On The River Bank

Legacy of a Kiss

2011-02-14T12:18:00.000+05:30

1988

The lights were turned off, and they retired to the comfort of darkness-pure darkness, which mitigates awareness, vanquishes all inhibitions and impairs the senses. However, the sense of touch prevailed, annihilating the self and linking the bodies. His inquisitive lips explored the places of her body; all familiar places visited again in a unique and unprecedented manner. Each kiss has its own story to tell; in its own language at each zones-that of urgency at the lips, tenderness at the neck, reverence at the bosom, coyness at the navel, guilt at the groin and aloofness at the foot. Being a man of routine, he stuck to his own methods, not wanting to malign the sanctity of the ceremony with futile derogations. He persevered in his act, with a sort of stoic dedication, undergoing familiar feelings. She did not seem to mind. Though the process was predictable, the outcome was unique each time, and was not marred by tedium. It stirred up novel sensations within her; induced new feelings. One may light a matchstick the same way always; but the course of the flame would be unique each time. Thus, he set her body aflame and opened the gates of unseen paradises of pleasure to her. Therein lay his craft-in creating novelty out of routine.

He nibbled her earlobes. She swerved her head, unable to bear the tickle. The whirr of the ceiling fan was the only thing disturbing the holy silence of the room. The curtains of the window swayed frantically in the nocturnal breeze, thereby letting the moonlight to encroach upon the domain of darkness. They could faintly see the contours of each other’s body in the intermittent ingress of moonlight. He caressed her shoulders gently. The brownness of her arm was glowing in the moonlight. He looked at it keenly. He found it intriguing. Its charm had escaped his scrutiny until then. There was a mole on her upper arm, about two inches above her elbow, floating like a black pearl in a sea of brown. It looked very familiar, though he was seeing it for the first time. It was like a reminder of his past; of his idyllic days of childhood. He kissed it with devotion. He held her upper arm and rested his head there. His lips tried to pluck the mole out of her. He felt something new. No; not new exactly. The feelings of his distant past, which had sunk into the abyss of oblivion, were being salvaged. His childhood was beckoned upon again. That sense of security a child feels inside his mother’s womb, that feeling of comfort a child feels when he is drawing milk out of his mother’s warm breasts-he was experiencing those feelings again. He felt that his quest had reached completion. He held her arm tightly. It was a shore of solace for him. He felt immense love for her; for the first time. What was it until then? Maybe raw lust masqueraded as love; or a relationship founded upon pretensions and half-truths, which witnessed frequent bare acts of bodies but not of minds. But then his mind was surging with a newfound love which was pure and innocent; which did not seek to possess or to control; which did not demand reciprocation or loyalty. He looked into her eyes and said with utmost sincerity. “I love you”.

She looked at him with astonishment. “Will you…will you say it again?”

“I love you.” He whispered into her ears. As his breath entered through her ears and got registered in her mind, she felt that she had been transformed to a new person; that she was not a mere body in his life, but was someone wanted, someone desired and loved- this understanding made her proud and happy. She expressed it with a peck on his cheek. She could sense genuineness and some sort of intensity in his words.

He reverted to his pose. He wrapped her upper arm with both his arms and lay on the bed in the foetal position. His face was resting on her arm. His eyes were closed. A sense of tranquil was very palpable on his face. She looked at him lovingly; keenly observed the feminine features of his round, cherubic face. His thin angular eyebrows, long nose which could be termed as aquiline, pale yellow skin which turned crimson red on excitement and fleshy lips-these would have looked gorgeous on a woman’s face. Traces of innocence and sensuality flashed across it. It was his bushy moustache, which rendered some semblance of masculinity to his tender face. But she disgusted the way it bristled against her mouth whenever he kissed her. On her insistence, he shaved it off. She ran her fingers over the thin stubble on his upper lip. She could sense his breath, his warm moist breath on her fingers. He seemed like a little vulnerable boy to her, who was seeking comfort in his mother’s body. She too felt immense love for him.

Her arm was aching from the weight of his head. She tried to pull it away. He moaned in protest. “Please dear, let me lie like this for some time. It’s very soothing.”

She chuckled. “What’s the matter with you? You are behaving quite strange today.” She said, alluding to his deviations from his usual acts.

“Well, I made a discovery today. That I love you.” He mumbled.

“Today? So what was it till now?”

“I don’t know. Anyhow, it is a fact now. I love you. Don’t care about the past.”

She smiled. Her mind was pulsating with great joy.

“You’ve really made me happy today.”

“You too have made me really happy. Your arm, it is…it is so marvellous. Holding it feels like heaven. I wonder, how could I not notice its charm before. You know what. When I was a young boy, I used to sleep holding my mother’s arm like this. It was so comforting. All my worries, all my fears would be banished by that touch. She also had a mole like this. A bigger mole in fact. And, of course, more beautiful too. I used to think that it was some kind of burn caused by my father, and often tried to bite it off, which made her laugh crazily. It was some sort of an ambiguous laugh. It was ecstatic and poignant. I don’t know if she was doing it of happiness or pain. But I loved her seeing laugh like that. I still miss her.”

He sat up on the bed and lit a cigarette. The pungent odour of burning tobacco filled the room. She watched the red dot between his fingers moving close to his lips, getting bright for a while and moving downwards. Fumes emitted out of his nostrils, giving him a fleeting resemblance to a baby elephant with fine ivories. He had assumed a reflective pose.

She climbed up his shoulders and placed her head on it.

“Hey, go on.”

He turned to her with raised eyebrows.

“You were taking about your mother. Tell me more.”

He shook his head.

“You haven’t told me anything about your parents. I want to know about them. Please tell me.” She said toying with his chest hair.

“Because, I don’t have much to say. What can I say about my mother? I don’t know much about her. She was gone when I was young. She died. I must have been about four or five then. I don’t know how. Some say she had some illness. Some say she killed herself. Some say my father killed her. I don’t know. I just remember that I used to sleep holding her arm and kissing her mole. That’s my only concrete memory of her.”

He threw the cigarette into the ashtray and continued. “My father, he was a devil. Bloody drunkard! He used to come home drunk and used to beat and abuse my mother. He treated her like dirt. I’ve often seen the markings of his leather belt on my mother’s slender arms. I would caress and kiss it, seeking to relieve her pain. She would sob. She would also smile. Both sorrow and joy could be gauged from her face. I loved her. I still love her. Despite the passage of years, I haven’t completely come to terms with her loss.

I never liked my father. He too never cared for me. After my mother’s death, matters got worse. He was drunk all the time. He used to bring home all sorts of nasty women. He’d no remorse or grief at his wife’s death. On the contrary, it was like a good riddance for him. It was sickening.

After a while, he got tired of me and packed me off to a boarding school. I used to meet him only once or twice in a year. That too was very unbearable. Time could not heal my wounds. My mind was always simmering with anger at him. When I was a teenager, I used to harbour thoughts of killing him. I know it’s quite revolting. The thought of killing one’s own father, thoughts of parricide- there can be nothing more reprehensible than it. But such was my hatred towards him; towards that wretched man who robbed me of mother’s love and care.

Anyway, some years back, he died. He was having his usual nocturnal drunk stroll. Some vehicle knocked him down. He died on the road; like a stray dog. A befitting death! My faith in cosmic justice was, thus, reaffirmed. “

“Hey, stop. You are getting very morbid. Don’t speak ill of him. After all he was you father.”

“Father! I don’t have anything good to say about that beast.”

She was shocked at his vitriolic outburst. Silence prevailed there for a while.

“Was your mother beautiful?” She asked, breaking the uneasy silence.

“Yes. Very much. The most beautiful woman according to me. People say that I’ve inherited her features I’m like a male replica of her.”

“Was she more beautiful than me?”

“Why? Are you getting jealous of her?” He smiled.

“No. I’m just asking.”

He took her arm in his hands. “Your arm, it’s exactly like that of my mother; smooth and tender. And also with this beauty spot.” He pinched her mole. “On seeing this, I fell in love with you. Can I tell you something?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll marry you.”

She was perplexed. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“Can I trust you?”

“I know why you are asking me this. I know that I’ve a notoriety which precedes me. People gossip that I’m a womanizer or a bed-hopper and all.”

“Even I’ve heard that you are quite a ladies’ man.”

“See, I can clarify. It’s just that I’m more comfortable in the company of women. Men, all of them are like my father- drunkards, hypocrites and perverts. They disgust me with their rancid jokes, drunken antics and superficial discussions on politics and business and sports and whatever. I’m a misfit among them. In fact, I’m scared of them; of their boorish nature and double-talk. However, women, they give me a sense of security. And those losers, jealous of my numerous female connections, spread rumours that I’m a womanizer. “

“I think you are making sweeping generalizations about men.”

“Maybe. But that has been my experience.”

“So, have you not loved any other women before?”

“Well…I admit that I’ve had relationships with certain women in past. But I don’t know if it was love or not. I’ve never felt like losing myself to any other woman before. Whatever feelings I had, they were not sincere. They were contrived. After a while, I would feel disgusted at my own pretensions and would put an end to the charade. Perhaps, I must have been looking for my mother’s tenderness in them, and on not finding it must have assumed those pretensions.”

“What about me then?”

“I love you. Sincerely”

“Just because you like holding my arm and I’ve got a mole like your mother?”

“I don’t know. But the comfort which I used to feel at my mother’s presence, I’m feeling it now with you. I want this to remain a part of my life. I don’t want to lose it. Please trust me. I love you. I don’t know to express it in any other mode or words. I won’t leave you.”

His words made her joyful. She hugged him. They reclined on the bed.

“Will you bear me a child?” He asked.

“So early? Maybe at the appropriate time.” She replied bashfully.

“I need a girl, who would inherit all my facial features. She should be in the image of my mother.”

She laughed. “How can I ensure that? What if she inherits my features? It all depends on the permutation and combinations of the chromosomes, right?”

“I would not mind if she gets that mole of yours on her upper arm.”

She laughed out again. “What is this? Some kind of recipe for child making? A bit of this, a bit of that….You are really weird.”

“I know it will happen so. I’m sure. I’ve faith in cosmic justice.”

“Damn your cosmic justice!”

Thus, they continued their playful banter. Then they made love to each other, like never before and their souls experienced inexplicable joy.

***********************

2010.

22°C- the electronic display of the air conditioner blinked in the dimly lit room. Even that moderate temperature was too chilly for her. She hid her bare body in the comfort of the blanket. The door of the bathroom clicked, and she saw him coming out of it with a smile dangling on his lips-an ugly smile; a hungry smile. His eyes were twinkling. Within no time, he dived into the blanket. He pulled her face towards him. Her round cherubic face, with its thin angular eyebrows, long nose which could be termed as aquiline, pale yellow skin which turned crimson red on excitement and red fleshy lips which always invited a kiss, looked very gorgeous. Traces of innocence and sensuality flashed across it. He kissed her lips. He forced her to open her mouth. But she kept them sealed. Kisses and touches- they held no meaning to her. The rhetoric about the merger of bodies being symbolic of merger of minds seemed the most senseless proposition to her. They were nothing but exercises of restless bodies, which gave everyone the delusion of pleasure and contentment.

He got down from the bed and started to undress himself impatiently. She looked at him with disgust. Within her young age, she had known many men. All seemed the same to her. Once they are stripped off their pretensions of civility and layers of sophistication, all of them are unidimensional creatures driven by lust whose vision had been blindfolded with passion. What was love? What was affection? She didn’t know. All her life, she’d been searching for it. She was aware of her beauty which enchanted a lot of stupid men. However, their love stopped where her beauty ended. Had she not been suffering from the burden of beauty, she would have received true love.

He pounced upon her and ploughed her body like a wild boar. She submitted herself to his lust, with a sort of stoic detachment. For a while, they experienced a sort of numb pleasure. Just then, something unprecedented happened, when he decided to impart some tenderness to his rough act. He took her arm in his hands. The brownness of her arm was glowing in the dim light. He looked at it keenly. He found it intriguing. Its charm had escaped his scrutiny until then. There was a mole on her upper arm, about two inches above her elbow, floating like a black pearl in a sea of brown. He held her arm tightly and kissed her mole.

She experienced a new kind of pleasure. It was not like the mindless pleasure which physical acts gave. It was something soulful. She was revisiting the idyllic days of her childhood. That feeling of comfort a child feels while sleeping on father’s shoulders; that sense of security a child feels while taking the first steps holding father’s hands- she was experiencing them again.

“Kiss me again. There.” She told him as he was about to withdraw.

“You like it?”

“Yes” She sighed.

He kissed her again. He looked at her. Her eyes had welled up.

“Hey, you are crying? What’s the matter?”

She shook her head. She placed her hands on his cheeks and blurted out. “I love you.” That was something spontaneous; right from the depths of her heart. She had mumbled it out with utmost genuineness and intensity. Her mind was pulsating with immense love for him.

“I love you too.” He replied.

Waves of passion lashed against the shores of her soul.

“Make love to me.” She said.

He smiled obligingly. She ushered him in. As he was complying with her wish, thoughts of her past regurgitated within her.

“The custody of a young girl cannot be entrusted to man who is knows for his erratic behaviour, chronic alcoholism and questionable morals”. This was the decree of the family court. She must have been around five or six then. The dejected expression her father wore on his face after hearing the judgement was still fresh in her mind. He was granted with weekly visitation rights. Whenever he visited her, he used to kiss her on her arm, and on the mole above her elbow. That was his peculiar mode of expression of love. She was used to it right from very young age. She liked him doing that. It made her feel happy and secure.

After a while, he stopped visiting her. He was unheard of for some time. Then one day she came to know that he had died. Out of sheer depression, he killed himself. She remembered the way his body was lying in the coffin without life. She placed her arm on his frigid, frozen lips. The last kiss- a cold, lifeless kiss.

She recalled that he was very handsome, though his soft features made him look feminine. She was moulded in his image. She knew that she was a female replica of her father.

Her mother never spoke anything ill of her father. Once she asked about the reasons for their separation.

“He didn’t love me.” That was what she’d said.

But she wasn’t convinced with that reply. On persisting, she was given a vague and abstract explanation.

“He couldn’t accept me as myself. He was seeing someone else in me. I could not cater to the image which he’d formed about me. I couldn’t pretend as someone else.” She didn’t understand what that meant. Anyway, the matter was not discussed again.

Her nerves were carrying the signals of pleasure to her mind. Thoughts were dying. They were driven out by the smoky haze of ecstasy. Mind was numbed and soul was annihilated, for a while.

Completely drained, he lay beside her, caressing her navel. She looked into his eyes with deep love.

“Will you marry me?” She asked.

He looked at her with astonishment.

“You are talking about marriage? I’m really surprised. Haven’t you told me before that you didn’t want to marry anyone, after all that had happened with you parents?”

“Right. But now I’ve changed my mind. I’m feeling orphaned. Disowned. I want to belong to someone. I need to get over my feeling of insecurity. “

“Dear, you should not feel orphaned or disowned when I’m here. I will make you feel happy and happy. I won’t leave you ever.”

“I want to have a child.” She added. “A boy.”

“Oh, you have thought so far.” He smiled casually.

“Yes. A boy in my image; like my father.” She felt a lot of happiness when she said this. Her face beamed with a soulful smile. His mind was lit by it.

“Sure. You will have one. Why one? You’ll have a lot of them.”

Thus, they continued their playful banter. After that, they slept in each other’s warmth and their souls experienced utmost peace.

***************************

MANU SEBASTIAN

SUGAR

2011-01-19T10:48:00.000+05:30

Paul keenly observed the steam waves coming out of the pores of the round spongy idlis placed in the casserole. They came out slowly, with a bit of reluctance, and curled up to make patterns and diffused into air.

‘Come, have us.’ They were beckoning him.

The thought of breaking them into fine pieces and relishing them after soaking them in rich sambar and coconut chutney made his mouth drool. He could eat at least ten of them. After that he would lick his fingers and let out a loud burp as a token of contentment. Of course, his son and daughter would find it disgusting. Their convent school education would prevent them from appreciating the joys of primitive way of eating. The use of knife, fork and other weapons at the dining table was not meant for him. Finally, he would wash the food down with sugary tea. That, would be a heavenly breakfast.

‘Two idlis or dosas, and a cup of milk or tea without sugar.’-That was the prescribed breakfast for him. Two idlis! They were like starters for him. He could hear his stomach growl. He’d already met his prescribed limit. But his hunger was not satiated. He looked at the casserole.

‘Come, have us.’ They beckoned him again.

He was feeling very weak. To eat or not to eat-his mind sank into this gastric dilemma. It was more of a necessity than an indulgence. He reached out for the casserole and put four idlis in his plate.

“No! No! Holy Mother of God, what do you think you are doing?” His wife, who was boiling milk at the stove, rushed to him. “You already had two idlis. You can’t have more. I say, put them back.” She commanded.

“But, Mini, I’m still hungry.” He pleaded.

“No way. You remember, your blood sugar levels were at 262 as on last check-up. 262! After you went and feasted at your colleague’s wedding last Sunday, it shot up like anything. One has to have some sense of responsibility; at least about one’s own health.” She was categorical. “Now, put them back. As for your hunger, I’ll give you a glass of milk. Have it and go to office.” He could see his children trying hard to control their laughter.

“To hell with your milk! To hell with the sugar levels! What to eat, when to eat, how to eat and how much to eat-I’ll decide. In this house, I’m the one who makes decisions. You get me. Do you get me? I’ll do as I wish. No one will question me.” He lashed out at her.

She was taken aback by this sudden outburst. Her eyes moistened.

“Okay. Go ahead. Do whatever you like.” She took the casserole and banged it in front of him. In that force, two three idlis bounced out of it and fell on the floor. “Have it. Have all of them. Whether your blood sugar levels go up or down, why should I bother about that? Do as you wish.” Saying this she stormed out of the kitchen. “All these days, I’ve been keeping an eye on your sugar levels and preparing you special dishes as per the dietician’s prescription. And what do I get in return? I get barked at for no reason. Am I a slave here?” She said, as she walked into her room and closed the door.

Paul stood there, feeling ashamed at his irrational behavior. He took the idlis lying on the floor and threw it out of the window for the hens and crows to nibble. Then he divided the ones in his plate into his son’s and daughter’s plates. Milk was getting boiled at the stove. His daughter rushed to attend to it and brought it him. She also got him the tiffin box packed. After drinking the glass of milk, he walked out of the kitchen and took the medicine box from the top of the refrigerator. Usually, it was his wife, who got him the medicines for the day. He fumbled with the prescription, and somehow managed to get the medicines for the day. Before stepping out, he knocked at his wife’s door. There was no response.

“Mini, I’m leaving.” No response was forthcoming.

“I said I’m leaving.” No response again. He walked out to the bus stop.

The bus had started to roll when he reached the bus stop. He had to chase it down to get in. He was panting heavily when he got in. Luckily, he managed to find a seat; a window seat. The sky was overcast. He hoped that it wouldn’t rain. That would cause everyone to down the shutters of the windows, thereby making the interior very humid and stuffy. It was an hour long journey to Thiruvananthapuram, where he worked in the State Revenue Department. He closed his eyes and made an effort to catch some sleep. But the thoughts about morning’s incidents were disturbing him.

‘Why did I behave like that? After all, she was taking care of me. She wants me to be healthy and strong. And I responded very immaturely, like a kid.

Nonetheless, she could do it in a very tender manner. I mean, she need not be such a tough disciplinarian. She keeps on commanding-‘eat this, drink that, and don’t eat anymore.’-like a prison warden. Why can’t she be like the wives of films and say ‘Oh honey, you can have only two idlis. What will we do, if, God forbid, something happens to you? You don’t want to abandon us, right?’ and caress my hair or pat my shoulders affectionately. Then I would oblige, most willingly. Alright, drop the ‘honey’ part and the ‘caressing and patting’ part. She might be too embarrassed to do so in front of the kids. But she can say it in a softer tone. Yes, that she can surely.

I’m not the only one to blame for today’s incidents. Last night she had taunted me by asking ‘Have you got any more control over the affairs of the family? Are you still the man of the house?’ It hurt me badly. Throughout the night, the nasty remark pricked me.

Yesterday night, after dinner, I was watching T.V comfortably. Not anything in particular. I was just surfing through the channels. My son had been watching some English movie. I snatched the remote control from him. I just wanted to assert myself. ‘Look, I’m the man of the family. And I bought this T.V too. So I can watch whatever in it, whenever I want.’ My son must have been grumbling under his breath. But I didn’t care about that. Thus, I was indulging in this lame, egoistical activity. Then I heard this conversation happening between my wife and daughter.

‘Elsa, what were you doing till now?’

‘I was talking on the phone.’

‘For so long? It’s been an hour or so. And what was the need to go all the way up on the terrace to talk? Couldn’t you have talked here?’

‘Mummy, the signal here is very weak. So I have to go to the terrace.’

‘Hmm. Anyway, who were you having this long conversation with?’

‘With a friend of mine.’

‘The friend doesn’t have a name?’

‘How does it matter to you?’

‘It matters. I want to know who this friend is.’

‘I was talking to Rahul,’

‘Oh, Rahul? I thought so. I want to know what’s between you and this fellow. Day and night you waste time chatting with him. You do group study together; project work together. Girl, tell me. What’s going on?’

‘It’s none of your business.’

‘Of course it is. I want to know what your business with this fellow is.’

‘Can’t you understand? We’re just good friends.’

‘Friends? Don’t give me that nonsense. I’ve been through your age. I can very well understand the tricks of youngsters. Don’t try to fool me.’

‘Oh, have you gone mad? What do you want to hear from me? Yes,I love him. We are in love and we will live together. Is that enough? Are you happy now?’

Though I was pretending to be watching television, I was keenly following their conversation. Elsa’s declaration was like the dropping of a bombshell. I don’t think she meant it. I hope she did not. Anyway, at that point of time, I could not do much about that. I was feeling very weak and nauseatic. The dinner comprising two chapattis, cabbage curry and a glass of tomato soup had digested away in no time. My stomach was burning. I could sense acidity building up. My heart beats went faster. My body started to sweat and shake. I thought I’d faint. I wanted to eat something desperately. Then my wife came to the T.V room.

‘Haven’t you heard your daughter? She’s in love with that Rahul!’

I somehow managed to get up from the chair. I didn’t know how to react. My head was spinning. All I could think about was food, and only food.

‘Mini, I’m feeling very hungry. Can I get something to eat?’ I mumbled sheepishly.

‘Ah, brilliant! Here the daughter wants to run off with someone, and the father is bothered about only wining and dining. I’ve heard about some emperor playing violin or something while his city was burning. You excel even him.’

‘Mummy, you mean Emperor Nero?’ My son chose the most inappropriate moment to show off his historical knowledge.

I ignored them and walked to the kitchen. Food was my only preoccupation then. I also wanted to escape from the scene of confrontation. Had I been in my normal healthy self, I would have got the situation easily under control. But since I’ve been diagnosed with diabetes and high blood pressure some months ago, I always feel very weak and emaciated throughout the day. The special diet prescribed by the dietician does not satisfy me at all. My mind is always preoccupied with thoughts about the next meal and my blood sugar levels

I drank a glass of water. That was a big relief. There were some bananas lying on the table. I’d already met the prescribed limit of one banana a day. I ate them. I thought I’d die if I didn’t eat. I sat there for a while. The conversation between them had resumed. Meanwhile, my son intervened, filling in for my absence.

“Mummy, I suggest you adopt a reasonable approach to the situation. She’s a girl of eighteen and she’s got the right to make her own decisions and choices. I don’t think it is right to unnecessarily interfere in her personal life.” When I heard my son’s rationalizations my heart beats went fast again. I could sense my blood pressure also increasing. I preferred to sit there for a while and let my body calm down, instead of jumping into that milieu.

“What rubbish? Holy Mother of God, what kind of devil has possessed these people? Look, I’m her mother and I’m responsible for her. So I can interfere and I will.”

“Mummy, our lives would be much better, if we refrain from assuming responsibility for other’s lives and remain responsible for our own lives”. A very thoughtful statement made by my son; but again, inappropriate for the moment.

“I’m not listening to all this nonsense. Elsa, give me your cell phone. You don’t need it anymore.”

“Mummy, but…”

“No. I say give it to me. I’ll ensure that you won’t talk to random guys on phone.”

After she confiscated Elsa’s phone, things calmed down. Even my body calmed down. I walked upstairs, absent-mindedly carrying a banana peel with me. Mini had gone to the bedroom. My son had resumed his T.V watching. I saw Elsa crying. She came to me and hugged me. I didn’t know whether to scold her, advise her or console her. So I didn’t say anything and just patted her reassuringly.

I went to the bedroom. Mini was lying on the bed, pretending to be asleep. I held her hand and said. “Mini, take it easy on her. I don’t think she meant it. She just said it out of her irritation.”

“Yes. You are right, as always. And I am the wrong one.” She mumbled. Then she delivered that snub. “Let me ask you something. Have you got any more control over the affairs of the family? Are you still the man of the house?”That bruised my ego badly. My mind was simmering with anger. The events of today’s morning were just a manifestation of my bubbling anguish.

This damn disease has weakened my body as well as my mind. I think it has even shaken the authoritative position of being the patriarch of the family. A position of authority, after all, is something which rests upon other’s perception. When I get perceived as someone weak who has got no say even in matters of his diet, my authoritative position would naturally get eroded. Moreover, I don’t feel the strength to exercise any sort of authority over others. So I submit myself to everyone. But I have got an ego too; the male chauvinistic ego. I’ve heard our priests preaching that ego was a sign of weakness and not a symbol of strength. Anyway, I can’t get rid of it now. I know, it has caused me a lot of troubles. Sometimes, it feels the need to assert itself and it will wake up from its slumber shaking off all sorts of controls, thereby leading to events like that of today’s morning.’

“Statue junction! Statue junction!” The announcement of the bus conductor woke him up from his thoughts. He alighted from the bus and walked towards his office.

Land documents, conveyance deeds, revenue registers –all these were vying to grab his attention. But his attention was completely devoted to the rumblings of his stomach. He kept on looking at his watch. There was a lot of time left for lunch break. Till then, he sank himself in various wearying transactions of land revenue.

Finally, the much yearned for moment arrived. The sight of the needles of the office clock aligning themselves to declare 1’o clock uplifted his drooping spirits. However that was just a momentary high. With a lot of anticipation, he opened his tiffin box. But the sight of two chapattis and cabbage curry put him off. He had been eating the same insipid stuff for the past one week.

‘Damn the dietician! I want to have some real food.’ He thought. He shut his tiffin box and walked out.

He could see a lot of restaurants and food joints soliciting hungry people with their fancy names and pictorial depiction of the delicious food varieties available in their menu. ‘FOOD MAHAL’, ‘SWAD’, ‘ANNA POORNA’, ‘AAHAR BHAVAN’-there were a lot of options. He was spoilt for choice. Before making a decision, he decided to have a banana milk-shake. The sweet cold milk-shake relieved his parched throat and cooled his mind. Then he subjected all the restaurants to his scrutiny. He could see a lot of people swarming into ‘FOOD MAHAL’. He decided to follow the herd. One should not be too venturing in matters of food.

As he got in, the nice aroma of chicken biriyani filled his nostrils. Without any second thoughts, he placed the order. In a short while, biriyani arrived; delicious biriyani prepared in Malabar style. He inhaled the spicy vapours emanating out of it. The waft of cinnamon and pepper drove him to a transcendental ecstasy. He dipped his fingers into it and savoured it leisurely. ‘Hmm... Yummy!’ He exclaimed. He bit chicken pieces off the bones, masticated them and drank their meaty juices with pleasure. He was feeling very happy. ‘Have chicken biriyani everyday and keep depression at bay!’ He thought.

In a short while, biriyani was over. But how could lunch be complete without desserts? He ordered one gulab jamun. He was having a sweet after a long time. But how can one gulab jamun fulfil his unsatisfied sugar craving of months. He ordered one more. No. Even that wasn’t sufficient. He had one more. He ate to the full of his stomach and to the contentment of his mind. Culinary delight was something which he had not experienced for months.

But every crest has got its trough. The joys of his gluttonous exploits were withering away, as his body was grappling with a feeling of uneasiness. His head was aching and body was shivering, consequent to the rise in his sugar levels and blood pressure. He searched for his medicines in the pocket. But he’d left them at the office, which seemed miles away. The callous sun had driven away the monsoon clouds and was shining brightly. He found it difficult to make his steps. His heart was racing against his chest. He thought it would break his rib cage and come out. He felt a terrible pain in his chest. Grabbing his chest and gasping for breath, he walked ahead slowly.

‘Oh God, it seems my end is near’. He thought. He could see a church nearby- ‘Saint George Forane Church’. ‘If I’m dying, it’s better to die in a church.’ With this thought, he walked inside the church.

A huge imposing statue of Saint George, mounted on a horse and inserting a spear into the mouth of a diabolic serpent welcomed him. There was no one inside the church. It was quiet and peaceful there. He sat on a chair and took deep breaths. His eyelids were feeling very heavy. He feared that if he closed them, he would die instantly. With great effort, he raised his eyes to the giant crucifix at the altar and indulged in his final thoughts.

“Oh Holy Son of God, I know that my time is up. I don’t know if I’m sad or glad about it. As you know, there are a lot of unfinished things; and unrealized dreams too. I would prefer to exit this world with a sense of accomplishment. But, if you decide that I’d enough of life, what can I do but oblige.

Nonetheless, I will be glad to be free from all my ailments. This diabetes and high blood pressure-it’s a real pain to live with them. I don’t know why you have punished me with these diseases. I don’t drink. Nor do I smoke. I attend all Sunday Holy Masses without fail. I give generous donations to church too. And I believe I have lived according to your commandments. I admit, I often get angry with my wife and kids and say things which ought not to be said. But I don’t think that would constitute such a grave offence to merit a punishment like this. Lord, let me tell you. This family is a big headache. You didn’t have one. So you won’t understand. Had you been in my place, you would also have lost your temper. I’ve such a great family!

I have to confess one more thing. I often take bribes for doing my job. I know it’s illegal and all. But I don’t remember any of your commandments saying ‘Thou shalt not take bribes’. See, I don’t take bribes to help people get illegal things done. I only take bribes from deserving candidates for delivering their legal due. It’s just like a service charge. Lord, you haven’t done a government job too. So you won’t understand. I don’t think it’s a big deal. Everyone does it. When I see the heroes of films fighting against corruption and preaching ideals, I feel like scoffing at them. Give them a nagging and pompous wife, two good-for-nothing kids and the burden of EMIs; then they will throw away all their ideals. When one is young and unmarried one can preach all these things. These are not meant for middle class family men like me.

If these diseases are the punishment for my corrupt practices, what about those ministers and bureaucrats who go on doing scams worth crores? They lead the best of the lives without any hassles. And you punish small fries like me? What kind of justice is this?

Lord, I can’t comprehend your ways. I’m not that intelligent. Let your wish be done. That’s all I can say. I have only one prayer to make. Please take care of family after I’m gone. Although, they are a big head ache, I care about them. My wife Mini, she is a real gem. She is really beautiful and talented. I think she deserved someone better than me. I’m a simple man who belongs to the multitudes. Mini, during her college days was a real star, who would have made it big in life had I not married her. But familial pressures caused her to marry an idiot like me and remain a housewife for life. My father-in-law used to tell me that she’d real interest in teaching and pleaded to let her pursue it. But I was adamant against it. My old-fashioned ways could not appreciate the thought of women going for work. They should just bear and rear children and should do the household chores. This was my notion those days. Oh Lord, I was such a fool. I confined her to the kitchen. For a gifted woman like her, it’s worse than life imprisonment. She has never resented that; at least openly. She cares about me diligently. And what do I do? As she said, ‘bark at her for no reason’.

I don’t know whether I love her or not. I’ve never told her ‘I love you’ as they do it in films. Nor has she. But I can’t bear the thought of living without her. I think it’s the same for her. Twenty-five years of co-habitation has made us used to each other. We’re conditioned to each other’s follies, idiosyncrasies and frailties. So we can’t live without each other. I don’t know if that can be called love. Anyway Lord, grant Mini the strength to bear my loss. And Mini, please forgive me. For everything.

My son, Joseph, is very peculiar. He thinks that he is a great intellectual. But actually he is a real fool, who has got no practical sense at all. He completed his engineering course some months ago. I thought he would get some high paying job in some software company. But he turned down all the offers. He told me that he wanted to start his own company. I told him about our financial difficulties and tried to persuade him to take up any of those offers. He retorted ‘Money is just an abstraction. There are higher values in life like creative satisfaction and intellectual liberation and we should pursue them’. I don’t know what he meant. Will the bank manager let go of the loan arrears if I tell him that money was just an abstraction? I never understand what he says. He keeps on quoting some philosophers and makes random arguments. I think too much of reading has ruined him. Too much of culture is also not good. He won’t listen to me. But he can accept the stupid thoughts of all these philosophers. I think he goes only by the written word. Perhaps, I should also pen down my advices and give it to him in book-form. Then he might obey me. Anyway, it’s not possible anymore.

Last week he demanded seventy-thousand rupees. He said he was setting up some company with his friends. I asked him ‘Isn’t money an abstraction?’. I just wanted to taunt him. But he got really furious and gave me a long lecture about how Malayalees lack enterprising skills and how they discourage any of their fellows who had some entrepreneurial streak within them. He cited the examples of Bill Gates and Steve Jobs and lamented the fact that Kerala had not produced anyone like them despite thousands of graduates. Maybe my son is the future Bill Gates. I don’t want to be an obstacle in his way. So I was thinking about mortgaging the land for raising money. Lord, take care of my son and give some good sense to him. He should take care of the family after my death. Give him the courage to do it. There are a lot of loans to be repaid. House loan, educational loan, car loan...Oh, there was no need to buy that new car. It was because of Mini’s insistence. She was pestering me to sell the old Maruthi 800 and get a new one. Apparently, everyone in our parish had brand new cars and she felt ashamed to roam around in an old Maruthi. Anyway, my son has to take care of all these. I hope he does

And my daughter Elsa, she is also a fool in her own way. She is living in her own world of fantasies. Unfortunately, she’s not inherited my wife’s beauty. On the contrary, she’s got all my ugly features too. The feeling of not being beautiful enough can take a very high toll on a girl’s self-confidence. I didn’t want her to feel inferior in any aspect. So I granted all her wishes. I bought her high-end mobile phone, laptop, fashionable dresses and all. I may not have been following the right approach. I’ve been an indulgent father to her. Mini often complains that I have spoilt her by pampering her too much. She’s also a bit over-friendly with boys; and that gives me a lot of tension. The young boys of these times, all of them are hopeless wastrels. None of them can be trusted. I hope she doesn’t end up in any trouble because of them. Lord, please take care of her.

That’s all, my Lord. Pardon all of my misdeeds. I submit my soul to you. Please take care of my family. I’ve faith in you.’

He recited the prayer of ‘Hail Mary’. His eyes closed after a while. He lost his consciousness and sank into a deep slumber.

*************

Paul saw a huge crucifix, when he opened his eyes finally.

‘Oh Jesus, even in heaven also you are on the cross!’ He thought. He tilted his head sideways. Someone was patting him. He saw an old man with a long white beard standing beside him.

“Are you Saint Peter, the gatekeeper of paradise?” Paul asked.

“Well, I’m Peter. Not the saint though. I’m ordinary Peter, the caretaker of this church.”

Paul looked around with disbelief. He saw the statue of St.George. He saw the crucifix too. It was the same church.

‘Praise the Lord. I’m not dead’. He thought.

“Hey mister, do you think church is the place to take an afternoon nap? Had I not awakened you, you would’ve slept for more hours?” The caretaker asked.

“I..I’m sorry about that. I’m leaving now. Could you tell me what time is it now?”

“5.30”

“5.30! I’ve a bus to catch at 5.45” He rushed to his office to take his stuff. Feeling fresh after four hours of siesta, he ran to the bus stop to catch the bus for home and to savour the sugar and spice of domestic life.

*****************************

MANU SEBASTIAN

Castle Rock

2010-05-13T10:51:00.002+05:30

Fact
Castle Rock is a village in the Indian state of Karnataka, The town is located in the Western Ghats on the state's border with Goa..For many years the town marked the frontier between Portuguese-held Goa and British-held India. A metre gauge railway line used to connect the Goan towns of Vasco and Margao with the rest of India and was the only rail link in the state till the Konkan Railway started services in the early 1990s. The railway line from Marmagoa to Castle Rock was originally owned and operated by the West of India Portuguese Railway (which despite its name was a British company) and it connected with the line in British India from Londa For travellers between Portuguese held Goa and British India, and later between Goa and India, all the formalities of international travel including customs checks and verification of travel documents were carried out at Castle Rock. In the early-1990s, the Indian Railways converted the metre gauge line to broad gauge, thus connecting the old rail network with the rest of India.

**********************

Castle Rock

Through the dense mist that had shrouded the railway lines of Castle Rock, the light rays beaming out of the train engine made its way forward; closely followed by its twin sibling-the sound waves emanating from the womb of the engine. The sight of the green flag fluttering in the chilly December wind aroused the maternal instincts of the train, and it gained momentum to pull forward the large undivided family of wagons bearing unrefined manganese ore from the mines of Northern Karnataka. With periodic thuds, each wagons passed the station, without bothering to acknowledge its existence. But the guard of the train was not forgetful of the etiquettes; he waved his flag and nodded at the station master, as a mark of comity, as a gesture of understanding, though not without an air of condescension.
The station master, Santosh Adiga, gazed at the train’s last wagon, till it faded into the foggy horizon. He stood at the platform, listening to the dying throes of the prodigal sound waves disowned by the rail matriarch.
“Santosh”. The sound waves reincarnated in the form of a hoarse cry. Santosh could see a heavily clothed blob of flesh approaching him, flashing a torch light. That was Krishna-the night shift Station manager. Despite the monkey cap worn on his head (which formed a funny lump on his head) and various layers of sweaters worn on his body (which accentuated his inherent plumpness), the huge man was wavering like a bamboo tree.
“Oh Santosh, it’s very cold out here. I can’t bear it.” He said, rhythmically emitting frosty smoke out of his jittering jaws-harmless nicotine free smoke. “How do you manage without any woollen cover?”
Santosh took out a bottle of brandy from his pocket and said. “Have some of this. It’ll keep you warm.”
“No,no. Alcohol is a taboo for me for the next forty days. I’ve taken the vow to go to Sabarimala. That means strict abstinence from all kinds of sensual experiences.”
“Oh, so you have turned faithful again, huh?”
“It’s because of my wife’s insistence. She thinks that this will give us a child. Though I fail to understand how forty days abstinence is helping that cause. But one has to succumb to such spousal pressures for the sake of marital harmony. Or else martial hegemony would prevail.” Krishna, very often, interspersed his statements with such melodramatic phrases. At one point of time, he was an aspiring writer. But fate brought placed him in the midst of railway lines and they choked the writer in him. Still, it came out sometimes, gasping for breath.
“Anyway, in that aspect I’m quite lucky. There are no such female disturbances in my life. Though I permit some short female interferences. Pleasant interferences”. He winked at Krishna with a sly smile. “I have to go now. Have a pleasant time. That Sahyadri Express will come by midnight. She is late as usual. Take proper care of her. Good Night.”
As he stepped out of the station, a thick column of cold air struck across his face, to freeze all his nerves at one instant. He wore the sweater and walked towards the jeep. The ’92 model Mahindra Jeep, which belonged to Konkan Railways, was lying there drenched in the mist. There was a love symbol inscribed on the foggy windscreen of the jeep-the handiwork of some ruffian- and it was getting melted. The four wheel drive jeep was the vehicle that best suited the terrain of Castle Rock. It had the feminine tact to negotiate the unruly ascends and the masculine grit to conquer the bumpy and curvy routes of Castle Rock. A cloudy slumber had possessed it, and after a lot of prodding and nudging, its engine woke up with a violent sneeze. It’s luminous, yellow fog lights lit up the entire road, and it made its way forward with occasional coughs and sneezes.
Castle Rock:-he very often wondered if the name was a misnomer, inasmuch as there were no castles there. Rocks, there were plenty of them. So were trees, streams, waterfalls, birds, landslides, leeches and monkeys. But the human population was very less. It largely consisted of the railway employees. Perched comfortably amidst the rain forests of Western Ghats, and sandwiched between Karnataka and Goa, the obscure place owed its identity to the railway line connecting Belgaum and Margaon. Railway station was the castle there; and the arrival and departure of trains were the main events there.

The jeep meandered through the convoluted road. He’d passed his quarter’s long time back. But he was in a mood for a night time ride.
‘Department’s jeep, its fuel, and my time. Who else should care?’
The twitter of the crickets and the whistling of the woods were in concord with the whimper of the Mahindra engine. That impromptu night time symphony attained its crescendo when it reached near a waterfall. A slender stream of water was plummeting through the well chiselled rock path with a restrained roar. That was the miniature of the gigantic Dudhsagar waterfalls situated some five kilometres down the road.
He parked the jeep at the bank of the stream and walked towards the foot of the falls. As he waded through the stream, cold water seeped in through his trousers and gnawed at his born marrow, after freezing his skin and numbing his nerves. He took the half empty bottle of brandy from his pocket and held it against the fall, to let the poison get adulterated with the pristine water. Completely drenched, and shivering spasmodically, he came back to his jeep. A swig from the bottle provided him respite from the chill.
He recalled the sight he happened to see earlier that day at the same venue-that of a young couple sharing their moments of romance and joy. Standing at the foot of the waterfalls, behind the cover of the rocks, they were fully drenched and totally immersed in love. Their mouths delved into each other’s; hands explored the treasures of pleasure in each other’s body, filling the air with their musical moans. Like a snake, his eyes crawled into their garden of bliss and maligned its sanctity. Like all young lovers, they were also oblivious of the surroundings and did not take note of the intrusion. It was not the curiosity of an adolescent or the envy of a depressed lover that caused him to stare at them shamelessly. He was seeing himself there, as if in a mirror- a mirror held towards the past. He could see himself there. And her too.
Shreya! Twenty two years ago, when his mind was sharper, hair was darker, reflexes were quicker and thoughts were bohemian, she was his heart, his soul, his breath and his throb. She was not endowed with an exceptional beauty that could make a man gasp for his breath. But she was blessed with a grace that appealed to him. Her eyes; it was her eyes that conquered him. Those light brown eyes, which were always restless like a fish on land, could emote all subtleties of expression with the finesse of a Bharatanatyam danseuse. Her short stature, long and angular face, brisk pace of walking, squeaky little voice and prominent frontal teeth gave her the demeanour and appearance of a mouse-a cute little mouse. Once he told her that, in a crude manner though.
“You look like a rodent.”
Her golden skin turned crimson red with rage.
“Yeah? I can bite like a rodent too.” And she proved her claim with a deep bite on his neck. The pain he felt when her teeth pierced into the flesh of his neck ,and the pleasure he felt when the tenderness of her small body pressed against his, lost their separate identities and amalgamated into a feeling of inexplicable ecstasy. In that joyous moment, he let his hands slide down her spine, to caress the roundness of her rear. She tapped his chin.
“You are a rascal.”
“And you’re a mouse. My Minnie Mouse.”
“Minnie Mouse and Goofy don’t make a very good pair. Or do they?”

No. They didn’t. Santosh examined his neck in the rear-view mirror. Bite marks don’t remain for twenty two years. But scars of separation do remain intact in the heart for a life time.
Romance was a revolution for him. But that could not surpass the tyranny of his mother. She was vehemently opposed to the idea of her son marrying a non-Brahmin,non-Kannadiga girl. Thus the sharpness of his youthful idealism and free-spirited thoughts were blunted by maternal rage.
His mother’s was a force which he could never defy. She had lost her husband in a train accident in the sixth year of marital life. The premature visitation of widowhood catalysed the metamorphosis of that otherwise coy and submissive woman into an assertive and resolute single mother. The complete non-cooperation on the part of her relatives and the need to rear two young kids necessitated that transformation. After the death of her husband, she secured a bank job in Bangalore, and shifted from her hometown of Udupi.
She took absolute control over both his and his elder brother’s lives. She regulated their daily schedule; determined their thoughts and formed their opinions. Her diktats were inviolable; terms were non-negotiable. Their individualities didn’t gain any recognition in that reign of matriarchal tyranny.
For his brother, who had always been subservient and loyal to his mother, that was never an issue. But that was not the case with Santosh. The adolescent years, where the male ego erects from its childhood dormancy, sowed the seeds of defiance and chauvinism in him. Inspired from the social stereotypes, he clearly defined gender roles in his mind; and he found that his mother was not fitting into his scheme of things. Dominance and superiority exercised by his mother was not acceptable to him. Perhaps, he would not have taken objection had it been exercised by his father. However, his inherent cowardice hindered the external manifestation of his cultivated rebellion and he passed his adolescent years with disgruntlement. Then Shreya came to his life with solace.
When he found the much yearned for tenderness and submissiveness in a female, he fell in love with her. That relationship salvaged his drooping male ego and concealed his inferiority complex. But that didn’t materialize, for he could not muster the courage to defy the maternal diktat.
“Spineless!!” That was what Shreya termed him, before going out of his life. Thus, with an ego badly battered and deeply bruised by two female interventions, he continued to exist. Yes, he did bow to his mother’s commands again, by marrying a girl of her choice. The fact that Shreya got married to a wealthy man and was living with all merriment, instigated him to do that. However, that was another harrowing experience for him and it did not last long. She too walked out of his life, transforming him into a hardcore misogynist.
In one way it could be said that the Indian Railways redeemed his life, both from the clutches of his mother and from neurotic depression. For someone who’d started to loathe all sorts of emotional attachments and familial obligations, the job which facilitated migration from one place to another was very relieving. He found tranquil in the clamour of railway stations; found sense and purpose in regulating the journey and destiny of trains. Two decades of railway service brought him to the hill town of Castle Rock. All this while, unbeknownst to him, his mother was slowly succumbing to the travails of old age.
The shrill of incessant honking woke him up from his drunken stupor. He pulled apart his reluctant eyelids and looked at the wrist watch. 5:30 AM. He saw the image of a giant truck getting impatient in the rear-view mirror. He’d parked the jeep obstructing the way. He moved it aside to give way to the truck. As it passed by, its helper put his head outside and hurled a lot of profanities at him, in some language unintelligible to him. Sounded like Malayalam or Tamil. He turned his jeep around and drove to his quarters.
After having a fresh hot water bath, he was planning to savour the dawn with Deccan Chronicle and hot tea. Then there was this lousy phone call.
“Hello”
“Good morning brother. It’s me Arvind.”
“Hello brother. How are you?”
“I’m good. Hello...Hello...” The line was cracking.
“Santosh, can you hear me now? Okay,I wanted to remind you about the registration of our land deal in Bangalore. If you could do it soon...”
“Yes, I know that. In fact I’ve already made plans to go there next week.”
“Good. I just wanted to...Hello...Hello...” Again disturbance.
“Brother, I can hear you.”
“If you are going, don’t forget to meet mother...” The disturbances surfaced again.
“Hello!Hello!” The ISD line went dead.

His brother had moved to US with his family a year ago. Mother used to stay with him till then. But he could not procure a visa for her. Hence, he wanted Santosh to take care of her.
“I can’t do it. I live alone. That too, in a god forsaken place, where the conditions are not suitable for an old lady.” He opposed the proposition vehemently.

“Why don’t you try for a transfer to a better place?”
“What do you think? Am I the one who is running the railway ministry?”
“If you really don’t want to do a thing, you will get a lot of excuses for that. I know how you pulled strings to get a transfer to this god-forsaken place, so that you could be away from all responsibilities.”
“If you are so concerned, then drop your plan to go to US. Then the issue will be settled.”
His brother could not give any reply.
“Whatever you say, I can’t take mother along with me.” Santosh said categorically.
“Then what? Should we throw her into some old age home, as if she is a destitute?” His brother had always been critical of his indifferent attitude towards his mother.
“Brother, I think that is the only viable option. It might sound callous, but that’s better for her than staying with me”. Thus, she was entrusted to an old age home in Bangalore, which was being managed by Catholic nuns.

Two weeks later, he was in Bangalore. The change from the sedate and hilly hamlet to the cosmopolitan city ,throbbing with the vibrancy of the highly globalized and liberalized post-91 generation, was refreshing for him. He was amused by their romantic antics. During his days, romance used to be a private and clandestine affair. Now, he could see boys proudly flaunting their girls along with their digital gadgets and girls openly wearing their love on their sleevelesses. He wondered if he and Shreya would have behaved so audaciously, had they been romancing in these times. Even if it was so, with a mother like his, their fate would not have been different.
The campus of the St.Mary’s Mercy Home stood like a refreshing oasis in the dusty and arid surroundings of the suburb of Krishnarajapuram. It would be his first visit, after his mother was shifted there. The sight of nuns, clad in white robes and black veils, watering and pruning the lush garden welcomed him. When he intimated them about his purpose of visit, he was taken to the office of Mother Superior.
“Here comes the son, after a long hiatus. What is the reason behind this newfound concern for your mother?” The mother superior said in a reprimanding tone.
“I’m really sorry. My job keeps me very busy.”
“So what? There are other modes of communication. For the past one year, your mother has been with us. All this while, there has not been a single phone call or a letter from your part. This is highly irresponsible.”
“I’m really sorry about that. How’s my mother now?”
“You needn’t be apologetic to me. God is watching all our actions and we’ll be accountable to him.” She took a pause before continuing. “We’re taking proper care of your mother. Apart from a slightly high blood pressure, she has no physical ailments. But, of late, she has been exhibiting some behavioural changes. She has become, kind of, reclusive these days; and a bit absent-minded too. It seems that she is living in her own world. I don’t know, if it’s the usual senility associated with old age. Anyway, your coming might be big relief for her.”
He was led to her room. The door was ajar. Still he knocked it. On getting no response, he pushed it open slowly. He saw his mother sitting on a chair, turned against him, reading something. The room was immaculately clean and was in absolute order- a clear indication of her usual self.
“Amma” He called her. She tilted her head sideways and looked over her shoulders. There was no palpable change of expression in her face. He walked towards her, and sat on a chair besides her. But, she was deeply engrossed in her activity, and didn’t bother to acknowledge his presence. She was flipping through the pages of her wedding album, refreshing the black and white memories of her short-lived marriage. He remembered that she used to do it often. He kept the polythene bag, containing some oranges he’d bought for her, on the table. Did the citrus fruit symbolise the sourness existing between them?
Anyway, the crackling of polythene turned her attention to him. She looked at him; rather stared at him blankly. Then, gradually, like the blossoming of a bud, a thin smile broke across her wrinkled face. She ran her fingers over his stubbly cheeks.
“You came! I’ve been waiting for you, all these days.” She said affectionately.
“I’m really sorry that...”
“No.” She interjected abruptly. “Now that you’ve come, I don’t want to listen to any excuses. You’ve made me really glad.”
She turned her attention to the photo album again. She was glancing at a photo, where, both she and her husband were standing in front of a waterfall; must’ve been taken shortly after their marriage. Probably, during their honeymoon trip. That was a cute photo, with his father posing with a contrived seriousness and mother neutralizing it with a bashful smile. They were holding their hands, with great unease though. Perhaps, the photographer might have forced them to do so. The photograph had become faded and had become almost unrecognizable. But, having seen it a lot of times, it was deeply imprinted in her mind.
“Will you...will you take me here? To this waterfall?” She asked.
Santosh was a bit puzzled. The demand was totally unexpected. Moreover, he had no clue which waterfall it was.
She kept her hand over his. “I really want to go there once more. Last time, I couldn’t enjoy it much. I was really scared, of the waterfall and...” She beamed that same bashful smile at him. “Please Balu. Won’t you take me there?”
That startled him. “Balu? Amma, have you not recognized me? It’s me, Santosh.”
She stared at him blankly, again. Then, with a dead face, she returned to the album and flipped through its pages, in a mechanical manner.
“Amma, have you forgotten me? Look at me. Talk to me.” Santosh was getting irritated at her behaviour.
But she didn’t respond. After a while she started to cry.
“I know, I’ve been disowned by everyone. There is no one to take care of me. Even Balu has abandoned me.” Between her sobs, she said. Santosh got astonished. He had no idea how to handle the situation. Letting her cry in peace, he slowly came out of the room and like a coward, he left the place.
He sat under a tree in the playground opposite to the home. A group of children were playing football there. In retrospect, he found his behaviour inappropriate. Without trying to console her, or without trying to find out what exactly was going through her mind, he came out sheepishly. An escapist attitude! The sight of his mother breaking down, destabilized his thought process. He’d never perceived her as capable of such emotions. And, why did she call him Balu? Who was Balu? The only person that could refer to was, his father: Balachandra Adiga. But why did she...? Is she thinking....?
He could not think that thought. A reckless shot caused the football to hit his leg. The children were asking him to hit it back. He stood still, lost in his thoughts about mother, much to the dismay of the footballers. Then, on an instinct, he hit the ball back forcefully and took his cell phone.
“Hello Murali, can I get one more ticket for day after tomorrow’s Bangalore-Belgaum Express? ...Oh, it’s available...Thank you so much...Here are the passenger details. Bhagyalakshmi Adiga, Female, 74 years old.”

The Karnataka State Road Transport Corporation bus, from Belgaum, made its way up, through the serpentine road, to Castle Rock. The mild rays of the afternoon sun were giving some respite from the onslaught of the winter. Bhagyalakshmi was sleeping peacefully, with her head resting on her son’s shoulders. Throughout the train journey till Belgaum, she was very silent and didn’t throw any tantrums, as feared by him. The wind was getting chillier and harsher, and he tied a scarf around her head. That did disturb her for a while; but he patted her reassuringly, and she returned to her sleep. He had never seen his mother so vulnerable, and was finding it difficult to come to terms with it. Her dominant and assertive self was more preferable to him. His heart was getting heavy with a feeling of guilt and sorrow. He could not believe that he forsook his mother for the sake of a whimsical fantasy of the youth. That poor lady undertook all sorts of hardships to bring her kids up; and when she was in the twilight of her life, none of her kids were around to protect her.
By evening, the bus reached Castle Rock. He took her to his quarters.
“Why do you stay in such a lousy place?” She commented as she entered his place.
He just smiled at her; the way he used to smile at her, when, as a child, he used to get reprimanded for keeping the room lousy.
“Amma, why don’t you take a bath and get fresh? I’ll arrange for hot water.”
“Alright. I’ll do that.”

He felt that she was behaving quite normally; though a bit over friendly. Maybe, the long separation from her sons had caused the softening of her mind. Or, was she perceiving him as...? No, he couldn’t further that thought.

He had to report for night duty that day. He’d asked the servant girl to stay with mother at night.
“Where are you going?” She asked as he was getting ready.
“I’ve got night duty today. Don’t worry. This girl Kalpana will be here with you tonight. You needn’t worry about anything. I can’t afford to miss today’s duty.”
“No. Please don’t go. I’m really scared.”
“The station is just half a kilometre away. And, I’ll be back by tomorrow morning. There is nothing to be scared of here.”
“Whatever you say I won’t let you go.” She came closer to him and embraced him. “Balu, please, don’t leave me alone again” And she started to cry.
Santosh was totally clueless. “Fine. I’m not going.”
He took out his phone.
“Hello Krishna, could you do me a favour? Could you do overtime for two more hours? My mother is, slightly unwell. I’ll be there once she goes to sleep. Thank you so much. What? Sahyadri Express is late again! Okay, I’ll take care of that.”
Once mother slept, he left for the station. There were two goods train and the ever late Sahyadri Express scheduled to arrive that night. The long wait at the cabin was sleep inducing, and he splashed some cold water on his face, to ward off sleep. He looked at the image of his wet face in the mirror. He closely observed his facial features: the square face, long nose, thick moustache, thin lips and the patches of baldness attacking from both the ends of the forehead. Yes, he had a striking resemblance to his father. Everyone used to say that to him. But he was noticing it for the first time. Could that mean that she has...?
There was a long whistle-Sahyadri Express had arrived, putting an end to his long wait.

Two days later, he decided to fulfil his mother’s wish. He decided to take her to the Dudhsagar waterfalls near Castle Rock. He hoped that she wouldn’t insist on seeing the same waterfall.
There was a small railway station near the waterfall, where no trains used to stop. He parked the jeep near the station. The gigantic waterfall, wedged between two hills, was about 80 meters tall. The railway line emerging out of one hill through a tunnel passed exactly bisecting the course of the waterfall, which was inclined at an angle of about forty five degrees. That meant, half the waterfall passed below the railway bridge.
They climbed the rock steps from the railway bridge, which led to a point, from where a side view of the fall was possible. They could see the milky water jetting down through the huge arches of the railway bridge. With childlike curiosity, she wondered at the grandeur of the waterfall.
‘She hasn’t realized the deception’. Santosh thought.
“You have made me really happy. Thank you so much.” She embraced him. “Why did you leave me alone? Where were you all these days? You don’t know, how worried I was. I was just getting to know you. Then, then you vanished out of my life. Now, promise me, that you won’t go away from me. Balu, don’t leave me. I won’t be able to bear it again.”
Santosh was getting puzzled. He pulled himself out of her embrace. He raised her face at him.
“Amma, Have you recognized me? Tell me, do you know me?”
“Why do you ask me such questions? Of course I know you.”
“No. You don’t. I’m Santosh;your youngest son Santosh. And I’m not your...Please; don’t do this drama before me.” He roared lest his voice would be lost in the waterfall.
She looked at him-that blank stare again.
“Santosh! I know. Santosh!” She muttered and turned against him and looked down at the waterfall. A thick cloud of mist was ascending up from the foot of the hill, and they were gradually getting enveloped by that. That caused the mercury levels to drop.
Santosh was feeling completely lost. He wanted his mother to recognize him; to understand him; to understand how badly he wants to repent for his misdeeds, his ingratitude, his irreverence and irresponsibility; and to know how reformed he was. But the delusions of her mind were denying him the opportunity to redeem himself. He must have been created in the image of his father; but that does not mean that... The creature is forbidden from usurping the role of the creator. The divisions between reality and myth were getting blurred in his mind. The conundrum of reality was confronting him: whether reality exists as it is or it exists as per one’s thoughts and beliefs.
He thought about the story his mother used to tell him, when, as a four year old kid he used to cry for his father.
“Appa has gone to gather all the stars from the sky. Remember, you were crying for them. Look at the sky, there are plenty of stars. And it will take a lot of days to gather them all. Once the job is done, he will come back with a huge sack containing all the stars. That will make us rich.” And, every night he used to look up to see if the number of stars had come down. That story, despite its apparent implausibility, consoled him and gave him hope about father’s return.
A created reality, however deceptive it was, could be more desirable than the real reality.
He walked towards his mother, who was shivering in the cold breeze. He took out a woollen shawl from his bag and covered her with that.
“Bhagyam” He called her with trembling lips; the way his father used to call her. She turned back to face him. Her face was lit up with astonishment and happiness.
“Bhagyam, let’s go. It’s getting cold here.” He mustered courage and said with conviction
She nodded and smiled at him-that bashful photogenic smile. As they were coming down the slippery rock steps, she leaned on to his shoulders. The misty cloud descended along with them, and transformed as Balu and Bhagyam, they emerged out of it.
A ray of light was coming out of the tunnel, accompanied by a whistle. That was the Sahyadri Express, which was surprisingly on right time. They watched its compartments passing through the bridge with periodic thuds. When the train had gone, they proceeded to the station, where the ’92 model Mahindra jeep was waiting for them. The mother-son duo entered the jeep and it followed the Sahyadri Express, to Castle Rock.
**********************
MANU SEBASTIAN

Sinners

2009-04-18T23:02:00.000+05:30

-1-
No sooner the bell had rung than Biju bursted out of the classroom. He didn’t care to observe the school discipline code which mandated every one to go out in a single line with utmost silence. He’d managed to sneak past the drill master, who stood at the corridor every evening to catch the deviants who jump the line. His resolve to execute his plan blasted away all the obstacles which came in his way.

He got out of the school compound. He looked around. No. None of his class mates were out. He walked in the direction of his target. He had the demeanour of an archetypal fifth standard boy. Ruffled hair, ink-smeared fingers, mud-spotted shirt which was rendered one-button less by a feud which had taken place earlier that day, shoes with untied laces which dragged on the soil to make a thin trail and a devil-may-care attitude exuded by the sweaty face. But, at that moment, he was actually caring for the devil. He reached his target- the shop which banked on school kids’ hedonism. It sold everything which caught the fantasy of children, like sweets, chocolates, juices, shakes and all. He fished into his pocket and took out a five rupee note. The fragile and disfigured note was one of the veteran issues of the Reserve Bank of India and it had to be handled carefully lest it might crumble. If the shopkeeper refuses to accept it, all his plans would fall flat. He felt that he should have taken a better note from his father’s wallet. But robbers can’t be choosers. He had to act within the short time span when his father was not at the room. He opened the unattended wallet, flicked the five rupee note and ran out of the room. There was no time to appraise the acceptability of the note. During the commission of the act, his hands were shivering and his heart was pounding vigorously against his chest. After that he felt something harrowing him from within. It was the five rupee note which had assumed the token of betrayal and breach of love. That note developed tentacles which strangled his mind. As he was gasping for breath, the thought of injustice meted out against him came to his mind and that injected a jet of fresh air in him. His demand for a five-star chocolate was met with an incisive rebuke.
“I’m struggling here to feed your mouths and here someone wants to feast on chocolates. Don’t even dare to think of it. Get lost from here.” That was his father’s comment.

Biju was not cognizant of the fact that the pittance derived by his father by maneuvering the steering wheel of a private bus didn’t permit such indulgences. Nevertheless, he demanded it as a matter of his right. When it was denied, he snatched it. After all, it was a matter of five rupees.

The five-star chocolates kept in the glass jars enticed him. He decided to execute his plan. Before that, he looked around to make sure that none of his classmates were nearby. He had to execute it surreptitiously, for he didn’t want to share the booty. But he felt an inhibition. ‘Be careful while crossing the road’-his father’s parting comment as he left for school that morning came to his mind. Why it happened so is inexplicable. Human mind is a queer thing which retrieves the most extraneous and irrelevant things from the junkyard- the psychologists term it as ‘sub-conscious mind’-at the most crucial times. ‘Be careful while crossing the road’. It reverberated in his mind. That he successfully crossed the road and was getting ready to do another act didn’t shoo away the comment from his head. It was not a comment laden with love and care. It was a command. But, wasn’t hidden in that masterly dictate the love and concern which every father feels for the life and limb emanated from his spermatozoon? Wasn’t he responding to it by back-stabbing his father with five rupee notes? The potpourri of conflicting thoughts put him out of his focus. He decided to drop the plan and walked past the shop without disturbing the five-star chocolates in glass-jars. As he walked, he looked over his shoulder to take a final glance of them. That ignited him. A sudden rush of blood. Energetic pump of adrenaline. The thought of imminent pleasure overpowered his prudence and he walked back to the store, placed the five-rupee note on the table forcefully and said empathetically-‘One Five Star’.
“Easy,mone, the entire shop would collapse if you hit it like this” The shopkeeper said with a crooked smile.
He took the chocolate from him. He peeled off the cover and took a large bite. The latest manifestation of his wrong melted away in his mouth, stimulating his taste buds and pricking his mind. Sweetness and remorse conquered his stomach and mind respectively.
His mother was busy with her chores when he came back. But she managed to push him to the bathroom to take bath. ‘No food without bath’-that was her non-negotiable policy. Under the shower, he washed off the dirt of his body. But the stains of his mind remained. He recalled the fearful description of hell given by the teacher at the Sunday Catechism class.(Again the queerness of human mind). That was an exaggerated account of the Catholic concept of hell. But he wasn’t aware of it. His mind drowned into deep fear.
As he came out, he was summoned to the kitchen by his mother.
“First have the milk. Then you can have the chocolate.”
“Chocolate?”
“Yes. Your father had come home at noon. He brought it then. You asked for five-star, right?”
“Yes”. His sound trembled.
“But don’t pester him too much with your silly demands. He wouldn’t like it”
Biju looked at the five-star chocolate kept at the kitchen shelf. His vision got gradually blurred by tears.
*******************
-2-

The beer bottle was opened wit a fizz and the froth flowed down the neck of the bottle.
“Oh, Martin! You’re still an amateurish bottle opener. You’ve spilled down half of the bottle”, said Anil as he puffed out a layer of smoke. The smoke went up in the dimly lit bar atmosphere and merged with the waves of a raunchy Malayalam film song being played in the background.

Martin poured the liquid in two mugs.
“You know, the university elections are approaching and we ought to be more active. But of late, you’ve been behaving quite absent-mindedly. As if you’ve forgotten that you are the Kottayam District President of Student Federation of Kerala.” Anil continued.

Martin just nodded.
“We can’t afford to be complacent. We’ve to start vigorous campaigning to strengthen the left movement across the campuses.” Anil kept on talking.
“Can I tell you something?” Martin interrupted abruptly.
“Yes.”
“Forget all this politics. I want to tell you something serious.”
“Yes. Say it.”
“There is something which has been tormenting me. I haven’t had any peace of mind for last two weeks. Unless I tell it to someone, it’ll choke me to death.”
“Ok. Tell me then.”
“But Anil” he placed his hand over Anil’s and resumed. “Promise me that you wouldn’t tell this to anyone else. If you let it go beyond both of us, I swear, I will commit suicide.”
“You can trust me. Now, tell me the damn thing!”
“I guess I’ve told you about my aunt Sarah.”
“Aunt Sarah? Oh…the wife of your uncle Abraham. That aunt of yours who is apparently very sexy and whose sari’s pallu, you hope, one day would slide down while she is talking to you.” Anil chuckled. “So, what about her? You had sex with her?”
“Yes”. He said nonchalantly.
Anil was taken aback. He straightened up in his chair. “What!What do you mean?. Oh my god…I mean….Oh my Marx! Are you serious?”

Martin took a long gulp of the drink. Then he continued.
“It’s the most wretched day of my life. I didn’t know that I was so depraved, so filled with filth. I’m now filled with shame; with no respect for myself anymore.”
“What happened exactly? Tell me.”
“One day I’d gone to visit her. Uncle Abraham had finished his leave and had gone back to Dubai. We were just chatting. I don’t know how and when my mind slipped into such prurient thoughts. Lust blindfolded my prudence. As we were talking-no one would ever forgive me for that-I grabbed her forcefully and kissed her. She resisted. But I became more forceful. I didn’t let her leave. Then gradually she also gave in. Then I did it. Yes, I did that bloody goddamn thing!” He forcefully kept the mug down, shaking the entire table.

“Gosh! That was a bit adventurous I must say.”
“”Shut up! It was heinous .As good as a rape.”
“No way. She didn’t resist much. So it was consensual.”
“It was sensual. A sensual experience coerced upon her. I don’t want to live anymore. One moment’s pleasure has thrown my life into a deep abyss of despair.”
For a few moments they didn’t speak anything. An eerie silence prevailed amidst them. Then Anil broke the silence.

“Martin, let bygones be bygones. Nothing can be done about it. Forget it and bring focus to your life.”
“Why don’t you understand me? This feeling of guilt is burning inside me. How will I face Uncle Abraham? He’s treated me like his own brother. I’ve betrayed him. And I forced her to betray him. Such a worthless creature I am. I don’t know what to do. I’ve been thinking of ending my life.”
“Don’t be foolish. Such things are very commonplace and people don’t go and kill themselves for such trivial reasons. Moreover, our Marxist ideology doesn’t attach much sanctity or importance to marriage. It’s perceived as an institution to enforce a man’s monopoly over a woman. Our ideology also stands for the sharing of all resources.”
“Hell with the ideology! I think I must make a confession.”
“Confession! As in, a confession in a church.”
“Yes”
“Are you mad? You are someone who’s wielded sword against the monopolistic and exploitative tendencies of Catholic Church. Your speeches and writings have provoked them and in response they have ostracized you. And now you want to make a confession in the church. You can’t be more ludicrous. Moreover, you’ve proclaimed yourself as an atheist. You’d modeled your thoughts and actions in the lines of Nietzsche and Sartre. Our Marx himself has opined that religion was the opium of masses. And when it comes to your personal matter, you want to take recourse to religion. Comrade, you’re now being hypocritical.”
“None of these ideologies and philosophies have given me solace. A confession might help.”
“Comrade, how do you suppose a confession to an anonymous priest would salvage you, if confessing it to me hasn’t helped your case? Do you seriously think that the priest with his incantations would redeem your sins? Now you’re being irrational too.”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to reason out. I’m a depraved sinner. So it doesn’t matter if I’m hypocritical and irrational too. What I want is redemption. Hope. Faith in life.”
He kept his head down on the bar table and wept profusely.
************************
-3-

“Oh , Jesus Christ! What’s happened to my Mani? Oh, God! Someone please come and help me. Something has happened to Mani.” Thresia yelled out. And that brought her son Joseph and his wife Elsa to her. Thresia was sitting next to the goat-shed.
“What happened ammachi?” Joseph enquired.
“Look at my Mani. She’s not moving.”
A three month old lamb was lying still on the ground. There was a thick froth coming out of its mouth. Flies were swarming around it. Joseph examined the lamb with the prowess of a forensic expert and concluded. “It’s dead.”
“Dead? Oh, Mother Mary! How can it die? It’s just a lamb. It was completely healthy yesterday. There was no sign of any sort of illness. How can it die?”
“It’s died. That’s its fate. There is no point in crying over it. After all, it’s just a lamb. Elsa, dispose off the body in the backyard. I’ve to rush to office now. Already late. And take care of ammachi.” He thus washed off his responsibility and went back.
Elsa led her mother-in-law inside. She was crying aloud. “Tell me Elsa, how could it die? You know how diligently I used to take care of it. I looked after it like my own child. And how could it die just like that? Was there any negligence on my part? Tell me Elsa.”
Elsa didn’t say anything. She took Thresia to the bedroom and forced her to lie down. She hadn’t stopped crying. It was two months back that she’d bought the lamb with her own cash. Her son hadn’t approved of it. Yet she went ahead and bought it. She was a great animal lover and at their ancestral home she reared all kinds of animals and birds. But she had to sell off everything, when they shifted to their present home at the town of Pala. The space constraints of their present house didn’t permit her to have a large scale animal farm. But she insisted on a lamb and accomplished in getting one. But now, death befell it. And the strong willed woman was crying like a school kid.

Elsa went out to bury the lamb. With a spade she dug a small pit. Then she took the lamb in her arms. Her heart wrenched for a moment. The innocence and helplessness of the animal’s face sent her mind into a spasm. And the incessant wails of Thresia pricked her. She put the animal in the pit.
‘How could I kill such an innocuous creature?’ She thought.
Last night she had mixed rat-poison in its food. The lamb had become the victim of her wrath against her mother-in-law. The aristocratic Thresia had a condescending attitude towards Elsa, who hailed from a lower social background. Thresia used to irritate her with her stinging remarks about Elsa and her family. Last day they had a fuming feud and the poor lamb bore the brunt of Elsa’s ire.

But now, the child like sobs of Thresia and the ill-fate of the little lamb caused her heart to melt. That Thresia turned to her for solace also filled her mind with remorse. She sat next to the pit and sobbed for atonement.
***************************

-4-
St.Joseph’s Catholic Church was the parish for more that five hundred catholic families in and around Pala. Fr. Dominic, a septuagenarian, was the vicar of the parish. He was having a tough time sitting in the confession box redeeming the sins of the faithful. Lots of parishioners had turned up to fulfill the mandatory confession of Holy Week. He was feeling very drowsy and was struggling to keep his mind attentive to the litany of sins delivered. Last night he was watching the Twenty-twenty cricket match between India and South Africa. The pulsating match went late into night. Yes, priests too involve themselves in such worldly matters. But when the visuals of the gyrating cheer girls with plunging necklines and rising hemlines were shown, he invoked ‘Hail Mary’ lest his mind would wade into the forbidden territory.
“Your sins have been forgiven. You shall not sin henceforth. As a mark of our penance, devote three Hail Mary to the Lord Almighty. Go in Peace.”
He disposed off another sinner. His head was spinning and he was finding it hard to decipher the whispers of redemption-seekers.
The next one came.
“Father, father, I stole a five rupee note from my father’s wallet and bought myself a five-star chocolate.” A boyish sound whispered.
“Anything else?”
“Hmm…Yes Father. I hit my younger sister one day and called my classmate Ajit a dog.”
“Anything else?”
“No”
Father chanted some prayers and said. “Your sins have been forgiven. You shall not sin henceforth. As a mark of our penance, devote three Hail Mary to the Lord Almighty. Go in Peace”
The next one came. It was a young man’s voice.
“It’s been three years since I have confessed. Father, I’ve acted in contravention of the sixth and ninth commandments. I indulged in an illicit sexual act with my uncle’s wife”.
“Anything else?”
“Father, I’ve also denounced God and Biblical principles. I’ve also ridiculed church and its agents. That’s all”
Father chanted some prayers and said. “Your sins have been forgiven. You shall not sin henceforth. As a mark of our penance, devote three Hail Mary to the Lord Almighty. Go in Peace”
The next one came. It was a young woman’s voice.
“My last confession was made last week. I killed the goat of my mother-in-law out of anger.”

Father chanted some prayers and said. “Your sins have been forgiven. You shall not sin henceforth. As a mark of our penance, devote three Hail Mary to the Lord Almighty. Go in Peace”.

The sinners fulfilled their penance with utmost devotion and faith. They experienced redemption and went home in peace. It could be an interim relief. They might again venture out for sinful acts. But at that moment they had metal peace. That the passive remarks of a senile priest could grant them relief could sound implausible. But if O.Henry’s Johnsy’s faith in the last leaf could elongate her life, this scenario is also possible. Faith, howsoever blind, might be a better remedy than conviction.

***************************************
MANU SEBASTIAN.

CHESS

2008-08-29T12:39:00.000+05:30

[Dedicated to the traditions of the sacred game of chess]

Toxic fumes came out of Akshay’s nostrils, contaminating the atmosphere. His cell phone beeped.

SMS from Dada. ‘Take 1 hr. Rod Blk.’

‘K.I’ll wait..Mke it fast’. He replied.

He took out Mohit’s photograph from his pocket and forcefully exhaled at it.

‘I’ll finish you bastard. You might be intelligent, hardworking an all. But I’m wicked. I’m smart. I can’t let you have Sunita.I’ve invested a lot of effort for her. And I want my dividends. Once you’re gone, I’ll be having her. And naturally the firm too. Then I’ll bump off the old boss one day. With that I’ll be the king of the firm.’ His nicotine clouded brain thought. The last puff, he inhaled it deeply, threw the butt down and stamped on it with the sinister vision of Mohit struggling under his feet.
Marine drive was getting busy. Many Mumbaiites had come there to unwind themselves. Akshay walked towards a nearby paan shop to have another Navy Cut. Old habits die hard. He’d started with a navy cut, and had not switched his loyalties although he could afford Marlboros and Davidoffs now. He was walking with great difficulty, for the prolonged sitting had frozen his legs. Though he was only in his late twenty’s, his body had the wear and tear of the middle age. The receding hairline-apparently caused by excessive utilization of brain cells; the darkened lips-really caused by heavy chain smoking; uneven stubble-possibly because of irregular shaving; undulating eyes-caused by the periodic shrinking whenever the thought waves attained a zenith; pointed nose and a solid square face gave him the look of a vigilant warrior, who was impatient for the next move. However, the look of a warrior would be negated by a protruding belly, of which the cause is untraceable. He was always on his toes. Whether it was his high ambitions and effervescent confidence or his lack of direction and restlessness, the reason for that, was yet again indeterminable.
He reached the shop and lit a Navy Cut.

“Check!!”

He looked to the direction of noise. A child of about twelve years was playing chess with a middle aged man. They were sitting on a bench next to the shop. The child had given a white diagonal check to the black king with his queen. There was an air of self-admiration around the child. Probably his first check in life. But the opponent easily covered the check with a black bishop.

“Now you’ll have to take back your queen. What was the point in giving this check? Can’t you see, it was a waste move. You can’t afford to make such moves which don’t have any strategic importance in the game.” The opponent stated in a pontificating tone.

“But Papa, I gave you a check” The child replied proudly.

“It’s not about giving the maximum number of checks, you idiot. You have to put the king in a check mate. Now come on, make the next move.”

The queen was moved horizontally and another white diagonal check was given from the other side, followed by a loud “Check!”. The child was chuckling. The father was, obviously, irritated by consecutive futile checks.

“Stupid ass! Can’t you see my pawn standing right there? Wouldn’t your queen get killed by it? What are you thinking while making the moves?”

“Sorry Papa. I’ll make another move. I didn’t see it.”He implored

“Nothing doing. It’s not the first time you are doing this. No leniency anymore. Learn to play without the queen.” The pawn ruthlessly killed the mighty queen.

The child stood up, with his arms placed on his waist and with a long frowning which evinced all signs of childish tantrums. “I don’t want to play chess. Such a stupid game. I’m going to play cricket.” He announced rudely.

“Appu, Stop there..Listen” But he’d disappeared to the ground.

“This boy wouldn’t learn the game of chess. Always wanting to play cricket. Senseless game played by idiots! This will at least help improve his concentration. This ass wouldn’t understand. He and his cricket.” He pronounced cricket with a mocking accent.

Akshay was watching the proceedings with keen interest. That brought back to him the memories of his father. He was also a great chess aficionado and tried to inculcate the interest in young Akshay too. As he was a school teacher, briefing to Akshay the rules and regulations of the game didactically came spontaneously to him. Chess playing sessions would be held often, as an academic exercise with the fun quotient being nil. Contrastingly, Akshay couldn’t accept the rigidities of the game. The concept of each piece to be used in a structured manner was indigestible for him. The craving for shortcuts was in his blood. Accordingly he would attempt to move the knight horizontally, or make reverse movements for pawns, or vest in king the powers of the queen. His father would fume at such deviations and would reprimand him for desecrating the sacred traditions of the game. Thus the unfinished game would end up in Akshay getting chastised. His father’s rigidity reflected in his ideals too. He was an idealistic socialist with a nationalistic-democratic spirit. And his son-the perfect antitheses. He’d high ambitions for himself. The modest life of a school teacher didn’t entice him. Ideals were scoffed at. The course of life taught him another ideal-‘hook or crook’. Euphemistically, he could be termed as a pragmatist. But what he deserved actually was a nasty sobriquet. A second hander who had made his way through by mooching, looting, gratifying, coercing , backstabbing…one who’d attained ‘success’ not with his competence but with his ‘soft’ skills.

He went near the bench. “It seems you’ve won the game.” He said with a sardonic smile.

“Ha, Ha! I’m not playing to win. Just trying to teach my son the game.” His paan stained lips did the exercise. The reddish garnish stood in contrast with his dark face, which sent out an air of affability. The tall lanky body might have borne sun and wind for at least fifty years.

“Prashant Gawre. That’s my name.” He extended his hand.

“Hi. I’m Akshay Mahant” Generally Akshay was reticent to strangers. But he felt closeness to this man.

“I’m a clerk in Bombay Muncipal Corporation.” The other man said. “Often on Sundays I come here with my son. I love this cold see breeze, this crowd and the steamy wada-pavs made by this Kale.”He pointed towards a tea-stall on the foot path.

“By the way, will you have tea?” He asked.

“Ok. I don’t mind” Akshay said.

“Hey Kale ,don chai ani don wada pav.”

Chai and wada pav arrived.

“So, you are an engineer” Gawre asked.

“No kaka, I work in a law firm. You might have heard-Desai &Co.”

“Oh, means you are a vakil”.

“Technically speaking, I’m not. But a lay man like you could say so.”The lawyers’ arrogance, which treats those ignorant of the letter of law with sheer contempt, woke up from its slumber. “You know, I’m the smartest of the employees. Within a few weeks I’d be one of its partners.”

“Oh..You’re really great..Hmm…Do you play chess?” What prompted the query?-his awe with the revelation or his want to change the topic. Again unsure.

“I play chess with my life” Akshay replied.

“Ha,Ha! I play chess in my life”

“See, for me life is a chess board with my fellow beings being its pieces. I don’t know whether a lower division clerk like you would be able to understand such abstract philosophies of life. Anyways, I’ll give it a shot. Arrange the board. I’ll take a puff and come.”

Gawre arranged the board. Akshay came back.

“You know Gawre, I graduated from the prestigious Vidya International Law School(VILS). I missed the National Law School test just by a whisker. Anyways, I was the most brilliant student of VILS. I represented college in many moot court competitions. Many of my articles got published in college law journal. It goes without saying that, in academics I was unbeatable, though I used to spend very little time for studying and hardly attended lectures. Everyone was just envious of my success. Finally, I got the highest pay package offer from the present firm”.

He was a master in blowing his own trumpet. He just thought about the way he buttered the feet of the faculty-in-charge to get an opportunity to go for moot court competitions; the way he lured the student editor with liquor and the offer to help him get a girl, to get his articles published; the way he plagiarized his friend’s dissertation and appropriated to himself, which in turned helped him to get the placement. His friends turned foes. Foes turned friends. He couldn’t care less. For him they were the opportunity cost of success. Driven by lack of scruples and a flexible ego which could be vertebrate or invertebrate accordingly, he scaled many peaks.

The pieces were arranged. Akshay opted for white. The white pawn on the immediate right of the king was moved one step ahead (f2-f3). Black pawn in front of king moved two step ahead (e7-e5). White pawn on the second right of king two steps ahead (g2-g4). Black queen moved from d8 to h4 to give a diagonal check. Actually it’s a check mate. Game over!!

Akshay was taken aback. He couldn’t believe. Game over in four moves. The pride in his face fled to give way to shame.
“It’s ok baba, You’re a bit careless. Might be because of not playing for a long time.”Gawre tried to console.

“I’ll decide whether I’m careless or not. It was just a fluke. Come on. Rearrange. We’ll play another one. A real game” Akshay challenged.

Next game started. He played with rage. He massacred Gawre’s pieces indiscriminately. He didn’t care if he lost his own pieces too in return. Pawns, knights, bishops-all lost in the bloodshed. Akshay did castling and his king was now protected in a fortress of pawns and a rook. His king was in g1 and queen in g3. Gawre’s black knight moved down from c3 to e2 giving a check to king and an attack to queen simultaneously. That was power of the knight ,which hops around the board weirdly. Its check cannot be eclipsed. Either the king should be moved or knight should be killed. There was no way to kill it. He was in a helpless situation. Queen can’t be saved. He moved his king.

“You’ve lost your queen” Gawre said with a victorious smile.
That struck Akshay hard.

‘I’ve lost my queen…In fact, I’d lost her long time back’. Her faint image appeared in his misty thoughts. The only human being to whom he felt a genuine affection. The only person with whom he felt real happiness. The only female who had a place in his dreams. He used to call her affectionately ‘my queen’. But, when materialism infected his thoughts; when avarice blindfolded his vision, he forsook her. When, after the death of her father she had to take the responsibilities of the family which was sinking in debts, she became a dead investment in his terms. The grip on economics enabled him to quantify love. Besides, the advent of Sunita, his boss’s daughter, with a lot of fortunes hinging on her, precipitated his aloofness from her. When she needed him the most, he was after his own needs. To Sunita, he felt nothing. Not even a lustful desire. However, she was a promising investment. He often imagined her in place of Sunita, so that it would enable him to pursue her more efficiently.

He lost interest in the game. He was playing blindly.
“Why so dejected Akshay? Losing your queen doesn’t mean everything. You can still stage a comeback” Gawre encouraged.

“Losing my queen means everything to me.”

He’d no clue about her whereabouts. He took his mobile. He’d her number. Probably the old number. He tried it. Number not in operation. He’d lost his queen.
The game progressed mundanely for Akshay. It’s just a matter of time. Then the black queen moved diagonally from e7 to h4 to give a check. But the ‘h’ column was open for the white rook. It was too conspicuous to miss. Gawre lost his queen. Then black rook was placed right under the attack of a white pawn. Gawre lost his rook too.
Now both the players were facing material deficit. The remaining pieces also got consumed in due course of time leaving the entire board for both the kings. Game ended in a draw!

“Weren’t you willfully getting rid of your queen and rook?”Akshay knew that a good player like Gawre couldn’t make consecutive blunders.

“You could say so” he said smiling. “I was trying to bring back your interest to the game. There is no enjoyment in playing with a handicapped opponent”

“Isn’t winning important for you?”

“I’m not bothered about that. I enjoy playing, regardless of the outcome. I should have good thrilling game”

“You’re that fond of chess?”

“Fond of chess! At one point of time, I was an addict to this game. Even my wife was a chess enthusiast. We used to play a lot. Sometime we’d be so engrossed in the game that we’d forget all our work. It would be late in night, when both of us are hungry that we would realize that I hadn’t bought the groceries and she hadn’t cooked. Then what we’d do? To overcome hunger, we’d again play. She was a very clever player. But she left me ten years back..leaving behind a two year old child..and a chess board..”His voice stammered. He wiped his eyes and continued “Often during sleepless nights, I play alone. We knew each other so well that we could predict each other’s moves with precision. I’d be playing my part and her part as she would have played. Once my son masters the game, I’d be getting a companion. Anyways, leave that all. One more game.”

“Ok. One more. And only one more.”

Akshay looked at his watch. It’s been one hour. No sign of Dada. He gave a missed call.

Dada’s SMS came. ‘Hlf hr..’

Dada would eliminate the hurdle of Mohit, his colleague. Mohit was everything which Akshay wasn’t. Intelligent, sincere, hardworking and handsome. But he was naïve. However he stood in between him and Sunita. She was completely smitten by him. Besides, he was in her father’s, good books. If he marries Sunita, then he’d get the firm. When Akshay felt that his plans were getting jeopardized by Mohit, he decided to get rid of him. Now Dada would take care of that.

Next game started. This time Akshay was circumspect. Gradually, his hitherto subdued aggression came to forefront. He ingeniously contained the attack of Gawre. For him winning was all that mattered. That too at any cost.

His pieces were strategically placed. His white bishop (h5) was attacking the black rook (e8 ) which was adjacent to a bishop (f8), which was sitting next to the king (g8). The same rook was again in the line of attack of his rook (e1). His queen was on b7. The black pawn (c7) with the support of knight on d5 was preventing him from further attack. But that could be sorted out in a few moves. His king was safely placed on b1 behind a line of two pawns.

It was Akshay’s move. He could kill the black rook with the bishop or the rook. He was confused. After a lot of thinking he decided to use the rook to finish the rook. He was sure he’d win the game in a few moves. And he thought the presence of rook in the forefront would expedite his victory.

That made row 1 empty but for the king. Next was Gawre’s move. The queen who was sitting silently on a4 moved to d1. It was a ‘Check’. Akshay thought it was a time wasting technique employed by Gawre to delay the happening of inevitable. He looked for means to escape from it. The king couldn’t move to row 2 as his forward advancement was blocked by two of his own pawns. There was no way to eclipse the check. Nor to kill the queen. It was a checkmate. Had he not moved the rook, the check would’ve been prevented. Moving the rook cost him the game.

Akshay couldn’t stomach it. He was just one step away from the peak and then he slipped and fell into abyss. He whacked the chess board in anger ,flinging the pieces in all directions.

Gawre sprang up. “What the hell have you done?”

“You fucking idiot! You think you’re smart enough to defeat me with your jackass game. Bloody moron, No one can defeat me. You get me.”

“What’s wrong with you? It’s just a game .Don’t get emotional.”

“Don’t try to teach me you minion. I know how to live. Screw off, you rascal.” He shoved Gawre with full thrust. He fell down on ground. People gathered around him.
Akshay left the scene immediately. He walked to the other side of the road where Dada would be coming in a few minutes. He thought about Gawre ruefully.
‘Poor man! I shouldn’t have overreacted. It’s a fact that I don’t know to play chess and to feed my inflated ego, I hurt him. To conceal my inability ,I made him to suffer for his ability. I’ve been always like that, throughout my life. To compensate my ineptitude, I punish others’ competence. Such an unworthy life! I’m always insecure. I don’t know what true happiness is. I’m not satisfied. I’m not proud about my self. And my ego is a veil to hide my incompetence. How ruthlessly have I treated my parents, my friends, my well wishers and..my girl…Oh God!!..Mohit too…I have planned to kill him…who regards me as his trustworthy friend…who has selflessly helped me on many occasions…and I’m repaying him by killing..Oh,NO!Why should he pay the price for my ambitions, which I cannot materialize with my own effort…I’m the gravest sinner..Fires of inferno wouldn’t spare me…God..Forgive me!’
Pangs of remorse clutched his mind. Again his phone beeped. Dada had arrived. He spotted his Black Scorpio parked on the other side of the road. He walked towards it. Dada came out of the car. A tall stout man with a callous face.

“Helloji.Sorry for being late. This Mumbai traffic is very irritating.”

Akshay didn’t respond to it. He was caught up in a moral dilemma.

“We won’t waste anymore time. Give us his photograph and address. And the advance too, the most important thing. DD, Ok” Dada continued.

“Well, you need not do anything” Akshay said hesitatingly.

“What do you mean?”

“You need not kill him” This time he said it boldly

“Then we will maim him. That would be cheaper too”

“No. You should not cause any harm to him. I don’t need your services.”

“What?Are you trying to fool us? Now what happened? He’s agreed to share the girl or what?
Anyways that’s fine. We are also glad to see a happy ending. So give us the full contract amount and we will also join the party”

“Why should I pay you if I haven’t received your services?”

“Oh poor child! Don’t you know our rule? Once a supari is given, its irrevocable. Give the advance now and we should get the rest of amount tomorrow. Everything will go according to our plan. Without the murder”

“No, that is not happening. Don’t try to coerce me. You don’t know my real power”.

“Who are you to raise voice against Dada”One of his companions jumped foreword punched him on his face with some kind of steel knuckles.

Akshay spun around and fell flat on the ground. He could hear a buzzing sound inside his head. He tried to get up.

“You rascals… I’ll call the police..” He murmured in his prostrated position.

Then Dada stamped forcefully on his chest. He could feel his rib cages breaking and puncturing his lungs. His heart was pumping hard and the brain got swollen.
“Tomorrow we should get our cash. Otherwise, we will be finishing you. Understand. Good bye”
They left the place

He didn’t make any effort to get up. He lied down there, gazing the setting sun. There was numbness in his body and gradually it waned away and pain gripped his body. His consciousness was withering away. People had gathered around. But no one bothered to extend any help. He had been touched by the underworld and that rendered him untouchable. Akshay lied down, languishing in pain, hoping that this trauma would exorcise the demons of his misdemeanours.
************************************
MANU SEBASTIAN

ROYAL SPIRIT?

2008-06-19T14:57:00.000+05:30

[Disclaimer: The places, incidents and persons mentioned in this work of fiction do not enjoy any historical or factual accuracy and are purely fictitious]

“From the arguments advanced and on the basis of the evidence presented, this court is convinced that the accused, Mr.Vinay Raj, 35, is guilty of the offence of trespassing into an area of archaeological importance and causing substantial damage to the structure. It has been proven beyond the limit of reasonable doubt that the accused on the 30th day of April 2006, at around 11:45 PM, clandestinely stepped into the tomb of Maharaja Chandrakant Topde, defiled the premises and made an attempt to distort and rewrite the historical facts inscribed on the walls of the tomb. By committing the said offence, the accused has not only dishonored a historical icon but also hurt the sentiments of lakhs of people who regard him as a legendary figure of Anantpuri culture. The slanderous remarks written by accused on the walls of tomb are of such nature that, if Maharaja Chandrakant Topde was alive, it would have given him sufficient grounds to win a case of libel against the accused. However, by taking into account the inebriated state of mind of the accused during the commission of the offence, the odd behaviour displayed by him during the course of trial and the fancy arguments pt forth by him in his defence, the court feels compelled to infer that the accused is an eccentric and absent-minded person. From these and from other circumstantial evidences, the court feels that the act was not done with any malicious intent and it was a result of sheer inadvertence on the part of the accused. Hence, under the relevant provisions of Indian Penal Code and Ancient Monuments and Archaeological Sites and Remains Act, this court sentences him to six months simple imprisonment and Rs.10, 000/- fine…”

The Anantpur District Court judge read out the judgment. I listened to it in a rather indifferent manner. I was trying to come to terms with the fact that the next six months of my life will have to be spent behind the bars. The policemen escorted me outside the court. Lots of people, including the media, had assembled to catch a glimpse of mine. People of Topde Sena were also present. They are the self-assumed followers of Maharaja Chandrakant Topde and the protectors of the Anantpuri culture. As soon as I came out they started their slogans.

“Long live Maharaja Chandrakant Topde!
Jai Jai Topdeji!
Kill the Traitor!”

What ensued was a heavy pelting of stones. I was rushed into the police van. Luckily, none of them hit me. Amidst the chaos, the police van made its way to the main road, skillfully avoiding the agitating sainiks

The policemen inside the van were giving me tough looks.
“Scoundrel! See, what all mess you’ve created. How dare you do such a thing to Topdeji?”
Another one pulled out the collar of my shirt and yelled.
“Don’t think that you can easily get away with this. You’ll get to know the real might of Anantpuris in the coming 6 months.”
“Those raging sainiks can chop you off. It’s just a matter of seconds.”

‘Yes. I know that. They can do it’. I thought. Some months back, which means before the commission of my ‘offence’, the National Institute of Historical Research (NIHR) published a treatise which stated that Maharaja Chandrakant Topde wasn’t responsible for the ‘Great Recapture’ of 1750. It was mastered by his uncle and the French forces. It also went on to state that he was a very incompetent and irresponsible king, but on the other hand was a very gifted painter. That enraged the Topde Sena, who views him as the embodiment of machismo and bravery, and they ransacked the entire institute. And my commission of the ‘offence’ added fire to fuel. I would have perished long time back but for the police protection and judicial custody. Since I was a non-Anantpuri, they unwired their ire at all the outsiders. A violent campaign was orchestrated against them. That was the Topde Sena. They are capable of doing anything.

The van went past the statue of Maharaja Chandrakant Topde. A virile stature mounted on a horse brandishing a sword. Broad face with pride in his eyes. ‘This image doesn’t suit you Topde’. I reflected. I thought about that fateful night. Was it just a dream? Was it a drunkard’s hallucination? Did such a thing really occur, or as the court said, was it just a figment of my imagination?
I don’t know. I really don’t know. I’m still trying to grasp it. No one believed it. No one can believe it. My lawyer termed it preposterous. Despite his strong objection, I stated it in the court. Court termed it fanciful. People termed it crazy. I don’t know what to term it. I’ll give you my account it. And you may decide what it is.

It was the 30th day of April 2006. It was supposed to be my last day in the city of Anantpur. I’d quit my un-happening job of an underpaid draftsman in an obscure Architecture firm. After letting out all the suppressed resentment, I took the door before it was shown to me. That liberation called for a celebration. Since I was a loner, the schedule of that solo celebration involved exploring the ghettos of Anantpur, doing an act of self-patting my audacity, by gulping shots of Old Monk Rum masqueraded as an innocuous cold drink in a bottle of Coca-Cola. It was drizzling a bit and I stood at the West-Side Bridge over Nila. Nila was flowing peacefully, carrying all the garbage in her womb. It was almost 11’o clock and most of the city had gone to bed. Then something caught my attention. The silhouette of a structure. Since I’d worked in an architecture firm, I could sense the charm in any building. I was sure that it was no simple building. It was situated right on the banks of Nila. There was a stairway running down from the side of the bridge, which lead to the building. But, to my chagrin, I found an imposing gate, which stopped my further advancement. There was a wall with barbed wire. I’ve jumped many walls in my youth. I jumped over it. In that state of curiosity and intoxication, the bruise that happened in my leg didn’t bother me much.

I walked towards the structure. There was an eerie silence hung there. The structure was an ideal example of architectural integrity. It was built in the shape of a chariot. And there was a triangular saffron flag fluttering on the top of it. I instantly recognized it. It was the flag of Topde Sena. After the vandalization of NIHR, which occurred a couple of months ago, this flag had become a very dreaded thing. Then, I learnt that the structure was the tomb of Mahraja Chandrakant Topde.

On the wall of the tomb the history of Mahraja Chandrakant Topde was inscribed. Born in 1727, he was a very efficient ruler. In 1748 British forces invaded the Kingdom of Anantpur and it was conquered. But Topde escaped incredibly from their hands. He spent two years in exile. During that period he regrouped his army and in 1750 he launched an attack on the British forces occupying Anantpur and recaptured his kingdom. Hence, he attained a cult status among the Anantpuris and the legend of Mahraja Chandrakant Topde became famous through folklores and epics.

I stood there astonished. It would be really great to have Mahraja Chandrakant Topde narrating to me the heroic manner by which he recaptured his kingdom.

“Well done my boy. I’m really proud of you. You taught those white buggers a great deal of lesson. Ha! Ha!” I patted on the tomb.

The drizzling stopped after a while. Moon came out of the clouds. The entire area was lit by prolific moonlight. I sat at the steps of the tomb, sipping my Old Monk.

After a short while, I heard the sound of footsteps approaching. I looked in that direction. I could see a tall slender figure, clad in white kurta-pyjama, coming towards me. He had a bearded face and his long curly hair was swaying in the cool breeze. I grew a bit apprehensive. It could be the guard coming to reprimand me for trespassing. But the demeanor of the person was not at all intimidating. I stood up. He came close to me. He folded his hands and greeted me by saying ‘Namasthe’.
It was done in a royal manner. A neatly trimmed beard, feminine lips and intense eyes exuding elegance formed the features of the face of the person who seemed to be aged around 40.
“I was on my way home. Then I thought I’d just visit the tomb of Mahraja Chandrakant Topde
and pay my tributes to him. After all he’s a great person, you know. I mean, he drove out those Dutch people, pardon, those British people. A great freedom fighter who forced British to quit India. I wasn’t doing anything else. You see, I’m leaving right now” I tried to explain. While doing that I discreetly stacked my bottle into my pocket.

He smiled and replied. “ I didn’t say you’re a trespasser. Nor did I ask you to leave. On the other hand you’re my honorable guest. Please be merciful enough to grant this humble host of yours to grant the privilege to treat you in the utmost perfect manner.”

I was bewildered. What’s he blabbering? What does this crack head mean by ‘honorable guest…’ and all? I concluded that he too was a vagabond drunkard like me. Topde’s tomb might be a haven of drunkards. He read my face and said.
“My honorable friend, this humble host of yours begs your pardon for confounding you by offering my hospitality without introducing myself and asking for your introduction. This humble host of yours requests you to not treat it as insolence from my part. But please be generous enough to accept the truth that on account of my not having received any guests for the past 254 years, I forgot to observe the appropriate protocol.”

That was the height. “Hey man, are you nuts.? I’m not your guest and you are not my host. OK.”I retorted. Then I went close to him and patted on his left shoulder and asked. “How many pegs one has to have to make him feel older by centuries?Eh?. Ha!Ha!Ha!” I laughed incessantly. I took out the bottle from my pocket, had a gulp and offered it to him.

He stood there nonchalantly and said. “I am Maharaja Chandrakant Topde”
“What? Ha!Ha!Ha! Great man. You happen to share the name of this hero. Glad to meet you Mr. Maharaja Chandrakant Topde. I’m Mr.Vinay Raj.” I shook his arm.

“Not only his name, my honorable friend. But also his life, his flesh, his blood, his mind, his dreams, his aspirations, his pains and his pleasures. And finally when his body was buried under lakhs of lies and his life was sealed by plethora of pseudo-legends, this spirit of him had to wander for more than 250 years in search of eternal salvation., which could be achieved only through the rectification of his image.”. The person who claimed to be ‘Maharaja Chandrakant Topde’ said with an air of authority.

I got really dumbfounded.” Did you…er…say ‘spirit’ or something?” I asked with an unusual stammer. I once again closely observed his face. I discerned that he’d a 18-centurish face and it bore a remote semblance to the portraits of Topde which I’d seen. Have I taken in too much of liquor so as to hallucinate about a ‘spirit’? I felt some kind of inexplicable sensation wrapping my body. I decided to leave the place.

“Mr. Topde. I’m sorry. I…I don’t know. I think I’d better leave. You know, I’m not accustomed to talking with spirits. No offence meant. OK. Take Care. I mean Good Night.” I reluctantly extended my arm. Then I withdrew it and walked off briskly.

The breeze was getting stronger. It upgraded to the level of a gale. I looked back. In that bright moonlight, I saw him sitting on the steps of, with his hands wrapped around the legs and head sunk between them. I could see his body shaking in a rhythm. Then he raised his head and looked at me. I saw tears in his eyes. Tear drops flowed out of his eyes and drew parallel lines on his cheeks before watering the roots of his beard. His eyes drew me to him like a magnet. I’d lost my volition.

He rose from his position. He joined his hands in an imploring gesture and said “My honorable friend, I can fathom. It would be difficult for you to stomach. An encounter with a spirit can come as an odd experience to anyone. Yet, I request you to spend some of your valuable time with me. I don’t belong to the genre of sprits being portrayed in your movies and novels. I’m a spirit who is endeavoring to enlighten the society about the real facts of my life and to demystify some of the myths surrounding me. But on many occasions, people have mistaken me for a ghost or a drunken lunatic. However, in you I find a receptive and intelligent listener. Please be merciful enough to accept the request of this royal spirit”. No sooner had he finished this than he broke down to tears. He retreated to his initial posture. I took a gulp from my bottle and went near him.

“Mr. Topde, it’s true that I’m a bit baffled by this encounter. Still, I’m willing to listen whatever you’ve got to say about yourself. Mr.Topde, please stop crying. This sort of behavior doesn’t befit a courageous king who recaptured his kingdom from his enemies.”

He instantly rose from his position and lashed out at me. “Stop it! This… this’d been harrowing me for the past 254 years. Neither was I a courageous king nor did I recapture anything. You know, I haven’t used a sword or a weapon in my entire life. I haven’t even killed a mosquito in my life. Then how can I recapture your idiotic kingdom from enemies”. His expression changed from that of a weepy lad to that of an ‘angry young man’.

I got dumbfounded again. “Hey Mr.Spirit, are you sure you are the spirit of the right person or have you got mixed up with some one else’s identity? As in, you sound more of like the spirit of some royal belly dancer! Only thing, the gender doesn’t match. But one never knows…the kings of that time…Ha!Ha!Ha!” I got a bit mischievous.

“No, my honorable friend. We spirits are not susceptible to such fallibilities. Now please grant me a chance to enlighten you about the true life of mine and to invalidate the lies being perpetuated in my name.”

“Yes, Mr.Spirit. You may…you may proceed.”
“I, Chandrakant Topde, took birth as the single issue of Maharaja Brihidishwar Topde and Rani Saraswatibai Topde in the year 1727 according to the Gregorian calendar. My father was a valiant and visionary king, whose only concern was the security and prosperity of Anantpur. Unfortunately, in the year 1742, when I was 15, my father breathed his last on account of contracting some chronic disease which the doctors of that time couldn’t diagnose. And, as the custom was, I was coroneted as the next King. Since I was a novice in the nuances of governance, my mother’s only brother, Mr. Balwant Kishen Rao , resigned the post of minister of the kingdom of Cholamandalam, and came to Anantpur to guide me with his wisdom and gradually he assumed the status of a de facto king. Honestly speaking, he was a man of scruples and that erudite man, who’s committed to Anantpur, tried his level best to inculcate in me all the desirable attributes of an ideal king. However, all his efforts went in vain. For, from the very young age itself, I’d not evinced any intrest in matters of governance and armory skills. What fascinated me was the world of art-world of colors, to be precise. When I was young I used to graffiti the walls of the palace with my colors and imagination. Although they seemed like crude strokes of color, they bore different meanings and conveyed many thoughts But my parents and relatives, who were bereft of artistic and aesthetic sense couldn’t appreciate my efforts and tried to dissuade me from pursuing my passion.

My behavioral and thought patterns were not in conformity with that of the image of a normal prince. I was, in fact, a royal aberration. Things like hunting, archery, wrestling, oratory, adjudication and diplomacy skills didn’t amuse me. I always kept to myself and my world of dreams. My uncle and the royal teachers grew apprehensive about the future of Anantpur. To an extend that was justified too. When I was 18, along with painting, I added one more vice to my life-Gita. Oh my honorable friend, she’s a goddess. She’s the daughter of one of the employees of the palace. She’s the ideal muse for an artist and the beauty she possessed and elegance she exuded inspired me to take my paintings to new zeniths. Moreover, she was endowed with artistic sense too. She’d possessed a good taste of music. Our romance blossomed and love flourished, with the River Nila and countless twinkling stars being the only witnesses to that holy sacrament. We’re living a surreal world of ecstasy.

However, as all love stories have, there were people who’d resolved to spoil our happiness. My mother and uncle couldn’t bear the truism of my live with a girl who occupied the lower strata of the financial and social hierarchical order. They cajoled; they coerced; but I was adamant and asserted my freedom of choice. Finally, my uncle adopted a very callous measure and forcefully deported Gita and her family to some undisclosed place. They were probably killed too. I never knew about that. I couldn’t bear that loss. I ran amuck through the corridors of the palace, crying and yelling out the name of Gita. Rumors spread among the subjects that their king’d gone mad. Meanwhile, my uncle tried to force me into an alliance with the daughter of king of Ratnagiri. I was taken there against my will to meet her. I whined before that princess not to accept me. After that she openly declared in front of every one that she’d rather marry my horse, which was more masculine! That insult was more than bearable for my uncle. We instantly left the place. I was reprimanded through out the journey back for my misdemeanors. Finally, my patience broke. I lashed out at him, for separating Gita, and me for spoiling my works of art and for acting against my will. I accused him of trying to usurp my authority. For the first time I asserted my royal power and declared that I’d renounced the kingdom of Anantpur and that I’m going to be a sanyasi. I ran into the forest. When they followed me, I took out the sword and threatened to kill myself if they tried to chase me. They gave up and I ran deeper into the forest. After two days of wandering, I found an ashram and I tool respite there. I spent about three months there. I didn’t become a sanyasi as I’d vowed. I tried to detach myself from the world. But the reminiscences of Gita were haunting me and I tried to recreate her and her love through colors.

It was 1748. On day I got the news that British forces had invaded Anantpur and it got crushed under their might. I instantly set back for Anantpur. I also came to know that my uncle and my mother had escaped from their hands and their whereabouts were unknown. I could see British presence in my vanquished kingdom. It was actually the result of collusion between Ratnagiri kingdom and British forces. I also heard that the Prince of Ratnagiri was to be coroneted as the titular king of Anantpur soon.

I wasn’t actually affected by the downfall of Anantpur. It can be said that I was indifferent to it. I came back to my ashram. After some months, I got the news that my uncle and mother had taken political asylum in the kingdom of Pandyaraja, which was being controlled by French forces. In the year 1750, my uncle with the help of forces of Pandyaraja and France recaptured the kingdom of Anantpur. At that time I was afflicted with chronic tuberculosis and was bed-ridded.

But you wont find these facts in history. My uncle wanted the clan name of his sister to survive with its prestige intact. He initiated rumors that it was me who’d spearheaded the campaign and it was because of my strategy and planning that the recapture of kingdom happened. But in that process, I got injured and courted a heroic and proud death. Then this tomb was erected and the body of some anonymous soldier, which was badly disfigured, was buried as Maharaja Chandrakant Topde. He took the help of historians and fabricated fake documents to validate his claims. He commanded musicians to compose ballads about my legend, writers to write about my heroics, sculptures to erect valiant statues of mine. His efforts were a reply to Ratnagiri king and an effort to prove the ‘masculinity’ of Topde clan.

My honorable friend, that was one of the greatest manipulation of history ever done. Subsequently, my uncle’s son was adopted by the Topde clan and thus the family survived. Thus, as a result of the ingenious distortion of history cleverly engineered by my uncle, I earned a name for a feat, which I never accomplished. When this entire hullabaloo was going on in my name in my kindom, I died a silent death in the ashram because of chronic tuberculosis, in the year 1752. But I was never able to have a peaceful after-life existence, because of this undeserved fame. Ever since, I’ve been trying to rectify that. But, as you know, a dead man has his own limitations. My honorable friend, please be my medium. Only you can help me. Mr.Vinay Raj, now that you are enlightened with the knowledge of truth and with the aid of a spirit, do something to invalidate the lies about me and let the world know about the real Chandrakant Topde, who was an artist, who was a lover and who was everything but what he is deemed to be. Please help me to attain eternal salvation so that I can hope to spend the rest of my after-life with the spirit of Gita. Please…Plea.s.e….P..l..e..a..s..e…P…l…..e……a…..s……e……….”

I was completely astonished by this. I was not able to bear the sight of the image of great Maharaja Chandrakant Topde falling down like a house of cards. And the fact that he himself, or his spirit, was responsible for this plummet added to the implausibility. I finished my bottle and threw it away. A sudden sense of dizziness got over me and I fell flat on the ground. I lied there for about five minutes. The request of Topde was still echoing inside my head. I got up. But there was no Topde! Not even a trace suggesting that such a person existed there! As if he’d vaporized. But his words were rattling against my ear. I looked around. I could see some paint cans lying near the compound wall which was being painted. I went there and took it. There was a brush too. I came back to the tomb and blackened the wall on which his history was inscribed. When the blackening was over, I took the raid paint and wrote his ‘real’ history on that black background. My experiences of being a draftsman came in handy this time as it enabled me to do the job with dexterity. Once the job was done, I fell asleep there.

Next morning, when I opened my eyes, I was surrounded by policemen. Then followed the police custody, bail, remand, interviews, debates, threats, attacks, trial, incrimination and finally the conviction. I’m still not able to figure out what was it. Was it a ‘real spirit’ or was it some idiot’s prank? Or was it my tipsy hallucination? I don’t know. The only thing I know is that my next six months food is from Anantpur Sub-Jail Canteen.
*********************************************************
MANU SEBASTIAN

AN ACCOMPLISHED WRITER

2008-04-18T08:57:00.000+05:30

Mehboob Rehman was an accomplished writer-thus concluded the article Mehboob Rehman had been reading.

‘Am I?’. He thought.

The rickety Maharashtra State Transport bus was advancing through the National Highway. Although it was quarter past midnight, the road was crowded with vehicles. Pune was still hours away. The cool breeze seeping in through the window disarrayed his grey curly locks. The fetish for window seat was something he carried from his childhood, among other things. Concerning that he was quite uncompromising.

The literary review article did not help Mehboob Rehman to mitigate the boredom of bus journey. It aggravated his doubts nonetheless. The reviewer was just reiterating what the entire world had been doing for the past five-six months. ‘Literary maverick’, ‘Torch-bearer of the new renaissance’, ‘Wizard of words’, ‘Juggler of emotions’-these were some of the titles he’d earned on account of his accomplishments in the field of literature. His ascent from obscurity to fame was something phenomenal. People found his works riveting and rejuvenating. As a result, his works occupied the top places in chart busters. The final note of his symphony of success was his clinching of the Nobel Prize for literature. That set his readers into a state of frenzy. They found exaltation in extolling him; derived energy from the encomiums heaped upon him. He too let himself to indulge in that ecstasy. His works brought him fame; facilitated his hedonistic pursuits; helped materialize his love. However, the latter was a peak accomplished just for the sake of accomplishing. For, the recipients of the reciprocation of his feelings were the benefits accruing out of his talent, not him.

His works, which had the power to break all stereotypes, highlighted the inherent goodness of mankind and celebrated the triumph of the human spirit. His works were concentrated on some issues and his characters were the reflection of philosophical ideals. That trend could be traced in all of his works- be it ‘Sagacious Saga’- where the story of an underprivileged person materializing his dreams against all set backs was narrated with utmost perfection or in the ‘Lock and Key’ which depicted the intricacies of man-woman relationships or in the collections of his short stories ‘On the River Bank’.

The most acclaimed and at the same time the most controversial of his works was ‘The Gospel of Logic’. His attempts to marry mysticism with rationality were construed as blasphemous.

In fact he’d tried to state through this that religions had destroyed man’s self-respect and had kept him under shackles. They demotivate man and fill his mind with guilt and remorse. That irked the religious fundamentalists. Nevertheless, the book was very popular.

He intended his works to be moralising and purposeful. Through his works he advocated equality, respect for the human spirit, rationality and reasonableness of every act. Through his satire and sarcasm, he lashed out at the discrepancies of the society. However, the social malaises and stigma, against which he wielded his pen, of which the elimination he desired to accomplish through his writings, not only remained there as earlier but also spread its tentacles and wrapped the society tighter. He felt that his writings failed in its purpose. He felt that his forty eight years of life was futile.

Thereupon he started to hate felicitations and reviews. He felt that every word of praise uttered in his favour was accompanied with a subtle reminder of his failure. He even developed an aversion towards writing. He wanted to escape from the sight of the world. The bus provided him with shield of anonymity. That was why he chose a rusty State Transport bus to travel from Nagpur to Pune. Most of the passengers were farmers who were carrying there agricultural products and migrant labors. They wouldn’t recognize a Nobel laureate amongst them. Most of them were sleeping. He was not feeling sleepy. The only thing straining his eyes was the light beams of the vehicles coming from the opposite direction. He was against the idea of wasting nights by sleeping. Nights were for creation and recreation.

He could sense some kind of uneasiness building up in his stomach. It gradually rose up through the length of his body. His mouth turned bitter. He spat it out. He couldn’t comprehend whether it was the constant curves the bus had to negotiate or the stench within the bus or the disgust at his own self which made him feel nauseous. He tried to suppress it. But the pressure was increasing. The bus stopped at a bus station. He sprang out of his seat and ran out. He threw everything out of his stomach. It made him feel light and dizzy. He sat on the ground.

The bus was preparing to leave the station. He didn’t want to get in. He was feeling very reclined in his present pose and he didn’t want to disturb it. His baggage was inside the bus. After a few minutes, the bus left. He felt relieved of the baggages of his past.

He rose from his position. He learnt from a board that the place was ‘Bhusawal’. It was 1:30 AM. And it was freezing cold out there. Further down the road, a group of people were warming themselves around a bonfire.

He walked towards them. He wanted to ask ‘When is the next bus for Pune?’. But he refrained himself from it.

‘Why should I want to go to Pune now? To attend that literary festival? No. I’m not going.’ He decided.

He joined the circle. They were very welcoming. They didn’t pester him with queries. He had a glance of the place. It seemed that modern civilization had a peep of this place and shied away from setting its foot here. The people were enjoying their drink. He was also offered a drink. A drunken man is always generous. Initially he was a bit reluctant. But after much persuasion he accepted it. The tipsiness was racing though his nerves to conquer his brain. He felt very relaxed.

He reminisced about his life. It was through the book collection of his grandfather he had his first acquaintance with the world of literature. Charles Dickens and Mark Twain fascinated him. Later he was thrilled by the adventures of Sherlock Holmes. His mind and thoughts were immature for Shakespeare. But he knew the characters through the recitations of his grandfather. That left an indelible imprint of characters like Mark Antony, Julius Caesar, Othello, Iago, Hamlet, Shylock etc.

But as he stepped into college he distanced himself from literature. He had taken up engineering for his graduation and was marvelled by the possibilities of technology. He discarded off literature as a wastage of human resources and talents which corrupts man’s thoughts by stimulating his fantasies. Thus the flame of creativity in his mind was blown out; or rather it was subdued. But one day, it flickered very brightly and engulfed his mind. Without his knowing he was shoved to writing. It was like some invisible agent forcing him to write. Thus took birth his first short story-‘The Scare-Crow’. It got published in the college magazine. That was appreciated by all. Later on, on many occasions, he felt the motivation to write arising within himself. It was very involuntary. And unpredictable. It could come at anytime. Anywhere. Thoughts ejaculated out of the copulation of his mind and brain.It was very painful to have his mind pregnant with a story seed. It would be harrowing and rattling his inner self impatiently to take the form of words. When the trauma becomes unbearable he would exorcise his mind of fiendish pangs of story by penning it down. It wasn’t satisfaction or self-admiration he felt after writing something. It was plain relief. He’d feel relieved of the agony of bearing it.

The urge to write got stronger periodically. That led him to quit his lucrative job of a software engineer. He got into full time writing. There were days he spent without speaking, eating or sleeping. He got completely engrossed in it. People thought he’d gone insane. Gradually his works found acceptance. Laurels came in search of him.

Later on he started to feel skeptical about the worth of his works. He’d a confrontation with the futility of his endeavours. He always aspired for the materialistic betterment and rational enlightenment of mankind. He thought his works would motivate human race to that effect. But he saw deterioration in those two aspects. Society was reduced to a bunch of demoralised souls, who’d lost purpose and motion in their life. World was getting plagued by all malaises-war, poverty, bigotry,intolerance, hatred, paranoia. Progress of mankind had become stagnant in all fields. And he remained as a mute spectator of this decadence.

His companions had slept off. His eyes too were getting heavy.

‘I strove for a failed cause.’ He thought.

‘I won’t write again. My life is a failure. I’m a loser.’

He fell flat on the ground.

************************************************************************

He felt someone prodding him. Slowly he opened his eyes. It was morning. He saw the blurred vision of a face with a thick moustache. From his attire he learnt that he was a police man. He rose. The policeman was looking at him in a quizzical manner.

“Sir, I missed my bus last night. I’m going to Pune”. He said.

The policeman didn’t say anything. He walked away.

The sense of anonymity gave Mehboob a tinge of pleasure. Yet, he was feeling very weary. The vow taken by him not to write again was pricking him. But he decided to stand by it.

He walked down the road. The town was waking up from its slumber. He walked into a small restaurant.He placed his order for a pohe and chai. Besides him, there was a man and his little daughter in the shop. She aged around six or seven years. With large round eyes and a small ponytail, she resembled a doll. Her father was persuading her to have food. But she was not budging. He tried to cajole her. She was adamant. He tried to coerce. And that made her sob. The father’s face evinced an expression of helplessness. Then he took out a book from his bag. Mehboob recognized it at first sight. It was the Marathi translation of his work ‘The adventures of the little clown’. It was one of his initial works. It was a collection of hilarious short-stories involving a little clown.

The father started to read out a story out of the book. There was a gradual change of expression in the girl’s face. There was a tinge of smile in her weeping face. Her eyes sharpened with keen interest. She was totally involved in the story. As he was reading out the story, he extended a spoonful of food to her mouth. Knowingly or unknowingly, she consumed it. As the story was progressing the quantity of food was diminishing. When the story got over, the father and the girl burst out into laughter. Sounds of her chuckle filled the air. Mehboob, who’s keenly watching the developments, sprang out of his chair. He took the girl in his arms and kissed on her cheek. His eyes moved to tears. Her father sat there bewildered.

“You know, I wrote this story. This is my creation” He said proudly.

“I must say that you are an accomplished writer”. The father replied.

Mehboob’s joy knew no bounds.

“Yes. I’m an accomplished writer”. He declared with full conviction.

******************************************************

MANU SEBASTIAN.

FREE BIRD

2008-01-30T12:36:00.000+05:30

A truck full of assailants clad in white shirt and white mundu and carrying sickles!!

A hero, with rage in his eyes and a heroine in his arms!!

The assailants thrust forward with a roar.

The hero jumps in mid-air, twirls and spins around, kicks and punches the villains and they are thrown all around. After performing a la Superman/Spiderman act, which proved incomprehensible to the laws of physics, the hero and heroine retires to some fancy land to dance off their victory in the backdrop of uniformly clad zillions of dancers. Then the titles scroll up. The crowd is happy to see their favorite hero emerging victorious again.

Ravi too joined the crowd’s frenzy by clapping and whistling. He himself does not know how many times he’s watched the same movie. He carries in himself an unquenchable thirst for movies; and therefore he took up the job as the theatre staff of Vasantham theatre. The job was not a very demanding one. He has to sit in the ticket counter before the show. Sometimes he’ll have to help out Projector Operator Balu to change the reels. Often, after the second show he’ll have to take the film posters to different parts of Chennai and adore the walls with colorful graffiti announcing the arrival of new Tamil movies. The job made his life proximate to the tinsel world. It allowed him to roam around freely in the maze of fantasy, getting astonished by its glitter and glamour and to be in oblivion of the vicissitudes of life.

Balu was his soul mate. Though their salary might seem to be a pittance when compared to the hefty amounts drawn by the corporate and IT professionals, for them it was too much. Their only philosophy of life was pursuit of pleasure; however their quantum of pleasure was much shrunken. Relishing on Chettinad Biryani now and then; getting heavenly sloshed on desi booze; admiring the beauty of abundantly endowed goddesses of earth, although the aestheticity of the act was maligned with a tinge of lust-these were the different facets of their pleasure. Moreover, their profession has made their life inundated with deluge of movies, which gave new manifestations for their fantasies. The quintessence of Epicureanism could be found in their lives. They ridiculed the people who were living under the yoke of the hands of the clock. They were accountable only to their own self and had no obligations arising out of family, society or any other blah. In all sense, Ravi and Balu were free birds who were exploring all available vistas of hedonism.

One day, Ravi and Balu were immersing themselves in the tumult of Marina Beach. Twilight at beach was as usual bustling and it was characterized by an unusually strong sea breeze.

“Hey, Ravi, listen.” Balu opened the conversation.

“Yes. Tell me”

“I’m leaving Chennai. I got a new job in Mumbai”

“What?? Why you’re leaving this job??” Ravi was perplexed.

“I secured a job as a laborer in a construction company. They pay me double this salary”

“But Balu, Why? Then the workload will also be the double. They’ll make you work like a dog. Then what’s the use of a high salary? You wouldn’t be able to even think of spending it. By the end of the day, you’ll be fatigued like anything. I can’t fathom what made you to make such a strange decision!”

“Last week I got a letter from my mother. Father has fallen ill and he won’t be able to work anymore. And the creditors are pestering her a lot. Moreover, my sister has to be married off. With my father falling ill, the responsibilities have passed on to my shoulder. Now I’ll have to take up a job, which pays me more. I don’t care about the hardships which I might incur.”

“Come on Balu!! What responsibilities? Don’t try to be like one among that pack of fools who ruin their life in the name of responsibilities. Listen. We’ve only one life. Try to enjoy it to the maximum. Don’t bind yourself with all that obligations.”

“Enough Ravi. I don’t want to listen to your absurd philosophies anymore. I fell prey to your allurements and had been leading a meaningless life hitherto. I had enough. I owe very much to my family. I can’t afford to be selfish. And you won’t ever be able to understand the meaning of family values; for you’ve run off from your family. Whenever you are free from your pursuit of pleasure, just think about the worth of your life. Anyways, Good Bye!” Balu walked off.

Ravi was left stranded in the beach. Balu’s sudden change of mind bewildered him. He wandered aimlessly through the beach. The sun had sunk into the waters. The lighthouse was throwing light in all directions in an attempt to guide lost boats. Ravi sat down on the sand and reflected about his past.

He grew up in a lush green Kerala hamlet situated in the lap of Western Ghats. His father had died when he was very young. His mother brought Ravi and his brother Chadran up. He perceived his mother as a tyrannical character. She was very fussy about virtues like discipline, punctuality, hygiene, sense of responsibility et al. And these things were a strict taboo for Ravi. His mother took the pain to send him to school. There he bunked classes very often to watch movies and to play cricket. On the other hand, his brother, by being an embodiment of all cardinal virtues, was a perfect antithesis of his. He was his mother’s last straw of hope.

Ravi stepped into youth hood. He spent his days sleeping, eating, gossiping, gambling, boozing, watching movies- in fact doing substantially ‘nothing’. One day he was sent by his mother to withdraw some amount of cash from bank for Chandran’s admission purpose in an Engineering College. On the way back he ran into an old friend of his. They decided to regain the luster of their friendship with the help of liquor. Reminiscences about their past adventures impelled them to rediscover the thrill by indulging in gambling. Eventually, the nostalgia about the old friendship siphoned off a lump some amount of the withdrawn cash.

That event dealt the coup de grace to Ravi’s bonding with family. His mother couldn’t bear it. She lashed out at him. “I’ve borne you for ten months. I’ve looked after you for twenty years. Yet, you haven’t done any good for the family. Now, you’ve ruined your brother’s life. What a wretched being are you? Now I’ve only one request. Please do me a favour by complying with it. Please go away. Go away from our sight. We don’t need you. You are a thorn in my heart. Flee off to any other place. We’ll live somehow.”

That was enough for Ravi. He took the remaining cash and landed up in Chennai. He never felt any kind of remorse over his acts. Rather, he felt relieved to be free of his bondages. Here, he discovered a turf where he can act in furtherance of his self-interest by exercising his discretion to the maximum. . The notion of child repaying his debts towards parents did not make any sense to Ravi. He firmly believed that since they have given birth to a child, they have to duty to take care of the child and the child has the right to be taken care of.

Alcohol filled the vacuum left by Balu in Ravi’s life. On a rainy night he was having an inebriated stroll. Then a motorcycle, apparently running out of balance, knocked him off the road. He hit his head on a lamppost and fell into a sewer. There, in that filth, he lied unconscious for hours. Later, some Good Samaritan showed the mercy to hospitalize him. Thus he ended up in Royapettah General Hospital. He had broken his hand. On the top of it, he was diagnosed with acute dengue fever.

Ravi felt like being in an inferno. The nurses seemed to be agents of Lucifer. They had no compassion. He was subjected to merciless injection; forced to swallow insipid tablets, which killed his appetite. The conditions of the General Hospital were worse than the sewer. The over-crowded place was filthy and stinky. Ambulances sirening, babies crying, stretchers rattling, wounded and sick people moving around: everything got into Ravi’s nerves. The disgust, anguish and above all the unbearable pain were harrowing him.

He closed his eyes. The image of mother came into his mind. Whenever he fell ill, his mother used to serve him some medicine made out of household herbs. That had a pleasant aroma. She’ll sit near him and feel his temperature. Her gentle touch itself had a soothing effect. She’ll enquire periodically about his state. She’ll caress him; feed him. She oozed compassion. And her love and care will vanquish the disease.

Here he was languishing. No soul is concerned about his plight now. No one was bestowing upon him any sort of kindness, any sort of humane consideration or any sort of pity. He’s completely abandoned. Tears rolled down his cheek. ‘ Oh God!!. What a worthless creature am I? My mother toiled her entire life for me. And I’ve always been a cause of anguish for her. I’m paying for the grave sins I’ve committed. With my obscene riotous life, I shattered my mother’s expectations. I ruined my brother’s life. God please give me an opportunity to mend my ways’. He soliloquized remorsefully.

After three weeks he got well. He caught the next Kerala-bound train to reach his hamlet.

It was past ten at night when he reached his village. He proceeded towards his house, with apprehensions about the way he would be welcomed. He knocked at the door. His mother opened the door. She couldn’t believe her eyes. She was very much astonished. She hugged him.

“Where were you my dear son? Where had you been? After you’d left I’ve had no mental peace. In that fit of fury, I might have blabbered something nonsensical. Who asked you to take them seriously? And not even a single letter in these three months. Hey Chandran, look who’s come. Your brother. God!!. I can’t be happier than this… Have you eaten anything? Shall I prepare dinner for you?..Look, you’ve grown thin and dark..Lack of proper care is very much evident”

Meanwhile Chandran came. He ran towards Ravi and embraced him.

His family thus witnessed days of rejoice. The homecoming of the prodigal son was celebrated grandly. Subsequently, he got a job as a cashier in a shop. He was happy that he was handling responsibilities and leading a productive life.

Months passed away. Ravi felt something missing in his life. The job was very monotonous and hectic. He had to wake up very early in the morning. And the entire day he was hooked up to the shop. By the time he reaches home, it would be late in night. He was getting salary and was supporting the family. But he felt that his life was very mechanical. There was no time for friends. No movies. No life for himself. Moreover, all his acts were under the scrutiny of his mother. He imbibed in himself a kind of void feeling.

One day he stumbled upon his old gang of friends. And history repeated. He came home very late, that too completely drunk. His mother couldn’t tolerate that. She scolded him profusely and harshly. He also retorted back and vented out his frustrations. And that resulted in a major altercation.

Next day his mother couldn’t find Ravi in his room. Instead she found a letter in his desk

Dear Amma

I’m leaving to Chennai. I’ll get my old job there. My mentality is so programmed that I won’t be able to adjust to your discipline and schedule. Moreover, my staying here would bring disgrace to our family. But Amma, I assure you, I’ll be more responsible this time. I’ll support the family. I’ll take care of Chandran’s education. Here, I won’t be able to live according to my disposition, which is very whimsical. A bird that’s tasted the nectar of freedom will loathe confinement; it will find it more loathsome if the confinement is voluntary. I just want to fly like a free bird. Please forgive this capricious son of yours.

With Love

Ravi

MANU SEBASTIAN

RAZOR’S EDGE

2007-11-17T14:58:00.000+05:30

When the sun was exuding exuberance; when the pair of paddy fields and coconut trees were waltzing out in the ball room set by the docile breeze; when the stream was skipping around in the indulgence of its pristine glory; I advanced through the tar road, albeit marred with potholes. I let my mind to soak itself in the respite from the impoverished, chaotic and polluted life in the metro. My mind thanked me for redeeming it from the reins of statute books, suits, arguments and court chambers.

“Hey, vakil(advocate) sir” .My enjoyment of Kerala country side was interrupted by some rustic call.

I turned back; only to see Mr.Thankappan. He is THE man of the Panchayath. His name literally translates to ‘Lord of Gold’, and he is gifted with a long golden tongue. Professionally he is a barber. But in real life he is something more. While grooming peoples’ head and face, he will groom the information which he has shrewdly extracted from them. Disseminator of (mis)information, monger of gossips and scandals, manipulator of news- these are the titles which he has acquired during the course of his career, flanked across four decades, which determined the local man’s style statement. His small barber shop, which is nothing but a small kiosk made of wooden cardboard, established on the road side, has assumed the status of broadcaster of exclusive news items and repository of unfathomable secrets of legions of people.

Countless are the marriages which materialized due to him. More countless are the marriages which broke due to him. The epicenter of all disputes and the facilitator of negotiations- both are two different facets of his persona.

This garrulous fellow has not only made his presence felt in the social life of the Panchayath but in its political realm too. He is the most devoted subscriber of the Communist-Marxist ideology. As a committed Party member, he has helped in spreading its sacred ideology and in mobilizing public opinion in its favor. Apart from gossips and verbal duels, his shop has witnessed brainstorming discussions which had a great bearing on the local politics.

“Vakil Sir, How is your practice in Supreme Court going?”

“Fine. I’m here for a two week vacation”

“Sir, you are badly in need of a haircut and shave. Why don’t you come to my shop? I’ll give you a lawyer’s look.”

I complied. He thus succeeded in soliciting a customer for his scissors and his tongue.

He led me into his shop. His shop is of the size to accommodate one chair and he himself. There is a bench kept outside for waiting customers. All available newspapers and magazines in Malayalam are kept there. Pictures of Krishna, Jesus and Allah kept at the table. On the side wall photos of film actors ranging from Rajnikanth to Mohanlal to Amitabh Bachan are hung. Epitome of secularism and national integration!!

He started his work. If I say it progressed at snail’s pace, it might cause disgrace to snail. He advanced his scissors through my unruly curly bush in such a way as to cause the least possible pain to the hair. Before cutting down, he caressed each hair, as if to bid adieu to it. Finally he broke his silence.

“Sir, you know one thing?”

“What?”

“We can’t trust amerrikka”

“What!!” I wondered how his observation came out of blue.

“Yes Sir. They are very cunning. We can’t trust them. All this nuclear deal and stuff is a farce. Our PM is very naïve. As our national leader has said, he is a very earnest man. But Bush has made a fool out of him. They will invade India also, like they did in Iraq and Afghanistan. But Russia is ok. And we should make friendship with Kuba and Chavez’s Veneshuella”

“How does it matter to both of us? Finish the work fast”. My capitalist and pro-American attitude couldn’t digest his blabberings. But I was in no mood for a debate. It should be done with equals.

“Sir” he continued “I haven’t gone to college. I dropped out of school at third forum. I might not have gone beyond the boundaries of this Panchayath. But Sir, I know a lot about this World. You cannot imagine who all have been my customers. Great politicians, writers, artists, lawyers, doctors and all. Constant interactions with such people have made me quite knowledgeable.”

I thought he was offended by my statement. I wanted to clarify. But he won’t let me open mouth.

“Hey Sir, you saw that lady who just passed by. Janu. She is a witch. She kicked out her husband from home.

“For God’s Sake. Will you concentrate on my head?” I was really annoyed.

Loquaciousness personified stood behind me with a razor and a tongue sharper than the razor.

Despite my outburst, he was calm.

“Sir, you saw that photo?”

I looked up. A forty year old photo hanging on the wall, where a forty year less old Thankappan was cutting the hair of some other gentleman.

“That is Sakhavu(Comrade) Divakaran. He was my first customer. Actually, he asked me to set up this shop. During the heydays of Naxalism I used to meet and help the activists secretly. That’s how I met Sakhavu Divakaran. When days of Naxalism were over, he became a great leader. He helped me in establishing this shop. He is now no more. Great martyr. In all sense he is my Godfather.”

Meanwhile an auto-rickshaw halted near the shop. Someone inside called him. He went near it. After a while he came back.

“Sir, Varkey,my friend is in deep trouble. I need to meet him urgently. I’ll be back in five minutes”

“Hey, finish my work and go. Stop there”

But he didn’t heed. He jumped into the rickshaw and it sped away.

I was fuming with anger. How could he dare to commit a grave breach of duty before a Supreme Court lawyer? I saw my reflection in the mirror with half cut hair. I looked like a joker. I felt like banging my head on to the mirror.

Minutes ticked away. No sign of barber. I could hear passer-bys chuckling at me.

‘Oh! What a disgrace’

I enquired about Thankappan to one of them.

“He’s in the toddy shop.” Someone replied.

GOD! There’s no point in waiting for him. Even if he returns, he won’t be sober. I covered my clownish head with a towel and went out.

On the way I met Thankappan in an inebriated state. He was on his ‘four wheels’.

“You nasty fellow. Don’t you know to finish off the work? Don’t think that you can get away from me easily”. I lashed out at him.

“What will you do? File a case against me? Then do. Didn’t I ask you to wait.? And don’t call me names. Who do you think you are? Don’t try to show your capitalist and bourgeoisie attitude at me. Our party is ruling the State. Days of feudal lords are over.

And give my cash.”

He was completely out of his senses.

“Cash??For half work. I’m not giving it. You go and file case. Or complain to your Party.”

I left the scene. I was terribly restless as I couldn’t let out the ire and wrath which have accumulated in me against him.

It was after a week that I met him again.

“Sir, I’m terribly sorry for that day. I wasn’t in my senses. I shouldn’t have behaved in that manner” he confessed.

“Hmm. Self-realization is good” I wanted to avoid him.

“I’m in deep trouble.”

“What happened?”

“The Government people have given me notice. They want to evict me and my shop from the place. They are going to build some national highway or expressway or something like that. I don’t know what to do. This is my only means to bread and butter.” He said this with an unusual stammer.

“If they ask you to leave then you must. I hope you have the title deed and other related documents. In that case you will get the appropriate compensation”. I took a very indifferent stance.

“No Sir. I don’t have any title deed. I set up this shop on the road side on the advice of Sakhavu Divakaran.”

“Oh. That means you are an encroacher. Then you don’t accrue any right. Just take your stuff and flee.” I spoke like a lawyer.

“No Sir. Don’t say like that. It’s my life. How can they do it? Sakhavu Divakaran inaugurated it. And our Party is in power. How can they go against Sakhavu Divakaran.?”

“Then you go and ask your Party. I have to go now. See you later”

I felt some kind of sadistic pleasure. State is taking revenge on my behalf.

Next day I saw him coming out of the Party office. He looked very gloomy.

“Any new developments?” I asked him.

“No sir. It seems they have also forsaken me. They also want the expressway to come up. They are no more regarding Sakhavu Divakaran. I don’t know what good the express way will do to this Panchayath. Many poor people like me will be evicted. All those paddy fields, coconut trees and streams will be gone. It will only help the bourgeoisie and capitalist brats to race their SUVs. I don’t know what has happened to the Party?”

“Hey, You idiot. Grow up. This is twenty first century. And a six-lane express way will do more good to this village than a venom-spewing barber.”

I felt very elated having said this. Some relief for my vendetta against him.

Next day the state squadron came to evict the encroachers. Thankappan was in a total inebriated state. He clung hard to the shop with his arms. The bulldozer came with a roar.

“You can’t do it. You’ve to kill me to do it.” he yelled.

The Police men pushed him back and held him tightly. He tried to jump out of their tight hold. The fragile shop was not at all a test for the monstrous machine. A gentle touch. And the entire structure collapsed down. He screamed. It was louder than the roar of the machine. It came from the depth of his heart. It appeared poignant even for me. Unknowingly, my eyes filled.

Thankappan jumped out of Policemen’s grip. He picked up something from the rubble. The photo of Sakhavu Divakaran inaugurating his shop. Its frame was broken. He held it to his chest.

“How could you do this to me? How could Party do this to me?” He lamented.

Suddenly, he started twirling about due to some muscular spasm. He fell down to ground unconscious.

Next day I was making my preparations for my return journey. Later, I heard that Thankappan died yesterday because of massive heart attack. As my car passed by the Party Office I overheard the funeral speech made by some Party Leader.

“Thankappan is a martyr. By wielding the Party Flag in one hand and the razor in the other hand, he led a life on the razor’s edge….”

My car sped away through the prospective expressway. I felt some kind of pricking sensation at my heart.

MANU SEBASTIAN

MONSOON

2007-04-21T09:01:00.000+05:30

The car proceeded manoevring the undulating hairpin curves embracing the Western Ghats. It has been a long time since the vehicle has left the bustling Cochin City.Mary John looked out through the window pane.The tar road is getting scorched in the ruthless sun.Mary John's sixty year old eyes scanned the entire sky-not even a sign of Monsoon clouds.She did not find any difference in this sky and the Dubai sky.When she is coming to Kerala after a long gap of three years,that too in the month of June,when Monsoon is ought to be in its peak,this kind of behaviour from the clouds is totally unexpected.Not that her heart was yearning for monsoon.When you have set foot in your enemy's territory ,you know you will have to come across him today or tomorrow.And the delay in the encounter will deteriorate your mental strength.She knew, she will have to witness the monsoon romancing,dancing and ravaging through;today or tomorrow.
Has it not been raining here?”,she asked the driver.
“Rains!!Eh..The monsoon has been behaving very oddly for the last three years.Year before last year it rained like hell.It caused mass destruction.Landslips,thunderbolts,cyclones..Lots of people died.However last year it was the exact opposite.It was very scanty.That too after much delay.And it resulted in famine.Many farmers committed suicide.This year,it seems its worse.Its almost the end of June.But not even a single drop yet.And its boiling.People are dying of sunstroke.Such things were unheard of,atleast in Kerala.Monsoon has become totally unreliable now.”He replied.
'It was always unreliable'Mary thought in mind.
The surroundings corroborated his statement.Parched tree trunks with drooping leaves.The meadows which used to be lush green now turned brownThe mountains denuded now due to the absence of the waterfalls which used to garland them.
The vehicle stopped at a tea-shop and Mary John and her husband Mr.John Thomas got down.A rusty board installed by the Kerala Tourism Development Corporation read-”Valara Waterfalls”.The board is still there.But where is the waterfall.Mary was shocked to see the majestic waterfall which used to enthrall many minds with its grandeur,being shrunk to a thin fibre.What waterfall without water.
“Kerala boiling.Meteorologists say that monsoon may not hit Kerala for the next two weeks”An old radio in the tea-shop screamed.Before it could complete what it was saying,it went off.
“Oh!!This power cut.All the dams are empty.Then how can there be power.What an ill fate!!”The tea-shop owner cursed.
“I hope it won't rain for tomorrow's funeral.”David,who was sleeping througout the journey,opened his mouth.He is Mary's cousin.He came to pick them up from Ariport.Mary and her husband were leading their life in Dubai.Three years back,she had vowed that she won't ever set foot in this dreaded place.But the love and gratitude for Jose uncle forced here to break her vow.Tomorrow is that octogenerian's funeral.If it was'nt for Jose uncle there would not have been Mary John.Joseph uncle was a suitable substitute for her parents.Perhaps her own parents could not have given her the love and care that Jose unlce gave.
Those days were golden days.For the ten year old Mary her Adimaly village was a paradise.She with her Appa,Amma and her one year old little brother Appu lived happily.She used to throb around her lovely village like a lamb.And the month of June-July,when Monsoon would be dancing down the earth,is the time when nature looked the most beautiful.The callous summer sun would leave the land bereft of the passionate touch of monsoon.The heated up,thirsty virgin earth will passionately wait for the skies to open up and to come down to her.Finally,as an answer to all that impatient waiting,the winds will bring the dark dense Monsoon clouds, which will drive away the blazing sun which won't be able to witness the sacramental marriage of sky and land.Thunderbolts will lit up the entire area and will announce the advent of the dark handsome groom.All the trees nodding to give consent to this holy ceremony.Finally, with the permission of all forces of nature, sky will embrace land.Rain drops kiss the land and the intoxicating smell of earth emanates from the land surface.
When sky had given away all that it had to give, land will get satisfied,but still yearning for more.New life will sprout out at the denouement of their love making.All the trees and plants get rejuvenated.Seeds sprouting out.All streams and rivers inundated with vociferously
flowing water,which is now abundant with different schools of fish.All energy stored in the clouds now redistributed among all life forms.
Next day sun revisits.Not as blazing as before.Those rain drops which felt shy of landing on earth and had taken refuge on the leaves reflecting the sunrays to produce different kinds of spectrum.Kids appear with fishing rods.Some find fun in floating paper baots in puddles.The miniature form of Titanic hit against a pebble and started to sink.Kids were re-enacting the melodrama of the James Cameroon epic.The advent of monsoon made people very cheerful.
That was the nature of monsoon during those days.It was very punctual.And docile.But sometimes it will turn a bit naughty and will play some pranks.Such a prank overturned Mary's life.It was like any other day.It was evening and the clouds had started to envelope sun. She was getting ready to go to church for the choir practice.Before leaving she gave a kiss on the rosy cheeks of little Appu.She found her brother a wonderful creation.He was unbelievably small.She wondered whether human beings can be so small and tiny.His soft plummish limbs,small round face,tiny sparkling eyes.So astonishing.She could'nt imagine that one day this tiny cute creature will be as tall and big as her dad.She took him in her arms and tickled him.And the baby started chuckling.She did'nt want to keep him down.
“Oh!You have'nt gone yet.Go before it satrts raining.Dont forget the umbrella.”Mother strated to scold.
As soon as she kept him down,he started crying.He wanted to be in her arms.He wanted to accompany her.It is said that babie being incarnation of heavenly agentsthey can foresee future.However,since human beings can't understand their heavenly language properly,they can't comprehend anything.
As the choir practice was going on,wind started to blow.It was not the normal genteel wind.It blew belligerently.All the candles in the church were blown off.All the doors and windows were shaking on their rickety hinges.All the coconut trees oscillating madly.Mary felt scared.It was dark inside the church.Suddenly a thunderbolt struck.The gilrs felt that the sky has broken into pieces and is falling down.They started reciting rosary.It was thickly dark in the church.It started raining heavily.Rain,wind and thunder competing against each other to prove who is the most aggressive.It was like pebbles showering on the tin sheets of the church.In the lightning Mary could see the crucifix.It appeared scary.Lightning only illuminating the blood stains and the stigmata.Not the graceful face of Christ.It was very gory.Mary screamed.It rained heavily the entire night.The girls had to spend the night inside the church.
Next morning Jose uncle came to church to pick up Mary.His face was gloomstruck.She could see banana plantations lying flat on ground;coconut trees uprooted.Houses demolished.There was a crowd near her house.Besides a fire engine,ambulance and police jeep.She was bewildered.She was shocked to see a huge boulder at the place where her home situated.Home totally demolished.Her house situated at the foot of a hill.During yesterday night's heavy rain, the land above her house slipped and slided down.And the huge boulder rolled down and crashed on her home.Entire home ground.And in the ambulance was kept the frozen bodies of Appa,Amma and Appu.She was'nt able to comprehend anything.Jose unlce came near her”They've left.They've left us.”And statred to sob.She got into the ambulance.She wanted to see Appa,Amma and Appu.Then the people came and took her out.They did'nt want her to see the horrificaly deformed bodies of Appa,Amma and Appu.
That was the first time she realized how ruthlessly monsoon can play with lives.After that she grew up in Jose uncle's home.They brought her up with utmost love and care.But that grave incident left an indelible imprint in her mind.She got really scared of rain.She used to have nightmaresof hurricanes,bloodstained crucifix lit by lightning ,Appu screaming under the boulder and all.And the doctors advised that,further stay in this place might may prove detrimental for her mental strength.So she was sent to a convent school in Hyderabad.She studied well.She visited her village only during summer vacation.Time made her mature.Still,when the skies opened up,she felt some sort of fear at the depth of her heart.It made her very uncomfortable.She completed her graduation and got a job in Dubai.There she met John.They fell in love and got married.After waiting for four years,God gifted them with a son,Martin.They lived in Dubai happily.They often used to go to Kerala.But never visited Adimaly.Just because Mary was not comfortable with it.
**********************************************
The car stopped at Jose uncle's home.Mary felt that her whole body was trembling.All the memories brought back.Things she did'nt want to recollect.Her husband guided her in.There was lying the ninety five year old body of Jose uncle.More than the bereavemnt of her guardian,the involuntary recollection of the past was painful.Throughout the funeral ceremony all the memories about Martin popped up in her mind.She was having a knife in her heart.The only solace for her was that it did'nt rain.
****************************************************
Martin turned 18.He was smart and handsome.He completed his twelth from Dubai.For a long time he has been pestering Mary for a visit to her hamlet,Adimaly.However,she was reluctant to that idea.She had only pricking memories about that place.It was a haunted place for her.But now,she could also feel her heart yearning for visit to her village.And she has gotover her phobia for rain.She could bear rain in Hyderabad and Cochin.Then why not rain in Adimaly.
So they decided to go to Adimaly.They got a very warm welcome there.All the people gathered to have a glance of Mary and her family.It has been over a decade since she has visited her village.All the love that was remaining stagnant in the hearts outflowed.
“Ma,it's a crime that you hid this place from me.”Martin complained.And it was another monsoon season.Martin could'nt do anything but to love it.He danced according to its rhythm.Its music intoxicated him.He could sense the soul of monsoon beckoning his.
One day he and his localite friend Rajamany went out in a bike to capture the scenic beuty of the village in lens.He was a photography freak.But it was the day when rain gods decided to let loose.Madness unleashed.It danced down franticly.Martin did'nt return that night.
Next day his body clad in white was brought to their home.While he was taking the snap of mountains standing at the edge of a cliff , a thunderbolt struck him.He died instantaneously.
It was something Mary could'nt bear.It totally devastated her.Her only son.Only hope.Only reason why she was living.Taken way.Taken away by the same monsoon which left her an orphan at a tender age.Same villain.Same victim.She screamed.She yelled.She was raging with grief,despair,anger and revenge.It rained even on the day of his funeral.Each raindrops harrowing her.Vendetta solidified in her mind.If monsoon takes a human form and stands infront of her,she would chop it off and would set it ablaze.She threw stones at the clouds.
“You,ve taken my Appa,Amma and Appu.Now you've taken my only son.Why don't you take me?What grave sin have I committed?”She yelled.He husband was more composed and he tried to make her calm.
After that both of them returned to Dubai.They tried to forget everything.They donated all their wealth to orphanges.
*******************************************
Funeral. of Jose uncle was over.She was now roaming around the dry,dusty and parched up village.She reached the place where here home was situated.Now people are digging a tube well there.
“What to do Ma'm?All groundwater dried up.Now we have to dig deep”They said
'Monsoon playing another prank'She sighed.
A banner caught her attention-”All religions' prayer meeting for rain at Panchayath Auditorium.Tomorrow at 5 30 PM.Please come and co-operate.”
She went for it.The Vicar of the church ,Moulvi of the Masjid and the Head of the Temple were leading the prayer meeting.
Quintessential display of secularism.!
“We all know,rain plays a pivotial role in sustaining our lives.It is the life-giver.It is the life-supporter.But for the last two three years rain has not been blessing us.If it is because of our sins that rain is cursing us ,then lets pray for the forgival of our sins.Lets pray to God Almighty.”The vicar was speaking.As he saw Mary he stammered a bit.Everybody know the havoc wreaked in Mary's life by rain.Life-destroyer being hailed as life-saver and life-supporter.
Mary also joined the prayer.”You ruined my life.Don't ruin the life of these poor villagers.Please come down.Before leaving this village I want to experience you.Probably our last encounter”
Next day the car came to take Mary and husband to airport.As they were packing up a wind blew.A cool breeze.A refreshing breeze.As they looked up, they could see sun hiding behind the advancing clouds.Sky turned dark.Faces lit up.Rumbles of thunder and people started to dance according to its beat.
“RAIN!!RAIN!!ITS GOING TO RAIN!!” People screamed in joy.
Mary looked up the sky.A rain drop fell on her wrinkled face.An apology from the skies.Then the next one.Next one.And the heavy downpour.Mary and husband got into car and drove off.Not wanting to witness one more monsoon

MANU SEBASTIAN

RAIL OF LIFE

2007-01-05T10:04:00.000+05:30

6332 Trivandrum-Mumbai Express-the long python with an irresistible appetite for rails taking a short nap in the tumultuous Trivandrum railway station before starting another session of devouring of rails.
I got into the train and secured my seat. As of now there isn’t any one in my cabin. The air of solitude made me more comfortable.-an island in the sea of human beings. But soon the other claimants of the island came-a contingent of father, mother, son and sister. They were carrying bags and suitcases bigger than themselves. With great dexterity the father managed to stuff the baggage under the seat. Aroma of pineapple, bananas, halwas, jackfruits and other eatables were emanating from the gigantic bags. It seems that they are on a mission to do relief work in the famine stuck villages of North India.
Then the father, mother and the sister got out of the train deserting the son-a wannabe man of 17 or 18 year old. A sense of being disowned written all over his face. Then the father came to the window and gave him a list of instructions:
Do not stand at the door.
Do not get out of the train at stations.
Do not accept anything from strangers.
Call me as soon as you reach Mumbai
He nodded at every instruction. Every father would like to have a son like him.
Now it’s the turn of the mother .She held his hands through the window bars.
“Study well. My prayers will be always with you.” Her eyes were flooded.
“Yes amma.I will”. His reply came in a trembling voice.
“Potte Chetta “.Sister also bid adieu.
The train started to chug off. It was callously punctual today. The farewell scene was so heart-melting that it deserved to be continued for some more time.
I cannot understand why people sometimes express love in a manner, which defies all logic and rationale. They were weeping at the station as if their son is being sent to the gallows. Dear mother, do you want to have your son in your lap for the entire life?
I have also seen bewildering scenes of mothers sobbing at the occasion of their daughter’s wedding. At an occasion, which should make them happy, they shed tears. Its weird. May be the sense of parting with a person who was a part of their body for ten months is driving them to a melancholic mood. I don’t know. Love and logic never go hand in hand.
My companion was sitting there with his head stuck at the window bars. He was wandering in his own world.
“You are studying in Mumbai?” I asked him.
“Ha” He replied coldly.
I groped for some topics, which would keep the ball rolling.
“It seems that you don’t want to leave your native place.” I commented.
My comment made him to get up from his reclined posture.
“To be frank, I don’t want to leave home. It may sound quite babyish. Like a nursery kid crying ‘I don’t want to go to school’. But I wish I never had to return to that rat race. At home I feel that I’m someone. But there I’m just another person My life or existence doesn’t matter to anyone. I feel so tiny there. I wish I never had grown up. I want to be pampered for the whole life.”
I was wondering what made him to acquaint with me so much as to blurt out all his views about modern life.
“You feel lonely in the crowd, right?” I tried to sound a bit philosophical and abstract.
“Maybe. I’ve got lots of friends to hang out with. To chill out with. My co-celebrators. But none to confide in. No one to trust. Just a matter of existing with them and celebrating life with them. The more entertaining you are the more popular you are. Your acceptability among others depends upon your utility-how well others can make use of you. Everything is dynamic and vibrant-with all partying, clubbing and all. But there is some sort of hollowness everywhere.”
His sermon was getting into my nerves. He was sounding so pessimistic and desperate that I felt like jumping out of the train.
My companion again went back to his introspection. The boundaries of his own world wodened; to confront with the realization of his own negligibility in this world. Now he is just a drop in the distributary, which carries all sorts of sediments and sewage to the sea of people. Just to add another minute isle to the archipelago.
The train was moving ahead bisecting the dense rubber plantations of central Kerala.The rubber trees, which would determine the fate of lakhs of Malayalees.Train started to decelerate. Railway lines procreated. A yellow board with black wordings said
“KOTTAYAM”
“chaii….chaii..kaaappii…kaapppii….”
“For the attention of passengers…….”
Porters howling.
Engines whistling.
Rattling sound of trailers
The concert is in progress. The train’s monotonous voice was added to it and the concert culminated at a high note.
As soon as the train stopped a battalion of persons, aged between 60 and 65,made inroads into the train. They were pulaya people-the former untouchables of Kerala.These persons who were bare breasted and were clad in traditional lungi; whose sons who have got readymade collections of at least four or five brands. These persons who still acknowledges the fact that they are low-castes and still kneels before the so-called high castes; whose sons, who have placed themselves in the higher echelons of bureaucracy, thanks to Mandal, treading on the perpetrators of centuries of injustice in pursuit of vengeance. They were carrying lots of stuff. Following them were a middle aged man, a lady, probably his wife, two kids and an old lady of about 75 years of age, clad in traditional chatta-mundu .One of the battalion members dusted off the seat with his cloth and said in the humblest of humblest tone.
“Kochamme irunnalum”(Mistress, please take your seat)
The old lady sat there. She is a typical household Christian grandmother. Snowy hair, crumpled face. Ears, which got elongated due to wearing of the large circular earring, called kunukku. But her eyes were full of energy. They spoke the language of authority and stubbornness.
“Kochamme, will you forget us after reaching Bombay?” the battalion leader asked.
“How can I Kuttappa? You people will be always in my mind.” She replied.
“Even if you forget us, we can’t forget you. We and our coming generations will be always indebted to you and your family. It was your land, which gave us food. It sustained our lives. Now it may be in the hands of outsiders. But we will guard it till our last breath. Kochamme, you will be always in our memories. We are indebted to you.”
He joined his palms in front of his face. Tears were trickling down his cheeks.
“Kuttappa, the train is about to leave. Now you people may leave. Thanks for the help.”
The man said in a baritone voice. He offered three hundred rupees notes to him. He refused to take it.
“No sir. We didn’t do it for money.” The whole battalion moved out of the compartment.
The train started to move. It has witnessed lots of scenes like this and has now become quite indifferent to such emotional outbursts.
As the train started to gain speed, the old lady started to scream.
“Earthquake!!Earthquake!!Lord, save us”
The man and the lady went near her and consoled her. They made her to lie down and administered some pills, probably sleeping pills. She fell into deep slumber. Sound of her snoring resonating with thadak-thadak of train. Downfall of a powerful landlady!!
“Sorry. My mom is not used to train journeys. So she may behave quite oddly. We are sorry for that. Please cooperate.” The man apologized.
“She belongs to Pulimoottil family, which is one of the most powerful and affluent families of Kerala. You know, we were baptisized by St.Thomas. We owned most of the lands of Kottayam and Poonjar. And she used to manage all these lands. She was a lady with iron fist” The young lady started to brag off.
I didn’t understand on which fact the lady is taking pride in.-on the glorious past of that old lady from where she was uprooted or on the fact that the lady with iron fist is tied to their leash.
“ Now that she is old, it has become difficult for her to manage all the family property. And we, her children are scattered all over the globe. No one is interested in looking after the property. We kept on telling her ‘ sell it off. and shift with us to Bombay’. But she won’t admit. She was very adamant that she wouldn’t sell of ancestor’s property. She wanted to breathe her last in her forefather’s soil. We waited for three-four years. But everything has got a limit, right? This time all of us took a unanimous decision. We made her to sell of the land. And the proceeds were equally divided amongst us. Now she is coming with us to Bombay. There she will get better medical facilities. There will be anyone to attend to her, either me or she. Here who is there to look after her? These pulaya peoples who claim to be her trustful servants? You never know, when they will bite back.” The man justified his decision.
The old lady, bidding adieu to her hometown, forever. That too she couldn’t do properly, as she was in involuntarily induced slumber. These prolific coconut trees, lush green hillocks, golden paddy fields, vibrant River Meenachil, the Sunday Church Mass –everything fated to hide in her oblivion. If you try to replant a set tree from its milieu it will wither off. She wanted to embrace death in the soil, which witnessed her birth and growth; in the midst of her contemporaries. Now, she will have to undergo an alienated death; in any cold hospital room; in the midst of all gadgets; surrounded by persons speaking the language of jargons and lingoes. Her children could have granted her a tranquil death. However, sometimes avarice sucks out the last drop of humanity from you.
The train moved on. Past Kochi, Thrishur, Shornur, Palakkad. With great effort, it is now penetrating the Sahyadri Mountains. It was lunchtime. I was getting bored and decided to take a stroll across the compartments.
“Better you cut your nails before serving food “
I turned back. It was that retired Army Colonel yelling at the person serving food. I had met this fellow today morning. He was cribbing about the pathetic state of toilets. Now this fellow is taking on the pantry car fellow.
“Sir, my nails are clean “he retorted.
“ It doesn’t matter. Dirt can accumulate under your nails. And it may get transferred to food. And the passengers may get affected. Why don’t you get a shave and hair cut? Are you coming from jail? Hair may fall of from your face or head and may contaminate food. If we have paid we must get quality service. “ The colonel was steaming.
“ Ok Sir. All of us will the get shave off all the hair on our head and face. And we will cut off our fingers also. Will it satisfy you? “ The fellow replied in a bit sarcastic manner.
“Adjust Colonel. Don’t get too much fussy about these things. Make some compromises.” His fellow passenger advised.
“Shut up!!Compromises, egh? This is the problem with our society. Compromise with everything. Today morning the toilet was stinking like sewer. When I was complaining about it, people told me to adjust. Shove off!! This country won’t progress. This stupid democracy is full of adjustments and compromises. It should be scrapped off and military rule should be established. It won’t give any room for adjustments and compromises. Then only this nation would progress.” The colonel said.
I moved on. To the AC compartment. To get some cool air. To get in touch with some posh and pomp.
Two ladies were talking.
“You know, it took 7500 bucks to straighten my hair. Isn’t it flowing now? “
“Ooh!!Awesome.It took almost the same to groom the hair of my dog, Tippu. He was a Labrador. But last month he died. Because of food poisoning. Negligence of my servant. After that I beat the hell out of him. You know, Tippu was very sweet and lovely. After that I lost the interest in life. I thought of even committing suicide. I miss him very much.”
I left the compartment. I can’t take more posh and pomp. The train is now passing through the Naxal dominated areas of Andhra Pradesh. I wondered what the Naxalites would have done had they overheard the ladies conversation. They might chop off the 7500 bucks-worth-straight haired-head; to bring equality in society; to bridge the gap between haves and have-nots
I went near the door of the compartment. A young man was standing there. Not exactly standing. Hanging from the compartment with one hand on the bar. He had one bottle of Coke in the other hand. It won’t take any rocket-science to make out that the contents of the bottle were not non-alcoholic. He was howling and yelling.
“ I wanna die. I wanna die”
“Dear brother, why do you want to die? You are too young for that” I said.
“Why shouldn’t I? Will you tell me one reason?” He asked me.
What can I answer. I was puzzled.
“ I am a bloody loser. Loser in every field of life. My parents disowned me. About academics, least said is the better. All my friends ditched me. And girls. I proposed to many girls but all turned me down. Why should I live?. My virility is challenged. I should die.”
“No girls. No friends. No money. I should die.”
He started to sing this.
“Sir, if you don’t let us travel, then we’ll have no other option but to jump from this running train and die”
This statement turned my attention from this hooligan. I looked at the direction from which the voice came. Sitting on the floor near the other door were a middle-aged man, his wife and their three children. Their clothes and physique betrayed the days of utter poverty and malnourishment they have had. The man was having an argument with the TTR.
“Please understand. I cannot let you travel without tickets. I have to abide by the rules. I’m accountable to the government.” TTR said.
“Government! Hugh!!. Where was your government when all our crops where affected by drought? Where was your government when the moneylenders and the bankers took away all our lands? Where was your government when many of my fellow farmers ended up their lives? At least, we are making an effort to survive in this ruthless world. If your government is still showing its callous attitude then we will jump out of this train now.”
The man said.
I was thinking who had got the better reasons to die-whether the hooligan at the other door or this farmer and his family in this door. Finally the TTR melted and he let them travel.
I got really fed up. I cannot take more human characters in my mind. I had seen enough of eccentricities. Enough of weirdness. Enough of contrasts. I went back to my seat and slept.
Next day train reached Mumbai. I got down from the train and got dissolved in the crowd. I hoped my first companion would get adjusted with the rat race. I hoped that the old lady would have a tranquil death. I hoped that Colonel’s dream of a disciplined India would materialize. I hoped that the lady’s straightening of hair would have a permanent effect. I hoped that the lady would get over the grief of her Tippu’s death. I hoped that the hooligan would get a girlfriend. I hoped that the farmer and his family would be able to make a decent living in Mumbai.
I moved on. To get in touch with more eccentricities, more weirdness and more contrasts of humanity.
MANU SEBASTIAN

AN INNOCENT SOUL

2006-11-13T09:48:00.000+05:30

• Come on George, Run fast” Rahul yelled. George and Rahul were enacting a PT USHA-model sprint in the bustling Ernakulam Railway Station. The Venad Express was luring them with its crawling. George and Rahul put their full energy into their legs, hoping that the Venad Express won't be callous enough to leave them behind in the station. In that process, Rahul hit an old man and pushed him over. He ignored him and grabbed the handle bar of the bogie and sprang into it. George was about to jump into the compartment. But some irresistible force prevented him from doing so. The sight of the old man lying down.; All the articles in his bag strewed the dirty floor-coins, Tiffin box, some photographs, paper chits. People jumping over him; stamping their foot on his belongings. people rushing around without any thought that they are treading on a human soul. The plight of that old man forced him to ignore Rahul's incessant calls.; to ignore the important meeting which is supposed to take place; to ignore the very fact that he is already late for work.Geroge went near the old man. He helped him to get up from his down-trodden state. He also helped him to gather his belongings which were scattered all over the place. He could see the 'X' mark of the train moving to infinity.'Today I'm going to miss the meeting. My career would be at peril. Again I'll be made to pay the price for helping out someone'It's not the first time that the sight of someone suffering has shaken his conscience. The spring of humanity in him had not dried up in the sultriness of consumerist and materialistic world life. He could not brush people off in their plight. Instead, he extended a helping hand. That too, on many occasions at the cost of his own life; his time; his money; his relationships. his future. It happened when he hospitalized a person, who was lying injured on the National Highway like a stray dog. Not only did it cost him a lot of money but it also got him in legal troubles. Same thing happened on his date. He was waiting for his girlfriend in a restaurant. Then he saw an old woman who was begging outside. Later he learned that she hasn’t taken food for many days. When his girlfriend came, she could see him dining with that old lady. That was the end of that relationship. Even if all trees in this world are made into paper, they won't suffice to record the instances where George has invited troubles by being a Good Samaritan.“Thanks a lot. I’m sorry that you missed your train. “The old man said.“its ok.Trains will come and go. But an opportunity to help a fellow human being, if lost cannot be regained” George replied.“It seems that helping out people is your profession” The old man laughed.“If I turn a blind eye to a man in need of help, my conscience will prick.Afterall we all are children of God. I follow what my Lord has said-”Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and will with thy soul, and with all thy strength and with all thy mind, and thy neighbor as thyself”“Oh!!You believe in God?” The old man asked.“Yes. I believe in God. God is Almighty” He asserted.“Oh!!If god is almighty, can he create a rock which he cannot lift?” his eyes were full of mischief.George was flabbergasted by that question. He did not know whether to say 'yes' or 'no'.“God is a divine force which is beyond the level of human understanding. It cannot be explained or substantiated with human reasoning” George gave him the same answer which he got from a priest, when, as a young boy, he questioned the existence of God.“Anything beyond reason is unreasonable. I don't believe in the existence of God. Even if it exists it is a very callous and merciless force who do not know how to mete out justice.” The old man started sobbing.” I lost my wife, my son and my grand children in last year’s tsunami. I lost my everything. My children, they never deviated from the path of rigteousness.Still, they had to meet up with a disastrous fate.Why? What is the justification? Why didn’t I get killed? I haven’t committed any grave sin so that I should spend my old age begging in this railway station.Why?When the corrupt officials,gangsters,murderers,dons,smugglers,rapists,dacoits are thriving in the world, why are poor souls like me and my children punished? Look at those children, who have made this station their home. What sin they have committed to be deprived of love, care and protection? Why some are made blind, lame and mentally retarded? What sin they have commited? Why your god is so merciless and unjust?”George was a bit confused about how to console the old man.“Please relax. Lord says that 'Blessed are they that mourn; for they shall be comforted.Blessed are they who are prosecuted for righteousness sake; for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven'Haven’t you heard the fable of rich man and Lazarous. Rich man was clothed in purple and fine linen and fared sumptuously everyday. And there was a certain beggar named Lazarus who was laid at his gates, full of sores. And desiring to be fed with the crumbs which fell from the rich man’s table.Morover the dogs came and licked his sores. After death,richman was sent to hell and Lazarus rose to heaven. And in hell, richman lift up his eyes, being in torments and saw Abraham far off and Lazarus in his bosom. God is just. Justice will be delivered. If not in earth but in heaven.” “Heaven!!Hugh!!You people have invented heaven in order to shut the mouth of the poor and down-trodden. You people exploit them; deny them rights; and pacify them by assuring them a prosperous life after death. I have sheer contempt toward people like you. Instead of trying to make world a better place to live in, you daydreamers envisage a sumptuous life in heaven”George had no answer to give. The next train came“God bless you. I have got to go.”Geroge said.“Are you a pastor?”“No. I’m working in a company.”“Anyway thanks for helping me. And for trying to change my outlook on life”In the train, George ruminated over the conversation he had with that man. His bitter experiences have made him skeptical about the existence of God. George analyzed his life. Even he didn't have a blissful childhood or a resplendent adolescence. As a small kid, he lost his both parents in an accident .His relatives, who were eying his parent's vast property, were reluctant to rear him and threw him in the street. He grew up in the company of street children. Later he was adopted by Christian monks. There he got love, care and education. They instilled in him a quest for spiritual knowledge. He learnt all religious books, especially bible. It enabled him to develop a positive outlook. He believed in God, though there was no rational base for that belief. He felt that there was some in divine intervention in his life. Though his parents died in the accident, he escaped miraculously. Though he was thrown in the street he was given shelter by the pious and philanthropic monks. Though he never got the opportunity to study in any prestigious school, the sagacious monks imparted to him wisdom and inculcated in him a cheerful disposition. All his miseries appeared to him as blessings. He wanted to devote his life to express his boundless gratitude to that omnipotent, omnipresent and obscure force. He found the fragments of that spiritual entity in every human being.'The King shall answer.Verily; I say unto you, insamuch as you have done it unto one of the least of these my bretheren, you have done it unto me'These words were his inspiration.When George went into boss's chamber, a volcano erupted. Lava of anger flowed out from boss's face. George was actually a laughing stock of that office. His ridiculous adventure gave enough relaxation to them from their hectic work.During lunch break he met Rahul.“You dumbo! You could have easily come here, had you taken that train. But you cannot leave behind that oldman, right? Was he your grandpa or what?”“Why should you be concerned about my behavior? Isn’t it my prerogative to decide what to do?”“George, be practical. I’m not saying that you should not help people. But you have to look after your affairs also. These people have very short memory. When you are in need of help. I swear. no one will turn up. People are very ungrateful. This world is unfit for people like you.”“If you are telling these things just to give an exercise to your idle tounge, then continue. But if to change my attitude, then it's better you give rest to your tongue.”

*********************************************************************

George was giving colour to the monochromatic National Highway with the red blood oozing out of his head. He gazed at the sky. The moon and the stars were watching him lying down helplessly like the people who had surrounded him. Birds flew over his body, like the people who passed by without even turning an eye. George could hear the footsteps of death approaching him faintly.The world was playing a cruel joke on George. But he could not comprehend the magnitude of that joke .At least, to do justice to innocent souls like him, there should be a heaven.MANU SEBASTIAN

THE CYBORG

2006-11-09T09:46:00.000+05:30

The shrieking sound of the bell woke her up from her slumber.The students were waiting for the bell like the parched earth waiting for the skies to open.The sonicwaves emerging from the brass plate stirred up a commotion in the class.
“Happy Birthday Nisha......Happy Birthday Nisha.......”
However,Nisha was not payng much attention the the dissonant song,ostensiably sung in chorus.
“Hey Nisha,You are leaving??We won't let you go.Where are you going to take us to?McDonalds?Pizza Hut?Dominos?”
“or our canteen??”
“Sorry!I'll give treat on someother day.Now I have got to go.”
“Come on man.Its your birthday.Everyday you are like this.On hearing the last bell you rush to your home.Why?So obsessed with studying??”
“No way!you know,I'm not at all studious”Nisha giggled.
“Your scoresheets say that.Then what?You dont like spending time with us?”
“Er..not that..Today I've got to go..”Nisha groped for excuses”Somebody is waiting for me in my house”
“Ooh..somebody!!You naughty bitch!!Somebody waiting for nisha in her house.That too when her parents are out.Now the cat is out of bag.Spmebody!!”
Nisha could see everyone chuckling.
“Hey..There is nothing like that”
“Like what?..Ooh..look at her blush.Ok.Carry On.We dont want to be spoilsports.”
Nisha got out of the fortressof her classmates with a sigh.She cursed herself for telling that excuse.
'Why can't these people mind teir own business.I hate people trying to be overpally with me'
She opened the door of the house.
'Thank God!There isnt anyone here..I enjoy this solitude.'
She rushed towards her computer.Waited impatiently for everything to get loaded.
Orkut Login.
MSN Login.
Yahoo Login.
Gmail Login.
You are connected to 235657889 people through 568 friends.-displayed the orkut home page.
Suddenly a window popped up
“asl please”
Another-”Hi!!wassup!!”
She checked her scrap book entries.Lots of birthday wishes.Lots of ove flowing in from different parts of the world.Her online pals are scattered all over the globe.Sending their regards.Caring for her.Thinking about her.Admiring her.
She felt pride in her gregarious nature.
'How popular and lovable am I '
She was busy chatting with her Mongolian frined.The conversation,whihc was flowing very freely without any viscousity was interrupted by the ringing of the calling bell.
“Oh Fuck!.My mom is early hoem today”
'Ok..bye..I hv gtg..c u..tc..'.She ended the conversation by adhering to the online etiquette.
“Happy birthday dear.”Her mother hugged her.
“Thanks Mom”
“Meet my colleague Sarita.And her daughter Rita”
“Hi”
“Hi”
Her mother immediately set the table.Kept the cake and candles.Nisha was watchin all the proceedings like a bystander.
'Jennifer must be online now..By the time all the birthday banalities are over she might have signed out.'
She hurried through all the formalities.Blowing our candles,cutting cake,passing the cake pieces.
'How mundane?'she thought.She prayed that the guests would go back soon.She will have to stay back like a statue with a plastic smile.
“You girls go and have chat.We have got some importan matters to discuss.”
“Hi.We will go to your room.”Rita said with a wide smile.
“Come”
Many chat boxes had sprouted all over the desktop.She entered into her virtual world ,oblivious of the prescence of Rita.
“You seem to be very techno savvy”Rita commented.
“Ha.A Bit”
“Is chatting your favourite pastime?”
“Its not exactly my pastime.Its my life.”
Nisha was getting irritated by her pestering.
“Oh great!!.None of yor friends came for the party.Didnt you invite them?”
“My friends cannot come here”her eyes were still glued at the screen.
“Why?”she was puzzled.
“They are online frinends.”
“Online friends!!Ok.but dont you have any normal....I mean...human friends”
***********************
Hours fell into days.Days made months.Months amalgamated to form years.Years passed by to make Nisha a woman.Her online community also grew with her.She shifted to a city and took a flat.She secured a job also.To be specific an online job.
It was actually a dream come true for her.Every morning she need not rush to the office.She need not drink the insipid office grapevine.No need to succumb to anyones bossing.Jut sit in her room with her soulmates-her computer and solitude.She need to chat with the onlin clients of the company.And she has to do some online drafting and accounting works.She will be paid online also.She need not get out of her room/Just make the online order for the household things.Service at doorstep.
She never felt her online life monotonous.Orkutting was opium for her.Messengers her marijuana.The heroin of chatting got into her veins and nerves.
Miseries and sorrows in her virtual world were like snakes in Iceland.Totally absent.No burdens of the mundane world life there.Only the excitement of meeting new people and making new relationships.She had online love affairs.Online dating.And even online breakups.As her online global community was inflating her social circle was shrinking.
***********************
The chirpings of the birds woke her up form her deep sleep.AS she gradually opened her eyelids,sunlight seeped into her eyes.She instantaneously closed her eyelids tightly.She has not seen sunlight for ages.It will take time for her pupils to get adjusted with the bright sunlight.The sound of the bird chirpings were getting on her nerves.She sprang out of her bed and screamed ”Shut up...worthless creature..”
Then a lady clad in white dress came near her.
“Easy.Relax.Just lie down.I was waiting for you to wake up.I will call the doctor and come”.She walked away.
Even in her dizzy mood she coul make out that she was lying on a hospital bed.
'But why??'
Doctor came in accompaniedby the nurse.Her pulse rate and BP were checked.She was administered some medicines.
“What am I doing here doctor?”Nisha asked.
“You are suffering from acute viral fever.Yesterday night you were admitted here.Before that you were lying unconscious in your room for two days.Some representative of your company came to your flat,since you were not responding to them.He found you lying unconscious and brought you here.And the interesting thing is that your neighbouring flat mates never knew that their next door was occuppied.Ok.Take rest”
The doctor and his convoy walked away.
The bright sunlight illuminated the whole room.She found it irritating.She got up from her bed to draw the curtains of the window.She could see the hospital garden through the window.A well maintained garden with wide variety of flowers.She found the flowers in the garden hoary when compared to the resplendent flowres which decorated her computer desktop.
Some scrreching noise diturbed her thoughts.It was a baby crying.She was getting really annoyed.It was like somebody piercing her eardrums with a needle.She got out of the room.A lady was sitting on a chair with her baby.
“Shut up..you fucking son of a bitch!!”
The lady was startled.
“How dare you yell at my child.?Mind your words...”
“What if I dont...You bloody whore...”
Nisha slapped that lady.It led to a commotion.The timely intervention of the hospital staff prevented it from snowballing inot a major issue.
Nisha was brought to the doctor's room.
“Doctor,I want to know why I am imprisoned here.Please let me go.I am perfectly ok.”
“You are not,Nisha.If you were,would you have scuffled with that poor lady.??”
“Please doctor.This place is weird.I am in desperate need of a computer,I want to get in touch with my online community.This is driving me nuts.”
“Come On,Nisha.The problem is with you.Your problem is that you were totally involved in your online chatting and online business.You were not concerned about the world outside your room.I think you have got addicted to internet.So you had oppurtunity to socialize with people.That is why you are finding everything weird.Actually you are weird.”
“Doctor,dont try to teach me what socializing is.I have got infinite number of friends scattered all over the globe.My friend circle is not like yours,which is confined to some persons living in the vicinity of your house.”
“Oh Nisha.Try to undersand the reality.Step out of your online world.Try to live in the real world.That is why I asked you to spend some time here.Try to interact with more people.Get to know more of them.Enjoy the nature.Enjoy the music of birds;the fragrance of flowers.;the enticing beauty of the garden”
“Doctor,I dont want to listen to your lecture.I want to leave.Finish of the hospital formalities and let me leave.”
“If you are adamant,then I dont have anything more to say.But we had informed your mother.She will be reaching here by tomorrow evening.We will let you go only after her arrival.Otherwise,it will lead to legal comlications.You have to stay back here till tomorrow evening.Please co-operate.”
She had to retreat to her room.The solitariness of the room was horrifying.Time had become stagnant for her.The room was filled with the air of ennui.
'I must get out of this place.I must get back to my room.To my computer.To my online community.This world is weird.It is unfit for living.I must leave at the earliest.But it is not possible to leave through the main door'
She noticed large windows of her room which had no bars.Emotions superseded prudence.She jumped from the fourth floor of the building.She signed out of this world to log in to some other world.
MANU SEBASTIAN

THE LAMENTATIONS OF A SUCCESFUL MAN

2006-11-03T09:39:00.000+05:30

Mr Jacob Mathew kept the trophy securely in the shelf.”THE MOST SUCCESFUL BUISINESS MAN OF THE YEAR AWARD”-These words were engraved in the golden plate of the trophy. He allowed his 85 kg weighing body,marred with diabates,cholasterol and other diseases which are the gifts of the modern life style,to recline on the easy chair.”The most successful person in the world”-the words used by the chief guest to describe him were echoing in his head.The thunderous applause of the audience;glittering flashlights of the cameras;swarming mediapersons.;But his heart was aching.
The party thrown by him was studded with eminent personalitities-filmstars,politicians,buisinessmen.But he was not able to dissolve into the party.He hung a smile on his cheeks.Later he drew a straightline on his face,after thr cheek muscles found it difficult to support the smile.Something was pricking him.”Congragulations”,”How are you”,”Whats up?”-these words fell on his ears like rain drops spattered on a piece of boulder.When he realised that he was an insoluble entity in the party he sneaked out of it to his some.
“I am at the zenith of succes.Yet I am not happy.Why??”
The words engraved on the trophy beamed a sarcastic smile at him.He was feeling hungry.He went into the kitchen in search for anything to eat.His wife,children and servants are enjoying the party.After groping around sometime,he stumbled upon some donuts.He took one in his hands nad gazed through the hole of the donut.
“My life is like a donut.Nothing inside.Just a hole.I have accumulated all material welath.But nothing has nourished my inner self.If i eat up the external part of this donut...what is left..nothing..just air..if i shed my exterior self..there wont be anything left...just voidness...”
He was feeling bored.He swithched on the TV.On seeing the images of him being felicitated he swithched it off.His eyes then stuck on an old almirah.It was stocking some old certificate,documents and other antiquated things.-a dignified form of a garbage bin. On opening the old almirah doors,an old trophy tumbled down with a crackling noise. The trophy he got for clinching the first place in some music competition at school level.
His cerebral cells took a fast rewind. Old memories were dusted off. Music was a passion for that school boy. He took pride in the fact that he belonged to the privilaged class of persons who are gifted with the boon of music. In the fabric of life he wanted to sew the dream of becoming a great musician. When audience felicitated him with thunderous applause , he felt that he epitomized glory.He felt like a conqueror,who after vanquishing the whole universe,skipped around by yelling” I am the most succesful person in this world”.Music was the elixir of his life;it was for music he lived;it was music which fuelled his life.
“Why didnt I become a musician?”
There was a time when he used to proclaim proudly that he wanted to be a musician.
But this was not well received always.Later on he started feeling tounge -tied,when he was confronted with the question “what did he want to be.?”.He tried to evade it by giving elusive answers like “I dont know”,”I havn't decided”.He had a dream.But not the grit to materialize it.
His father told him”Think practically.An engineer or a doctor has got a status in the society.People look upon them with respect.There is no guarantee that you will be succesful as a musician.Be an engineer or a doctor.Your life is secure.”
His mother told him”Think practically.The demand for an engineer or a doctor is very high in a marriage market.It is very easy for an engineer or a doctor to get a beautiful wife”
His brother told him”Think practically.A doctor or an engineer can easily fetch a lot of money.You can easily get a big bunglow,car,etc”
Gradually he mastered the art of thinking practically. He took science subjects.He joined entrance coaching classes.He took consolation in the fact that he has got a respectable answer to give if any one asked him what he wanted to be.
“I want to be an engineer or a doctor.”
All the subjects like physics,chemistry,maths wre choking the musician inside him.He caged his inner self in the prison made of his own avarice and lack of determination.He stopped paying heed to his inner voices.He felt it more practical to follow his reasoning than his instincts.He lost the power to control himself.His mind was controlled by his avarice,his greed and his ability to think practically.
He was like a piece of log floating in river.
Thus he became an engineer.A software professional.A business tycoon,However,as he was ascending his inner self was descending.His unfulfilled dreams,his old ambitions,his old passion;everything was piled up in the cellar of his mind.When he was beaming with glory,his inner self was weeping.He put the musician in himself to a premature death.
He glanced at the trophy.It has become rusty.He wiped off the dust and cobwebs.But it cannot recover its lost sheen and lustre.He cleared his throat.He tried to recollect the lines of a song which he used to sing.Words are coming to his lips.But no sound is coming out of his soundbox.It is very difficult to open a door which has remained shut for ages.At last,words came out of his lips with music.But he could not identify the sound,-a cacaphonic,hoarse voice,
No,this is not my voice.I had a sweet,melodious voice,It had a midas touch which could convert every bystander into a listener.This is not my voice.
He tried again.It was worse.Again.No.
“Oh my goodness.I have murdered my innerself,I have shattered my own dreams.I was endowed with a gift.But I lost it.I am loser.I am the biggest loser in this world.I was gifted with a piece of diamond.But i bartered it for a glowing piece of ember.My life is not worth living.I don't have the right to live in this world”
He committed suicide.