The harsh winters

“Dad, what is first love like?” A thirty year old beleaguered Rahul enquired to his sixty year old father, Manish. In the last twenty four hours the thirty year old Rahul had aged by decades and sixty year old Manish had just withered to a frail old weakling.

The old man, his hair silvered by age and experience, closed his eyes for a good part of the minute that ensued. He was formulating a beautiful and soothing reply to his son’s question. “Drown your face in a bucket of water for a minute. First love is like the first gulp of air after that. You can virtually feel every molecule of air passing through your nostrils, engulfing your lungs and speeding relief throughout your body. Elongate this sensation to an eternity that is how I felt when I met your mom.”

“And what was the loss like when mom died?” On a normal day, at a normal hour, at a normal moment this question would have been awkward and out of place- however not now. They were sitting in a hospital.

“It is the most bitter feeling of my life. The taste is still fresh in my senses as if it was yesterday. It felt as if half of my brain had died. Along with my brain, my body was succumbing to an unknown and fathomless pit of which there was no way out. A darkness which creeps out the daylights of any happy man, I was falling into such a pit; and worth mentioning remarkable part is I wanted to be wholly consumed by it. I wanted to be overlapped by it to the tiniest measure of my hair. She left a hole in my soul which nothing and no-one from this universe can fill.” Manish’s frowned forehead revealed multiple wrinkles. There was a palpable sadness etched on his face. The sadness was contagious and seemed to radiate with a high lethal intensity. Even a blind man could sense the grief his face radiated.

“How did you survive after she died?”

“You made me survive son. You had her eyes- the black jet eyes, the prominent chin. You reminded me of her every moment. You reminded me of how much I loved her eyes. You reminded me of what I had loved and how that love was not transient. My love for your mother and her love for me came back to me through you. I don’t picture myself surviving if you hadn’t been there.” Manish took a long look at his son. His eyes were moist and just on the verge of overflowing. A slight nudge from somewhere and he would have wept.

The doctor clad in light green robes came out of the operation theatre. Her face bore signs of tiredness, as if she had just fought a long battle, and marks of grief; it was a battle against fate “Mr. Rahul you are the father of a sweet, beautiful girl.” She spoke with a fake smile that didn't reach her eyes.

“And what about my daughter, doctor?” Manish sat on the verge of his chair. He could sense the foreboding which the doctor was trying to camouflage.

“We are sorry sir, we could not save her. There were complications and there had been a lot of bleeding. We tried our best yet we couldn't revive her.”

The old man knew what the bad news was going to be. Yet he was hoping for some miracle to occur. He had hoped for a similar miracle when Trisha had died. He had hoped against hope the last time and this time. For the last hour he had been replaying this conversation with different result, only wishing the versions he played in his mind might turn out to be real. He accepted the news with no reaction on his face. The old man slowly retrieved himself from the chair on which he had been sitting. Tiptoed to the room adjacent to the Operation Theater where the dead mother and the new born had been temporarily shifted. Manish wanted to sit down and console his son, however from an old and sad experience he knew better. He knew that at such moment one can simply show the door to Rahul, it was he who had to walk past that door. No matter how much painful and hurtful it was going to be, he had to walk through it. He did walk through when Trisha died, Rahul will too. He had not yet lost faith.

  

Manish went inside the room and took a good look at his grand-daughter. She had her mother’s cheeks and was sleeping with her eyes closed akin to petals on a delicate rose bud. She looked beautiful and at peace, unaware of how her world had recently shattered. Manish dragged his feet from the incubator to the bed where her daughter-in-law lay in a different type of peace and in a different type of sleep.

Old memories started flooding in. The day she had come to his house for the first time with Rahul; the day she married Rahul and entered his house as the bride; the day she  tried cooking for the first time and over-cooked the dal. His lips parted to reveal a small smile. “It is a torture to see your children die before your own eyes. You were the daughter I never had. May you rest in peace my daughter.” He kissed her forehead and slowly walked outside.

Rahul was sitting at the same position dejected and lost in thoughts. Manish occupied the empty seat beside his son. Neither the father nor the son spoke for the next quarter hour. Finally, Rahul broke the silence, “how does she look?”

“Just like her mother. Bright, beautiful and lovely.”

Suddenly, as if all dams binding the emotions broke down. Out of the blue some electromagnetic spark transpired between the father-son duo. Manish and Rahul both started crying.

Note from the writer: The winters are harsh on all. They may not be fair to all. Regardless of how harsh the winters are, they cannot stop the spring from coming. Flowers do bloom when the spring comes. People are meant to be loved, and people are meant to be mourned. No one is immortal neither me nor my loved ones, despite how fondly we bind ourselves to them. People after a certain time do move on to a different world. Rahul's wife did, Trisha did, someday Manish will too. What shall remain is a brief memory of an over-cooked dal. A thing of beauty is indeed a joy forever.

Point 5203

“Amol! If you don’t come out I am going to stop talking to you.”  A flustered Usha tired of her son’s tantrums sat on the bed. She spoke the name Amol with an elongated ‘o’. Her one hand had a small plate with chapatti and dal in it, her other hand was being frantically used either to brush off her hair out of her eyes or to search for Amol.

The seven year old Amol came out of his hiding. He was hiding under an iron chair that was overstuffed with clothes that had been washed today. His sweet voice was enough to melt any heart, here we are talking about a mother’s heart- it was liquidized. “I am sorry mumma. Don’t say I won’t talk to you anymore.”

The middle aged woman, mother of two brothers Aman and Amol, had moist eyes. She started feeding the young Amol with her own hands. His mouth was over-stuffed with food. “Amol take the last morsel and I won’t feed you till night.”

“Make me a promise that you won’t cry when I don’t come out of hiding?” The sweet young-ling had a few tricks up his sleeves. He found his mother's tears an emotional torture that rips his peace and happiness apart.

“Ok. Pakkaa.”, with a smile on her face Usha fed the last morsel to Amol.

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“Mumma, I want to go to NDA. Dada also went to join the Air Force right? Why are you stopping me?” Amol was having a difficult time make his mother bringing her round to his views. Amol wanted to join the Defence Academy and his mother was antagonistic to the idea. 

“No. You won’t. I do not want to send both of my sons away from me. You have cleared the engineering entrance get a good college and study. I want you to stay close to me. Your dada will be away fighting for his ideals and his country, at least I will have you with me.” Usha was in no mood to listen to any of her son’s point.

“Mumaa, dada is happy and papa is supportive of my decision too.” The teenage youngster looked at Aman, his elder brother, and his father S. P. Sharma for some support.

“Don’t either of you dare to come in between me and my son there won’t be anyone worse than me!” Usha threatened both Satpal and Aman with a lethal expression. The look was a stare down even for a roaring lion. Aman who had just raised his hand to support Amol, quickly crashed his hands onto his laps. Satpal and Aman shared a quick glance at each other and remained seated at their positions quitely. “In case anyone of you want to eat, the food will be served in fifteen minutes. I am not going to ask a second time.”

Late in the night when everyone had retired to their rooms Satpal stroked Usha's forehead and uttered, “Let the child make his own path. If he wants to join the army why should we stop him? He won’t go unless you give him the permission, you know right?”

Usha started crying and after a few words of consolation Satpal fell asleep; Usha cried for a long time. When Satpal woke up in the morning Usha was no where in sight. Satpal went to the children’s room to see Usha sleeping peacefully on Amol’s bed. Satpal’s lips parted to reveal a highly content smile.

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The 300 plus bodies of flesh and blood who took their first step in 1991 are marching to the “antim pagh” of the National Defence Academy. Today Usha looks at the finest men of the Indian population; even calling them the finest men on this planet won’t be a stretched truth. Three years ago the 300 bodies of flesh and bones made a decision and crossed the first step into the academy that teaches them everything life has to offer. These three years have prepared them for anything and everything that life may throw upon them. These gentlemen are a symbol of honor and pride - the virtues which lasts longer than any other mortal attribute. Among st such glorious men Usha's eyes are riveted on her son.

A proud Usha Sharma pins the stars on her son’s uniform. She has moist eyes. “You know right this mess serves the best food you will find in the whole of the world?” Amol said with a smile on his face on seeing the hidden tiffin in her mother’s bag. “However extra food is always welcome!” 

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A disturbed Aman was on the line, “I heard you are being posted to Siachen. Is that true?”

Amol replied back with a hint of surprise in his tone, “Really? How come these fellow know where I want to go? ”

“Stop kidding Amol. You know that mother won’t take the news lightly. Given her affection for you, I expect a bit of tears and surely a tantrum.”

“You wish she threw the same affection towards you, right? Don’t worry and don’t tell her where I am posted. I will give her a call once in two weeks to let her know I am fine.”

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Siachen is a not a place, at least not a place as we mention in common terminology. It is a part of the 2 trillion cubic volume of frozen water. It is a pole itself in “the third pole”. It is the highest battleground on earth, and the elemental forces of nature are the harshest that mankind shall ever endure and still live. After three weeks of acclimatization at the Siachen Battle School Amol made way for the Siachen Glacier. He was scheduled to stay there for 90 days, and regardless of what his relatives and parents said he didn't withdraw his name from the Siachen posting.

On the 82^nd day he was asked to extend his stay by a month, to which he readily agreed. Look from a common and basic point of view, what is there at 7000mt height apart from kilometers and kilometers of solid ice; a week in Siachen and your eyes will long for any color apart from white. A 90 day stay is sufficient for you to start hating the most serene of all colors, yet here we have a gentleman who extended his stay on this barren land for another 30 days.

On his last day another soldier named Sahil asked Amol, “Sir, what made you stay here for another 30 days?”

“Siachen is no ordinary place. It may be different geographically than the rest of the places on earth where military serves, however no other place makes you feel special. Siachen is a place where only men of steel volunteer to serve and when you leave this place you feel as if there is no one equal to your standards in the whole of nation. You walk the whole territory of the Indian country with your held high and an expression that you are an emperor. 30 extra days of an emperor are welcome Sahil!”

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Aman and Amol had come to their parents place to spend their holidays. Every year both of the brothers used to apply for holidays at the same time in the month of may.

On 16^th of may, 1999 the land-line at their house rang the person on the other side asked for Aman. Aman was asked to report immediately to the air force base.

Minutes later the land-line rang again to ask for Amol. He was being asked to report to Kargil in Jammu and Kashmir, instead of Delhi.

The rest of the evening was drained in murmurs and chatter of what had happened and what was about to happen. Usha had a flying feeling that this is going to be a long lasting memory for her. She cooked up the favorite sweet of both brothers. The next morning both the brothers woke early and started for their destinations.

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The last twenty days have been nothing less than hell for Amol. There hasn't been a moments peace in the valley to be experienced. Everyday new news used to pour in- either the news regarding new posts that have been discovered under the Pakistan’s control or colleagues who died fighting for one of the decimal numbers. Amol hurriedly finished his letter to his mother, “Don't worry about me. I hope to be back in Delhi by the end of this month. Then you can fix my marriage in case you all are in a hurry.”

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June 10, 1999

Captain Amol Kalia, along with 13 of his men started for the mission of freeing point 5203. Amol Kalia was specially called from Delhi on account of his in-depth knowledge and experience of mountain warfare.

Indian army was battling on various fronts inside the valley. The nation’s attention was held by the fighting in the Drass sector, however the heavily entrenched Pakistani forces on the tougher terrain of Batalik was turning out to be a grave for the Indian soldiers. Climbing already occupied peaks by enemy forces in Batalik is like standing in no mans land and shouting anti-pakistan slogans. Bullets slip by your ears and legs only to hit you somewhere in the chest; do the physics and add to those bullets a few more speed when they are being fired from 16000+ feet height.

Point 5203 was a military post in the Batalik sector. The soldiers of the northern infantry of Pakistan sat on the top of this ice clad peak. The 14 Indian soldiers of the Jammu and Kashmir Light Infantry led by Amol Kalia ascended the peak in the dead of the night to face a pack of well hidden, bunker-ed and armored 25 soldiers. What are the odds? When you deal with brave rare human you don’t look up to statistics, here we are talking of the rarest of the rare human.

Despite the well entrenched enemies, the 12 infantry team holed the 25 odd soldiers in their bunkers. For how long could they do that was the question? The light machine gun detachment personnel to Amol died in the wee hours of 11^th june. Kalia picked up the machine gun and opened fire on the enemy bunkers as Hollywood movies often show. A desperate hero surrounded by enemy picks up a machine gun lying on the floor to open fire on anyone and everyone. The only difference being here people do die when hit by these bullets. Kalia himself shot five men with the LMG before succumbing to his injuries and falling dead. 

Neither of the 14 men survived the bullets, nor did the 25 Pakistani men. Point 5203 was finally captured at the cost of 14 Indian lives, and by taking 25 Pakistani lives. 

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Usha didn’t cry when she received the news of her dead son. She didn’t speak a word for the next 11 days. She hardly ate, she hardly drank and she hardly cried. On 21^st june, 1999 when Amol’s body was handed over to his family Usha broke down. Wars are fought by warriors, and tears are shed by their mothers.

“I promised you son when you go into hiding I won’t cry, and when you have returned…” the rest of the line was drowned by her cries. The near by families were overwhelmed by Usha's grief. No mother has ever been so distressed, no father has ever been so proud and no sibling has ever been so lonely.

Satpal amidst tears in his own eyes bends over to retrieve a hand written piece of paper from Amol Kalia’s bullet holed dress- “Mother India doesn't want cowards.” When Amol was born little did this history teacher knew, that one day his son would fill up the pages of history. The way he lived; the way he died; the way he is immortal even in death is an indelible truth in itself.

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The AIR anchor named 24

“Good evening to those who have just started their vehicles for the pubs, good night for those who just completed their dinner. For the rest lovers sitting outside the girl’s apartment- beware of Indian Police. A dog’s bite is curable; a landing in jail is non-bailable!” The mysterious anchor of the 9 p.m. show on Shimla All India Radio welcomed his listeners.

The mysterious anchor calls himself ‘24’ these days. An odd name right? When he started anchoring he used to call himself ‘22’. In the last two years, add a few more months to justify the math, 24 has gathered a good number of admirers. His show called “the eternal lovers” encompass beautiful poems- few copied and mostly his own. His show is a must at the drinking joints in Shimla, his show is a must at various college hostels of the north, his show is a must in various homes of Shimla and his show is a must at SBI Asst. manager apartment where Trisha resides.

“Oh, in sweaty shimmering summer spree

To this lovely landscape people flee.

The lovely couples just into love

As beautiful doves reach this cove.

Should I wish you for days to come?

Wishes will be handy for a group of some.

Take my wishes of better luck

And some be warier with best of luck!

Love is a path that always demands a price,

Some pay the managers with hard earned buck,

The rest pay their life with beads of cries.

The summer of twenty-zero seven

I stumbled the hill called lovely heaven-

Some call it love for the sake of fun.

Her eyes bright, her hair short

Her ruddy lips with a tint of mole

Nerved are gods for their implicit role

And frenzied are damsels adorning the court.

Her lips part, to flaunt a smile

Waste is a matchbox that can spark a mile.”

Trisha had been listening to this mysterious guy since the last couple of months. He used to remind her of Sahil during college days. Sahil and Trisha were classmates in 2007-2011 batch of NIT Hamirpur. Sahil was a poet, a magician with words. It was rumored in the girl’s hostel that Sahil was in love with Trisha, and as girls usually are- she was confused. Trisha was confused to whether she should give up on her school time long friend Pratik who had proposed her in class 10^th and not called for the last six months, or give a go ahead to Sahil. Whenever Sahil spoke Trisha replied, however fearing emotions of betrayal to Pratik she never initiated a conversation.

On the contrary Sahil never knew when to give up on Trisha. There were moments when he would sense the non-reciprocity and get hurt. He would stop talking to Trisha for weeks, only to find compelled by his own thoughts, coerced by his own feelings to ping her ‘hi’ on gtalk. Four years of engineering passed away like a tuft of wind that originates somewhere in the trees, and comes with a gusto crashing on your face. Trisha never overcame her confusion, and Sahil never gave up on Trisha. On every Valentine’s Day and on every birthday of Trisha he used to find himself occupied in a smoke filled room with a pen in his hand penning down poems for her. He used to gather the courage to send it across to her, travel till the post office, stand in line and chicken out at the counter.

24 broke the thought train of Trisha with his words, “I wrote this piece when I was in final year of my graduation for a special girl who became a part of my life. I would like to share it with you, and just in case, if she happens to be listening always remember my words- it is never too late.”

“Was it the standing with you in admiss’n line

Or the play of the Sun on your hair that shine?
Was it the playful dent when you smile

Or was it the desire to walk you for a mile?

I fell in love when I was a kid at heart

And saw you on a day spilling tart.

I asked for a date which you smilingly refused

In spite I cracked jokes to see you amused.

How long can eternal love be on hold,

Waiting for you in my arms to behold?

The Sun, the Moon, and the lovely hills

Wait for the moment when love spills.

For years I have been fighting with my abandoned fate

Cajoling my heart - it is never too late!”

Words play a powerful role in our lives. Words conjure memories; words resurrect the dead and reflect them as tears in our eyes; words bring back our forgotten loved ones and rip our hearts making us yearn for them. Somewhere deep within Trisha’s heart, some deep and calm voice transpired. The voice made her believe 24 could be none other than Sahil. The voice called out to her, “Despite years and miles of distance between you two, he has still not lost hope. What is that which makes men love women with such absolute passion, regardless of how detrimental this passion is? It cannot be lust I am sure of that. Lust is a flesh worm that burns in the night and is finished by the morning. Lust is the temporary solace which Tulsidas mistook to be love. Love is eternal, all encompassing- omnipresent, regardless of where the physical bodies reside. Sahil has crossed the boundary of loss and gain, and he has accepted the universe where he is bereft of your presence. He might not have stoically accepted your absence, yet he has hopefully accepted your absence. He has gained solace in the fact that beyond this mortal world there is a parallel world where purity of thought is respected and responded to. Why bereft this man of the same happiness in this mortal world. Don’t you wished to be loved by such a man; don’t you wish to be loved by him? Aren’t you affected by his poems? You are the source and you are the end of his words!”

Trisha picked up her car keys and ran for the garage. She started her maruti alto and sped her car towards Ambedkar Chowk. On reaching Ambedkar Chowk she cursed “to hell with traffic laws” and snapped her car door shut. She virtually tripped herself while entering the AIR building; giving a slip to the security guard she managed to reach the recording room from where the mysterious number 24 was telecasting his today’s episode.

24 was indeed Sahil.

In matters of love the heart doesn’t wait to add two and two. Adding two and two is the work of the brain, the task of the heart is to pour it out to someone and be a cause of happiness. Without thinking of the consequences and results Trisha barged into the recording room and stood face to face with Sahil. He was in the middle of a poem when his eyes shifted from the page to be locked in the black eyes of Trisha. She had put a thin lining of Kajal in her eyes which was now starting to fade. Her eyes were moist and tears were on the verge of overflowing the brim.

“With hopes we meet--

In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive

Into the room you barge

Where my heart dwell.

Send word to the church,

Ask them to ring the bell.”

Trisha ran to his arms and after smudging the left over kajal on his shirt, spoke in the mike, “Hi, your anchor whom you know as 24, I am his miss 24. We wish to grow as Mr. and Mrs. 100...”

The rest of the hour was utilized by Trisha to entertain the audience with anecdotes of what all Sahil used to do to impress her in college.

The old man's loud love

Enya and Sangeeta, 20 and 16 years old respectively, surrounded Baljit, the 80 year old grandfather, and pestered him to tell a story. Baljit had wrinkled skin, white superfluous beard that comfortably reached his chest, a perfect small nose and drooping ear pinnate. It was somewhere in his 60’s that he decided to stop shaving his beard; today his white beard flowed like silk emanating from his face. Baljit loved to tell tales, and telling them to his granddaughters had always made him happy. His tales had a novelty and changed with time. When Enya and Sangeeta were kids he used to tell tales of fairies, when they turned into teenagers his stories were of princes and how to deal with impostors pretending as prince. The stories had the right amount of suspense, right amount of caution, right amount of patience and right amount of hope.

He closed his eyes for a while and immersed himself in thoughts, scouring through the vast years of experience a suitable story to humor his granddaughters. When he opened his eyes his granddaughters were sitting at the feet of his rocking chair with pillows for support. His daughter-in-law Trisha kept a cup of tea on a small stool beside his rocking chair, took a pillow and sat with her daughters. Trisha used to marvel at what type of man Baljit was. He was a perfect fatherly figure, with wisdom beyond anyone she had ever come across. Her husband, Rahul, took after his father and his wits were the prime reason Trisha found Rahul so inexhaustibly irresistible. She used to wonder did he have the same irresistible effect on every girl of the college or was she the only one. The thought brought an involuntary smile on her face. Baljit as if reading the thoughts of Trisha winked at her and Trisha found herself flushing red.

“Both, the father and the son, behave as if they are reading your mind.” She thought to herself and made a mental note to test the theory on Rahul.

Baljit began. “Your grandmother and I were both BA final year students. We used to take history and politics classes together.”

Enya and Sangeeta opened their mouths in surprise and looked at each other accusingly, expecting the other of knowing secret and not revealing to the other.

Baljit enjoying the subtle movement went ahead, “I went head over heels for her in the first class. However she required a good amount of ground work and cajoling to get her around to my views. She ultimately did though but after I got drunk and dared her to either marry me or stop talking to me. For reasons better known to her she chose to stop talking to me.”

“She did not talk to me for a complete month. After a month, as I was dredging myself out of the history class, she came to me and said, “Fine, I will marry you, but I snore at night!”

Enya and Sangeeta went into hysterical laughter. Neither was the granddad's proposal romantic nor was the grandmom's reply. Yet the eyes of the sisters sparked with admiration for their grandparents surely had style.

Trisha started imagining her initial days with Rahul. Even she had missed his sharp talks and wit when Rahul did not talk to her for a day or two. It was fortunate that Rahul came forward and proposed her, or else she’d have proposed him otherwise. Is it a genes thing in this family? Surely it was. Enya had her grandfather traits. Enya at the age of twenty had a long line of charmers swooning over her sharp wit. Look how deep the charm flows!

“We got married, by the time our course ended. I took up a job in Pune’s army engineering college before the marriage and the next day to our marriage we shifted to Pune. ”

“Now the real story starts. I already told you your grandmother snored at night, and believe me she snored pretty badly. For the first one week she was successful in hiding the magnitude of her snores from me. She used to feint sleeping and wait for me to go to sleep, and survive with minimal sleep in the night. She used to make it up by sleeping in the day time.”

The kids understood the double entendre in the statement and tried really hard to hide their blush.

Grandpa continued unhesitatingly, “I realized her snores when we were into the second week of our marriage. She was indeed loud; I did not mention it to her and did not make her feel uncomfortable.  By our second month of our marriage she used to fall asleep before me. Here is when the main trouble started.”

“I tried sleeping amidst her snores for the first few nights but found myself helpless. So I used to pick up my pillow and sheets and  used to settle on the guest bed in the dining hall. I used to keep an alarm of morning 4 o clock and return to bed before she used to wake up. I had no wish to make her feel bad that her snores caused me inconvenience.”

Trisha seemed a bit taken by the sensitive nature of his father-in-law. She knew he was witty, she knew he was funny; however she never knew he was such a romantic. She knew that he was bound to be romantic however his story was raising the standards she had set for him.

Enya and Sangeeta looked at each other with surprise.

Baljit went on, “Your grandmother never woke up until it was 5. She slept soundly and most of the nights she had the ability to sleep through earthquakes. She even died in her sleep. Anyways, I continued doing this till 6 months of our marriage got over. On one particular night I found myself asleep before her. I woke up in the middle of night, somewhat around 2 o clocks feeling thirsty, to find Savitri missing. Her pillow and blanket were missing too. I went up to the hall to find Savitri sleeping on the guest bed. She looked adorable. Few wafts of her jet black hair fell upon her eyes, they kissed her cheek and traversed the sides of her neck to hide underneath the neck among the majority. She was lightly snoring and her perfect nose, yeah she had a perfect nose not the bulgy north Indian commonplace nose, was rhythmically beating during the expiration and inspiration. ”

“She looked lovely, and beautiful. I went ahead, removed the hair tuft that fell on her nose and pecked it. Mildly surprised at my own reaction, I was taken by further surprise when she involuntarily in her sleep took hold of my hand and kept it on her chest close to the heart. Her snores stopped, and her breathing returned to normal. I waited for a few seconds frozen in the moment, gauging the moment what to do and what not to do. My face was close to her face; my hand was in her hand on her heart. I could feel the warmth of her breath on my cold face. I waited for a few patient seconds and then got into the same blanket to sleep in peace.”

Enya, Sangeeta and Trisha were all in smiles. Sangeeta was curious to hear more, “what happened on the next day?”

Baljit went on with a whole big smile that reached up to his eyes and made him look a few decades younger. “Next day when she woke up she was hurt. She complained that I should have let her known that her snores cause me inconvenience, and before I could come up with a reply she was in tears. Now your father will agree to me and corroborate my statement that your grandma was a strong lady, nevertheless sweet, and seeing her cry melted hearts. Never had her father let her cry, and never did I make her cry. Seeing her cry was a torment on my soul, yet she used to flash her tears at occasions. She cried out of joy when your dad was born and she cried when Enya was born; though she loved Sangeeta more than you beta (referring to Enya). ”

“Sangeeta had jaundice when she was two years old; your Grandma cried for nights and nights sitting by your bedside and changing the water cloth on your forehead. You bear resemblance to her and as a small matter of fact you snore like her too; and to add something to the similarity you stop snoring just as your grandma used to stop when I keep my hand on your heart when you sleep.” Trisha pointed out to Sangeeta with a smile on her lips.

(In loving memory of my grand-parents. The names of my grandparents have not been altered, the rest all characters are fictitious. Sangeeta is my cousin, and only her name in the story is the only connection to any living person.)

Right or Wrong?

This beautiful incident just surfaced after years of hidden detritus. I was in class 7^th and I was a good student. The Indian education system defines a good student as one who is good in studies; morality, honesty, character are just topics to be flirted with in Moral Education classes. My scores in test papers made sure all teachers knew me perfectly well and for good reasons indeed.

The age of thirteen, the fresh entry in teens, is defined biologically as an extra surge of testosterones in males and estrogens in females. Repercussions are emotional changes, attraction towards other gender, moodiness and many others which can be found in any psychological journal. My first attraction happened in class 7^th at this age. I have something for tall girls and girls that are older to me. By all standards I am fairly tall. Starting from my first attraction to the most recent one, from which I am still trying to come out, I have been attracted to older, matured, intelligent, tall and beautiful girls. She was in my class but a year older. I will name her Ana to maintain secrecy. How I felt at that moment is beyond words. Handling first attraction at the tender age of thirteen is akin to a lake being asked to store the water content of an ocean. My heart beat used to increase on spotting Ana, anxiety used to overtake me, eyes used to go all goggled. I did let Ana know how I felt for her, and she was gracious and matured enough to handle it properly. I was a naïve in this field just blasted into teenage-group fresh into an emotional turmoil. I will make a biased statement here that girls are better judge of characters than boys and they take things slow in terms of relationships because they know this thing requires time. It is not a thing to be hurried into. Ana liked me too.

We used to meet regularly, exchange copies, seldom letters and used to call each other privately when each-others parents were not around at home. The fright, the innocence, the first taste of love is second to none. Saving money to gift her a key-ring and a birthday card on her birthday consumed months for me. My parents did not use to give me pocket money. They logically made be understand and agree to the concept of pocket money as wrong; to give me company Ana started refusing her parents for pocket money too. What beautiful days they were!

Fortunately my studies never slumped and neither did hers. However the rumors of us being a couple started spreading. By the time teachers came to know of our tiny, little affair we were in mid of class 8^th. Keeping a secret and especially such a secret for one and half years at that age was indeed praise worthy. Teachers, hailed God for good reasons, decided it was time to talk to our parents. Why did they do that I am still not sure. Does their complaining show their lack of faith in me, or does it show their concerned attitude I am not sure. Either ways our parents were involved in our love story now. The straight line had turned into a square with me and Ana being at the opposite corners, with our parents sitting at the other two corners.

The meeting room was no less than a war zone. The teachers kept on talking till what seemed ages. Ana’s mother was nervously on the verge of tears; Ana was pitifully crying and her father was red and flaring with anger. My mom was looking at Ana and seemed more interested in Ana’s state of mind rather than the story. My dad listened to the teachers patiently, and said he will talk to me.

“All you got to say is- you will talk to your son? Give him a good beating and ask him to stay far away from my daughter.” Ana’s father was flaring like a snake.

“That will be my decision to make Mr. Patnaik. My son and your daughter are young. She is more terrified and close to a specter. They need reasons, not spanking.” My dad said thank you to all and left with me and my mom.

My dad did not talk to me through out the journey back home. He wasn’t furious, he was just quiet.

On reaching back home, he asked me to sit at the dining table. He brought out six steel glasses from the kitchen. He asked me, “make the tallest structure possible with these glasses.”

I was surprised at his reaction. I didn’t intend him to raise a hand. He never did that, and as a matter of fact used to fight with my mom in case she used to raise her hand on me. He was a logical person strongly founded on causes and reasons. Nevertheless I expected him to shout at me.

I made a three layered pyramid structure with the six glasses. Three glasses on the bottom layer, two in the intermediate level and one glass at the top.

He observed me silently and then spoke, “what will happen if I pull out the glass on the right side from the bottom layer?”

“The structure will collapse.”

“Exactly. You are standing at a juncture where one of the prime glass is education. With education you may rise as high as the structure you have built. If you get diverted the structure is bound to collapse.” He further went on to say, “Keep your priorities clear and emotions clean. At this age education is your priority. The less the hassle at your age the better you may be able to think.”

“Mr. Patnaik has not taken a liking to you and it seems he will prefer you not coming in the path of her daughter. I may stop him from raising a hand on you but if you prefer Ana’s safety than you will need to be careful.” His voice echoed with genuine concern for the girl.

Today this morning I overheard two of my senior colleages talking about their children and this incident just popped out. I instantly called my father and asked him a peculiar question which took him by surprise. “Papa, do you remember the Ana incident of class 7^th?”

“Yeah I do. Age has silvered my hair not my memory. Fortunately I have a good memory. Why? What happened?”

“Were you sad or angry at me?  ”

“Well no. I wasn’t sad because emotions is what makes us human and moreover if Ana happened to be a boy that would have been a greater headache for me. Thankfully she was a girl. I was concerned- concerned if you forget your priorities; concerned if you got too much emotionally involved to get out. The same incident at this age of yours must have Ana as the priority, and at that age education should have been the priority. I hope Ana’s dad didn't give her a hard time.”

My father was neither cold nor furious about the incident. He just asked me not to get diverted from what was required. Life is not about right and wrong, it is greyer than that. Ana at that stage was not something that could be categorized as right or wrong.


*Ana's name is derived from the song "ana mere pyaar ko na tum jhuta samjho jaana". No resemblance to any real person.

Finding Neverland-3

Dear Ramya,

Dearest Ramya,

It has been a long time since you bade goodbye. The cities have changed a lot since then, as a matter of fact the world geography has been altered too. A few new countries have come into existence. However, as far as my heart is concerned nothing has changed. My heart is still alone and longs for your company.

Do you remember the last time we sat on the roof of our house. It was a full moon night and your black glistening hair fell carelessly on your back. A slight breeze swept across wafting a tuft of your hair onto my face. The smell of your hair is still fresh in my senses. The moment the hair landed on my face, a secret desire took birth in me; desire to preserve and consecrate the moment, and prolong it till the existence of the mankind. Was it less than being high on Marijuana? Probably no! It was a different high. I miss your presence on the roof deeply.

Life had given me immense happiness when you were with me. It appears your dainty presence was the bringer of happiness. Do you recall our college days? Half of the boys of our batch used to flirt with you. Your smile was so beautiful that the poor boys were helpless and found themselves drawn towards you by an inexplicable force. The dent on your right cheek, no matter how many times you flashed it, lured boys to see it appear once more. I miss your smile!

It has been an year since you left. Every-night of the last year I have found myself staring at the moon. The moon bears similarity to me- it’s as lonely as I am. Its presence gives me strength to go on, and at the same time reminds me of my loss. Don't ask me, how I come out alive of no moon nights. At moments when I am frustrated and tired and on the verge of crying I abuse god; I curse him for being cruel and heartless. Moments later, your face gets flashed before my eyes. I feel ashamed of cursing and seek an apology. You had immense faith in Him.

Sameer.

(You might also enjoy reading Finding Neverland and Finding Neverland-2)

Finding Neverland-2

Love is different to different people. For some it is a bringer of happiness, for some it is a constant state of elevated excitement, for some it is a constant pain. For me it gives an opportunity to concoct stories. Seeing people in love, makes me imagine their lows and downs, their break-ups, their deaths and their reactions. I am not a sadist; however sadness has a beauty attached to it and I cannot ignore it. I revel in beauty. I revel in emotions. For me, everything I do, I try to create a sense of beauty around it- beauty through words. Beauty is not a la carte mentioned like dishes in restaurants, I perceive beauty in ability of living beings to like, love, create, destroy, feel and die. I perceive beauty in sadness too!

Sameer and Ramya, before they were separated traveled a lot. Once in summer of May they traveled from Bandra to Delhi. Bandra to Delhi is a long trip. The journey covers 6 states and takes 30+ hours. They had the side berths in the third AC compartment of Dehradun Express.

Ramya expressed her opinion on the onset of the journey, “I don’t want the journey to finish soon. I feel I am the only person who is happy with the Indian Railways functioning. The lateness of trains makes me spend more time with you!”

Sameer was in all smiles to her opinion. They could have gone to Delhi in flight too, however that would have meant only two hours of journey with lot of sleep and less of talking. That is not what quality time is to people in eternal love. To people in eternal love, things move slowly and at their own pace. Silence marked by intermittent talks is the way they behave. Eternal love is like being with the other side of your own personality. You counsel when you need to do so, and in other moments you two just sit in silence with each other. It completes you. In trains it is the way they desire. With Ramya and Sameer, traveling was all about reveling in each others words and reveling in silence with dreams in their eyes.  

Sameer’s smile was broken by a loud thud. A five year old girl jumped in front of their berths and said loudly, “Hi, uncle. Hi aunty…” She wore a red shirt, a blue pajama and was beautiful apart from being cute.

A voice sounded from behind, “Enya, don’t disturb people.” A man in his late twenties approached the sweet girl and asked her to sit on his seat numbered 22. Enya smiled and did as she was asked.

“I am sorry if she disturbed you”, the man apologized to Sameer and Ramya.

Ramya replied with a genuine smile, “We don’t mind. She is really sweet.” She wavered towards Enya and asked her to come to her. Enya looked at the man seeking his approval and went to Ramya and sat on her lap.

A momentary sadness overcame the man’s face and before Sameer and Ramya could observe anything amiss, the man started arranging the luggage under the seats. He took out few soft toys which undoubtedly belonged to Enya and kept them on the seat. He took to his window seat and starting seeing Ramya play with Enya. After a few moments he started looking outside.

Sameer seeing Ramya play with Enya went and sat opposite to Enya’s father. “Hi, I am Sameer. We are going till Delhi. Where are you going?”

The man as if drawn out of a long beautiful thought replied back with a smile, “I am Ansh. We too are going till Delhi. Enya will be staying with her grandparents for a week.”

Ramya and Enya started talking. Enya asked in her soft and loving tone, “With whom did you play when you were small?”

Ramya tried replying in a made up childish voice, “I had friends in school, and mother at home. Where is your mother? ”

Suddenly in a swift move, Enya got up from Ramya’s lap and went up to Ansh. She stroked the cheek of Ansh softly and turned his face towards her. “Papa, Where is my mother?”

A stiffening silence crept up among the three of them. Ansh eyes had become moist and watery. Sameer and Ramya exchanged looks and understood the weirdness of the silence. Ramya beckoned Enya, to which Enya obediently followed. She took Enya back to her lap, and said, “When God created people he gave mothers to care for them and love them. However, he loved few children more. So he himself came to the earth.”

A smile returned on every one’s face. After an hour or so Enya came back to his dad and sat on his lap. She started playing with soft toys, and asking odd sorts of funny childish questions to him. “What will happen to the bear after I grow up?”

Ansh thought for a while and replied, “I will play with them.”

“You are too big to play with them.”, and she went into chuckles.

A ticket checker came to examine tickets and after examining asked Enya, “what are you doing beta?”

Enya replied in a stern way, “I am sitting on God’s lap and playing with Him.”

An innocuous smile spread across all the face of the people who heard this. Tears of joy overflowed the brim of Ansh eyes to wet his cheeks. Sameer, with a smile on his face went back to sit with Ramya. The confused ticket checker went ahead to examine the rest of the compartment.