow melts, And the night comes The demons crawl up the floor.

Preaching the vulnerability I headed to the closure That is always seeked.

Running away from all the chaos, The demons clenched me In the withered night.

Tormenting throughout, The darkness; Was a jist to what reality looks like.

When the morning came, I was holding upon my cries Calling upon the ritual that never dies.

With the bright morning, I realized the power within me Inspite of the dull reality.

But, now it was time To flip the meaning And, re-construct the opportunity. #####

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Harsha Sachdev

Harsha Sachdev stays in Thane . She is pursuing a course in CS ( Company Secretary ) Email : hsharshadsachdev@gmail.com

Love You Granny Stretching in the direction of the sun, Shining its warm golden light over the mountain, Wearing experiences since ages onto the skin, And a diamond on top of her winter - white bun, Just like a cascade blooming with white lily in the garden, Waving firstly to His creatures, With her twisted fingers, Her face so weather worn, Granny , You are the best : Is the title you have won 293 | P a g e

From the childhood hours, The only four feet that met, Crawling on her aged toe, To make me smile as I know, From teaching me daily alphabets and numbers, To making her son a responsible lawyer, Every afternoon the stories of lines on her skin she tells, Patiently I would listen and get walloped at yell, Granny , You are the superwoman who never fell.

All this left footprints of memories, A fountain at my fond heart's door, Whose only business was to flow, She was too heavy to be carried by four of all, No ! I must say , It was her love and care, We are in debt today, Even the walls are so irritated that they scream...

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For we are only left with memories that drop down our cheeks; On the wall we now only lean, Granny , Come back is the false hope; That we only seek.

Yes I feel like you are everywhere, Breathing like in the air, To God , just answer my simple question, The law of destiny I would want to change, As simple as that of, The law of motion, And that empty chair, Where you would knit a woollen scarf , For the winter months, My skin now only that yearn, Granny , How you turned into the bright star?

Illusion ; We have now become greedy for.

Heavy eyes loaded with pain, 295 | P a g e

Memories scribbling in my head, Making me insane, Spent not without you a single day...

Two roads diverge and without you...

I would not find my way.

The mirror I wish had captured you, My broken bits of heart lying but no one there to sew.

Granny , one last time let me hear your voice, And dance back on the beats of old music, I am waiting to rejoice!

#####

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Riya Jain Riya Jain is 18 years old. A member of the Rotaract Club Of Ahmedabad Supreme, she is into social service in her free time. She has got her works published in 8-9 anthologies up till now. Most of her stories are dedicated to her inspirations: Michael Jackson, Johnny Depp, and Tiger Shroff. Her works can be found on riyajainsworld.blogspot.in Email: riyajain71199@gmail.com

My Love for You Love is what I feel; ‘Cause it’s you who can heal Me and it’s so real; To you, My love I appeal.

Always stay in my life; Wish to be your wife; Oh, come and together let’s enjoy Of love, this wild life; Feels like this is afterlife.

Every time I see you; You were the man, I knew; To you, I don’t want to say adieu; Through the walls of friendship, I want to break through.

I know I could claim your heart; 297 | P a g e

From you, don’t be apart; Our perfect love, may Lord help us to start; Your kindness hit me like a dart.

I can’t express my love in words; Wish we were lovebirds; You broke all the records; Be to all my apps, passwords.

My love for you is infinity... #####

Interesting yet Unique This story is about a couple who are …… well I think you should read the story.

Jack Taylor- a young man of 30, born on 2nd March, 1990- is one of the famous actors in Bollywood. Jack’s father - Christopher Taylor - having first appeared in 1978 and changed his name from Christian Taylor to Christopher Taylor. Jack has a younger sister named Isabella Taylor.

Maria Jackson- a young girl of 20 (soon to be 21), born on 7th November, 1999is a middle class family girl, in the last year of her college, she is a writer too. Her father - Mr. Jackson - is a trader by profession. Maria, too, has a sister, Alice Jackson.

Both were enjoying their lives. Jack was determined to become an actor just like his father. Whereas Maria’s career was permanently the same since 3rd grade i.e. becoming a teacher. But her dreams kept changing: a year, she wanted to become a doctor, next she thought of becoming a CID officer, then pop singer when she was in grade 6 as she was a fan of the Legend Matthew Jane, the king of pop.

Then slowly, in the period of 3 years, she understood she actually had an interest in teaching.

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Jack and Maria share the same list of favourite actors and singers.

Spencer Watson has been the inspiration of Jack since Watson’s movie released in 2000. That movie had too been Maria’s first movie ever to be seen by her. ***** The story starts when Maria was all set to enjoy her summer vacations in the year of 2014 while Jack was nervous about his debut movie “Hero is all we need” which is released 23rd May of that year. Maria had never been so excited for the vacations. She was glad to be promoted to grade 9. Jack was busy promoting his movie with his co-star Eden Ross and his father Christopher.

Oh one more thing about Jack, he holds a fifth degree black belt in Taekwondo.

To his benefit, the movie script had demanded stunts to be performed. On the day of the release, both were excited, Maria to see it, Jack to see it get to success.

Maria became first day fan of Jack, knowing that he is Christopher Taylor’s only son. Maria liked his looks, his way of acting and way of doing martial arts. Maria has been watching Jack’s each and every movie since that day.

Maria had not always been a big crazy fan of Jack. Maria used to be more in Hollywood movies rather than her own country’s film industry. ***** Two years later, Jack has a lot of fans and has starred in 2 more movies in the year of 2016 while Maria was trying to get adjusted to a whole new environment.

Being a fan of Jack, Maria didn’t even forget to watch the movies and has watched over a thousand times. Maria was a girl with inferiority complex. This was the year when she opened up with her classmates. The whole class, no wonder, became her friends the very first day.

Although, her friends new every single thing Maria shared. But one thing she didn’t share : her being a fan of Jack Taylor.

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After passing the final exams of grade 11, she was excited to come in the last year of her school days. It was the year of 2017. That was the year when IPL (Indian Premier League) completed 10 years. IPL started on 5th April, 2017. On 6th and 7th April 2017, Maria had taken leave from her school due to being unwell. On 7th April, fortunately, there was a march being conducted in Gujarat where Maria lived (Gujarat is a state in India). This was the first match being conducted so there was an opening ceremony to be held. Maria had never been so excited to watch an opening ceremony.

Singers started the opening ceremony, and then the token giving from the home team to the visiting team. And last but not the least, a dance performance by none other than Jack Taylor. Maria almost freaked out when she saw him near the gates from where he was supposed to enter.

Knowing her love for him as a fan, Maria couldn’t resist taking his performance video.

This was what Maria doing during the IPL match. Now let’s see what Jack did.

Before the performance, Jack was way too nervous, as this was the first time he was doing a performance in front of a whole crowd where the only celebrity people where the cricketers and no one else. Before coming out to performance, he had seen Maria climbing up in the stadium to her seat with her family. The top most seats where she had seen the whole match. From that moment on, Jack fell in love with Maria. Jack overheard her name when her family were calling her.

Jack wished to meet her but couldn’t do so.

After the end of the performance, Jack’s eyes were searching for Maria but couldn’t find her. How could he? There was so much crowd. ***** Days passed by, both were falling in love with each other. Unknowingly that the other one was falling in love too. Jack couldn’t even tell it to anyone not even to his family because he was scared that it will go out to the media so kept it close to himself.

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Whereas for Maria, she told her best friend Emma Smith.

“Emma, I am falling in love”, said Maria “Yeah, that’s good. By the way, who is the lucky guy?”, asked Emma “Jack Taylor” “U don’t mean the celebrity Jack Taylor?”

“I mean it” “No way! Since how long?”

“Since the first IPL match in Gujarat. Oh Emma! I didn’t realize when he looked so handsome that day!”

“Hmm” “No wonder, I am in love with him. I wish I could meet him. He looks so much like his father” “Why don’t you send him a message to him on Instagram?”

“Emma, you are genius” Soon a message was sent to Jack. Jack did get the message. Maria hadn’t changed her username on Instagram. Jack recognized her at once. But took days to reply. ***** Jack did share the message with Isabella, his sister.

“Brother, it seems that another girl is behind you. Send her a message, send a thank you at least” said Isabella “My little princess, remember I told you that I am in love with a girl whom I saw at the opening ceremony in Gujarat for IPL?” “Yeah, I do remember it” “It’s her. Not just any other girl fan.”

“Oh. My. God. It’s her?!! Sorry brother, I didn’t know! Start chatting with her.

Let her know how you feel. Get to know her” “Right on.”

Jack sends a message and soon they both started chatting with each other.

Hey, thank you for your compliment.. May I know your name?

My name is Maria Jackson.

Maria. That’s a very nice name. What do you think about my name Maria?

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I know about your real name. It’s Brian Taylor right?

How did you know?

I am a fan of yours, I have read your biography on wikipedia.

Oh is it so?

Yes. Maria, where are you from? Which state?

Jack, I am from Gujarat. And yes, I have seen your performance for the opening ceremony.

How did you know I was going to ask about the IPL? From the way you asked.

Oh. *****

Every day, Jack used to start chatting with Maria, and got to know about her.

Maria also didn’t leave the opportunity. She, too, did chat with Jack and got to know the person Jack was from inside. They sent jokes to each other and talked till 3 at night. Maria used to do her vacation homework of each subject while chatting with Jack. There were days, when Jack would reply after 4 to 5 hours.

And the conversation would go like this.

Hey. So sorry, I couldn’t message u. I was busy shooting for my next movie.

Yeah I understand. That’s the reason, I didn’t send message upon message.

Thank u so much Maria, for understanding. U r the best fan ever.

Tysm, Jack.

Jack u might be tired, so have some rest before u go for ur next scene.

How did you know I am having another scene?

Oh come on. I know that it takes a long time to shoot a movie/song. I know a little about how the film industry goes.

Hahahaha. Sorry I forgot.

I know.

Okay bye. Ttyl. Need to go.

I knew it..

Hahaha.

Bye. take care.

U too. *****

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Jack was happy to talk with Maria every day. Maria was way more than happy.

She had decided to tell Emma about their chatting.

“Emma! Come at my place right now. Need to tell you something” said Maria.

“Coming. Just wait” said Emma.

When Emma arrived, she was surprised to see Maria on her cell with Instagram open.

“Maria, what are you doing on insta? And why the hell did you call me here?” asked Emma.

“Emma, dear, I am chatting with Jack, come sit near me.” said Maria.

“Oh. My. God. I can’t believe it yaar…. I am so happy that at least you are talking to him.”

“Yeah” “So did you tell him about your love for him?”

“No not yet. I am waiting for the right time.”

Meanwhile at Jack’s house.

“Who does Jack chat with the whole day?” asked Christopher “To the love of his life” said Isabella.

“How do you know?”

“Brother told me.”

“Does the girl know about it?”

“Not yet. Brother is trying to get to know her” “Does she love him?”

“We don’t know yet” “Jack! Come Here!” Christopher called.

“Yes dad, coming”, said Jack.

When Jack joins his father and sister.

“What’s the girl’s name?” asked Christopher “Maria Jackson” said Jack “Where is she from?”

“Gujarat” 303 | P a g e

“Understood. You saw her in the stadium that day?”

“How did….”

“Oh come on. I am your father. I understand everything.”

“Great” “Go meet her. Don’t lose her. I want to see you happy.”

“Love you dad. But first let me at least tell her how I feel.”

“Go ahead. Propose her.”

“Bye dad.”

“Bye”. *****

Hey Maria.

Hey, how r u?

I m good. U? I m better than better.

Maria, I wanted to say something.

Yeah?

I… love you.

Whaaaatttttt?!

I thought only I was in love with you!!!

NO WAY! You love me too?!

Yeah since the performance in Gujarat.

OMG!!!! I, too, love u since that day.

There’s something else too.

Will you marry me?

U need to ask my parents. I might approve the relationship. But I need my parent’s permission to marry you. I m sending u d address make sure u do come. But don’t tell it to me. I should be surprised.

Sure..

Maria had sent Jack the address and was now waiting for Jack to come at her place. She didn’t even tell her best friend about this conversation. ***** Days passed by, Maria was hoping that Jack would come every time the bell rang.

Then one day it happened. Jack came to her house with Isabella and lots of gifts for the engagement.

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“Mr. and Mrs. Jackson. I love your daughter. I know we have a gap of 9 years between us but for us it's just a figure. I am here to ask your daughter’s hand in marriage”, said Jack.

“Mom, dad. Jack had already proposed me on Insta. I didn’t say anything but told him to come and talk to you. You know how much your happiness matters to me. I love him too. I haven’t said to anyone else except him. Please do give the permission” said Maria.

“My Daughter, your happiness is our happiness. We give permission to your marriage.” said Mr. Jackson.

“Thank you Mr. Jackson. We need to do the engagement today as I don’t want the press to know. These are the gifts my parents have sent for you.” said Jack.

“Yeah. why not?!” said Mr. Jackson.

Soon, the rings were exchanged. The gifts were given. And Maria got an iPhone 7 as a gift from Jack. A week later, Maria and Jack threw a party and invited Maria’s classmates and Emma Smith.

This all happened in the year of 2017 i.e 3 years ago. Today, Maria is pursuing her B.A in Mumbai’s top college and has Christopher as her guardian. She is going to get married to Jack after she finishes the last semester. After which she will continue her studies to become a writer and a teacher. She is planning to teach in Dhirubhai Ambani International School.

The media had got to know about this unusual relation in the year of 2018. How could Jack and Maria keep their engagement secret for a year is still is a mystery to me.

You might be thinking how do I know all of this right? I am Isabella Taylor. Jack Taylor’s sister. And I am glad to have such a brother and sister-in-law.

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Dhruvi Soni Dhruvi Soni is a girl of 18 years and loves to write on love and heart break.

She is pursuing first year in the college.

Email: dhruvisoni0110@gmail.com

HEART THAT NEVER STOPS LOVING So much inside my heart, No one to give time of their part, No one to hear my cries, All they think are lies;

I just want to talk to him, And clear a thing, Was it a heart break?

Or just a double date?

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Heart finds it's love, For which there are no regrets, And cannot even forget....

Who knew that our relationship would take this phase, You will start liking someone else with a beautiful face....

Tears drop on her lips, And in nights she cries like never before....

Bleeding wrists are pain relievers; Want to spend rest of the life, On the edge of the knife; You will stay forever happy with her, I am one of the believer..

Yes you broke my heart into millions of pieces, But in every piece there is You. After heartbreak I started loving you more, As first I loved you with just one heart, And now I love you with millions of hearts.

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ONE SIDED LOVE I was afraid to open my heart, But you forced me to tell, So I did, I thought our relation would end, But you decided to keep me as a best friend.

We talk so much, But when it comes to this, I am totally blank, What to say...

Actually I don’t have any idea, How should I let you go, What speciality you have, That it makes me love you so much?

I know loving you is not a mistake, Because I know that your presence would never let my heart break, Though it’s a best friend or whatever, But worst thing is not getting love back as I do.

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In starting I thought it’s just an attraction, But I wasn’t knowing that it would go so far, But main questions are…

Do you know what you mean to me?

How much I care for you?

Do you know I can’t stop wondering about you?

Do you know that getting love back is just a dream for me?

You got your girl and you both are best together....

But But just remember, My love for you is unbreakable, Though its one sided, Still it’s strong, From now until forever I will always love you...

#####

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Akanksha Bhatnagar Akanksha Bhatnagar from Gwalior is pursuing B.Sc. in computer science from Kamlaraja girls college. She wanted to be a writer since childhood and has a very supportive family who helps her realize her dream.

You can find her writings on: Instagram - Tangible_abstraction http://www.yourquote.in/akankshabhatnagar-k4c/quotes/

"Impossible Date" Firstly, let me introduce myself. I'm Divya Shrivastav from Gwalior. I'm pursuing M.tech in computer science and writer by passion. Well.. I'm interested in every field like singing, painting, dancing and so on and have achieved something in my big dream. Ha ha ha ok ...don't think that I'm blowing my own trumpet. Hmm... coming to the point, I'm going to tell you my story about my "Impossible Date".

25 Feb, 2017 Today's date is unforgettable. This is the day, I was waiting since a long time. I'm at my favourite hotel, it was my dream to come here with him. We can call it an "Impossible date". I'm waiting here from the last 2 hours, where the hell is he?

Ohh sorry... How can I talk about him like this. Suddenly someone call my name, "Divyaaaaa... ". I turn back and he is coming from the gate. He is in front of me, I can't believe it. He is looking gorgeous as always, wearing 3 piece suit and his attractive perfume, I can smell it from such a long distance. There is sparkle in my eyes because of his outfit.

He comes to me and says, "Hey Divya, Prasoon here, your Prasoon Sharma, where are you lost dear?"

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I rub my eyes like a kid and say, "Oh yeah!! Please sit Prasoon, I'm waiting here from a long time. I'm so happy to see you."

"Sorry, I was stuck in traffic. By the way, meet my friend Rohit, he was so excited for our first date and will not leave us alone without knowing our story. So please, start the story", he requests with a big laugh.

I say, "Ok, so let me tell you from the very first day, listen..."

24th Sept. 2014 I and my best friend Nishant were in 12th standard and that day Nishant came to my home to pick me for school and started calling my name loudly.

"Divya...Divya...Divya... Come fast girl, we are already late...

Beeepppp...beeepppp.... Beeeppp."

He started blowing horn continuously.

And as always my neighbors came out first and said "Dear, why are you so manner less? I always say that please call her silently. You have her phone no., call her on that or just go inside the house."

"Sorry aunty, I will not do this from next time", he said in a low voice.

"Next time??? I am listening these words from last 1 year, It's last time...Ok", she shouted and went back inside her home and I'm going towards him with the speed of 0.0001km/hr "Hey stupid, why are you crawling like a snail? Haven't drunk your Bournvita today? Ha ha ha!!", he said.

"Shut up Mr. Nishant Mishra", I said in an angry voice.

"Oh!!! So what's special today that Miss Divya is calling my full name", he asked.

"Mood is not good yaar, mom always keeps shouting on me that I don't care about my books and clothes. Yaar ok, I'm so busy in studies and with my phone", I replied.

"Phone and STUDIES??? Are you sure??", he asked confidently.

"Yeahh yeahh ok, mostly with my phone only but sometimes studies also", I replied and asked, "Leave it, you tell me first, what is interesting in shouting my name on a road? You know aunty always comes outside and shouts on you. Do not bother her, please."

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He said, "Girl, you are so innocent. You don't know these ladies. These ladies think that all roads are constructed by their fathers. Firstly, they really don't know how to use breaks, always stop their scooty by their legs and I'm telling you if you drive in future please make a distance of atleast 100cm from them. By mistake, if they hit their vehicle anywhere then they will shout on you if you are near to them. They will never accept their mistakes and I don't know why they become Rani Laxmi Bai on roads and you know what..."

"Oh hello!! I'm also a future lady. Please end your essay on "Aunties- The great Hitlers on roads". Please let's go, we are half an hour late", I requested.

He laughed, "Hahaha, ok sit, we will reach in 2 min..."

We reached there in 15 minutes and tried to enter the classroom silently but...

"Divya and Nishant, why are you coming like this? Don't worry, it is your home.

Please hang out with your friends in my cabin also", Principal taunted us.

"Sorry ma'am, forgive us last time", we said.

"Ok go fast and attend the seminar in seminar hall. There is my son and his brilliant friend who is in third year Engineering and will educate you as he has lots of knowledge and you will have some fun also", she said "Fun... go and enjoy yourself? I hate seminars and your that pumpkin son", I murmured and ran fast to the seminar hall with Nishant.

"Nishant, let's sit in the corner. I'm not interested in this lecture", I said and sat in the corner and started playing with the furniture.

"Hey miss, concentrate here, look at me", someone said to someone.

"I said, look at me", he shouted again on someone.

"Divya, stop playing with the furniture. He is talking to you, look up please", Nishant told me.

I looked up at him and... I am looking at him affectionately. His bright eyes, his gorgeous personality, his awesome voice, his 3 piece suit, he is looking fabulous.

"Oh hello, where are you lost? Stand up and sit in front of me and please concentrate", he requested. I was lost again in his looks and good voice.

"Dear Divya, seminar is over", Nishant teased and said, "So, girl is in love with pumpkin's friend" 312 | P a g e

"Hell yeah, why were we late today? We will attend every seminar and every class from today (only if he will teach)", I said and we both laughed.

And 2 years have passed, I tried a lot to meet him personally and to talk to him but failed. I don't know why but still I feel something for him more than before.

I told Nishant, "Nishant, I really love him but you know that our relationship is impossible. Please make it possible ."

"Girl, I know that age doesn't matter in relationship but main problem is that he used to be our teacher. What will society say?"

"Yeah, but... " I cried.

"Hey! Don't cry please. Ok listen, Do one thing. You are writer and I heard somewhere that he is a person, full of emotions. He loves reading poetry and stories. Your writing field can help you".

"Yes! You're right. Thank you so much", I said and gave him a hug.

There was a chance to make him fall in love with me. He used to go libraries to read novels and poetry books. One day I wrote a poetry for him as an unknown lover and left that paper in his novel before his entry in the library. I hid myself, he came and took out his unfinished novel from the shelf. He were reading it and smiling and looking here and there. I know he was loving it. I started writing poetries daily for him and he always smiled.

Six months had passed and one day I saw that he was writing something on a paper and putting it in the novel. I checked and read"Dear, I don't know who are you. But I'm reading and feeling your words from last six months. It describes everything about you and your love for me. It seems pure and true. I want to meet you, want to know you.

Call me -98********" I dialled his number and my heartbeats were so fast. He picked up the phone and said, "Hello, Prasoon here."

I said in a low voice, "Hey! I'm that poetry girl Prasoon" He was surprised and said, "Ohh! How do you know my name, me, and everything. Please let me know about you. I can't wait anymore."

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I replied, "I'm Divya Shrivastav, an engineering Student and a writer. I'm in love with you from last two and half years."

"What? Two and half years? How do you know me since that long a time and I don't know anything about you", he asked.

I replied, "Do you remember that seminar in your friend's school on 24 Sep. 2014 and you shouted on a girl who was busy playing with the furniture? That girl is me and from that day I LIKE YOU SIR." He said, "Firstly don't call me sir and you are that girl, I'm still in shocked. You were my student Divya but you like me and..."

"And..??, I asked.

"I like you too", he replied. I was so happy after listening those words and we decided to meet in my favourite hotel on 25Feb. 2017, it was my dream to date him there.

And that day has come today, Rohit. He is in front of me, my Prasoon. My "Impossible Date", has been possible today.

"Wow guys, you both are great and made for each other. May God bless you both. All the best for your love life. Ok bye, I have to leave now", Rohit said and was gone.

So, this was the my first and "Impossible Date" with him.

#####

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Pearl Shah Pearl Shah is the youngest author in this anthology. She is 9 years old and studies in 4th Standard in Ahmedabad International School.

Her stories have been left almost in its original form, so that they retain their naive charm.

The Magical Lake There was a strange lake surrounded by tall trees, deep in the forest. It was a magical lake. Do you know why it was so?

Long long ago, one day a boy named Veer came by it, in his wanderings in the forest. He had gone there to graze his cattle. He looked at the beautiful lake. He quenched his thirst in its crystal clear cool water. He felt very fresh and energetic.

He wished that he would stay here forever and forever, say 500 years if he could live that much.

His wish was granted. He never grew old, and remained wandering by the lake for 500 years. He build edges around the lake, beautified it. He grew trees around it, nurtured the ducks and swans and other animals that came by. He made benches from the stone he found by the banks. He created a very nice place around the lake using what all nature had given.

At the end of his wish he died. 500 years old but not a day older than 20, the age he had come to the lake. No one knew about him.

A few years later a young girl of eighteen, Riya came by the lake. She came there in her college picnic. She too fell in love with the lake. She looked enchantedly at the tall trees around it, the flock of ducks and swans, and was filled with joy. She sat on the stone benches that Veer had build by his hard work.

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She fell in love with the lake and wondered who had maintained it so well. She looked at the lake and wished, that whoever had build this beautiful landscape around the lake, would meet her.

And lo... the magical lake answered her prayers. Veer was brought back to life, a boy of 20, as he was. Riya found him standing by the edge of the lake and rushed to meet him.

They both fell in love with each other at first sight. #####

A Rich but Poor Man Once upon a time there was a wealthy man called Harsh Oberoi. He had a lot of money and was very active in business. He also played adventure sports in his free time. The only problem was that he was never happy in life and never laughed heartily.

Avantika his wife and Rani his daughter were always worried why Harsh was of this nature. He was never satisfied with anything and was always anxious. He would work to no end and never spend good time with family.

Rani and Avantika were sometimes scared of making programs with Harsh or having him around in their parties. Harsh would never mix with friends, never joke or laugh with them. He was always calculating in his mind how he would further his business. Though the entire world was considering him a very rich man, but for them he was poor in terms of the quality of life he lived and enjoyed.

Moral of this small story is that it is not money that makes you rich. Richness comes from how well you enjoy each and every small and big thing in life. How you live life to the fullest. You can be called rich if and only if you can laugh and joke and be happy. ##### 316 | P a g e

Saving Our Planet Once upon a time, the world was divided into two gangs.

One was the Red Gang. They were called the Red Gang because they were busy destroying the Earth in one way or other. They were spreading pollution, killing plants, producing smoke and poisonous gases, producing bombs and doing many such activities. They were constantly at War with everyone and were damaging Nature.

The other gang's name was Saving Our Planet. They were doing activities which would benefit Earth and people living on it. They were planting trees, looking after the rivers and lakes and doing such other activities.

Nature took the form of a young girl. Her name was Prakriti. She told both the gangs that she would go with the one which was powerful and which would ultimately win.

The Red Gang and Saving Our Planet gang were always at war. On the first day, the Red Gang seemed to be winning, so also on the second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth and ninth day. The Saving Our Planet gang was busily fighting them all the time.

On the tenth day, as if by miracle and God's grace, the Saving Our Planet gang was able to defeat the Red Gang for good. Prakriti was very happy now and gave away her endless gifts to Saving Our Planet gang.

The world was now a very beautiful place to live in, free from pollution and hazards. Everyone lived happily ever after.

#####

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The Birthday Surprise A girl named Diya, woke up one morning and went to her parents room. They were sound asleep. She jumped on their bed eight times, till they woke up completely.

Her mother asked her why she was jumping on the bed and that too eight times.

Diya reminded them that it was her eight birthday today. Her Dad said, "What! I can't believe. Today is your birthday?" He was pretending. Diya's Mom and Dad had thought of giving Diya a surprise.

Diya's Mom was secretly preparing a cake for her and her father was busy arranging for the party that evening. He had called up the decorators and caterers for the evening.

In the afternoon, her Mom told her that she would take Diya and her friends to the Mall. That way her Dad would get time at home to prepare for the party. The children had a great time playing games at the mall. Diya and her friends also filled in coupons for the lucky draw which was to be held that evening. Diya filled in for her Mom and Dad as well.

Diya and her friends returned home with her Mom. The lights were off. Diya was wondering where her Dad had gone. As she entered the house the lights switched on and the house was full of her other friends and relatives. It was a big surprise for Diya. She was very grateful to her Mom and Dad for having arranged all this and given her a surprise party. Diya wished she too could do something like this which would surprise her parents.

As if fate heard her thoughts, there was a phone call. It was from the Mall. Diya and her family had won a free trip to the USA, in the lucky draw Diya had filled coupons in. This was a big surprise for Diya, but more for her Mom and Dad. Though her Mom and Dad had arranged the party to astonish Diya, Diya was the one who had given them a bigger surprise! ##### 318 | P a g e

Pages to Pen Down Your Memories, Your Stories...

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