12 hour Ordinary

 

8:00 a.m.

 

With a worn-down towel wrapped around his torso, Rajendra walks into the balcony carrying with him a bucket of freshly washed clothes dripping still. While he diligently picks up each one, squeezing each piece one by one for excess water, he is humming an old hymn. The home-grown potted plants, nodding along with him to that very rhythm. Is he being mindful or is this is just a force of habit? Who was to know? He seems content. He seems cognizant of what he’s doing as well as the next thing he’d do. Such is the beauty of a routine. Shortly, there will, most certainly, be an exchange of dialogue about lost and found garments, followed by a series of banter on what the neighbors and/or the inhabitants of this household did and didn’t. Nothing out of place, really.

Raju’s mornings are quite the usual. He’s probably at that age where anything unusual will not quite be eagerly welcomed. Anyway, it is time for him to pick up his Chetak, revisit the list of things he must accomplish in the day, place that sturdy brown helmet over his head, cramp his lunch pack in his office bag, and like a Spartan get about with his day. It has taken years of practice, years of ups and downs, years and years of unusual to finally, achieve this “usual."

 

10:00 a.m.

 

“Sinhaji sirji, good morning sirji” called out the slightly built, slightly bent, and slightly worn-out man.

His forehead is wrapped with a dull white cloth while his hand is busy wrapping the long trail of white jasmines.

“Ah, Pappu” smiled Raju, carefully removing his helmet and then putting all his strength to put to stand his beloved scooter.

“What’s the rate today? Roses look fresh”, he observed.

“Haaan Sirji, just got delivered from the morning ferry”, beaming with pride.

“That ‘masla’ from Monday? About Shailendraji’s helmet? Which Sharmaji’s nephew took by mistake?” continued Pappu.

“He came later in the night at 7-8, returned it but with a big scratch on the back. Huh”

Taking a quick break, he spat out a bright red train of the day’s very first pan. Simultaneously signaling his helper to fetch the next one from the shop next door.

Raju was about to move along when Pappu began with a mischievous grin,

“But you know Shailendraji sir, right? he’s not the one to let go sirji.” Raju wrongly picked this as his exit starting towards the door, only to have Pappu raise his voice and continue.

“They all went to Hari’s shop then, one chai-samosa, and all hearts found their right place. What do I have sirji? You tell? I stand here, I sell my flowers, I want peace and good for everyone” now folding his hand and bowing his head.

Raju finally did jump at this open window, quickly picked up his tiffin, and his bag, and started towards the staircase. All this while, profusely nodding and mumbling something incoherent but maybe “good” or “see you later”. Pappu blithely backed down and called out a concluding “Ram Ram” to definitively close his story.

Still struggling to straighten his now all the more cluttered line of thought, Raju reached the half-closed doors to the office. Shyam, the guard, saluted him and smiled only to remind him of his dentist visit the day before.

 To Raju’s courteous “How’re your teeth?”, Shyam enthusiastically narrated the previous night’s adventure at the Civil Hospital. Vividly describing the machines excavating in his mouth, the doctor’s frowning over his forehead and naturally, about the pain equating his endurance, all the while opening only that one single lock to the chained door. Would be quite a security you’d imagine? Raju was now the fifth audience of this dramatic narrative. There were many more to come.

Rajendra took to his desk. Namastes resonating across the floor from the scattered other 4 residing in the premises. Neatly placing his calculator, Raju opened the first file from the top of the pile on his desk when Raghu, the office boy was known for his almost magical appearance, did in fact, magically-so appear in front of him and served him his wildly famous and sought-after morning tea. It is an open secret that the quality of his tea keeps going low with each tick of the clock. And the clock indeed does keeps ticking.

 

11:30 a.m.

 

Midway through his third file, someone knocked impatiently at his desk. Raju looked up to find bespected Deepakji looking irritated and restless.

Deepakji had worked out a theory regarding the next transfers and promotions. With the recent and also some signs of his incompetence at his job, he had a record and would in his own words “be thrown to some village to collect dung”. Thus, began the ritual of peeking into the manager’s chambers every time someone entered or exited it. Paranoidly conjecturing that the manager was to receive the file from Headquarters’ and then strike his name off from the list.

True to his habit, Deepakji began the rant.

“It’s here Sinhaji, I saw Raghu bring those files, I Saw him carry it, I’m sure I saw the Headsquare’s stamp on it. Oh it’s happening Sinhaji”.

Nervously tapping the desk with added vigor which attracted Sudhaji’s attention. She’s obviously been over-hearing the conversation for quite some time, but today decides to jump in.

“It’s going to be alright Deepakji, don’t worry so much”, offered she in the spirit of being a faithful and kind colleague.

Deepakji, greedily took the bait of compassion and diverted his engagement. Raju secretly thanked his lucky stars and of course Sudhaji. It won’t be fair to judge him here, he’s been carrying the weight of these one-sided anxiety bouts twice a day, six times a week for the past many weeks. A fresh ear to Deepak was the crutch his much-exploited shoulders needed.

Raghu manifested again and served the trio tea. Deepak now with great affection placed an arm over his shoulder and solicited his advice. Raghu put on a determined face. Deepakji looked at him with child-like unwavering curiosity, even Sudhaji held her breath waiting for him to drop the wisdom bomb. Without much ado, many more joined in.

“Saheb, I know you’re in trouble, but I can’t help you here.”, he concluded meekly.

“But why?” enquired a desperate Deepak.

His hands now motioning towards his pocket as if to take out something to grease his hands. Raghu saw the movement, understood the intention, took to contemplation for a minute more. Thick suspense hung in the air, the air hung in overwrought chests, and chests took to banging against sweat socked shirts.

“Ni Saheb, I can’t”, Raghu gave his verdict,

“I carry these many files, sometimes even 50,” he continued gesticulating extensively with his hands, “but Saheb, I can’t tell you”.

“But why can’t you?”, implored Deepakji.

Everyone’s gaze now back to Raghu.

“I cannot tell you Saheb, because Saheb my amma never taught me to read!”, burst out Raghu and swung his head low.

Everyone quietly dispersed to attend to their business of the day. Sympathetic murmurs, reassurances and the occasional slap on the back, that’s all anyone could ever do.

 

1:00 p.m.

 

One wouldn’t need to check if it were 1 p.m. The sudden yet oddly gradual crescendo of the bustle of the lunch hour had taken to wings. Groups, like an amoeba, socked in their comrades and headed towards the break-room. Pandeyji was the lunch leader to Sinha’s amoeba. He was a short bald man, with funny anecdotes and one-liners. He’d bundle the day’s newspaper under his arm and lead the rest of the tribe to the not-formally designated table. The lunchroom is a blank canvas where conversations splash colors expanding the spectrum, the flavors treat your eyes and tongues taste a buffet of words, wisdom, uninvited comments, solicited/unsolicited advice, and some … to top that all off.

Sinhaji laid down the tiny boxes of his lunch pack in front of him and got diligently opened them. 15 years of marriage, yet this lunchtime with his colleagues was his most romantic memory.

Sinhaji lives in a household of 8, his mother, his two elder brothers, and their families. His mother holds the keys to the kitchen where food for the whole family is prepared together. All his life, Sinhaji has had little say in his likes and dislikes. A stern look from his mother, followed by the old life lesson of how hard his dad had to work to feed them all, has always coerced him into a polite consensus. It was only after Sheela’s arrival he felt noticed. She, like the others, had little say in what was to be cooked. But she, being the smart and caring woman that she is, has her way while packing Sinhaji’s lunch. She’d sneak in an extra piece of sweet and flavor up his yogurt whenever the bhaji was not to his liking. Sinhaji would therefore open the sweet’s pack first. The sight of its content always made him smile. Either way.

 

3:30 p.m.

 

After lunch the clock won’t tick yet the work pile would grow. Any new entrant would witness some squandered chatter and then die as quickly it started. The lethargy in the air wasn’t their fault, the government hadn’t set new ways, no new policies were up for what and what all was there, were already heavily debated, no new scandal was in the news, even prices of potatoes and tomatoes were reasonable.

It was now that Deepakji’s eyes, imploring for a break, met with Sinhaji’s. The duo then headed out to Ajju’s tea stall. Many a friendship have sprouted here, many a scheme hatched, many a parliament debated and many a judgment passed. Noticing Sinhaji approaching, Ajju raised his voice,

“

 TBC

 

 

An odd teacher

 

Ameya stormed into her living room, with a scorn on her face, ready to complain about the humid hot utterly unlivable weather it was today. Her cotton white dress sticking to her body and her brow still dripping constantly as a proof of the complaint she was about to lounge. But that storm died down in a jiffy when Mickey almost absent mindedly mused “Something smells good” joined in unison by Rosy, Abhisek, Sanu, Chotu, Vicky and Anu all their eyes still glued to the pieces in their hands and a gigantic jigsaw puzzle in front of them.

 

As always Ameya stood by the door looking adorably at the children. Anu balancing her oversized spects on that tiny nose of hers, Chotu scratching his heads, Mickey and Vicky, the sibling duo, comically shifting their bum as they excitedly joined yet another piece. She waited for some time then headed back to the oven to bring them each a well-earned glass of sweetened orange juice.  

 

Still discussing, their moves and celebrating their victory over finishing yet another jigsaw they went to involuntarily sit by the dinner table. Ameya served them a glass of milk with freshly baked cinnamon rolls which they gulped down hungrily. And without being asked, opened their backpacks and got to their books. Ameya too brought her laptop and sat with them. And everyone got to business. 

 

It has taken some effort and a lot of patience on both their parts to get to this place. 

 

Ameya is a IT professional in Bangalore more or less set in her ways now. Office and her studio apartment. And then these kids, it is a kind of Creche, but for the house helps in her society. She takes in these kids between 6p.m. to 9 pm while their parents are finishing their evening shifts of cooking/ cleaning or driving. The kids usually come after finishing their post school cricket matches. Ameya is no regular tuition teacher. She doesn’t take to a white board and stick. The kids in the class do their homework on their own. In the end they have to fill up how many Maths questions they solved, pages of English reading, pages of Science and give themselves a score out of 10. If they are stuck somewhere, they ask the senior lot in the bunch then go to Ameya. As for Ameya, she just simply takes interest in their studies while they are at it. This trust had taken many months to build up among the first batch, the later ones simply followed.

 

Until the day Raju came in. Raju, a skinny child in his early teens enrolled in 6th standard at the local government school. A rebel from Mumbai, whose parents sent him away because of the ruckus he had been creating there. Raju loved Mumbai, but he took Bangalore as a challenge. He placed a bet with his friends to be back within a week. Despite running in full capacity, Ameya took Raju in on Shobha’s request.

 

Raju was new, new to the group, new to the culture of a teacher who wouldn’t call him out and humiliate him in front of the whole class for his crooked hand-writing or inability to get simple Maths correct. He simply sat on the table fidgeting, doing nothing, looking around, daydreaming, just like his days in school. He would give him a perfect score at the end of the day, honesty is relative from his experience. Also because Ameya never questioned, he had stuck a jackpot. 

On some days, having nothing to do, he would actually try to read. And scribble a few words in his homework but his pride would kick in soon enough and he'd simply draw mustaches on the pictures in the book or doodle at the back of his notebooks, which had begun to fill up more from the backside than the front. All this while Ameya would serve them hot milk and sweet delicacies, smile at them, compliment on their accomplishments, even the tiniest ones, encourage them to help each other out. With her big smile, she would eagerly ask him what he was learning, did he like the school, ask him about his parents, his life back home. She, along with the whole bunch would listen to everything with awed eyes. And when his tales would take flight a little too high, she would hush them all and lovingly chide them to get back to their books. 2 months passed just like this. Until one day Ameya asked him to wait up after everyone left. Terror stuck, but then he told himself he’s dealt with much scarier gangsters.

 

What he didn’t know was that the thing scarier than someone making him do things he didn’t want to do was someone making him do things he actually did want to. 

 

She simply asked him to make a copy of a letter she had received on paper while she fixed herself some dinner. Raju tried his best to copy each alphabet as it was like a skilled forger. Of course, he didn’t understand a word and honestly the forgery was very poor indeed. Meekly, he took the paper in the kitchen as she called him out. He stood by the door waiting, watched her slice onions with teary eyes.

 

She ushered him in, requesting to read it out aloud while she cooked her vegetables, making it sound so urgent, that for a second Raju felt that nothing was more important in the world than for her to hear that letter right away. Just like in movies when Akshay Kumar has an urgent order he receives from the headquarters to change his directions to another route as the one he is currently on is filled with landmines. And he almost did begin in that very same temperament, till it dawned on him that he couldn’t read a single word. Red faced he stood there, sweating more from guilt than the already hot kitchen. 

 

Ameya urged him again, with the same urgency in her voice. But when she looked at him, the face said it all. She glanced at the piece of paper in his hand. And understood. Raju could see the broken heart in her eyes.

 

She asked him to go home now.

 

Raju was a proud man. He could laugh off scolding, wear the scars of beating as a badge, even brag about it to his gang, but this? It is not that he didn’t want to learn. He could never stay in school long enough to do so. They never had the money. He knew if he didn’t take the crooked road to earn extra by the side, he’d end up being a rickshaw driver like his father, which he despised. 

 

He bailed on the classes for the next week, and then a day more, citing bad health. The idea of starting something which others had mastered years ago, petrified him. The booing, the shame, the humiliation. Ameya knew. Her disappointed eyes haunted him, making him sick in his stomach. The books mocked him, those moustached characters smirked at him, everything made him guilty. Now slipping into daydreams and passing time while the teacher was teaching almost choked him. He tried to be vigilant but to no avail, the words meant nothing, they were like fancy designs to him. It was now that he began to recognize that he was handicapped.

 

Excusing himself from Ameya’s classes for the past 2 weeks now, he finally knocked at her door before anyone else that evening. Ameya opened the door, let him in and sat by the table as usual, gesturing for him to join as well. Removing his bag, he took the chair, his eyes fixed on the ground. Ameya slipped a book in his direction, it was a book of alphabets. 

 

Tears flowed down his eyes, unable to look up to her, he kept repeating “Sorry Ameya, please teach me”. 

Penning it

Her dark brown ball of fur (Amy) curled up purring in her favorite chair stuffed with the comforting soft cream-colored cushions. The occasional crackling of the wood in the fireplace adding rhythm to her intermitted sighs. Just like Amy, she was snuggled in a thick warm blanket. Her feet wrapped in socks as thick as Amy’s fur sneaking out of the cover, glowed like beacons of hope when surrender and peace was the order of the season outside her window. My scribbling continued and stopped and faded and was re-written over on the same scroll. Some reminiscent stories making their way out of her heart, musing, rarely of ‘what-is’ rather ‘what-could-have-been’ and ‘what-should-have-been’ and some more. She tossed on the sofa, stuffing her face in its arms and letting her guards down and confining in it her most-secret wish. And once she did, she shot up, nakedly aware of it, and scratched it out vigorously from me.

Hey there,

This is D. I just felt like publishing myself out for you guys. That above was a little sample of my work. No, I’m not looking for work, lol. But ‘why’ is a question I too have pondered upon a couple of times, and

And tbh, I don’t know, I’m just letting it out for anyone who can or does relate to it and does feels understood and a little less tiny.. so yeah that is it.

Hey there,

(6 months later..)

That loop, was defining the winter this year. While I enjoyed discerning the world outside, pretty and decked-up in white, yet anytime I had to look inside, oh the mess! Every time she sets herself free from it, I’d see her grow, I’d see those cracks filling up with gold, I’d see the beautiful pattern traced, I’d see how unique she is but she won’t. You’d notice some pages missing from me too. You’d notice the torn out pages leaving a hollow depression, making the bind wobbly, you’d notice the uneven traces as sharp as knives of the left over pieces still glued, and if you’d look closer you’d notice some stories traced in the chapters next to come and yet to be written. But would she let you? Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had readers. I’ve had hurried glances passing me through, I’ve had regular readers, I’ve had readers only interested in excerpts, I’ve had readers becoming chapters, and readers who got lost in one paragraphs. Are you special?

….. He walked in with blue sneakers and black hoodie, glancing over the ‘Best-sellers’, almost like taking a note of what was in fashion. He moved across the aisle, his eyes searching for something, knowing exactly what they were looking for. But his walk was equally uncertain. I noticed (she noticed) him curiously. That bundle of pages over him had had some wear and tear, but somehow pulled me towards it magnetically. Their eyes met and lingered a moment too long. And thus, began the next chapter.

I had been fully prepared waiting for this to happen, Oh I’m so excited. I am writing in the best of my fonts, there are poems, there are quotes, oh it is all italics. And despite the best of my preparation I’m glancing over in his and soon our inks are blending, and soon the stories are merging and soon it is both exactly the same. He keeps asking after and re-reading old chapters to understand her better. And she keeps scribbling side notes as they make picnic plans in the future. This is probably the best of my works so far, I’m describing the roses, the wind on her face, the flicker of the leaves, the brightness of the moon, the chirping of a cuckoo, the lights and snow and everything. And it is all about only her and him.

Hey there,

(2 years later..)

It is getting lengthier, and it is fading a bit. I don’t understand, I used the best of the ink. I hope it is a good kind of fade.

But this was strange, he’s hiding his quill. I can’t see what’s being written. Could be a phase, right? A little concerning though.

Wait what she’s hiding me too now. Wait my exclamations are changing to question marks. What is happening here? I’m writing in bold and capitals and ouch it is hurting!

Please don’t, just don’t do this. Just flip back and read me. Please? Remember why it all started? You can fix this come out. Flip me back both of you!

No don’t tear me down! Don’t you dare! You can’t do this! Those are the best of your memories! You can’t tear them out! Wait okay? Just read them out once. Please? Oh please don’t.

AAAA….

Hey there,

(1 year later..)

How are ya?

Naah she ain’t fine. All my scribbling are just melancholic versions of songs with no music. Yeah she saw him yesterday, he had those pages. He brought the glue and everything, but she just won’t let him fix me..

Me? I’m fine.  Amy passed away.

Yeah I look weaker I know. Obviously and all these writings are dripped in tear and it makes my core weaker you see. But endurance is the way through, right?

Hey there,

(50 years later...)

Long time huh?

Ever since she put back all those pages she tore and finally accepted her for her. Oh, didn’t I tell you?

It has been such a ride and I’ve been super busy. I’m sure I killed myself a time or two.

Wow. I’ve turned into a real classic. Huh.

So old, honestly my bones ache. She’s scribbled so much over it. But what a life!

Not to brag but don’t I look ravishing in this new hardbound avatar! Oh and this smell we called “the old book smell”, turns out is the hard-earned smell of belongingness and ripe age and stories. Suits me well, doesn’t it?

Borrow a chapter or two if you will 😊

And thus

The summer is hot. Hotter than the last year’s. Eleven and slaying, Mohit, runs through the hot street, chasing kites, playing cricket and riding his bicycle, with little to basically no care for the world. Just the last week, he almost broke his knee, yet nothing has stopped him from being the ‘Greatest-All-Rounder-Alive in Ramaji Nagar’. In the last match itself he scored a dazzling century and took 3 wickets. A man of utmost dedication, he has his priorities sorted. Mornings are for football, afternoon for comic’s marathon, evenings for cricket and some mathematics in between unfailingly.

The family slept under the naked moonlight sky. Gazing at the stars, his fascinated heart beating beneath his bare chest. He would turn around and poke his elder brother who’d wake up instantly, never getting angry at his kid brother. Jayant adored his kid brother. But never showed it, of course.

He spent his days locked in a room preparing for IIT JEE. Be it Mohit or his mom no one was allowed to disturb him. No one went near the room however hot it got in the veranda. It was late in the night when he’d address Mohit’s curious questions. ‘So this you told is Orion constellation’. ‘Hmm-Hmm’. ‘And if I flip the sky, will it be Pegasus over me?’ ’But dada, what about winters?’’ Shouldn’t the sky be different?’ ’But dada if the moon pulls the waves in the ocean, why not the Ganga has large waves’ ‘But dada Artemis is only a fictional place na?’ ‘But dada, isn’t this a Cumulonimbus cloud you said?’ ‘But dada if water were there on the moon could we live there?’ ‘But dada, why does only Jupiter has rings’ ‘But dada, there have to be more galaxies!’ ‘But dada, maybe some creatures live without needing oxygen?’ ‘But dada, according to theory, this right here should be Venus’ and slowly doze off.

Time flew. Jayant worked hard and carved a successful career for himself. Mohit too, is just finishing his MBA. It’s the zero-day of placement. The processes have begun. Fidgeting nervously, the students wait for their turns to prove themselves to be worthy enough for the company on campus. Bigger the package, the stronger the competition. Working late, at odd hours, for a long time is what they all have been trained for isn’t it? The CVs are crisp and ready. Every point to emphasize how they are a better option than their other classmate. Oh, the competition! What sets you apart? A certificate for being the ‘Cricket Caption or a Musical Maestro?’ Aaargghh! If only they’d done something besides whiling away their evenings running across those muddy fields just for the fun of it. Or hadn’t held brainstorming sessions curating pranks on the watchman. Or hadn’t spent hours to cheer up their heartbroken friend. Or hadn’t turned, what could have been a simple ‘namaste’ to the nukkad kirana store uncle, to two hours of setting up his new goods on display. Or simply deciding rules for the cricket tournament to accommodate the 20 acre field on in a 100m long open veranda in Sonu’s house, making sure everyone gets to bat. If only they were given a certificate for being human, they would have had an extra line to fill up their CV.

Mohit did have something on his CV though. For his love for the world beyond earth, he founded an astronomy club. And it turned around his luck that day for the HR too had a particular interest in the same. The interview turned into a lively chat, about this and that and what and when. Mohit got his dream job. Now he spends 8am to 10pm every day in office in front of his screen.

Life is going quite well. He can’t complain. He bought an apartment in the city, has a luxury car, a wife, a daughter and often a conversation to get a dog as well. His parents visit them frequently, alternating between the two brothers and their old home. Mohit thinks, he deserves a raise. 5 years of service in the same company is just too much. He sits down with his CV and decides to brush it up and opens the Wikipedia page for basic astronomy.

Bumping into Ramu

Yesterday morning as I boarded my usual 8:10 local, I saw Ramu. I saw him standing under a bright smiling sun with a cricket bat in his hand posing like a star, wearing his vanilla white dhoti matching the milky cotton shirt. His eyes were as big and as curious as ever and those crooked teeth still flashing through his contagious smile. I felt an irresistible urge to call out to him but before I knew, the train jerked forward and that carefree creature was nowhere in sight.

All through my journey, I kept smiling to myself reminiscing about him. I recalled the words they used to describe him 'naughty', 'ill-mannered', 'unruly', 'uncouth' and what not. I recalled all those childhood companions I had met by the time I met him, there was Meena, Geeta, Chintu, Bablu, natkhat Nakul, shararati Shalu, etc. But Ramu's vivid nature surpassed them all. His mischiefs, his strong will, and the eternal inclination to cause a raucous everywhere he goes made him so much more special and definitely my favorite.

Ramu would wake up early and go to the fields. He'd run barefoot among the lush green grass as if it were the most natural thing to do. Ramu used to steal fruits and carry them home tied in this shirt. While I stole little white flowers and carried them in my Dada's handkerchief. I'd have a breakfast of jam bread and a glass of chocolate milk, while Ramu would tiptoe into his mum's kitchen and sneak out a bowl of sweet curd with hot crispy puries. My mum would tie my hair in a pony after a foam filled shower while Ramu would run to the river with his elder brother Shyamu's dhoti for a dip.

I went to school, Ramu went to the village Pathshala. He’d sit under a big banyan tree with his slate and chalk and show off his calligraphy skills, pull Sita's pony, aim his chalk at masterji's bum and sing 'Jan Gan Mann' at the top of his voice. While I detested any kind of sports, every pebble that he could kick was a football for him, and all those hours he wasn't sleeping was his games period. He would inspire the very core of the hearts of all the toddlers in his village and be the leader of those little rebels who would leave their homes and follow him through the streets fearlessly, leaving their mothers yelling and threatening them of harshest of punishments.

It was only after school and homework that I met Ramu. My favorite hour of the day. He'd then narrate to me the vibrant, animated stories of his day. He'd recount his tryst with the fish he caught he caught in the village stream, spell out every detail of the fight he got into with Guddu. He'd recite the tale of how he got a broken nose, and boast of the thrashing he got from both his master and at home. We'd break into loud chortles as he recreated his new prank on Motu lala. He would still be blabbering when I’d drift into dreams of the adventure of Ramu.

Ramu often brought his elder brother Shyamu with him. Shyamu was the most sincere, obedient, well-mannered guy I knew. He always topped his class, respected his elders, and was the ideal kid every parent wanted. (He was also many times the reason Ramu got a thrashing). One fine day, Ramu's mother got so angry with him, she lashed out at him and asked him to leave the house immediately. This time, Ramu had crossed limits, he had stolen money from the house to buy 'Boomer'. Filled with guilt, crying his eyes out, having no place to go Ramu raced to the station. It was raining heavily that night. Ramu sat by the pillar, sobbing hard, clutching his body as if defending himself from some attack. Unable to breathe, Ramu struggled with the grave sadness that has engulfed his broken heart. His mother’s affection for Shyamu and the stark anger he saw in her eyes, had left him desolate. On hearing the hustle and whistle of an approaching train, he decided to leave the village altogether. Dejected as he was, he struggled to gather every little ounce of courage and finally reached for the iron door as the train jerked to move. But as it did, he saw his mother and brother and even his ever so strict father calling out his name and desperately searching for him all over. Fresh tears began rolling down his cheeks and he called out to them and jumped off the speeding train and broke his elbow. But this pain was nothing compared to the euphoria he felt seeing his family. I too broke into tears as I saw the family uniting. And fell asleep.

It was my birthday the next day, there were cake and music and gifts and balloons and watercolors and sweet treats and more storybooks! It was now that I met Julian, Dick, Anne, Georgina(She likes to be called George though) and their dog Timmy. I began spending my evenings solving mysteries on the Kirrin Islands with them. I went on hiking and I went on picnics. Soon I also met Darrell Rivers at the Mallory Towers and cried several nights begging my parents to send me to the same boarding school. Ramu too sneaked in sometimes, but his brash behavior and his filthy old pranks did not interest me anymore. Slowly, the bustling Red buses of London, the ever so scurry streets of Cardiff, wide open fields of Wales left little place for Ramu’s adventure at the village fair, his treasure hunt from the riverbed, his local brawls and his sweet tooth.

And now years later, I am sitting here with this giddy feeling in my stomach. Marveling at the simplicity of it. I’ve traveled in time with Jane and Pip and Liesel and Pino and I’ve solved murder mysteries with Sherlock and Hercule and Nancy and I’ve slain dragons and killed Nazis and sacrificed for love and build an empire and died in battles and ruled my kingdom and yet it is Ramu, his far off village, his dripping roof, his sweet treats, his Paathshala, his gully danda, his perpetually broken toe, mud-laden feet, his banana leaf umbrella and his paper boats that makes me want to sit on the bare ground, look up to the stars and believe. Believe in happy endings and brand new starts, believe in meeting old friends that drift apart and believe in wandering without getting lost.

:)

References: Julian, Dick, Anne, Georgina, Timmy: Famous Five
Darelle Rivers: Malory Towers
Jane: Jane Eyre
Pip: Great Expectations
Liesel: The Book Thief
Pino: Beneath the Scarlett Sky
Hercule: Hercule Poirot

Chali Kahani-3

I rode in a crazy yellow car with him, I gazed at stretch into the distant green light through his eyes, I drenched myself inside out waiting for her. All he ever wanted was for Daisy to love him and no one else. They say he could kill a man with his bare hands, could he? The enigmatic aura that hangs around my neighbor, Mr. Jay Gatsby, is mesmerizing and dazzling and leaves one spell bound but underneath he is just a guy who fell irretrievably in love.

I learnt from all the alchemists’ scripts the old and the new. I closed the world outside and found a way to create life. And look at what I did! I created a monster. And that demonic creature haunts me and has sworn to kill me and I know it will. He created me and flee when he lay his eyes on me the very first time. To him I am a hideous monster. I ran away and tried to make myself good enough for them. But never did they lay a compassionate eye on me. I shall take revenge from my creator! I am a monster and so will I.

I saw him dead in the garden. I wrapped him in my arms. The police arrived and they asked me to move away. I don’t like answering to them. They arrest me and take me to the station. My dad comes and saves me. I resolve to solve this case and write my first book. My dad doesn’t like this and he makes me promise not to ‘poke my nose in other people’s business’. I do as he says. But now I can’t trust him. I have to run away. I am all alone on this station and I am screaming. I lie in my bed but I want to go back to write my exam I have been preparing for. I have to. Please take me back.

“I mean, if you’re asking a fellow to come out of a room so that you can dismember him with a carving knife, it’s absurd to tack a ‘sir’ on to every sentence. The two things don’t go together.”

Lighten up now, you chappy old fella! and take that restive position, lay back and let yourself slide into this leisurely cozy world of dimwit Bertie Wooster and the inimitable Jeeves. I won’t be exaggerating if I compare this encounter to a lavish massage on the beach of Anse Lazio. This time Jeeves has started working for Bertie’s old chap Chuffy. (What!). Bertie’s one time fiancé Pauline is here (Fiancé! Yes Yes) and there is sneaking and jealousy and stealing and what not!

Please Please one more Pleeeeese!!

“There are moments, Jeeves, when one asks oneself, ‘Do trousers matter?’”

It seems the only way to get out of this complicated situation is to steal the cow creamer. Gussies’s fears need to be soothed. He must be confident to stand up in front of his to-be father-in-law. Stiffy Byng has to have a dog and she needs proof of her lover’s love by him pinching a policeman’s helmet. This is the epic family drama, this is the worst kind of blackmailing, this is hiding for the fear of life, this is jumping, this is the ultimate test for Bertie to prove his grit and stand by the ‘Code of Woosters’.

One more Woodehouse please. This is the last. I promise.

A summer to fight for love. A summer to save the beloved pig, Empress. A summer to prove one’s sanity. A summer to distract a writer from writing his memoir. A summer of impersonation. A summer to follow the love of one’s life. A summer for dressing up for the British style tea time. A summer secret meetings in the rose garden. This is the fantastic Summer Lighting.

The end of this series with the Olive Green Book which says:

We must love someone,

We must keep loving,

All our days,

Someone, anyone, anywhere,

Outside of ourselves;

For even the sarus crane,

Will grieve over its lost companion,

And the seal its mate.

Somewhere in life, there must be someone,

To take your hand,

And share the torrid day,

Without the touch of love,

There is no love,  and we must fade away.

Chali Kahani: A compilation of some of the books i read in 2016.

1. Great Gatsby: F.Scott Fitzgerald

2. Frankestein: Mary Shelly

3. The Curious incident of the dog at nighttime:  Mark Haddon

4. Thank You Jeeves!: P.G.Wodehouse

5. Code of Woosters: P.G.Wodehouse

6. Summer Lightning: P.G.Wodehouse

7. A book of Simple Living: Ruskin Bond.

:)

Chali Kahani-2

“What would you like to have Miss?”

“Feminism on the rocks”

I am Jane. Like my name, my story is quite plain. I was raised unwillingly by my aunt, sent to a Lowood Institute. I am compassionate and kind at heart and am made of all the good things. But most importantly, I have a sense of me. I am woman who is strong and stands firmly to her opinions that you might find a novelty considering the women in my generation, all willing to put themselves so low so as to gain a husband. But not me. I have found for myself a position as a governess to Adele at Thornfield. It was here that I fell in love with a rather ill looking man, who made me suffer on accord of his callousness and made go through the stings of jealousy and what not, even when he proposed me to be his wife, I had more of ill-fate in stored for me. But I never stooped low because no matter how insignificant I may seem, I am Jane. I am Jane Eyre and to me my pride stands above all.

Now that we are in the times gone by and pride is in the theme, let me introduce myself I am Elizabeth Bennet I am the second eldest daughter in the family of five sisters and all the girls are out. I first met an obnoxious and arrogant Mr.Darcy at a ball where he refused to dance with me because I was not upto his taste. He is the man to be blamed for my sister’s tragic sadness. He confessed his love for me despite all my flaws and I hate him from the core of my heart. Our paths keep crossing and slowly my prejudices that ruled my pride gave way to his benevolence and the rest we all know because we have all watched Keira Knightley in “Pride an Prejudice”. Right?

I was a misfit. I was even diagnosed with depression when I was a teenager. I stole from malls and ran in the wrong kind of group. And now, I made it into the Forbes as one of the richest self made women in the world I am Sophia Amoruso. I began buying cheap retro stuff of the street market and tidied it and decorated it and often even modeled for it and sold it on ebay. With time my business named ‘Nasty Girl’ grew and I have few lessons to pass on the new girls. Like: “It is cool to be kind. It is cool to be weird. It is cool to be honest and secure with oneself.” “You create your world blink by blink and its all yours to create”. “You’ve got to show up and own it.” ”Fortune favors Action!”. Be #GirlBoss.

A women comedian, it is not easy to get there and make one’s place in the man’s world, with the knowledge that most of them had a jar of piss in their office. I worked to move to that place, to be able to write for SNL, then be on TV, a special thanks to my striking resemblance to Sarah Pauline. Then I went on to create a series 30 RockI have a daughter too. This is my witty journey upto this point in my BossyPants.

I am Katniss Everdeen, ever since my Dad died my mother lost the sense of being, I have been the guardian of this family. I bring food to the table by hunting that my father taught. I live in a dystopian world, where humans are chosen to put a fight in an arena for the entertainment of the rich. I volunteer for the slaughter because I have to protect my sister Primrose. I play the Hunger Games and defeat them in their games, I am called in again and this time I shatter the whole system. I join the rebels and fight them to the true liberation for us. I am the girl on fire. I am Katniss Everdeen.

 My husband  is cheating on me. I can’t just leave him. He traced her lips with the same two fingers in the snowy night as he did with me when I fell in love with him in the sugar storm. I cannot forgive him. It’s our anniversary and I have a puzzle for him.. I wish to crack open her skull and know what goes on inside it. She is pregnant with my kid and I haven’t touched her in…. She is amazing Amy and after all that we’ve been through I’d be insane to stay with the Gone Girl. But I will.

Wild. A solo trek through Pacific Crest Trail. This is me. My mother died and I don’t know what to do anymore. I am at that place in life when I have no clue where life is taking me. Spontaneously I put in all my savings, sell all the belongings I had and decide to trek. I don’t know what answers I hope to find because truthfully I don’t know the question. I just know that I have to complete this trek. I have to. I have to. I follow some footsteps and I lead some but ultimately this is my trek and this is my struggle. 

Chali Kahani: A compilation of some of the books i read in 2016.

1. Jane Eyre: Charollte Bronte

2. Pride and Prejudice: Jane Austen

3. GirlBoss: Sophia Amoruso

4. BossyPants: Tina Fey

5. Hunger Games Series: Suzzanne Collins.
6. Gone Girl: Gillian Flyen
7. Wild: Chreyl Strayed