Care

Anyways it’s raining outside, why don’t you draft that e-mail and then leave office “. A stern took from me and as my manager failed to return it, I took the helmet and started for home. As I stepped in fully drenched, visibly upset mom said ‘why are you so early ? !!’. Wife had one more example to add on how I shattered her dreams. Half an hour lecture, and when she stepped out of the bedroom, my daughter said ‘tomorrow you can take my raincoat. Nobody will scold you then’ and she hugged wrapping me as much she could with her tiny arms.

Essence

The nation woke up with the newspaper headlines few of which read :

‘Multi-billion business empire orphaned’

‘From rag to riches – the business magnet is part of history now’

‘Ex-Rajya Shaba MP and chankyan of business world passes away’

‘Economy weeps – so does a million hearts for…’

And his last words in the seven star hospital - “I miss her smile, but then, soon I can be with my mom”.

Time Pass

I watched, with crossed arms, the compartments of the metro train that passed by. I could notice,  school students fun and frolic in the little space that they had, few high profile uncles reading newspaper and few others bargaining with the vendors, hijra group teasing a teen, kids waving hands,  a mother trying to put her baby to sleep,  TTE negotiating terms with a youngster near the wash basin,  and then some teachers trying to control a group of some mentally challenged school kids, one of whom, sneaked out to give me a gentle smile.

O.N

A cold December dusk of 1972 :

‘And the mission is named ON – Operation Nagendra. We have to nab him even if that costs the life of all of us assembled here.’  He addressed the band of 8 policemen, all of them lend their sharp ears like obedient dogs ready to pounce on the prey. I being one among them. ‘Nagendra – the blood thirsty vampire, the most dreaded naxalite -  I have ever come across in my career spanning 26 years. He is a  former student of AIIMS. We failed in the ’70 encounter. He grew manifold ever since. He should not see any more peaceful sunrises in the forests of Sathyamangalam’. He said as he switched on the lights of the otherwise dark room. And I will leave it to Manjulal to come with the plan. I felt elated as I was chosen to lead the ON. At the dawn of the sleepless night, I came up with the plan. One of the most appreciated plan of the times – To set up a medical camp to know the pulse of the villagers and slowly win their confidence. The estimated days for ON were close to a month.

          We went as a team of 15 including doctors, nurses and fake attenders. The camp was setup in the interiors of the village guarded by the forest. There were initially inhibitions among the villagers. As days passed by, slowly we could coax some of the villagers to the camp. As the needles pierced into the veins, trust on us was injected more than the antibiotics. Gradually, we had the right to roam around anytime anywhere in the village. We kept the camp and our investigation moving further deep into the forest until we learned that we were only a river width and a dusk away from ON. Night fell and 8 of us surrounded his shed. I went in. Found a lady and a 4 year old boy sleeping on the floor. I told them that I wanted to meet Nagendra urgently. She told me that he was sleeping inside. Before she could react, I walked brisk and opened his room. He was writing down something in the dim light of a table lamp. Contrary to the picture I had imagined of him, he looked very simple. ‘The only other choice you have is to sacrifice your wife and kid along with you’ I said taking out my revolver. ‘Our men have surrounded this place. Better surrender peacefully’ I briefed him the situation He smiled back ‘Bloody revolution is not my game, my officer. Leave them free, I am at your mercy. ’ He said. I saw a fearless soldier in his eyes. He suddenly bent down and my fingers were stiff on the trigger. He took his red shawl that lay on the ground and smiled at my alertness. He flung it around his shoulders.. I felt relived. I looked around to pick up more evidence to decorate the crown that I would be wearing soon. His room looked more like a library than the workshop of a cold blooded beast. My eyes soon fell over a diary parted by a fountain pen.  I took the diary and placed it underneath my shirt. He stood there silently watching all my moves and smiling as ever. I clasped the diary tight from outside my shirt and gave him a piercing look. He said ‘yes, it has all my future plans written down’. A hushed laugh followed. He made me look like a fool pretending otherwise. As taught, when he came out of his room, he told his wife that we were friends and leaving together for the execution of next plan. He told her that he would not return soon. Stepping away from the script, he bent and kissed the forehead of the kid who was still in his deep sleep. Turned to me and said ‘lets not delay’. And we set off. I told him that the people around his shed will remain till I hand over him to the police in a day’s time. ‘Being the members of this task force, we are not accountable on the bullets that we carry to anybody.’ 

I oared the boat and he sat with folded hands observing. I began to get the flavor of accomplishment as we moved. ‘How much do I cost ?’ He asked. ‘A nations security’ I replied coldly. ‘OK, tell me what’s a nation?’ I covered up the lack of answer with a intimidating stare. The boat touched the bank and we stepped out. ‘Tell me sir, what’s a nation. We need not be aliens to each other. It would take at least a day  to get out of this forest. Let’s talk till then’ Tell me what’s a nation? He replied for his own question ‘Nation is sense of unity against a common enemy. If there are no enemies there are no nations. A liberal world that’s what I work for. Do you think Hitler really disliked Jews ? Never, he wanted his army to be united. He just chose Jews to be their common enemy.’  ‘How does killing innocent help achieve that ?’ I queried. He held my arm firm ‘Can you name one? I have killed but not the innocent’. ‘How can you take the law in your arms’ ? I couldn’t control being a policeman. ‘If law does not take you in its arms, you have to.’ He said in the vernacular, staring deep into my eyes. ‘Our women have weapons to safe guard them against the wild animals, most of which are two legged.’  We had a long walk. He continued with more of his thought provoking philosophies. Soon, the sunshine was on its peak and I felt too tired to walk. ‘Let’s rest’ I told him. ‘Think of the medals that you’d win on us reaching your destination. That will give you more power.’ Those words weakened me further. Ok Stay here. I will bring some water from the nearby pond. He went to fetch.  I was sure he would return as I knew he was more man than me. He returned with a big leaf turned to cone shape. It was at least a  liter full. I drank like a thirsty dog. He removed his false leg and sat next to me. As I stared, he said, your DGP gifted it to me, of course, in return for my original leg, in the ’70 encounter. I felt even more ashamed of myself, having employed 8 stout police men holding his wife and kid in gun point to nab the handicapped. He was found busy working on the wet leaf on which he brought the water as he talked. Silence intervened our conversation. ‘Let’s go. Your medal is waiting for you and am I longing to swing free in the air.’ He was totally fearless. As I prepared to stand, he handed over me, something that looked like a ball made out of the leaf and said, ‘give this to our son to play. He will love it.’ 

 ‘How do you know him?’ My heart thumped fast and loud.  ‘When you killed Mali, my men had plans to destroy you. But then, when I learned that you had a kid, we decided not to go ahead. He saved your life.’ He smiled again. It was more charismatic than dreaded now. The diary that you took has only my poems and thoughts. I wrote them for my son, so that he would realize that his father was not a naxalite when he grows up. Raise your kids to be a free thinker and not be puppet like you executing the orders of some mighty landlords in the pretext of patriotism’ He laughed out of helplessness.

The night fell. And we slept on a tree top. My conscience dint let me sleep. The dawn broke and I was hardly few furlongs from the destination. I realize that he is not dreaded, for he could have killed me long back. But if I let him free, I would be a traitor in the eyes of our fraternity. My conscience and myself fought for a long time and then as the lines of his incomplete poem read….

“Let not ink in the pen dry,

Let not the blood in the veins sleep,

Let not the undeserving live,

Let not the innocent be killed”

Emotional Atyachar

Memory takes me to the ten furlong long metalled road that stretches from the college gate to his house. We were done with the last exam of the sixth semester. A local bus strike and I decided to stay with him. On the way back, he was admiring everything that he saw, from the setting sun to the chirping birds.  Saffron hue in the sky always reminded me of our Physics teacher who explained the theory of scattering. She wasn’t beautiful, hence the setting sun. Soon we reached his house and exchanged formal greetings with his parents, after which he took me to his room in the upstairs. We talked about something; some (fateful) sentence of mine lit a bulb(rather burst a ladoo) on his head. He quickly opened one of the runners of the side table of the bed on which we sat.  He opened a black folder and showed me all the greeting cards he was gifted with, sorted in the chronological order. The first one dated a decade back.  He flipped through one by one and told me how much important it was to him and how he felt when he received those; spending approximately 10 minutes on each card. For the first time in last half an hour, he looked at me and I was in that phase of yawn, when the second one starts before the first finishes, giving way to a deadlock of yawns. I could see a rainbow on his eyes…again theory of splitting of white light as it passed through my filled eyes, as a by result of persistent yawning. But that didn’t deter him. He took out one from in between and told me that it was the most valuable among all the other cards. And he tossed it on to the bed. And my eyes were fixed on price above the barcode. ‘Indeed its, Rs.275’ I muttered before I realized that it was the value of the sentiments behind them that he meant. To compensate for which I showed some (fake) interest to go through the rest of the cards. Yawns were now like sea waves, one after another. Hours went by, and we were off to sleep.  

Early morning 8 o’clock and I woke up to some nasty sound of some bird. I did not find him next to me. As I got up, I found him holding on to the window grill staring to the paddy fields that extended till the horizon. “How do you feel when you wake up to the innocent chirps?” he asked with a spark in his eyes.  “That’s a feeling beyond words..” I replied meaning what I said. “See the winds and the blades of paddy waving..” Shut…I entered the bathroom. Two more hours and the first bus to my place would start from the nearest bus stop. To escape from the second episode of the greeting card story, I meticulously planned to go to Chaaru’s(one of our mutual friends in the college) house which was less than half a kilometer from his. Had the breakfast and we were there. ”So, what did you do yesterday.” The question I dint want to answer and he picked it up.”Well, we went through all the greeting cards that I had and so on..”. “Wow!! You too keep them all.” The vibe when two apostles of greeting card safe keeping meet is extra linguistic. She quickly went inside and came out with a black folder (I seriously doubt what has the black color to do with greeting cards ?) Now it was her turn to through the chapter of sentiments and my friend etching everything that she said and in between for a change he shared his stories to which she listened. Like a spectator of tennis match, I kept swinging my head.  Time showed a little mercy, and said “I need to go”. I told him that I will go from there and that he can spent time with her. He was more than happy to stay there and resume the give and take story. On the way back home, in the bus, I introspected and realized that I don’t belong to people of my age group. As the bus moved, I framed an action plan to become more sentimental. As soon as I reached home, I collected 3 greeting cards, (2 of which laid under my bed which otherwise it would have been in the dust bin, given my mom’s respect for sentiments) and one inside the semester old, yet pristine “Analog communications” textbook. Next task was to get a black folder and I found a battered one. I dusted them to look new and in short time, it looked. I care fully placed the cards inside it and vouched to myself to respect sentiments sent through greeting cards.  Now I too have a collection which I can show when they come to my house.

Six months later :

One of those days in the year before the local festival, when we sell the once-up-on-a-time used and now good-for-nothing things. My mom segregated the items and I was the porter. Last but not the least were bundles of newspapers. “Take this too” and I saw the black folder flying in air and land with a dull thump on to the left pan of the balance and accounted for 100 more grams. And my mom came  out of the front door. It took me a minute to realize that the folder that lay on the balance, for which the bargain would begin soon was the testimony of my sentiments. Adrenaline rushed through my veins, for undermining my sentiments. “Do you know the value of that ?” I yelled loud enough for the vendor to drop the balance from his hands and for my dad to take his eyes from the newspaper. A casual “what are you taking about” question pounced on me. “The one that you just threw out. Did you check what’s inside that ?” “Yes, it looked like some…” . “Oh!! So you knew and then you flicked it in air?” I couldn’t’ help being one of the theatrical actors. Father interrupted the scene. And he took my side “To know the value of this, you should at least be a graduate” I couldn’t really make out the relation between graduation and comprehending the value of sentiments, still , I stood by his argument.  He walked closed to the vendor, who forgot to shut his mouth, since the scene broke out. Picked up the folder from the balance. Flipped it to find the price label which read Rs.175. What happened next, was an eye-opener. He opened the flap of the folder and inverted it to empty. The folder was sophisticatedly aligned so as to drop all the greeting cards right onto the balance and he walked back. “See, you don’t know the value of this. Rs.175. you would have sold it for less than 10.” Mom apologized then and there, for the Rs.175 folder, which otherwise she would have lost. My greeting cards hanged in the balance…I realize, with this progeny, I cannot value greeting card sentiments.

Years later, few days after marriage, my wife took out a black folder from the shelf and asked me to sit beside her as she went through them. Sentimental stories unfurled. Praise the lord.

Man‘Kind’

The lush green meadows, the setting sun, the cool breeze and the saffron clad sky doesn’t seem so pleasant to the couple as it did the day before. They literally missed their kid. Futile hours of search and the agony made them weak. Mother’s bosom pained for the unweaned 1 year old kid, father missed playing with his son. They had no authority to report the missing to. Couple stared at the horizon, not knowing, what destiny had in for them. The wind smelled blood.

The walk through the dry paddy field didn’t seem to be a stroll anymore, but a parade. Each step weighed a lot as they missed their busty mother. Tonight when they sleep they will have no one to hug and narrate their stories to. They didn’t know who their father was and losing mother was too much to bear. The tear drops that fell from the tiny eyes on the dry land marked the path as they marched. The disciplined walk continued. They were left with no choice but to follow the suit. 

They won’t have their father to teach them new skills of swimming anymore and they had no one who would rejoice at their swimming feat. They missed the big hands of their father, the protector. Today they are to face the world on their own, not knowing the traps set for them. They wept as they swam and  tears were washed away in the water. 

In a near by non-vegetarian restaurant, the waiter stooped a little to repeat the order ‘One plate chilly beef fry, one plate duck roast and two plates fish fingers’ and the big man‘kind’ family at the dinner seat nodded in unison with a gentle smile unaware of the cruelty behind their order......Man'unkind'..

Khora – the Business Analyst

Khora was a scraggy dog that the tribal village owned. Though the village was surrounded by the dense forest, the wild and the domestic never trespassed their limits.  It was as common to spot wild boars, deer and peacocks in the village premises towards the dawn and dusk as to spot cows, sheep and goats grazing in the wild grass. And they lived in perfect harmony. So far so good.  But on a fateful evening somebody, high on charas, while returning from his daily chores, spotted a mighty tiger amidst tall green grasses near the village pond. It was the first time that somebody was spotting a tiger within the village boundary. He immediately ran with all his might to report it to the tribal chief.  He admitted being a little high on charas, but the news was far too important to be overlooked. The tribe chief climbed the small hill top and made a strange sound that signaled the village to gather at their assembly point. In less than an hour the docile tribe assembled. The chief announced the news and it sent a wave of shock among the villagers. There was a murmur of ideas and after long discussions the chief gave his plan to ensnare the predator using a prey. A prey that only the tiger feeds on. The intellects in the tribe soon came up with the answer – A Dog, that’s the only prey that the tiger eats and not any other carnivore. Khora was soon zeroed in for the mission. Within hours of proclamation, Khora was caged and placed near the pond where the tiger was first spotted. It was also decided to feed Khora, once in a day, to keep it alive. Khora looked happy, despite being in cage. As days passed by, the villagers grew sympathetic about Khora’s destiny. The poor dog does not know that one day it shall be devoured by the cold blooded beast and will not even be able to run away from it. Over time, the emotional attachment grew so much that they decided to feed thrice a day, and one of the meals included non-veg. Khora was in the seventh heaven; little did it know its fate. And then….

Thomas, an MBA graduate, highly professional, looks really great in his aristocrat suit.  He worked for the company which has a legacy of huge profit margins in investment banking. Despite the bulls and bears in the market, the company did maintain a graph that other majors looked up to. So far so good. At some point of time, the market went beyond the expert speculations, and the investors started losing huge money. The top management pressed the panic button. The news was far too important to be overlooked. The chief manger scheduled a conference with the team of elite managers to tackle the issue. The huddle room was soon packed full by the docile managers. As the chief manager announced the news, it sent a wave of shock among the fellow managers. To make things worse, the customer-meet was to happen next month. Tackling that was the first agenda. There was murmur of ideas and after long discussion they chartered the plan to bait somebody to the customers and somehow retain them, failing which the company’s reputation would go for a toss. A polite, diplomatic, graceful and more importantly an oblivious bait . After few more discussions, the Thomas was zeroed in by elite team of managers.  Within minutes of the adjourned meeting, an e-mail appeared on Thoma’s inbox –

“Hi Thomas,

Really appreciate your passion, commitment and hard work. Your next task is to represent the vertical for the next customer-meet. This would give you a wider exposure and high visibility – a kick start that will keep you ahead of your peers. Your name was unanimously nominated by the elite team of managers and that shows how reputed you are among the managers. The customer’s meet is scheduled next month and you would be interacting with them and re-new all the customer agreements for the next fiscal year. Grab this opportunity and prove your best.”

Thomas was in his seventh heaven as he went through the e-mail. And then…. 

.................Every dog has a ‘day’ !!!

Love & Lust – A Dairy Page

1.00 am, 26 Dec 2011:

This day marks the release of my 8^th novel. I believe, this too would bag some literary accolades just as the other 7 did. The belief was interpreted as confidence by my well wishers and arrogance by the haters. I care neither. Sometimes I get caught amidst the shutter bugs and journalists. Book release is one such occasion. Volley of questions were thrown at me and I responded as maturely as I could. But one question…It still haunts me “what is the strongest motivation for your writing”. I smiled in reply and adjourned to the function. 

Memory takes me to those days of my teen age when I was inspired by Cheguvera and Lenin and I left my house in pursuit of revolutionary thoughts, rather thrown out, when I questioned my maternal uncle’s feudal attitude. To earn money I worked as a clerk in the municipal library, where I was introduced to the world of books. On the way back to my single room rented house, I used to visit her – a prostitute, at least 15 years older than me. She knew she was addictive, and hence she lured her customers first time with a meager charge and for all subsequent visit, she charged Rs.10 more.  That also meant she will not have permanent clients, as she feared being possessed.  She tried to save me from her clutches on my first visit to her “You are too small for this and me. Don’t ruin yourself. You can sleep in that corner of the room and leave tomorrow morning; if boasting about this is all your intention”. She said pointing to one corner of the dark room. Her words blew up my rage. “I did not come here to entertain you, so me being small or big does not matter. Yours being big or small is what matters. I have come with money that you need and you have what I need.” My arrogance had no limits. Her eyes widened as she listened. “Having spent a night with a whore in nothing to flaunt about. You are nothing but a chunk of meat meant to be f**ed. Know where you stand, you slut”. She did not give up, “may be, but I did not come in search of you. Its you, who walked couple of furlongs to reach here. Which means I am good at certain things at least.” she said spreading her knee folded legs apart. “What are you good at” she giggled as I kept mum thinking about a fitting reply. “Leave that, proceed with what you have come for” She spread her arms as well.  

The next day, as I started off from her hut, I kept asking myself ‘what am I good at’. Being insulted by a whore was a greatest blow to my pride. I read a lot and write a little. “Reading is never a talent, its only interest, writing definitely is” I realized. Days, weeks and months passed by and me searching for the first piece of my article. 

Greater share of my wage was spent on the nights with her. One night as I waited for my turn, outside her hut, I wrote my first short story – titled the ‘the wait’ under the lantern that swung to the tune of wind.  I was lost in the story so much that I forgot what I had been waiting for until she moved the wooden door plank and asked me to come in. Once I was done, I told her that I wrote a story. And read it out to her in the lantern light. As I completed she said, “I still remember first time, you came here, you told me that entertaining me is not your part of the job. But now you have done it. Let me fix a price for your entertainment. Rs.5 less for the night”. And we both slept half naked under a single torn blanket on the floor. As I woke up, and paid her, she gave back Rs.5 note from the small plastic box kept beneath a heap of clothes. My first payment did not come from any publisher, but from the sweat of a whore.  My first critic wasn’t any great editor, but again a whore. My frequent visits brought her closer. “We are looking for a sweeper in the library. I can push you to that post, If you want me to”. Her reply was again an insult “I earn thrice as much as your librarian.” “But who will look after you once you lose this age? Even I won’t turn up once I feel you are not worth the money I spent on you.” I cautioned. “As long as I live, I will be in my 30s” she replied. I did not understand what she said. That fateful night, she seemed un-interested in what I visited her for. For the first time I compelled her with more money. She agreed with a gloomy face.  This time, she did not lick the sweat beads from my neck as she normally does to mark the climax and refused to take any payment. She talked about the stories she liked from what I narrated to her. Her eyes welled up with tear as she did and asked me to make a book out of it. “Writing is the best thing that you can do with your fingers. The second only I know” she giggled in an attempt to hide the tears.  

The next morning after I left I got to know from the gossip mongers who came to the library that she committed suicide. I ran towards her hut and saw the hanged corpse from a near by tree in a saree she never wore. “As long as I live, I will be in my 30s” lingered in my ears. I did not publish any of those short stories as those were meant only for her – my whore – for whom I wrote my stories – whom, deep inside I love and continues to motivate me...

Prepare for the worst

A leach bite on the leg which had already been under surgical knives 8 times, took a dramatic turn, when he could not even think of placing his leg on floor, let alone walking. The leach was kind enough to give back an infectious secretion in return for the blood it sucked. The toes swelled so much that it began to crack. The panic spread across the family, each of them tried desperately to hide it from one another. He maintained an impassive face as we waited outside the doctor’s room. It was his turn next and I accompanied him to the room. Picking up the doctor’s cue, the nurse unwound the crepe bandage. Doctor’s eye brows creased as he saw it unwound. A chill ran down my spine. He directed to get my father admitted immediately. We did. A team of doctors, comprising dermatologist, Orthopedists, general surgeon and a general physician took turns to adjudge the cause-effect. After x-rays and few other scans, they decided to administer high dose antibiotics as injections. 4 times a day. As the doctor prescribed list of antibiotics, I heard my father’s feeble voice. “Please write a sleeping pill too with that. I did not have sound sleep for a week.”Nobody was aware of him going sleepless as he never practiced sharing pain. As days passed, reddishness in the toes darkened and it spread till the calf. Situation seemed turning from bad to worse. The panic level in family touched a height that we found it difficult to pretend. He looked still calm and composed.

I inquired with the doctor and he said “We are doing our best. Don’t even think of shifting him to another hospital. We need to do a trial and error method to see which anti-biotic would take effect.” I went back to room. Took my laptop and ran my fingers through the Google home page to find out what was going on. It worsened my fear and I slid back the laptop into my back pack.

On the 7th day, doctor told me that he is reacting positively to the drug administered the day before and that they are planning to continue that for a week. A positive news for the first time in last 10 days. Few more days and signs of recovery were seen externally.

On the day of discharge, when he was alone in the room, I asked “How could you be so calm and composed, even when you knew that the infection was not getting subsided in the initial days?” He retorted “When in fear, think of the worst that can happen. In this case, the worst is infection spreading to such a level that they will have to amputate the leg above the knee level. In such a case, even a false leg won’t help. I will have to walk the rest of my life with crutches.”

All I could do was to listen and I did. He continued “One of the greatest depressions in life is the fear of losing an organ, once you overcome that, there isn’t any fear left. I overcame the fear on second day. If you are prepared for the worst, things can only get better – nothing can destroy you then”. The last line lingered in my mind as I drove him back home in the car and he was ever so calm reading a news paper, one of the headlines of which read “Low marks - student attempts suicide”. I wish the hapless knew - “If you are prepared for the worst, things can only get better - nothing can destroy you then”