"I'm worried.. m just worried. Its three days since he has spoken. Somethings seriously wrong with my boy.." said Meera trying hard to stop her tears. "Don’t worry, it is not as if he cant speak. Just that he wont talk to us." her husband consoled her. "Don’t worry??! He not talking to us means we have done something wrong. He is troubled. And you are saying me 'not to worry'??" Meera was aghast at her husband’s nonchalance. "No Meera, calm down.. He is growing up. His silence need not mean that he is angry with us. Could be some other trouble. Wait, today night we will talk to him.." Madhav soothed her.

Tears poured down the cheeks of 12-year-old Krishna who was overhearing their conversation from the top of the stairs. He ran back into his room, threw himself on his bed and sunk his face into the pillow to stop the tears.

12-year-old Krishna was a happy, lucky boy as his mother often told him. “See this mark, this is what makes you lucky” Meera would tell him about the star shaped mark on his right forehead. He was the only child of his parents and was a pampered boy. He was also a favourite of his teachers at school despite his pranks, a dear friend for classmates and was a boy quite at peace with himself till he made the discovery.

He had gone to his parent’s room to ask his mother’s permission to stay over at a friends’ when he saw a diary in the bed. Being the curious boy, he was, he picked it up. It belonged to his mother. He opened a random page and started reading.. ‘We went and saw him. He is cute. So small.. so tiny.. He smiles in sleep..’ Not understanding anything he turned over to another page. ‘Today was the day. We took him home from the orphanage. We have named him Krishna. He is the blessing from Lord himself.’ Krishna could read only that much. The diary dropped down from his hands as he struggled hard to cope up with the truth. He was shocked. Dazed. He replaced the diary as it had been kept and went back to his room. 

                     ‘Orphanage’ The word flashed before his eyes. ‘I am a nobody who was adopted’ Just like the children in the church to whom he gave gifts, food and clothes on every birthday of his, he too was an orphan. An orphan who was adopted. And nobody had told him. Everyone had lied to him. He went down when he was called for dinner but had his food silently. He pushed away Meera and Madhav when they pulled him close and ran back to his room and closed the door.

                      That was three days ago. And it was three days since he had spoken to his parents. Now the shock had given way to grief. Tears flowed down his cheek every minute. “Atleast they could have told me.”, he thought, crying into the pillow. He lay there like that for a long time. When he heard footsteps, he looked up and saw Meeras face. “Krishna, come dear.. “ Meera called him. “Come to mother..” ‘Mother.’ The word stirred an emotion in Krishna which he had not known before. Rage shot through him like lightning. “Mother??”, he had thundered, “Mother?? Who’s mother? Anyway, not mine. I know I am not your son” Meera took one step back in shock. Madhav who was close behind raised his voice “Krishna!” “I read your diary. I know that I was taken from the orphanage..” Krishna’s voice softened, and his anger once again gave way to sobs. But this time he did not try to suppress them. Instead he wailed out.. Deep from the heart. 

                      Meera had stood rooted to the spot and had to be helped by Madhav out of the room. When he was sure that he was alone, Krishna stopped crying. He was sad. He wished they would come back and tell him that was not true. That he was their own son. But he knew that would never happen. Maybe he should leave home. Or maybe he should stay. His thoughts were wandering once again. In between he fell asleep. 

                    When he woke up the next day he sensed that Meera and Madhav were sitting on his bed. He looked at them and then shut his eyes tight. Madhav called him slowly.. “Krishna..” Madhav called. He did not move. “Krishna, Just listen to us.” said Madhav. Then Meera spoke “We wanted to tell you someday..but then we postponed it every time. It was something we wanted to forget. Also we did not know how you would take it. So we decided to keep it from you.”, she paused,” Krishna, that papers do not belong to you." Krishna opened his eyes and looked into his mother’s face. "Honestly Krishna", Meera continued, "It belongs to a young boy who was adopted. A boy named Krishna. But it is not you." "Then?" asked Krishna warily. "It is..", said Madhav, "Its a little boy's who would have been your brother had he been.." there was a pause "alive." Madhav completed the sentence. Krishna’s eyes grew bigger and redder as they unfolded the story to him. "After 2 years of marriage also we did not have any children Krishna. So, we decided to adopt. We took home this cute little boy of 3 months and called him Krishna. After he came into our life, it was as if we had been completed. His smile, his pranks... those fun-filled days.. And then for our tremendous joy we found out that we would be blessed with an own child of ours..- you. It was the happiest moments of our life. We attributed all our luck to our adopted son. But sometimes the best of times brings behind it the worst of times. We three were going to the hospital for a checkup on your mother when a truck collided with our car. We lost him Krishna.. we had him for only two months and we lost him. Whenever we talk about him, we start crying.. However, we decided to put behind that memory and start a new life with you. But the name stayed. We did not want to think of any other name for our child. So, we named you after him." Madhav stopped. Tears were streaming down the face of all the three.

                      Krishna gave a sob and threw himself upon his parents hugging them tight. And all the three were bonded in that warm embrace. "I love you.. I love you.." Krishna could only say that much to them. 

Meera sobbed her heart out as her memories flashed back to that awful day in the hospital after the accident. "Which one did I lose?" a dazed and badly hurt Meera had asked Madhav upon learning that she had lost one of her children. Madhav did not reply but picked up a seven-month-old Krishna from the cradle and hugged him close. "We still have him.." he had told her.

"You are mine.." breathed Meera’s heart as Krishna continued sobbing.. "Krishna came for Yashoda.. and so has he come for me.." 

Outside, in the garbage pile, as the flames engulfed the last of Meera’s diary, the page which Krishna had half-read became visible.. “Today was the day. We took him home from the orphanage. We have named him Krishna. He is the blessing from Lord himself. He has a star shaped mark on his right forehead. He should be lucky........” And then a strong wind blew it away.. out of sight..

Baby Girl. Congrats

No worries, it's a  normal delivery

Nurse opened the labour room door and said

Rahul, his mom, her parents all are happy and excited. The cute little pie is in his arms now. Rahul got thrilled and planted a kiss on Pooja's forehead.

She winked and smiled at her husband with a proud feeling.  

Came out of the room, relatives shared the news  "Yes  baby girl and normal delivery"

After the 9 months of the carriage, all mid-day vomiting and sleepless nights, Pooja is smiling! The most beautiful feeling in the world- Being a mother, enjoying motherhood.

The pain started 2 days before and pooja was hospitalised. Well, who knows is it a labour pain or just a dose of pain?

 Doctor, look I'm getting a pain. said Pooja

No dear, it's not the pain, you won't be even able to tell like this if it's a real labour pain. Doctor said

Ohkay, so something big is on the way. Pooja thought and laid to her bed

After a few hours, the doctor came and said: Let me check whether the baby is in a good position 

OUUCHHHHHHH! She screamed aloud

what are you doing?

Inducing medicine to increase the size of your cervix! The doctor said while inserting 3 fingers to her vagina.

Hours passed, 1 day down

The so-called "Labour Pain" has not yet reached, though she is experiencing  a very good amount of pain where she is not able to stand, sit not even eat.

Day 2 Morning, she opened her eyes and touched her stomach. Maybe today I could see my baby's face! Oh dea come soon, your mama is waiting. A nurse came and repeated the above said cervix size increasing procedure for many more times. She cried, screamed yet controlled all her worries. Meanwhile, they induced a few more medicines to increase the pain and break the fluid also.

Hours passed, by evening she started experiencing the labour pain. The famous filmy dialogues "Push Pooja, Push" started echoing in her ears

Yes, even we do know only this "PUSH dialogue" in related with delivery scenes!

Took all her energy, oh remember she has not eaten anything from the last day, pushed maximum. Meanwhile this push mechanism, Doctor cut her vagina wall, she didn't even know that until post delivery treatment. We can't blame her, who will be noticing this cut while she is experiencing the labour pain. 

One last push and yeah! Our heroine is into this world!

Pooja cried with happiness and pain at the same time and her baby, the munchkin is here finally. 

The so-called "NORMAL" delivery is not so that Normal. She thought in her mind.

Little princess came for breastfeeding. She took her close to her chest, kissed and prayed 

Dear,

May your day start with a smile and good vibes, May your journey on the way to the school  be without any safety pins in hands and pepper spray on bags, May you apply for a leave for your menstrual cramps, May you don't be a selling item in the dowry market,May your character doesn't get judged based on your short sleeves and high heels, May you get married only when you needed and only to the person whom you love,May you get your job without discriminating based on your sex

And above all may you live for you and not for the society

Took a deep breath, she again winked and smiled at her husband.

And that smile requires a lot of courage that even 1 million of men could not make.

Off late, after entering my thirties, I have started giving some thought on my contributions or the impressions I have left, if any, in this world. It might be because I get an ample amount of “free” time for “thinking” during my travel to and from office; or it might be the effect of some serious reading. I mull over these views very often and strangely it has become one of my favorite pastimes.

Many people who know me probably consider me as sarcastic and I might have found my way in lightening the mood with my comments (mostly snide), many a time; but none of it worth to be marked in memory for longer than a day or two. Friends and family who know me well may describe me as warm and loyal, but that too, not so rare a character. It is thus easy enough to conclude that I have hadn’t made a lasting imprint on anyone. The feeling is neither resentment nor disappointment, its just a fact about me that I discovered.

When I tread along that train of thought, I could pick up quite a few names, who touched, and made an impact on me, as well as other people around them. I am not talking about mass reformers like Gandhiji or Nelson Mandela. I mean simple ordinary folks, like you, or me, whose actions, words, or a mere look has left an enduring influence on others.

I have been told a story about the principal of a college, who comes in everyday, well before the classes start. He could be spotted picking up trashes from around the college premises. It’s said that the students who have seen the elderly principal in this daily act of tidiness, were taught a lifelong lesson on managing their trash. The effect is probably unknown for both the parties, but it does have an effect and that is what matters.

My great-grandmother, my maternal grandfather’s mother whom we called ‘Ammachi’ was a tenacious character and quite the ‘man’ in our family. She had single handedly raised her eight children, after their father, my great grandfather, passed away; despite her fragile body and cotton like white soft hair she was strong inside. She had always been that delicate and pale in my memory, yet she walked around the house and the courtyard at her own pace and grace.  

She wasn’t too fond of us kids running around, she thought we’ll knock her down and was always grumpy during the holidays, when the house is swarming with a dozen of kids and grandkids. Her eyes were white, I remember my mom telling how they were light blue in color in her youth; only my grandfather got her eyes in our family. Ammachi had very poor eyesight since I have started seeing her, but apparently this heightened her other senses. She used to smell the curries from her room and would often, to my aunt’s annoyance, point the flaws; I think what annoyed my aunt most was that these pointers were always correct. She could also hear us sneaking into her room to take puli mittayi in the jar. She would ask “aara avide” (who’s there) and look straight to our face, we would freeze and go back silently, only to return after making sure ammachi is asleep or not in her room.

As a mother she was very strict and did not ease after being a grandmother. Ammachi did not quite agree with noisy kids. She was a disciplinarian and had no problem instilling this in her children. Ammachi always used to boast off, how much voracious, a reader, was she, in her youth; when her eyes were still blue and of use to her. My grandfather and his siblings are quite ardent readers, all thanks to ammachi. It did not end there, ammachi was able to cultivate this culture in her grandkids as well. Her technique was simple, she wouldn’t allow the kids to go out and play unless they read for at least an hour. Slowly, it became a habit for them, which luckily continued to the next generation.

Off all my cousins, I always felt, she had a particular dislike for my youngest brother Naadu. He was a little devil himself growing up; the naughtiest among us running into all kinds of tantrums. He too might have sensed ammachi’s aversion to him that he irritated her the most purposefully.  He would hide her walking stick and hide the mittayi jugs. He even drank the sweetened Horlicks tea made specially for ammachi and leave the empty cup in her table. Ammachi did her share as well – she would ask Ravi mamman, our housekeeper to buy chocolates for all of us except for Naadu. She would complain about Naadu at great lengths even in the rare cases where he wasn’t involved. My mother had the toughest time acting as a negotiator between the two. It was difficult to estimate who despised the other most.

As naughty and wayward as he was, Naadu had another side. He loved poems and tried writing some himself. It’s one of the few traits, and we were thankful, he preserved, growing up. I was his sole listener those days. Once he came excitedly and read a poem to me which he wrote. 

 

Today, on my way back home

I saw the tree, the lonely tree

It stood up on the rock-top;

It stood bare, at par with the fall

You might think that it will not hold,

Yet it has been there, through storm and breeze

I see the tree; I see its roots, as it stretches beyond the rock afar,

The air was dusty, dry and hot;

New roads were being built; her home, the rock, was being smashed

And yet she stands, ready to abide the springs to come

 

Oblivious to both of us, Ammachi had been in the room and heard this too. I was about to open my mouth to comment on the poem when Nadu shushed me with his finger and pointed towards ammachi. Her face was so overwhelmed with emotion and for the first time we saw tears trickling down the corners of her weary eyes. I knew it wasn’t about the poem, I guess it reminded her of something, maybe a tree, maybe some unrelated figment from the past, whatever it was I was sure she held it dear and she was happy to have it back from the forgone depths. Her face had a strange soft glow which we had never seen till that day.

She stretched her bony hands and called to Naadu. Seemingly, she wasn’t aware that I was in the room too. She held him close for a long time with her long shivering arms; At last when she let go of him, she planted a kiss on his forehead and said, “you should write more, never let go of the words”. As I stood watching, Nadu’s little hands wrapped around ammachi, his eyes welled up.

It was a very special experience for me, seeing two lifelong ‘foes’ standing in a moment of embrace. All their fights and fits lied forgotten for a few seconds. A minute of unconditional love, and it was over; Ammachi went back to her room and Naadu ran off to the courtyard as if nothing happened. It didn’t take much longer for me to realize that what I witnessed was not a reconciliation, but a moment’s magic.  The trance was broken, and they were back in their old selves. That very night itself I heard Ammachi scolding and swearing Naadu for hiding her Ramayana. Both continued to torment each other until one day ammachi’s heart failed her, at the age of 104.

Though, we have never again talked of that day, I know that ammachi inspired Naadu the most and her words and hug has a huge role in his life. He is a successful businessman today but keeping true to ammachi he has not let go of words. He writes poems occasionally and I am his official reviewer.

Thinking back, I still stand in awe at the level of influence ammachi had in each of us. She wasn’t exactly a gentle, lovable soul, and in fact had some irate behaviors, yet she had a power in her which reached out to the people surrounding her and left a mark deep enough to last for an eternity. Though she died years back, she has deposited a tiny part of her in all our lives thus becoming eternal.

I believe that there are two types of people in the world, gullible, simple-minded type, allowing themselves to be molded; and, the strong ones, who naively preaches their beliefs and shapes the first type like ammachi. Neither the teaching nor the learning is a voluntary action, but rather it is defined by whom we are. Or maybe, we all are part learners and part teachers. Afterall, who am I to say, I have been forged and fashioned by the people and events around me; I am not original, ‘I’ in me owe to many. 

   I love the rainy season so much, that I feel so happy. It brings memories alive even though they may not be bound to rain. It was during one of those wet and cool monsoon nights, I happened to be home alone. After having dinner I was reclining in an easy chair listening to the mesmerizing music of rain. I was particularly happy that, we didn't have a power cut that night, which was not the case usually on a rainy night.

     I was aware of the fact that I had not yet ironed my shirt that I had to wear the next day. But I was already feeling sleepy and was not in a mood to even get up and get to bed. I wanted to slowly slip into sleep listening to the tune of rain.

     Suddenly, I heard a knock on the door followed by the sound of the calling bell. I was too hesitant to get up. I didn't move. But the calling bell rang again. I slowly got up and opened the door. I saw someone walking back to the gate. I called out to him and he turned around. It was a shopkeeper who runs a store in the town. He was a friend of my dad and was familiar to all of us. I asked him to come in. We walked into the living room and sat down facing each other.

     I asked him: "Did you have too many customers tonight? You usually shut the store by 8 pm, right? It's 11 pm now!

"No no. Something is wrong with my scooter. The mechanic was checking it for a long time. But he couldn't figure out the problem. And then it started to rain heavily. I was stuck in the shop. The mobile network seems dead too. As the rain stopped I decided to walk home. But the rain started again when I reached here. So I thought of meeting your dad."

"He is not here. Mom and Dad are traveling. They will reach here by tomorrow morning. By the way, did you eat anything?"

"No, I haven't. I couldn't even inform my wife that I will be late."

"Oh, you can use my phone if you want to make a call."

     I passed my phone on to him and walked to the kitchen. I was thinking about not having met him for a long time. I realized how much time was I spending at work. I would come home well after 10 pm every day, yes, after all the shops in our area were closed. But I had fond memories of this man. He used to give me a lot of chocolates every time I visited his shop as a little boy. He was so kind to me unlike some of the other shopkeepers who used to be angry towards children for no reason.

     I handed over a plate of chappathi and curry to him. He gave my phone back and thanked me. While he was eating, I talked about those old memories. He smiled at me and told me about his friendship with my father and grandfather. We continued to talk for about an hour. By that time the rain had stopped. He thanked me again and bade adieu. I offered to drop him, but he politely declined and told me: "That's ok dear. It's just 10 minutes walk from here to reach my place". We smiled at each other. He waved at me and left.

     I was happy to have met him again, that too after a long time. It was already half past midnight by then. So I just kept the plate near the kitchen zinc and went to bed.

     I woke up at 7 in the morning. My family had already arrived. I went up to Dad and enquired him about the trip. As he was talking to me, Mom peeked out of the kitchen and shouted: "Why didn't you wash your plate last night?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you. Sam uncle came to meet you guys last night. He had dinner from here. I thought of washing it in the morning as it was too late when he left. Sorry!"

"What? Which Sam uncle are you talking about?", asked Dad.

"Well, I think there is only one Sam uncle whom we all know. The man who runs the stationery store in the town."

"What?! Are you crazy??", shouted Dad.

"Why are you shouting, Dad? He is your friend and he used to come here occasionally too, right? He was stuck in the rain and he had some trouble with his scooter. That's why he..."

"He passed away a year ago! How can he come here last night? Are you still dreaming?", yelled Dad.

I was startled and clueless. Mom chipped in immediately and said: "When did you start lying to us? If you had not washed the plate, just admit it. Why are you cooking up stories?!", Mom made a sarcastic face.

"Mom, please believe me. He had really come here. We talked for some time and he even called someone from my phone!"

Dad quickly snatched my phone and checked my call list. He took out his phone and dialed the number that was on my phone. His phone displayed, 'Calling Sam'.

Everyone was shocked. Mom sighed in disbelief. I never knew his number nor did I ever save it on my phone. I realized that my theory about ghosts was wrong. I never believed in them. But one of them visited me last night!!

“See, my name is Riya Rose Thomas. But I liked to be called Rose. Only Rose,” said Rose stressing the last word. The listener, Aardra who is Rose’s new friend, looked confused. Rose continued, “Also, ROSE means the past tense of rise, not the flower.” Aardra looked even more confused and asked, “But why? I love Rose flower.” Rose replied without a second thought. “I like the thought of rising up. I rose from the ashes. I am SuperRose,” she finished with a giggle. Aardra, however, looked disinterested.

The 11-year-old duo has been waiting in the lawn of a ramshackle building for quite some time. Rose, the impatient one, kept checking her watch. “What is taking so long,” Rose asked looking skyward. Aardra let out a gasp. They were hoping for pleasant weather, but the morning has been unusually hot. “I am starving,” Rose could not help but say, though she had breakfast just an hour ago. “I got snacks. I am a bit snacky type. But I am saving them for the trip,” replied Aardra.

Cutting their conversation, a tall young man holding a bunch of papers came looking for ‘Riya’. Rose, furious over calling her ‘Riya’, looked away expressing her displeasure. Aardra intervened, “Hello chetta, she is Riya. But she doesn’t like anyone calling her by that name. She prefers Rose.” “Ok ok, I got this. So you must be Aardra. I am Ashish. Why are you two sitting away from the group?” he asked the wheelchair-bound girls while glancing through the papers in his hands. He pointed towards a KURTC Volvo stationed in front of the building, where other volunteers wearing similar T-shirts as his are helping other differently-abled kids to board the vehicle. “Let’s make a move?” he asked the girls.

Rose started counting in her mind. She could only see 10-11 children, most of them with prosthetic limps. There is another boy in a wheelchair, too. She turned at the group of parents assembled nearby. Her Mama, who is talking to another woman, waved at her. Mama must be so tensed, Rose thought. Even she started feeling butterflies in her belly and looked at Aardra who is being helped to board the bus by some chechimar. Rose wished that she be seated near Aardra.

It’s Rose turn now. Before the volunteers could push her wheelchair along the ramp of the bus, Rose heard some commotion. Many people wielding cameras and microphones surrounded the bus. Rose could barely see her Mama now. The same woman, who interviewed her when she enrolled for the trip, walked in. She adjusted her glasses and started explaining about the trip. She talked about things Rose already knew. Some of the photographers asked the woman to stand beside Rose for a click. She put her hand around Rose and posed.

It all started when Mama received a forwarded test message about the trip. This is supposedly the first-of-its-kind, one-day picnic for special kids like her. Though Mama herself discussed about the trip with Rose and encouraged to sign up for the same, she was quite unsure about it. Mama, more than anyone else, knows that it was Rose’s dream to see the ocean. Mama had promised to take her. But never said when she would.

Suddenly a reporter pointed the mic towards Rose and asked, “Hi, what is your name.” Rose was startled at first. Then she slowly said. “Rose.” Then came the second question. “Are you excited for the trip?” Rose said yes. Then the reporter proceeded to other kids who are already inside the bus. The volunteers who were waiting for the crowd to disperse finally helped Rose board the bus and anchored her wheelchair.

This is Rose’s first bus ride. And the first outing without Mama. She wished that Mama could come along. She could not tell apart her mother from the sea of parents waving at the bus. Rose felt like crying. Mama’s eyes might have welled up, too, Rose thought. Other kids in the bus also waved back.

Rose kept looking at the glass doors throughout the ride. She can see other vehicles and pedestrians. The kids kept waving at everyone on the road. They cheered when the bus stopped at signals.  Aardra, who is seated beside her, kept talking to her and the other boy next to her. However, Rose didn’t feel like listening. She was immersed in her thoughts already.

She kept thinking about the beach. The globe. The sky. Everything blue. What if the water of the sea just spill over to the land, she thought. Rose just could not digest the idea that the whole of the oceans is put on a ball like structure. How can a sphere hold water? It should be a bowl. The earth, she loved to believe, is a huge bowl filled with water to the brim. A slight tilt of the bowl will spill the water onto the land. The thought of the sea submerging the bus scared her as much as it excited her.  She fancied floating to and fro, up and down. I won’t need my legs anymore, she thought and looked at her feet.

A volunteer chechi started distributing small packets of Tiger biscuits and Frooti satchets. Another volunteer chechi got up and started talking at the top of her voice so that everyone could hear. Asking the children to start talking to each other, she said group interaction is as much important as sight-seeing. Aardra quickly glanced at Rose and smiled.

Rose wanted to talk to Aardra about the sea but she kept her thoughts to herself fearing that her new friend might make fun of her. The volunteer chechi asked everyone to introduce themselves to break the ice. She made a girl who sat in the front seat sing a song. Another volunteer came up to Rose and asked why she looked lost. Rose didn’t know what to say. She smiled at the chechi and shrugged. The chechi patted on her shoulder and gestured to smile.

Aardra asked why Rose is so silent inside the bus. “I thought you were a chatterbox,” she said. Rose smiled again. The thoughts of Mama and the sea kept bothering her. She started feeling lonely. By the time Aardra started quizzing her. “Tell me what your favourite colour is,” Aardra asked. Rose said it is blue. Aardra asked about her favourite food, movie, time of the day, room, etc, etc. Rose answered mechanically. The volunteers started playing music and she cannot hear half of what Aardra has been saying.

It was Rose’s turn to introduce herself. She was feeling exhausted already. The volunteer chechi asked whether she needs water. Rose denied politely. “My name is Rose,” she started saying. She was suddenly reminded of Mama again and the day of interview for the trip. Rose had rehearsed her self-introduction over 50 times, sometimes in front of the mirror, sometimes before Mama. However, she was never asked to introduce herself at the interview. They checked her medical records, made Mama sign some papers and gave her some instructions.

Rose continued: “I study in Class VI at Jeevodaya Vidyalaya. My hobbies are painting and reading.” She wanted to add writing but she did not say that. And her favourite pastime is something else. She loved thinking. She thinks about things around her. She thinks about people around her. She thinks about roads and vehicles, animals and birds. She imagines herself living in an igloo, flying a kite, running after her imaginary dog named ‘Shadow’, splashing around in a pool, skipping like her neighbour Veda and wearing Mama’s blue saree.

The bus came to a halt. The volunteer chechi came and asked if anybody wants to go to the loo. Aardra raised her hand. So did some of the other kids. Rose remained seated. After the 10-minute break, the journey resumed. The children continued waving at the people on the road and those standing at bus-stops. The volunteers started some word game and then proceeded to play anthakshari. Rose is still immersed in her thoughts.

Some 20 minutes later, one of the volunteers announced that they are approaching the beach. Rose kept looking at the door. She don’t want to miss the first glimpse. All she could see is the road and a long wall. One of the kids yelled, “Plane plane aeroplane.” Everyone cheered. Rose did not see the aircraft. She touched the bottle she kept in her bag to take home some sea water. She has two more bottles at home, one to collect some cloud and the other to take home some snow.

The bus came to a halt, again. The volunteers helped the children alight. Rose was the last one to get down. Where is the sea, she started looking around. She felt a burning sensation in her eyes because of the heat outside. Rose listened. Yes, I can hear the sea. One of the volunteers started pushing her wheelchair forward. The sound grew louder as they moved forward. It is exactly as she had imagined.  The sun, a few clouds and the vast blue mass. However, the heat seemed to bog her down. As they moved forward, she started seeing the foaming waves. Rose felt like screaming.

Rose looked around. Other children were waving at the sea. Rose smiled at them. The volunteers started clicking their pictures. Rose smiled again at the cameras and phones. There are media people there too. Rose hoped they won’t come to her. Aardra was far away.

Suddenly she saw a pastel blue saree-clad figure at a distance. “Oh my god,” Rose’s heart skipped a beat. “Mamaaa!!! That is Mama,” Rose let out a shriek. How did she come, Rose thought while waving at her. The mother waved back. Mama did not come near her. She stayed at a distance. The mother-daughter duo stared at each other for a few seconds. Tears rolled down their cheeks. A huge mass of cloud hid the sun, bringing in a little relief. Rose turned around and moved towards the sea as Mama looked on. “See you soon,” she said, looking at the waves. “I mean SEA you soon,” she giggled.

‘Patriotism, the other global scam after religion.’
Those were the first words of Prof.P that Jason heard. The first class he attended at the Institute, after leaving home, branded as the wayward son, the outlaw, the Communist.

This afternoon, when the news reached him, the words rang in his ears, as he paced the room thoughtfully.

The images were all over media. News channels fell like starved vultures upon the heartbreakingly beautiful young face of his brother, a war hero, a patriot, a martyr.
The unfairness, the fake glory of it all!

Thoughts of home clouded Jason’s mind. Mother would be sitting at the kitchen table, crying silently; Father pacing the front room, unfailingly keeping his emotions in check, receiving media and persons holding power.
Even in this conjured image, Jason could see the shade of pride mixed in their Mother’s tears, in their father’s dignified acceptance of condolences.

Then there might be the impudent enquiry about himself, the irony of the household. There would be a barely noticeable moment of hardness, when Father would clutch at his walking stick, his prize for sacrificing one leg to the nation, a yesteryear war veteran, a patriot;, when Mother would cringe slightly at his name.

Jason switched channels and there was Father, giving the speech he must have prepared the day his first son was born.
‘.. the greatness of his sacrifice. Mohan is not dead, today he is immortalized. At this home, this day would be remembered not as a day of loss, but the day when our son rose to glory. He is a soldier, and a soldier never dies. We are just his biological parents, this great nation is his Mother. And his last breath was taken protecting her. Mohan always..’

Jason turned the TV off and stood by the window looking out.

‘Have you wondered what happens when great trees fall?’
They waited for Prof. P. to elaborate. They never knew where his class was directed at. He had no chart or schedule. He was an old man who had read a lot of books.
‘”Our great mother nation”, “Lord our Protector”, “Our magnificient cultural traditions”, anything that inspires a state of worship, bordering on fanaticism, are glass idols that would be shattered.
Cyclically, world undergoes ripples when these idols are shaken, when some fall. You must develop the power to withdraw and watch, the deeper or central you are, the lesser you see.
When the idols shake, when the great trees fall, the ground shivers and so do all that stand the ground. Some shrubs get crushed underneath, some weeds, some flowers.
And from the fallen seeds and the decaying leaves, new life is born.’
During that lecture, Jason knew that was what he was, would be; one of the shrubs that would trigger the fall, and then get crushed under.

Today, that was his personal sorrow at the loss of his brother. Mohan was one of the weeds that nourished the imaginary tree. Their parents, Mohan, all the other nationalists coiled among themselves and rose to a height, such that they took the shape of the imaginary tree that they visioned. The nonexistent tree so came to life in this mob hallucination, more twines entangled, thickened and the tree structure became huge and morbid.

It was time to fell it. Twines had begun being cut, Mohan one of them. A tiny rupture in the facade.

Jason sat by the window gloomily. His brother had died in a combat with the anti-nationalists, the weeds in the books from the other side. Who is to judge, which is honey, which is poison?

Years at the institute had taught Jason to withdraw in space and time to watch. He wrote in the open notebook on his table.
‘Deep inside, or far out, the shape is always a circle. Time is cyclic, so is space. The ground is shaken, the ripple has started. These are time of chaos, when brothers are lost, when glass idols crack, when tangled coils untangle, when great trees fall.
Hope.! Freedom!
When the ripple settles, when the decay is cleared, the air will be fresh for new life to sprout.’

It all started with blue, the passion. She was a sublime beauty, curling her magic magnetized into the coherent notions of complete bliss. The theist in me reacted, and the bruised beliefs shattered in the poised smell of jasmine tangled in her withered brown hair, until I see the black hair down there between her thighs. The chilling breathe of fear pricks across my spine as my conscience craved for the inevitable, the guilt, as I saw those black hair nourished with red stains, and I realized, she was unravished… till then.

The tears were green as it was all mine. She was breathing low after an hour long moaning. The thirst of lust carved from the unfathomed redundancy prevailed in those days of silence, after I lost my soul, my love, get blemished pathetically into an action which reside grossly the way I look the light. The serene white light, which left me long ago now turns black. And I was gliding my thoughts and action suspended to that black light.

Then I started decoding that puzzle from a fairy tale. Those yellow barren lands which was striving for rain is still awaiting someone divine to bring the glory of chastity and to extract her soul into the inclined suspension of social dependency. Deep inside, I know, the humane in me sours for the blinding chaos. But the sanity I fed all the life, paved the path to that while light… the divine interventions.

Now it is time to be in the shoes of the best in me. I looked at her, the first time, into her eyes. The dead eyes are far away from depicting her struggle inside. I kissed her lips once again. This time passionately. I am not sure when the last time I smiled. But I did it this time without any persuasion. I tried to sync with her breath and I hushed in her ears, “I will never leave you. You are mine from today”.

Deep silence followed. Her eyes slowly started to get moist. She spread her wide, hands and legs, and held me tight with my butt between her thighs, and started kissing me all over.  That was rejuvenating. I got back something I lost long ago. The light. The white divine light.

It was an yellow barren land awaiting a rain. Our tears made it green sprouting up life inside. And all that left was a white bed sheet with some red stains.

On the other day, I heard my mom and dad argue over the damaged big light that hangs over
our terrace. As it is a dark place with snakes being a common visitor, this light serves the
purpose of the missing street light, helping everyone around. I heard much reasonable facts
from Dad on why the light has to be fixed immediately. I was not really happy about his
concern, not because I was jealous, but I had a million controversial thoughts running inside. Not only my dad, I have seen many reasonable men with great kindness doing selfless deeds
in life. And all I wonder is why? Why this kindness and selflessness never work when it comes
to the marriage of their own children. We are often being taught that this world is self centric and trust is a rare thing to find and
reciprocate. As I kept thinking over it, I was curious to know when this trust, hope, love and
perseverance gets lost in life. I remember being so confident when I was young and more
perseverant in choosing my education and career. But when it came to marriage, I found
myself in a more pitiable situation to understand the logic, where none of the inspirational
literature could offer me a ray of hope in the horizon.

If you would ask me to use the word 'marriage' in a context, I will obviously link it with caste, religion, horoscope, money, status, etc, than with love, understanding, passion and sex. And
ya, passion and sex are the most vulgar words in the context of marriage and life. Before every
parent sentimentality attack their son and daughter in defending their beliefs, how many of
them stand as a living example of failed marriage. And even after experiencing a lifetime
sentence for their choices, how could they demand the same for their generation.

Every second person I meet in life is unhappy with their marital life and blames flow from
person to person and reason to reason. Though it is not always said in explicit, it is the
bitterness and disappointment, that leads to failure. Bitterness of what was not given and the
disappointment in what is given. Sexual harmony and emotional affinity are the only two things that a marriage need. And if the
society say that sexual harmony is not a great matter to consider, then tell me what difference
does a marriage make in one's life than that of what friends and family affords. With all I have
heard, not all the partners are sexually compatible or satisfied with each other. Desire and
fantasy differ in each person like behavior and habit. Defend or oppose, this is an universal
truth and everyone know it in their heart and is hesitant to speak out or solve. And to speak about emotional understanding, though it may seem unimportant, is the base
factor for mental health. In life, not all have the same priority and preferences and it may vary
from money, art, business, passion, love, etc of which nothing could be judged. It is how a
person gets groomed out of his experience and it could be the very thing that they dedicate
their life for. The unacceptable one in your eyes might be the most acceptable one in mine, just
like the colors. And if a partner could not understand or accept a person for what they are, what good can life bring out of their union. And if blame, acquisitions and compromise become
the routine, how will the love, support and care remain?
I don't know how it feels for you, when your daughters and sons undergo the worst pain in life
for no mistake of theirs. And still none of you are ready to accept the real concept of marriage
and life. "She was the strongest lady I have ever met. A self-reliant lady with the kindest heart ever. She
was happy in her own realm and he was happy with his foreign wife. They both were married
just because his parents could not accept his choice. Hoping to bring him out of his
relationship, this Indian girl was taken as the scapegoat, who knew nothing about it. She
began her life with full of hopes whilst he continued with the disappointments of what it lacked
from his prior. Forcing them changed nothing but ended in divorce, where he left to be with his
prior wife and she to live with the child of this bitter marriage. Though I summed it up in few
lines, the pain and agony they underwent could not be contained in any words. Apart from
ruining both their lives, the blames that are accused on them for not saving such a marriage is
really heartbreaking". I am a no great critic and I see no crime on both the victims, but on the
parents who wished only good for their children.

More than the vigour of the long term beliefs, pain of the sufferer is beyond measure. And a
man-made theory cannot rewrite the passions and desires inbuilt in one's mind and soul. And
unless, you all decide to accept the change in terms of reality, fixing that light could brighten
the street, but not the life within.

Jermy as the name say is smart and good looking..but...he's off here with a shabby dress in a wrecked desire....but why the heck he came to our office like this ....because he feel..we will help him get a job..so is he a fresher..no..he’s..off job

.why so..and how he get to a job..hm… thats our story

Let me go a bit back..I met him as a charm guy in spring of 2018...he was just like an early 20s guy..but once he told..that his salary was way off that he desperately quit the job….that too when he knew who I am and how I can help him. But I felt he took a big risk to throw away the job he had.

Rest is history or his story? ..he came and joined our company with his friends to learn software testing and get placed. But after the course he absconded like anything without paying the fees...so we decided to go to is house and request for pending payment. The scene was beyond our imaginations. It was a really poor family with parents finding it tough to run through days. Never from his dress or style we can think of such a background. He said he vanished as he doesn’t have money to pay, but promised he will pay once he gets a job.  

I just got a call he got a job....that is when I went down the memory lane. So its resurrection for him. He has risen like a phoenix bird. His salary is thrice that of the previous one.

Thank God    

That was the limit. He had made up his mind and now he awaited the next victim.

Four very strong men had interfered with his lonely yet peaceful life and had given him quite a pain. And that was when he decided to react. It caught them unaware. The first blow shattered the skull of the youngest, and possibly the strongest, of the lot. It echoed through the hillside like a gun shot. The puzzled look on the faces of the others nearly bought a smile to him even in agony. He could have never smiled like that a few years back. He had cared for them at one point.

They rushed to the lifeless body of their comrade but he had other ideas. The second one was swept off  the ground and smashed on to a nearby rock. His form slumped to the floor like a rag doll. Not even a single drop of blood was spilled.

"A broken thing. Pity. But no remorse. May be I should ease his pain." 

The body was lifted up and smashed again. "This time dead for sure."

The wound on his right side hurt severely in the process. Those sharp piercing rotor blades of the chainsaw had left a deep cut there on his right. He winced in pain.

" This is not the time for pain." ...  He thought to himself. 

The remaining 2 were now looking at him. They were perplexed for sure but it appeared like they had plans to confront him. He swayed regally to the third person.

A tall, dark one. The poor man had just witnessed something that no other human had. Two of his fellow beings dispatched from Earth by a mighty Oak tree. The last of its kind.

"Yes my friend. Enjoy the moment. They used to call me the Angel. Now you can try the Devil. We protected you all these years. We did everything that we could to prevent the massive climate change that you bought upon all of us including your children. We gave you protection from heat, rain and storm alike. And you re-paid us by hacking us down one after the other. Not learning a single lesson even after all these years of misery. Sorry to disappoint you but we are not going to take it anymore."

Amidst his thoughts the Oak tree saw the chainsaw rising up.

 "How should this one end? A good knock to the head would serve mankind well. OR should I leave him a cripple so that he can go back and let the others know what’s waiting for them?" 

The chainsaw was coming down at an angle. It went right through a branch.The tree felt the sharp blades. But he didn't wince this time. The rage was over the threshold and he barely felt the pain any more.

"Yes boy, you are free to take that limb. I have many more and I can grow many more. What if I take one of yours?" 

The saw cut again through another branch. This time the it served as a booster. He used one of the longer branches like a whiplash. One decent flick was good enough. The man got swept aside like a fly. The chainsaw came to a grinding halt. So did his breathing.

The giant tree turned towards the last man standing. He was barely a man; rather  a youngster with a well built stature.  He was rooted to the ground just like the tree but this was out of pure fear. He had no plans to take on the gigantic tree, which was on full display. 

It seemed like the human finally understood. The chainsaw was running in his hand but he himself was shaking with fear. 

The Oak took a moment & gave a vigorous shake. It felt like the whole place had come alive dancing, with leaves falling around. 

The young man gave out a sharp cry. He dropped the chainsaw, tumbled around and fled the place. He would never forget this day for the rest of his life.

It was over. For now. The lone tree stood majestically against the crimson sky.

There was a particular calmness in his mind when he dragged & pulled the three bodies underground.

"No clues left. No one is going to believe that kid. But they'll surely send another party to investigate. They're going to end up the same way. Then another. And another. Then finally the big shots themselves will be here and I'm going to drag them all down. Down to where they truly belong. That will kick some sense into them. 

Yes. I will be waiting for the next one."

------- ---–--- -------------

The Giant Oak tree on the Hilltop. 

He had nowhere to go and he had all the time left in the world. There was no one left of his kin. He had seen it all. The lush green, happy times & the dull, dark times. Now he was the loner. 

The guardian trees were respected during the age of the Wizards and Magii. They had combat experience and abundant wealth of knowledge. The arts were passed on to the trees to safeguard before they left the world.

His brothers were deployed all over the world  - The Guardian Elkwoods, The Sherman Sequoias, The Whomping Willows. They all had a single job. To protect the realm against intruders from other planets. They guarded the portals to our world. They were The Protectors.

Things weren't the same once these new era of humans took over. These so called civilized people were heavily dependent on what they called as 'machines'. They were acting as if they wanted to rule the world which was already their own. They were killing their own. They were clearing up forests, cutting down the guardian trees. 

The Protectors had taken up an oath that they would stand rooted in a place until the Wizards returned. 

They were instructed to stand still and watch no matter what these new age men did to their world. 

Of course, it was either until the next big cleansing in the form of a destructive Comet OR until something tragic happened to their brotherhood and only one of them remained.

It was the latter in this case. And he was the last one standing.

Now he had a job. To retaliate and initiate a resurgence. Help had been called for and he had to stand his ground until it arrived. 

But all these years of hilltop life had also made him care for these humans. He had provided the travelers with shade and shelter. He had let the kids play around him. 

All of that changed when he learned  that the supreme authorities, in their so called Global Environmental Summit decided to take down all the natural grown trees and re-plant them artificially like a giant glass terrarium. One per district or something like that. 

He knew that plan was going to backfire and whole world was going to suffer but he had no ways to warn them. He saw some sensible people pleading to the Governments to not do that. The power hungry never listened and oppressed their protests. People were instructed to stay inside their homes, until every last naturally grown tree was taken down. They actually went ahead and did that. 

No, that was not right. He was not going to go down without a fight. This was a fight for all the mighty warriors & the just humans who fought for a good cause. This was a fight for all those crushed saplings who died young, who had longed for a green and happy life. This was a fight for restoring the balance to this planet.

This... was WAR!

The girl wakes up in the middle of the night. Sweating. In panic. Scared. She looks around, but a blanket of darkness is all she sees. She tries feeling the bed next to her. It's empty. Wondering where he was, she switched on the light. She slowly gets up from bed and searches for him. She walks around into the next room and finds him there. He was sleeping. It is dark. At first she sees only him. Sleeping like his usual self with one hand over his tummy, mouth open and leg crooked. She smiles and goes over to him, hoping to sleep on his arm. But as she draws closer, she notices that he isn't alone. There is someone else next to him. She rubs her eyes to make sure she isn't dreaming. She wasn't. There was someone else there. His arm is around her. She sleeps next to him. There is nothing wrong with the way they sleep. But she feels uneasy. As if she was intruding on a personal moment. She wants to run away. At first she thinks "He wouldn't cheat on me, would he? Not in the open, like this? He would be more discreet, right?". Thoughts run through her mind. "Where did this girl come from? Why is she sleeping on his arm? Why isn't he on their bed? Why? Why? Why?" So many questions. She tries to think nothing more. She goes back to her bedroom. After a lot of thought and twisting and turning, she drifts off.

She tries talking to him. About what she saw. But he couldn't talk. He never had the time. Talking was never his fortè. She tries to get him alone. Just to talk. He was always surrounded by people. Sometimes friends. Sometimes strangers. She could never fit into his crowd. Always alone in a sea of people.

She finally gets him to talk. But then, she couldn't ask him about 'her'. She feels worried that this would cause unnecessary trouble. She wonders if she is overreacting. Maybe they were just sleeping. Maybe she was seeing things. Maybe it was a nightmare. So she shuts herself up and smiles, like her usual self.

She keeps silent.

Never speaking up.

One day, she breaks.

She screams.

All hell breaks loose.

She walks out. He lets her.

Still hoping he will come for her, she waits. But he doesn't come.

...

This was a year ago. She wakes up now with a smile on her face and a skip in her step. She likes waking up early now. She makes coffee. Full milk. Just like she likes it. She waters her plants and talks to them. She reads her favourite book.

Glancing at the clock, she notices that it's late. She can't be late today. It's a special day. So she goes and puts on her favourite dress. The one she had gifted herself on her last birthday. She wears the ring that her mother gifted her on turning 17. She does her hair and makeup. She decides to wear a bold lip which wasn't her usual shade, because it is her special day.

She is finally ready. She grabs her bag and runs out the door. But she forgets her keys, so she runs back to grab them. Just as she leaves she glances around her clean and beautiful home. She smiles as she remembers how it used to be. How she was never able to think straight with all the mess around her. She runs her hands through her hair while locking the door.

She walks to her car. The red beauty waits for her, gleaming due to her last wash. She gets in and takes a deep breath.

"Let's do this", she breathes. This is the day that she is getting divorced. One more signature and she would be free.  Free from all the expectations, misunderstandings and meaningless discussions. Free from a loveless marriage.

This is the first day of the rest of her life.

A day in November. Weather is colder than usual in this hill station. Rain crepitates with a boulder rolling sound from the mountains of heaven. Flash booms careen around the sky like hissing snakes. The dusty leaves are being massaged and lubed. Windows and rooftops of houses are clattering in the wind, sometimes even flying with them. The rain drops sculpt puddles with a steady cadence; plop, plop, plop, tip, tip, tip ... plop, plop, tip, tip.

I am standing in my usual place, surrounded by weeds, all of us sinking in knee-high water. We’ve been here for quite a long time now, by the side of this homestay. Many have stayed in this house. And inhabitants change so frequently that the sound of a trolley bag or the shrill of the gate never really raise my head. Only we are the same. Between the side compound wall and the house, away from the visibility of the visitors, we form a small community of plants pushed to oblivion.

Car tires screech and stop in front of the gate. “How much is it?”, the man who gets off the car asks the driver.

“2000 Rs sir”, the driver replies very politely.

“2000 Rs? Really? Have you brought me to heaven buddy?”, the man asks.

“2000 Rs is the usual charge sir. And it is heaven. You will realize it soon”, driver tells with a smile.

“No, I had my doubts that I might reach heaven while you were driving itself. In fact, I glanced at the mirror to see if I was riding with Mr. Yamdev?”, the man winks at the driver and laughs.

The taxi leaves on that happy note.

The man wears a brown shirt, cream pants, and an alluring smile. Before he disappears into the homestay, he walks around a bit, and at one point even comes closer to the side walls. Did he look at me? No. No way.

Next morning, I wake up to a captivating aroma of grounded coffee. The new visitor is slowly walking and examining the premises. As he walks, in his hands, in a ceramic mug, there swirls the royal coffee, piping out the vapour. The caretaker of this house is also there with him.

“Sir don’t go that side. It’s all a mess. The rocks there are slimy, you might fall. Nobody goes there”, the caretaker asks him.

“Hmm, I can certainly see that you never go there. What do you mean when you say I have cleaned the house?”

“But sir”, the embarrassed sentence is broken by him.  “No worries, at least the house is clean. It doesn’t look like it never had any occupants. Very clean in fact”.

“Nobody will stay here sir. You know this is a tiny cottage. There are plenty of big ones to attract tourists”, caretaker updates in a very tensed tone.

You liar, how many lodgers you have brought here. And how many times you ran to the shops down the hill to get them the balance for the rent they paid at the end of their stay. Good that I can’t speak your language. Or else I would have told this to sir. So, he is not a visitor. He is the master of this house.

“It is a compliment. My cottage is very well maintained”, he laughs.

“How long would you be here sir?”

“Not sure Mani.”

“Really! Why? I mean, want a break from the hustle and bustle of the city?”

“Not really buddy. My flat has a court case on it. We have been asked to vacate immediately. I only have this cottage other than the flat.”

“How can that be? You purchased it long ago. Government gave permission to builders. Now who can ask you to vacate sir?”.

“All pranks. I just bought it as it overlooked a beautiful lake. But now it seems it was also ‘overlooking’ some coastal laws”, he laughs insanely.

“Oh my! That’s too bad. I can’t bear that. Nothing can be done now?”

“Yea, we are trying for that. We have been organizing protests and trying to meet politicians. Some don’t need a demolition at all. Some just needs a decent compensation.”

“What do you want sir?”.

“I just don’t know. Now I am all alone, you know, right? It is just for my job, I stay there. If nothing works, I might end up coming here for good.”

Saying this, he pats Mani and goes inside. Mani for obvious reasons doesn’t move a bit. He squats down, propping his chin in his palm and sighs.

So, the master is in a dilemma. And he is alone for whatever reasons. Interesting. Hmm.

*

Next day they come with a trowel, hoe and garden scissors. They both have worn gloves.

“Start from there Mani”, master calls out.

Mani, for some unfathomable obsession, brings the scissors closer to me first.

That’s all. It is time for me to leave. Thanks for this wonderful, unproductive life. I enjoyed it, whatsoever.

“Hey, hey, don’t cut it. She is Lilium Cas********.”, master runs towards me and stops Mani’s hand.

I am what! I couldn’t hear the second word. More jubilant than to realize I am still alive, is to realize that I am something. I am so impatient to crack what that second word would be. Is it Lilium Cascade? Lilium Casket? Maybe I am Lilium Cascia? Who am I?

“It is a rare species. It will give big white flowers with a sorcerous fragrance that makes you transported to a mystical world.”

Oh my! I am one of a kind, huh? Can you utter my name one more time please?

“It is just a weed, sir. It has never given any flowers. If you need a garden, we need to get rid of a lot of these types of, of”

Of useless, I complete his sentence. At that time a bee passes above me with a buzz, kindling the dried-up hopes in me. Will I bear anything, ever?

So long as the clay doesn’t sit on a pottery, it will be clay.

So long as the dough doesn’t go into tandoor, it will be dough.

He sings. Though it sounded exciting, Mani and I are now groping in the dark for the meaning and the double meaning of it. So, he is a singer? A poet? A cook? I don’t know. But, he is the master of this house, my master.

*

Coffee smell passes by me quite often now.

My master carefully shovels a trench near me to drain the standing water. Then lines the trench with pea gravel. “Hello, lady Lilium Casa Blanca. You’re my focus now. Let me see if my work becomes fruitful at least with you. By the way, you can call me Mr. Flop”, he laughs.

Lilium Casa Blanca Lilium Casa Blanca Lilium Casa Blanca, I learn my name by heart. He keeps on saying something. But I don’t listen. Before I forget, I repeat my name all throughout the day. Even as the cool breeze in the late night tries to hypnotize me, I conquer it. Lilium Casa Blanca Lilium Casa Blanca Lilium….

*

He has come with some shrubs to plant besides me. They are planted to give me shade. I need shade at my bottom and sun at the top, my master told me. His fingers fondle my ears, my head. Then they reach my svelte midriff. I smirk. He too.

He slips and falls when he hurries through the rocks. Sometimes he bleeds his hands as he pulls out some thorny bushes. I watch helplessly. “No worries, I am immune to pricks”, he laughs aloud.

Master, am I worth it?

December. Spine-chilling winds fly above the hill station, heralding the arrival of winter. Early mornings wrap the earth in frost-blankets. Fruits and leaves look like sugar-crystal coated candies. Everything is sweet and chilled until sun shines late in the morning, melting them all. It doesn’t snow here. Or so I believe. We also have got our share on top of our heads as sparkling white caps.

Coffee sits there on the ground, cold and unattended. Mani dutifully brings it periodically.

Even in this cold, master sweats so much that his half sleeve baniyan clings to his chest. He has covered his neck with a woolen shawl. His feet are mucky. He has planted more of me, all along the sidewall. His beard has grown with grey freckles, here and there, and in its small knots, hawkmoths rest as they pass by.

“Sir, breakfast.”

“Sir, your phone is ringing, someone named builder.”

“Mani, can you move a bit, you’re stepping on the new pit.”

“Sir, I will come back in the evening. Hope it is ok. You want anything from downhill sir?”.

“Mani, can you bring that neem leaves you told. I need to make a spray”.

“Sir, shall I get wheat from the ration shop? I guess you don’t like rice”.

“Get a jute string from there. And a jute sack. You will get it there”.

Mani looks at him jaw-dropped.

In the evening, a new mouthwatering aroma of food creeps down the hill. I suppose, Mani is experimenting with the food items that he bought early. After the dinner, while my master is hovering on the front yard, he gets a call from a man called lawyer chacko. He reluctantly picks it up and says a lousy ‘Yes’ occasionally.

He never used to come to me during night time. But tonight, he comes. “Castles by The Lake, what a name!”. He hits hard a stone by his foot. It makes a big parabola in the air and falls far away.

“Castles in the air”, his signature cackle follows. After that, he embraces me and cups his hands around my shoots and gives them a kiss. Snuggling close to his chest, I sense the grief he heaves. I see the pain in every laughter of him as I rewind from the beginning. I draw him more to me.

Master, can you count on me?

*

Next day, he comes in his brown shirt, cream pants, the one which he had put on the first time when we met. Mani is also here very early.

“Sir, you didn’t say much over the phone.”

“Because I don’t know much. We’ll come to know by this month”. He then points his finger to me and says something in a very soft voice. Mani nods his head. I sharpen my ears until his footsteps recede into the car. I peep to see a final glimpse of him but fail miserably. I can’t see anything beyond the gate.

Well, the fact is, I can’t see anything beyond him now. I start counting days. Mani use to come hurriedly to water me, when he is reminded of his duty, once in a week or so. I learn to endure less water, excess water. My dreams were hatched enough that they break open the shell even as he is gone. I sense the start of a peculiar motion, a heaviness, within me.

March. Sky is pristine blue. Malabar whistling-thrush happily roams around, whistling and pecking food from the ground, with its blackish blue standing out in the oblique rays. Leafy-green parrots make somersaults around the branches.

“Whoa, what is this!”, it is Mani.

What is it Mani? I check the surroundings, I then check myself. In the golden rays of the sun, I see my blossoms shining in crimson red! I see the love that my heart bears. My blossoms are not white. I beam with pride.

“Unbelievably eye catchy and what a fragrance!” He is right. This side of the house looks like a red sea! And it is drowning everything in the divine fragrance.

Master, did you see this? Did you hear what these people say about it?

Visitors start rushing to the cottage. They don’t look at me directly. But stand in front of me, smile and look at their phones.

Couples come for homestay. Mani regretfully nods his head, “No”.

“We can give 500 Rs extra, what you say?”

“Sorry, the owner may come anytime. So, No”.

“Can we get the seeds of this plant?”

“How to grow this plant, who is the gardener?”

I enjoy the visitors. I like the newly found grace. I devour the fragrance.

But I feel empty without him, my master. Everything I do is fake but the waiting for him.

Each day, I burgeon with scented gifts for him, and the miracle news of my rare colour, glorified more by the rays of the sun and the children who trespass. Tilting my head towards the front so that I can see the road clearly, I pray for his return. Mani sits on the other end, after all the watering and cleaning, propping his chin in his palms and possibly praying that he may never come back…

I had completed six years in an IT job, my yearend review said "less passionate and need more intensity", they have never seen my qualities while I finish a KFC bucket or else they might have never rated me in such a manner.  Frustrated getting the last parking spot on that rainy day, I entered office to see my colleague Mahesh with a full smile on his face. Mahesh's smile can mean only one thing, my day in office is not going to be great, his sad face usually gives me confidence. He usually slurps coffee at desk  just because he knows I think it’s annoying and gives a devil smile if I look at him.

Mahesh : "Due to rain all came in car, did you get parking?" (He enjoys when I take my car round and round searching for parking)

Me: "Yes, the last one, just before that VLC media player thing."

Mahesh : "It’s called a traffic cone, LOL." (I could see from his grin that he was about to say that to everyone in office, after he brags how he got a great year end appraisal rating)

Me: "Okay, let me check emails and start work now."

Mahesh : "Oh yeah, there is an email from Steve saying some logic is not working in the latest code. He has asked you to check that immediately" (now I understood Mahesh's smile)

I quickly sat down in my cubicle and switched on my system, the AC in office even in the rainy time was too cold that it felt too chilly. The Windows update page ensured that my system restarted again (whenever I am in an emergency) and I had to wait for a good five minutes with racing heart beats for my system to fully open and check emails. The email was given 'high importance' and came from Steve, our client manager in UK. There was some date format that was not coming correctly in few reports and the client side was furious about it(that was the main function of our code change and it was not working). I could envision the shock and anger on the face of my manager, Subramanian (who we call Subbu) who gets tensed easily even if a house fly is seen in office. I hoped the ambulance on standby was present near parking (as I didn't see it while coming to office).

Mahesh (leaning over my cubicle): " Any help? I can ask Steve bro to give you few days if needed to fix the issue, we are connected on LinkedIn." I felt like smashing the vase on my table on his head for starling me (not to mention annoy) as if he could prevent Steve from escalating an issue which has affected financial reports.

" No, thanks, am checking" was the only reply that I gave. From the corner of my eyes, I could see Mahesh smirk while he left.

Subbu came around 9 A.M to my seat and seemed worried.

Subbu :" What is the issue? Mahesh told Steve send an email when he called." (so the news was being spread like wildfire)

Me: "I am checking Subbu, seems the date format is not correct in few reports. The formats implemented seems to be incorrect."

Subbu: "Try to fix it ASAP, Steve may come online after an hour. Do you want Mahesh to look in to this too?"

Me :" No Subbu, let me fix this; I don't want Mahesh to waste his time on our issues."

Subbu smiled and left.

I didn't want to give credit to Mahesh for anything, he may even say he wrote the code for Microsoft Windows and simply let Bill Gates take the credit as he didn't want any 'recognition' for his wonderful work. Just then Manisha (our junior) came :" Team engagement activity, we need Rs.100 contribution". I quickly handed over the money as I didn't want her to further explain the activity and spend one hour near my seat. She was glad and left as soon as she got the money (marking my name in the notepad she had). Subbu had two projects under him, one existing project was handled by me and another one by Mahesh. A so called healthy competition, strict deadlines and over the top changes always made my project a challenging one, while Mahesh enjoyed a  project wherein new ideas could be implemented (thereby getting more visibility).

The office got crowded slowly as more people came in, some working, some chatting and some planning on what all events to be involved in the engagement activity planned by the HR later next month. I quickly checked the code library implemented and found that the latest changes were all in place but these changes were missing in production causing the issue in reports. I could hear Mahesh laughing from next cubicle saying :" Yeah. movie tonight is fine. I plan to leave around 6 anyways; Not sure he can make it though, seems some production issue." I tried to avoid him but his voice was annoying and laughs hysterical that I believe the bays other end could easily hear it without much effort.

I opened the online ticket for the code implementation (in software companies for making changes to any code in production, we usually make the changes in some test library and raise tickets in some system which will be implemented by relevant teams in production as we may not have authority to make code changes in production). Quickly I saw the test library name was updated wrongly for implementation and it had taken some other code for implementation. Luckily, the test library just didn't have the changes we wanted and didn't have any unwanted code either. In short, our changes didn't reflect for the client but didn't break any systems also. I put another ticket highlighting to take our test library and implement it soon in production. Steve was online and he had messaged me and I replied that his approval for my ticket will solve the issue. Steve approved it and the ticket was implemented in two hours (I could see Mahesh going for tea break discussing with some freshers on how politics is going in the right place with the recent elections)

The code was correctly implemented and the changes we needed were also coming fine, as the jobs started running at noon, it was a great relief for me and I informed Subbu as well. Subbu seemed happy, at last.I went for lunch and sat from the table away from Mahesh who was discussing how Uber had sent an Audi Q7 as they were not able to sent an Eco-sport that he had booked to pick his parents from the airport (I couldn't help but hear it as the emotions and sound he put was so loud half the canteen was listening).

I was halfway through my lunch when Mahesh came to my seat and said :" Why sitting alone, issue is fixed right? Great work man."

I smiled and said "thanks" and as his lunch mates also had finished lunch, they left the canteen. I got a meeting invite for 3 P.M on Outlook (mobile gave a reminder as email from Subbu came) as I finished lunch.The subject simply said "New project and related agenda" and I just hoped the new project could be a great opportunity as our current project was coming to an end.

I reached the meeting room (Mahesh was already there, with three other members). I smiled at everyone and sat on one of the chairs. Subbu came and greeted all and connected his laptop to the projector display and showed the "new project" that was coming up which would be a big one spanning at least two years.

Subbu: "Mahesh, do you think you should lead this?"

Mahesh: "I would love to Subbu, but seems like Suresh's project is getting over so he can also handle it. My project will take another month" (I was not sure whether he was giving me opportunity or just using an excuse)

Subbu: "I needed someone who can mentor the freshers and has a good rapport with them to lead it Mahesh. We will have a big team at offshore and will have a lot of visibility. The project will kick off after a month only and as Steve gave us confirmation today, I thought we should have the road map clear in front of us."

Mahesh :"Then I can pick it up Subbu, are there more projects coming?"

Subbu :" I don't think so as this will take much of our time and is based on some government mandates in the UK. Also, we may have some big deliveries in the pipeline."

Mahesh : "So will Suresh also work with me?" (I was wondered why he wanted to know about me every time)

Subbu : "Well, yes and no, I can say."

The whole room was confused, I was worried whether I would be leaving this job itself as Subbu usually never liked to talk like this.

Subbu :" Ah, don't worry. As per Steve's plan, we have decided that Suresh will be going onsite soon. His UK visa is already processed and Steve was impressed how he handles pressure situations like the one today. Steve needs one he can trust entirely and Suresh was his personal choice. So, yes Mahesh, he will be working with you, but will be your onsite counterpart and the one whose approval we may need in every phase of this project. We have to deal with Steve and others and Suresh will be our sole contact in the client side."

Mahesh's face changed like a tube that was suddenly switched off; I was overwhelmed (I had some loans and the onsite payment could in a way help me pay that too).

Subbu: "So all can leave now, except Suresh, I need to get his signatures on few documents and he will be giving us a treat before he travels to UK, right?"

I smiled and nodded; others left the room, Mahesh the last to exit, as if a child who was leaving his mother to school.

As the door closed, Subbu said :" I think Mahesh is not that happy; sometimes, we need to show that 'talking' isn't everything, right? Appraisal ratings are good but not always the absolute end. So you should scan and upload your documents by tomorrow and enjoy the view of Mahesh's face today. Don't take it bad on him when you are onsite though, we need a working team, but I won't deny this opportunity to you today, at least I hope the bay will be bit silent today."

I thanked Subbu and left the room, for the first time wanting to see the expression on Mahesh's face

I had to be at the office by noon. After clearing all formalities at the passport office, I rushed on my Scooty hoping to reach my workplace on time. A quick shortcut would save me 10 minutes, so, I took a road not much taken.

The traffic was hindering. I drove by the side of the road to skip a few heavy vehicles. It was a smooth drive until an auto, without warning, drifted towards me. Not to get shoved off the road, I applied brakes but the sand under the tyres made me feel the asphalt. I screeched on the tarmac and stopped a few inches away from the electric post. My head and face were safe inside the helmet.

I lay there for a minute and saw few feet rushing towards me. I could hear a voices asking me if I was OK. As I tried to turn and lay on my back my left leg sent me severe pain. It took several minutes before I could be on my back. Faces were staring at me whom I’ve never seen before. There was an army man in his uniform trying to take control of the situation and a young man lifting the two-wheeler and helping to park it aside. Some handed me my mobile phone and coins that had flown from my pocket.

A few hands pulled me up on to my feet and I limped towards my Scooty. The army man and a few bystanders stopped and questioned the auto driver. The driver and his friends tried their best to convince why they weren't at fault and how I should be the one to be blamed. Given my nature, I didn't have any complaints against anyone. It’s just that the situation was against me. I smiled and patted their back. The driver heaved a sigh of relief and hugged me and asked how I felt. I was OK by then and thought that I could take care.

As the situation calmed, many left the scene. I made plans to drive to the office. I kept what had happened as a secret to my wife. Poor her, she would be all desperate. A man on a bike said, “You shouldn’t drive. You need medical attention”.

I did not want to go to the hospital but the man intervened again and said, “You may not feel the pain now but tomorrow it would turn worse. So, please get medical attention. Can you call someone from your home?” I did not want my wife to know, so I replied, “I live alone.” He said, “Hop on my bike. I’ll take you to the hospital”. I continued to deny but he insisted that I should see a doctor.

The man was a complete stranger and I wasn't comfortable with him, yet, I took the back seat on his bike. His driving was an experience of a lifetime. He drove extremely fast that he overtook an ambulance on the way. I was petrified. I did not want another accident to happen and lose my leg. He honked the government buses and trucks to move out of the way. He screamed profane words at people who came his way. The public starred and I was in complete despair. I could smell that he was drunk. I held on as much as I can.

I had no idea where he was taking me and wondered how much money he would ask for the “favour”. He even skipped the red light and made a sharp turn to reach the government hospital.

The sight and plight of the hospital sunk my heart. With much care, I got off the bike and limped towards the door. From behind, he said, “Sit on a wheelchair you find”. I looked around and nobody even cared to attend me. I limped and sat on a wheelchair expecting someone to take me to the doctor. After parking his bike, the man turned up and asked my address. I did not want to let him know my address, what if he would turn up someday at my home?

The man then ran to the OP counter and got me a card and asked me to write the address. I felt bad that I had doubted him, after all, he asked my address to write it on the OP card. He then took the card and ran to the counter and got the receipt. He then pushed me around on the wheelchair. My heart pumped fast and wished I could limp my way to the doctor.

He used the same technique in the hospital that he used on the road. He yelled at people asking them to move as he “drove” me to the ortho department. Patients stared at me as he howled loud. He parked me to the side and pushed his way through bystanders and uttered something to the doctor. I wondered what he said, the doctor came rushing towards me, saw my wounds and gave him some instructions.

The man pushed my wheelchair and took me to the x-ray room. I wondered how he knew where each department is. Maybe he is a hospital staff, hmm, but I had my doubts.

There was a long queue of patients near the x-ray room. I knew I would be terribly late for office. Add to it, the man went missing. After a few minutes of wait, he returned and pushed me towards the room to get my leg x-rayed. I was wonderstruck and had no clue what this guy says to doctors or staff concerned that they give me precedence over other patients.

After the x-ray, he took me to a doctor to clean my wound and get it stitched. As always he was at his best, yelling even at critically ill and challenged patients to make way as he drove me past them at top speed.

I was administered a local anaesthesia and a single stitch or maybe two was all it needed to close the wound. He continued to drive me around the hospital talking to doctors about what needs to be done. He got me a prescription and got some medicines. He pushed the medicines into my pocket and said, “Rs. 60, please”. I was quite surprised for two reasons. One, for all the procedures that I had gone through, the expense was pretty cheap. Two, the man did not ask a penny more for all the trouble he had gone through.

He asked me to wait in my wheelchair and walked out to get his bike. If not for this man, I would have spent the rest of my day at the hospital with little or no treatment. He turned up a while later, took hold of me and helped me limp my way to take the back seat of the bike. He promised to drop me where he picked me.

The journey back was pretty safe. He acted normal and drove normal. Be it at the hospital or my way back, I had this intriguing thought - who is this man and why is he helping me? He had spent his entire noon driving me around to see that I’m OK. I had a sense of guilt for doubting him on various accounts.

I asked his name -

‘Ambili’, he replied.

That was a funny name for a man like him but I kept it to myself. And I continued to question him.

‘Do you work at the hospital?’

‘No, I’m a plumber. I was on my way to home for lunch. Now, I have missed my meal’, he replied.

"I’m sorry", I apologized. I felt very bad.

‘Hey, that’s OK. By the way, take an auto back home. You can take your Scooty sometime later or ask your friends to help you out’.

Blame it on anaesthesia, I had absolutely no pain and was in full confidence to drive back home. He dropped me near my two-wheeler. I was moved for what he had done. I took my purse and drew out all the money and stretched towards him.

He looked at me for a few seconds and said, “Do you think I did this for money?”

I felt quite uncomfortable but with all gratitude, I said, “I don’t know what else I can do for you”.

“I don’t need money. You keep it.” He uttered.

To ease the conversation, I asked, “How about your family and where do you live?”

For which, he replied, “I stay near here. I have two daughters. One is doing her graduation and the other is in high-school”.

Though I have a high-paying job, I had found it difficult to make my ends meet. However, this man, living on daily wages and taking care of three women at home refused to accept money. He had also missed his lunch.

I was disturbed and deeply moved. I forced the money on to his hand and said that he better take it.

He brushed the money aside and took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. As he smoked, he said, “God will take care of my needs. As I helped you today, you should help others”.

He started his bike and drove away puffing smoke. My eyes were fixed on him until I lost sight of him.

I stood there for a minute contemplating what had happened in just a few hours. An accident, a man appears at the scene, forces me up and drives his old bike faster than an ambulance to the hospital, spits vulgarity at people, seemed drunk, spends hours at hospitals, misses his food, convinces doctors to treat me first, and then drives me back. Above all, he refuses to accept favours though it would have helped his family. Smokes, drives and disappears.

I looked at the sky or rather should I say at the heaven and asked God, “How will you judge him?”

To me ‘Ambili’ is a Smoking Angel.

As usual, Saturday evening was crowded at London Bridge. Indistinct voices of people, cacophony of horns and loud noises of trains filled the atmosphere with pandemonium. With majority being tourists, London Bridge makes acquaintance with new faces every day. A young Indian was roaming around the place after his regular shift at Mark and Spencer's. Unlike tourists, he was not flabbergasted by this place's charm. The interest in him no longer exists due to the innumerable visits to its every nook and corner. Though the Big Mac meal he had earlier from McDonald’s was enough to fill the tummy, an insatiable urge for a cigarette left his appetite incomplete. Being locked up with cigarettes for years, he had taken the hard decision to quit smoking a year ago. Surprisingly, he succeeded in cutting down the daily intake from two packets to one or two cigarettes. Thus, spending 10 quid for a packet of cigarettes will only put him back in the fuming road. Instead, he decided to borrow it from pedestrians. Finally, after half a dozen of failed attempts, he managed to get one from a passer-by, a Marlboro Red. Expressing the gratitude, Aadil Fateh kept the cigarette between the fingers, lit it, took a deep puff and held it in the lungs for a few seconds before expelling the cloud of poison out. As the nicotine hit the brain, he was re-energized and continued walking, by gazing the river Thames.

The Thames was flowing unflustered and composed with deep undercurrents resembling a person totally unperturbed by the events occurred in life. The walkway was paved with medium sized concrete blocks. At regular intervals, seats were placed and blocks were removed in rectangular shape allowing trees to grow in order to provide shade to the visitors. A few ships and boats were anchored at the harbor while some river cruises were sailing through the water carrying tourists for sightseeing. Overseeing all these, the magnificent Tower Bridge hung above Thames heralding Victorian London’s majesty. Despite adverse weather and series of war attacks, the mega structure stood intact. That could be the reason for it to still remain as the most famous and recognizable landmark in London.

Summer was intensifying. Amidst the scorching heat, people were taking photographs against the spectacular backdrop of Tower Bridge. Unlike in the East, summer is precious for Europeans. It is warm, gorgeous and people normally celebrate a sunny day with beers, whiskies and different delicacies. Momentarily, everyone's attention got distracted when Tower Bridge raised its two equal bascules to allow a big vessel to pass. Since Fateh is accustomed to this phenomenon multiple times a week, he took his gaze away and walked further down the pavement to find a place free from the ruckus.

An indistinct guitar strumming was to be heard a few yards away. With every step forward, the strum became more audible and a soothing song touched the ear drum replacing the raucousness. An old man with a long moustache and wrinkled face was strumming a white guitar, hung across his torso, with a red pick. A hat was placed in front of him. Fateh dropped a pound in the hat, and stood nearby listening to the song. The old man looked at him with a smile and gave a slight bow.

“Thank you, Thank you everyone", he says amidst the applause. "Next song is Bob Marley's No Woman No Cry”

The old man started with the C major chord, strummed it a few times, then to G major, A minor and back to C major before starting with the vocal.

"Said, Said, Said I remember when we used to sit

In a government yard in Trench town,

Oba oba-serving the hypocrites. Yeah!

As they would mingle with the good people we meet”

Fateh was clapping along with others until he got distracted by a phone call. Janine calling, the screen said. He answered the call ensuring that others were not disturbed. The conversation didn’t last long. She wanted to inform that she is on the way and will reach there soon. By the time he hung up, the spectators were singing the chorus along with the old man.

"No woman, no cry

No woman, no cry

Oh my little sister, don't shed no tears

No woman, no cry”

While thinking about the political and social relevance of the song, Fateh thought about his close friend, Janine. He met her when he was working at Marks and Spencers a year ago. She was a customer service assistant at that time. She was gorgeous. The lascivious eyes and curvaceous body had aroused his sexual desires the moment he got a glimpse of her. After a few days, he met her at the canteen. She was sitting alone at a table and filling some forms. This was the first time he was seeing her so close and realized that distance can hide many things from the eyes. Her skin was tan. There was a very visible scar on her forehead. Her eyes were greenish and iris was so vivid, red lipstick was meticulously placed over the lips, and hair tied behind into a ponytail. He watched her from a distance for a couple of minutes before approaching and introducing himself.

“Hi. I am Aadil”, He said sitting opposite to her table.

She lifted her head up, looked at him and said with a smile, “Hello, Janine”

“Seen you earlier inside, thought of just saying a Hi". He paused there for a moment and continued, "So, newly joined?”

“No. Actually I am from outer London. I got transferred to this branch”

“Oh I see”

Unprepared meetings can be detrimental for building a sound relationship. Fateh knew it. After a few talks, he tried to excuse by creating the feeling of a half-finished conversation so that he can use the incompleteness as a reason for the next catch up.

“I am off, Janine. My break is over. See you later”

“Bye, Aadil”

His intention was wrong. After the estrangement from his first lover, Fateh lost faith in relationship sanctity and sacredness and that may further influenced by his friends advice - 'fuck the girl first brother, then love her. Then she will stay with you'. For the first time, he was thinking of paying attention to his friend's words. “Fuck the girl first”.

Somehow he was trying to make a string-free relationship with Janine just to have sex and fathom if lust can overcome love. All day long, he satiated his sexual appetite by dreaming about fucking Janine and giving her a blow-job. By swapping shifts with colleagues and working on Janine's timings, he managed to see her at least five days a week. Gradually they became friends and their bond got stronger.

5.56 pm, the watch said. The crowd is increasing. It had been almost 20 minutes since he started waiting for her. Fateh took the phone and called her.

"I came out of London bridge station now" Janine said.

"I am sitting in front of the City Hall”

"On my way. And a surprise for you like you had given me", she chuckled saying this, saying this, but the way it sounded, whether it was scornful or sarcastic, was unable to be comprehended.

She had given similar response when he first expressed his intention to love her and sleep around with her. He gazed at the tourists entering the HMS Belfast. Their face had the excitement of fulfilling a dream like Fateh had when he entered Janine's room for the first time.

"Janine, the moment I saw you, I thought we can be together, make love and marry”

She looked into his eyes for two seconds and asked “Do you know where I come from?”

No, I don't, he said in mind. He should have asked this basic question before he was actually going to propose Janine. What an embarrassment. She caught me this time peeling off the sheep's mask I worn, he thought.

“Ahh, you said to me that you got transferred from Birmingham store to here. So I reckoned you are from Birmingham” He said without showing the predicament.

“No, I am not”, she replied.

“Then, where are you from?”

“I am a Palestinian”, she said.

“Palestine?”

"Yes", showing the scars on her forehead and arms, she continued, “you rarely see a Palestinian without one of these”

“How did you get it?” he enquired curiously.

“You don’t read newspapers?”

Janine is a Palestinian Arab from Ramallah in the West bank region of Palestine. She was supported by her parents and had three siblings. Janine's father was a glass-maker. When she was in tenth, tension between Palestine and Israel intensified. In 2000, Israel attacked Palestine. Many civilians were killed, villages were obliterated. On the third day of war, her village was hit by a Jerricho 2 missile carrying nearly 1500 Kilograms of payload turning her father's glass factory into rubble. He lost both his legs, suffered severe injuries. Two of her siblings were killed instantly. Her younger sister succumbed to wounds after three days of suffering at the Ramallah Hospital. Luckily her mother survived, though with grave injuries. While the family was recovering, she applied for the Asylum Visa and reached the United Kingdom in 2007. After arriving in the UK, she completed graduation in Journalism from Thames Valley University and is now pursuing Master degree in Journalism.

“I want to be a journalist, and one day I will start my own Newspaper in Ramallah”

“Wouldn't it be better if you become a doctor? Newspapers are already showing Palestinian's sufferings to the world”

“Those are just tip of the Ice Berg. And you believe them?”

"I do. Why? You don't?" She seemed to be a bit skeptic about the western media

“Well No, I am skeptical about their agenda, she continued, "because they are not showing real sufferings of the people”

He said nothing but waited for Janine to continue. After thinking something, she looked at Fateh and asked, "Did you hear any news about Palestinians in the last one year”

“No”

“You know why, TRP and Sales drive the Western media", she rebuked. "They would not dare to publish anything which affects their country's diplomatic relationship with Israel. If some other exclusive news emerges, they go behind it. We are ignored. The world should not know our problem based on somebody's priorities”

She lives by this dream to start an autonomous newspaper in Palestine that gives priority to Palestinians' sufferings and not to any TRP or sales. She has a long way ahead but she is determined, persistent and unrelenting. She says "to achieve some dreams, people have to wait for a long time. The doors to goals are always open. It's all about identifying the right path”

"My studies will finish in 2 months. After that I am planning to go back to Palestine”

Fateh was thinking about her determination and courage. The decision to give-up the comfort of a safe haven and returning to the war-hit country is nothing but bravery. He felt huge respect for her. However on the other side, the same man was standing in her room solely for having sex, with the pretension of love. It would be no different from molesting and ruining a woman’s dream. How such a person can be different from the Israelis who had killed thousands of innocent Palestinian people? he thought.

"Now you tell me,do you want to marry me?" She interrupted his thought.

He was looking for words to start without stuttering. "Janine, listen patiently", he says, "I didn't have any intention to love or marry you, I was lying". There was a moment of silence. He noticed the shock in her face but he continued. "My only intention was to have sex with you and get rid of".

She was tormented after hearing the unexpected intent of her dear friend. Her face turned to disappointment and then filled with sadness. Tears came in distress. She wept for a few moments without uttering a word. He was trying to justify and console, but she paid no heed. "I don’t want to see you anymore", she said controlling the sob. He thought of explaining further, but words didn't come out. "I don’t want to see you anymore, get out", she yelled closing her eyes.

“Hey Aadil”

Janine found him sitting in front of the City Hall. She looked more charming and more beautiful than ever. After the incident at her home, Janine had made no contact with him whatsoever until two days ago. When he picked up the phone, it was Janine on the other end. She wanted to meet him.

As the crowd kept increasing, the place became noisier. Ironically, an ocean of silence prevailed between them uninfluenced by the outside commotion. How strange it isn't that some moments can turn the most loquacious people to laconic, he thought.

"My studies are over. I Got my degree" She said breaking the silence.

"Good news and Congrats." The feeling of guilt made him wordless. Once again, silence began to build. "Is that the surprise?" he asked.

"No. I am going back to Palestine, for good.”

Though, he had no communication with her for the past six months, the news about her return touched him somewhere emotionally. Fondness and reverence still remain unblemished, he realized.

"Why so early?" He asked.

"I have nothing else to do here except this meeting." She turned her gaze away from the Thames and looked at Fateh'e eyes, she continues, "I came to say Good bye to you, I don't have any hard feelings. And sorry for responding in that way", she said with a smile.

"It's all my fault Janine. I deserve it. When are you leaving?”

"Today is my flight, at 10 PM"

They both spend around 30 minutes at London Bridge before she boarded Jubilee Line towards Green Park. While waving at her from the platform for the last time, the feeling of guilt subdued him. "An action in the past cannot be changed Aadil, no matter how much you wish for it. So do not over think about what you did" her words reverberated in his mind. Train moved into the darkness of underground. Fateh walked thinking the song sung by the old man.

"No woman, no cry

No woman, no cry

Oh my little sister, don't shed no tears

No woman, no cry”

The flood has covered most of the area. The army and the fishermen are trying to cover maximum area, trying to rescue as many as they can. But still there are people stranded in isolated areas. A Fisher boat was carrying some people from a particular area. one person is standing on the roof and running to and fro with some weird hand actions and shouting something, can't understand what is happening here...

3 nights ago

Rajan was tired after a days hard driving. He is working as a driver for a business man. But today he had to do a lot of traveling in this heavy rain. So he was very tired. He wanted to say something to his wife Sitara. But it may involve some heavy persuations.  He just wanted to sleep today. The discussion can be done tomorrow morning. Don't have to go to work for next 3 days

2 days ago

"We need to go somewhere." Rajan informed his wife, that

"Are u talking about vacation. that's why u took leave for 2 days. that's wonderful"

"No they gave me leave. sir had said that it is dangerous to stay here. so he asked me to move us to somewhere safe."

"Are u joking? No maybe they were joking"

"No, They have already left. The current rain will continue for a few days. There is a big chance that dams will be opened"

"Nothing will happen. why are you always negative?? Think positive. By the way, it is our weather forecast right?"

"First of all, our boss is not a stupid person. Alerts are already declared. We can go to my home for some days." 

"Oh.. so this is it all about... u want to go to your house. Even if you know that I can't stand your mother. If u want to go, just go. I and my daughter will stay here.."

"Come on sitara. it is dangerous to stay here. If you have problem with my house, then we can go to your house"

"no way, I had already told you that my brother and his wife is staying there.. as long as my sister-in-law is staying there, I won't go there."

"Don't take risk for some petty feelings. think about our girl. It would only be for a few days"

"oh.. you think what I am having is 'petty' feelings. is it too much to wish that you men can understand our feelings. and don't you dare to take the 'our girl' card here. I am the one taking care of her while you are gone for days for your trip"

"hey.. what you call trip is my work. I am a driver.. remember? it is the job which provides for our family."

"oh. so that is the way.. you are the provider, so we have to be your slaves and do things you say... so I am your slave??'

Rajan knew that there is no point in further discussion. he kept quiet, praying to all God's that the warning the boss had given him was just false alarm.

The rain poured on relentlessly.By evening Rajan got worried. He thought about his neighbour Sumesh. His house is a 2 storied building in a relatively higher position. maybe it is safer here. 

"No, we are not going anywhere.."

"But why?? "

"I am not going to their house like a refugee."

"Don't you realize the danger we are in."

"What danger are u talking about? the river is not near us. So  the flood will not reach here. Where are u seeing this danger when I am not seeing it anywhere."

"for that you have to see news at least once a day, instead of watching your serials"

"oh, so now it is my fault? ..."

it was then that he saw their 2 year old daughter was watching them argue. she looked distraught seeing them like that.

"hey kiddo.. who is this?? who is running?? pappa running..." Rajan started running playfully around the room. and daughter started laughing.

there was no point arguing? only way she should have believed about the coming flood is if the serial actors themselves told it in serial..

Water flooded their garden that night..

next morning

Rajen tried to convince her to go to sumesh's house, but she was adamant. she insisted that they will be safe on the terrace. and rajen had given up.

by afternoon, water rised in an alarming rate. Rajan had created a temporary shelter with tarpoline. He also had to deal with snakes.

Tara started crying. Rajan tried to console her. but she lashed out.

"how many times had I told you that we should have built a 2 storied house. but you won't listen. And now we are stranded. All because of you"

he never bothered to reply. To save for the future, he had opted to create a one storied, 2 bedroom house which was the minimum requirement. He had only thought about the future. 

By evening, the situation became dire. water level has risen and almost coming to the level of the terrace. Their house now looked like a raft floating on the flooded water.

Just when he thought all was lost, he saw a small speck in a distance. It was an old boat. a Fisher boat. He raised his hands and shouted. They were coming to his direction. The boat was almost loaded with some of their neighbors. The person showing directions to the boatmen was Pachu. 

The boat was decked to the terrace, Pachu climbed out of the boat and took Rajan aside.

"Rajan, I don't know how to tell this... the boat is almost full. taking 2 more people could be risky. there was another boat, but it was unable to come here. also it is getting dark."

Rajan saw the boat, his wife and kid and the rising water.

"what about Tara and ranjini? can the boat take them?"

"I think so.. why??"

Rajan went to his wife and kid

"Tara, both of you get into this boat. I will be coming in a smaller boat"

Tara carried their sleeping daughter to the boat without saying anything. 

Pachu whispered

"Hold on raja, will try to come here as soon as possible. Also keep your eyes to the sky. Navy is here. Your phone is charged? good.. flash to the sky. We will meet again. Have faith.."

Pachu climbed to boat and signalled, looking at Rajan apologically. 

Boat started moving. Due to the sudden movement their daughter woke up. She saw Rajan and started crying. Rajan waved his hands, but crying didn't stop

Rajan started running around the terrace "hey, who is running...?? Pappa running.. who is running...?? Pappa running..you go.. Pappa will come running...who is running??  ..."

the girls cry turned to smile and then laughter. Rajan continued his running around the terrace. He ran and ran till the boat was no longer visible. Then he sat down. Only then the tears started to fall from his eyes. Those tears got lost in the flood water which started climbing to the terrace.

Me and my younger brother finally put down our phones, giving in to the pestering of our youngest cousin.

          We were at our grandparents' place and he wanted us to accompany him, to someplace his dad had shown him,on their last visit.

          We two in our 20s, had to almost run to catch up with the 6yr-old guide. And after about two miles of climb amongst tall rubber trees, he pointed westwards and started jumping in excitement.

          I looked at the beautiful sunset against the picturesquare backdrop of mountains.

          I looked at my brother.

          I am sure he too was remembering the day our youngest uncle (our lil guide's dad) took us there- when my brother was this cousin's age... And how me and my brother had slipped away from home multiple times, when everyone would be asleep in the afternoon, to witness that breathtaking view again.

          I wondered if any kid of today, would climb a mile for a view! Why blame them, we the once-enthusiastic kids, have turned into phone-addicted self-centered grown-ups!

Her body trembled at the sight of her lover's corpse. His fears had been right. He had foreseen this attack. He had warned her time and again. She had never heeded any of that. And he had to pay the price for her sins. He had been a very gentle guy. She still remembered the day they had first met. He had come to her place with a group of friends. They had all come there to woo her, but she had eyes for no one but him. They soon started going out together. His equanimity was the perfect foil for her belligerence. He had never hurt anyone. Every time she locked horns with someone in their own fold, he had tried to pacify her and prevent any further altercation. He must have understood that there was no point in trying to rein in her aggression. Because although he tried to soothe her after each escapade of hers, he never tried to change who she was -- a warrior. They made love often and it was pure bliss. The birth of their children was the most fulfilling moment in her life. Reminiscing on their past further fanned her anger.

He didn’t deserve this. They came for me, and when they couldn't find me, they killed my love. she thought. A mixture of guilt and anger soon turned to pure rage. Whoever has done this to him is going to suffer. They’re going to scream with agony. I’ll see to it. In fact, she already knew who had done it. Only one person—one man—had a good enough reason to attack them. To be fair, he can’t be blamed for launching this attack. she thought. Because she had tormented him and his family like hell in the past. But that’s not going to stop me from avenging my love’s murder. she thought.

As expected, his friends started trying to dissuade her.

“We can’t mess with him. You should realize that at least now. He’s too strong. This is what you end up as when you try to cross swords with powerful people like him!” a friend of her lover said, looking at his lifeless body. Her lover’s gentle ways seemed to have rubbed off on his friends as well.

“You’re all pacifists. Cowards. This world belongs to those who are audacious. I can’t forgive the beast who has killed my love.” she said indignantly.

“We have lost him. Now we can’t afford to lose you. Spare a thought for your children. They need you.” another one said.

“What will I tell my children when they grow up and ask me what I did in retaliation for their father’s murder?! I have to go. I can’t rest until I see the blood of the man who murdered my love.” she said, storming away.

She reached her enemy’s house in no time. She hid behind the leaves of the tree overlooking his house. There he was, sitting on the veranda. Once again, she started to tremble with fury. She had always been bloodthirsty, but she was more so now than ever. She started sharpening her weapon. She moved close to the veranda stealthily. She was very close to him now. But he hadn’t yet caught sight of her. His smell, as it always had, aroused her. She sped forward and shoved her weapon into his neck. It was only a moment later that he registered the attack. He writhed and tried to grab her. She dodged his parry and changed direction. Her razor-sharp weapon pierced the skin on his forehead. He screamed and frantically slashed the air with his hands, desperately trying to get hold of her. Now she was gunning for his eyes. She zipped forward, her eyes fixed on his. She was inches away from his eyes when she realized her game was up. He had pulled out a bat lying behind a nearby chair and brought its face swinging onto her face. She was dead before she could feel any pain. Her burnt and mutilated body hit the floor noiselessly.

He turned around and yelled to his wife, “This new coil is of no use! These mosquitoes are roaming about freely!”

While I sit to draft this note,the world around me is engaged in a much necessary conversation.

The'#Me Too' movement.

This excerpt,I thought would be my contribution to the movement, which is spreading more virally than the ebola virus.

It was two years back.On a sunny evening,I was waiting at a bus station in 'Vellarada',a place in the outskirts of Trivandrum. Aimed to board a bus back to 

central Trivandrum after visiting my friend, who was ailing from food poison.

Within few minutes of wait,a bus reached the stop.

It was an orange color 'Rajadhani Express' of KSRTC.

Three fourth of the seats were filled.I grabbed a seat next to an old woman.

I was busy making myself comfortable when the conductor knocked on my seat handle with his pen. "East fort" I said."40", he replied in his low pitched manly voice.

I was perplexed and looked confusedly at the conductor.This was the costliest bus ticket,I ever had to take.My previous journeys, were all at a cost of 10 or 20 rs.

However,being a person with very poor awareness of fuel price or bus fare,I did not go for any argument and paid the money.

While I gazed at the ticket with subtle disbelief,the conductor said "This bus takes a longer route to reach the city" and he moved on to the next seat.

The scorching summer heat and the noisy engine of the bus made me tired and before I could realize I was fast asleep.

Half an hour or so later,I woke up feeling a movement next to me. The old women sitting alongside was getting ready to leave.

I moved myself to the side,giving her space to get down.The bus was halted at a bus depot.

The walls of the depot had posters of films starring Ajith,Rajnikanth and Vijay. All tamil superstars.The boards and signage's were all in tamil.

I had reached the neighboring state in sleep.With a little shock,I turned around.Only a dozen of passengers were left in the bus.

The man sitting behind me said "We are heading back to Trivandrum".

It was assuring for me.Perhaps this was the longer route, the conductor mentioned earlier.I moved to the window seat.

The thought of reaching another state without even realizing it, made me a bit alert.I was no more drowsy.

With full attention,I observed the bus,the traffic and the route.

The road on the border of the two states,looked dull and boring.The flex boards of Jayalalitha in a green saree, added a little color to the otherwise not very 

appealing surroundings.

As the bus moved further boards in Malayalam started to come by, giving me little comfort and peace.

Once we were off the border,my phone rang.I explained to my father, the mistake I made. I told him that I wasn't too interested in waiting for long and hence took the 

first bus that came by.My folly,the bus was taking a round trip from one end of the city to the border and then back to where it started.

My father just replied with an 'Ok' and asked me to call him,if required.

Soon we reached our next stop,'Kulathoor'.This place is a well known estuary that had many tourist visits during the season.

As I gazed through the window,a gentle breeze blew through my face and hair.This refreshing breeze,was enough to take away all the tiredness of the journey.

I looked around,there were small boats on the river banks.I enjoyed this part,it was blissful to feel the mother nature at its best during sunset.

'Ouchh,the sunset', I realized with fear that it is going to turn dark soon.

My mood again dipped downwards as I could see few people getting down at the stand.Within a few minutes, the rest of the people 

also got down in the subsequent two stops and my scare quotient drifted upwards.

Only 3 of us were in the bus. Me,the conductor and the driver.Myself occupying a seat in the center and the conductor towards the back.

I sat with my head slightly bent leftwards to scan the conductor.I felt my fear was justified.I was freshly out of college and has never travelled this far, that too

alone and a bit after dusk.

A gripping fear crossed my heart.The Delhi rape case, flashed in my mind.

I started making strategic plans and preparations for handling the men,if they make a wrong move.

Suddenly I saw the conductor getting up and moving slowly towards me.I froze.All the preparations and strategies fell flat.I faced him numb.

He came near,stopped and said "Dont worry,we will reach soon" and then went back to his seat.His gesture made me relaxed.I felt these men were genuinely good.

They looked decent as well.

I stopped thinking negative and started wondering about the revenue stats of Kerala State Road Transport Corporation.

'How do they make profit, if they take such a long route with less passengers boarding it'.My mind became sceptical again.

In the last 20 minutes, the bus has not halted at any stop.'Are they really taking the right route'?

The time was nearly 8PM.

We were still travelling through roads,which I did not know.My mobile had weak signals and no internet to track our location.

My state of mind became poorer.'Conjuring' movie was little less frightening compared to the situation I was in.

I dialed my father's number and a recorded voice said "You do not have sufficient balance to make this call".

My heart was ready for its maiden heart attack.Beads of sweat broke out of my brow. 

The darkness outside made me more frightened.

The bus suddenly took a turn and stopped inside the Poovar bus depot.

The driver and the conductor stepped outside.I was left alone in the bus.

'Did they go to call their companions or did these men find this place the best for an assault'??

I waited inside the bus with my heart pounding severely. If someone was nearby,they could have easily heard my heart beat.

I could see them from a distance.They were joined by another man and the three were smoking and sharing cigarette.

I felt like screaming at the top of my voice 'Why have you halted the bus when I am dying to get home'?

But then I stopped myself from attempting it, to conceal my panic.I did not want myself to look vulnerable.

A thousand thoughts flashed before me.

I missed my mom in the midst of the  scariest day of my life.

Time moved on,each minute seemed liked a million years.For the next 10 minutes I kept waiting with fear. And then I saw the men approaching the bus.

The bus started again and the conductor went back to his seat.

I felt relieved by now.Soon the bus moved through and the places became familiar.

I thanked god for being my savior.

There was a call from my father to know where I reached.I asked him to wait for me at the city.

We soon reached the city.Though it was nearly 9PM,I had nothing to worry.If these men have not harmed me this far,they wouldn't dare to do it in the city.

As soon as we hit the city lights,we could see a traffic jam formed.

I remembered then that the President is in the city to inaugurate a research center and this could be the reason for the block.During the wait,I thought about the pain and fear

 women go through each day while they travel alone at night.

There was a bit of a delay in the jam, but I was more relaxed than ever.Little while later the bus started moving,though slowly due to heavy block.

I reached the spot I had to get down after a really long journey through the nooks and corners of the district.

Through the window,I could see my father impatiently waiting for me.I waved at him with such excitement that one would do when they meet their 

dear ones after a long gap.

I just saw him in the morning,but still the excitement was high.

I got down and caught his hands.The last time I walked holding his hand was when I was a kid.

I can't remember the conversation we had during the walk.But after crossing the road,I turned around and looked at the conductor.

The man was also looking at me.When our eyes met, he was smiling.His eyes reflected the same care and protection which a father shows to his daughter.

I smiled at him with gratitude.

When I went to sleep at night,I prayed for his well being.

Years later while I am penning this,I do not remember his face.But I cannot forget his gentleness.There was never a moment when these men made me feel insecure.

Never a wrong look passed or a wrong word spoken.A dignified distance maintained all across to a frail girl who could have been easily taken captive.

I do not know many men who would have behaved the same under such a situation.

This is not a #MeToo story.But just to a piece of writing to reassure women that good men are not extinct.Not all men make #MeToo's.

The road was dimly lit and it was the torrential rains that told Madhav that he was alive. It was only moments back that he had come crashing down the slippery slope of St James’s compound road. The potholes were familiar, so were the flickering streetlights and yet Madhav lost control of his bike and crashed onto the nearby electric post. Medical examinations revealed that he had severe trauma to his head, a fractured skull that took several months to heal. Beneath the restless body that Madhav was hoping to recuperate was his solitary thought that kept bumping in and out like a terrible daydream – Esha, he would mutter at times. It was his mother’s choice to grieve for him that she would spend hours at his bedside, praying fervently that he would make a quick recovery.

“To find another place,

You can just escape

Trust me as I say,

I am torn aside, you see.

Seasons may change,

The cavern of your memories

And yet bear with me,

Beautiful, yet ecstatic child of mine”

It was months back that a bright looking Madhav stood – gleaming with his guitar and sang one his finest compositions. It wasn’t the typical sold out crowd in cafés and pubs that he was accustomed to playing, but this time had had dedicated himself to playing guitar to mentally challenged children at the Happy Care foundation in the city. It was at this local NGO that they first met, it was Esha who took him by surprise with her session on Mental health. While the entire world seemed chaotic here was a woman, presumably in her late twenties, looking serene and spewing intelligence. Not that Madhav was too particular on mental health, but it was their numerous sessions that followed that made Madhav diligently gaze at her, they debated endlessly on topics that seemed taboo to most people around, for most of the time they were supporting each other’s argument - often spicing up their conversations with a culmination of thoughts that kept generating out of nowhere. Everything from legalizing homosexuality to modern age pseudo feminism formed their point of discussion; it was the magnitude of their similar views that drew them closer.  What followed was endless hours of conversations, seemingly at ease with their admiration for being open and neo liberal. Madhav was a musician, a blatant revolutionary at heart that he always wanted to stick to his dream of playing independent music. The local music scene wasn’t bright either although there were occasional events where he could play with his band and sing out his compositions. So was Esha – a post graduate in Social Sciences, years of working in a prestigious IT company had drained her that she took up a full time job of teaching the impoverished students in local NGOs.

It didn’t take them long to hit the road together, and occasional weekend trips to beach and cafes followed. Madhav who was an avid rider as well owned a gleaming RX-135 motorbike, a gutsy Esha behind him tightly clutching to his abdomen as he raced past many a miles. It was on one such night that they kissed, in the local bus stop where they had stopped to take shelter from the rain. And as they made their advances, it was Esha who choked and looked disturbed for a second before pushing him away and said “Wait there is something which I thought you should know, Its Nathan”.

Nathan was Esha’s husband; they were married for long that it had turned just another ceremonial life. Madhav hadn’t asked about her marital status nor did Esha speak doubting if it would anyway hamper his desire in dating her. After all she was 2 yrs elder to him and the possibility of dating someone younger was equally thrilling. Nathan was quite busy with his business trips too that she didn’t have him around to throw her tantrums at. It wasn’t a loveless marriage, yet Esha found peace in her newly found soul mate. And for Madhav, Esha looked perfect that she even resembled the erotic deities from the Vedas, he had turned a hapless romantic yet again, it had been several years since he last dated and he had fallen flat for this sapiosexual cosmopolitan woman. There weren’t any further inhibitions and no more consent was required. “Sex isn’t a promise” she quoted the famous lines from the local movie Mayanadhi as they made out in her home. Yes - there was no feasible outcome to this relationship and yet it was the immense possibility of being emotionally and physically naked with someone that made them explore every bit of it. Cigarettes after sex was a routine and Madhav had just lit one up as his alarm went off throwing him into his senses.

He woke up and stared into the mirror, his hair had turned grey, and Smitha was sleeping next to him. Smitha was his wife and they had been married for over three years. He wasn’t just dreaming – Madhav knew it. Inside the table was his diary that formed the crux of his writings and he occasionally scribbled his thoughts. From an aspiring musician Madhav had turned into a bread winner that he took job in an MNC as a content writer, his meagre monthly salary ensured that his marriage stayed strong. The once free bird was now confined to his cubicle and was working his arse off into extra hours so that his weekends could be stress free. What remained off Esha had become a distant memory and yet he recollected her one liners, “There is a price for everything and you would soon realize it” Madhav then wondered what that meant, although he now knew for sure as he scribbled those lines in his diary. Smitha hugged him from behind, she wasn’t sure what those lines meant either and she didn’t care as long as it didn’t have the implications of a suicide note. She was content as a homemaker and didn’t have any further confusion to add on to it. They say you should leave your past behind, but what if you grew stronger from it – Madhav wondered. Esha was a perpetual thought. The twinkle in her eyes, the freshness in her breath, the smell that lingered in her body, each had a tale to tell and yet Madhav had one question – Where are you Esha! And Why did you?

“Madhav, this is excellent, this was what I had been looking for” it was reassuring to hear those words from Shankar, his mentor turned friend who had good enough contacts within the publishing industry that Madav looked hopeful to. It was necessary that Smitha took up a job too and Shankar was generous enough to arrange one for her. Yet there were deadlines to be met and Madhav was struggling to be ambitious and hopeful at the same time. He hadn’t touched his guitar in a while, his busy schedule has kept him off it and yet there was a larger plan he had in mind to free himself from the nemesis of his work struggles. He had to devote time to himself, he was an artist and that had its implications.

“Come on what if time wasn’t relative, what if we were stuck with where we were, what if our reality was indeed a controlled hallucination, what if we ended as strangers years down the line” she chuckled, Madhav was scribbling yet again, the romance had lasted less than six months and it was a glorious mess to have left him that way.  “Alright this society sucks, they wouldn’t accept anything outside their cultural norms, isn’t culture supposed to evolve, see what happened while the government tried to allow women into Sabarimala!!!” She was being theatrical as she tried hard to cover up her confusions, “Alright this is all fine, we can handle this relationship! This is never an emotional mess, of course I have heard similar stories of some of my friends, who are we to judge anyway, why would we either!!! Live and Let Die, wasn’t that the Guns and Roses song anyway!!!!”

Madhav was particular that they celebrated the striking down of Section 497- yes Adultery was no longer a crime. And they did indeed celebrate it in style until they both passed out after drinking too much. “We should live as stories you know” that was a vague one-liner she said before she passed out.

All those confidence and the exuberant approach that Esha had, and all of a sudden she had given up on him. Not that being possessive is a man’s game, but Madhav knew it was unavoidable and relationships were complex. It wasn’t easy for Madhav to admit as such that he wasn’t getting his required attention, and Esha had to double check on Nathan to ensure all was good between them. It wasn’t something she could publicize about to anyone given her barrage of confusions, and at one point she stopped picking calls from Madhav. Her marriage had turned tumultuous and the enduring thoughts of a divorce finally caught upon her. Madhav wasn’t sure what had happened, he waited for a few days until the fateful night he drove up to her house. Esha opened the door, and they kissed before she told him she was done with it. “You should go, Now!!!” Madhav wasn’t really expecting it and he needed more explanation, “Of course you were being opportunistic and stupid, you don’t have to glorify this either, there isn’t anything great about it” Madhav wasn’t convinced, “Esha we would talk this out” He couldn’t complete his words before she shouted out “I have my priorities, hope you understand what that means”. The door was banged shut and Madhav walked out dejected and teary. Esha knew it was a lie worthy of saving their lives, keeping their statures intact and making sure that their future off springs were spared from the stigma of their sins. She cried the night out, even silently as Nathan slept soundly. There were some tough decisions ahead and she had to align herself for it. As for Madhav it was a night he passed out after his head injury- only to wake up several weeks later, even months to finally walk out of his bed.

Madhav was returning home from work that he stopped by the local supermarket to buy some household items. There wasn’t anything special about that night except that the breeze was cool. As he hurled up his jacket and walked into the grocery section, there was that innate feeling that churned up his insides as he first fell for her. There was Esha, and as he stood beside her still not turning his face towards and letting her know, he dawned upon her scent – what was once indeed magical. She finally stared at him and yet as time looked frozen, they quietly made their way out of the super market with their gestures. And as they hit the road again, Madhav smiled, Esha was clutching on to his abdomen like it was the last day of her life. The conversations were less and no lengthy explanations were needed. It was the familiar beach road that they took and they exchanged pleasantries under the stars, the waves seemingly washing the misfortunes of their otherwise normal lives. And as they rode back, Madhav knew that the feeling was mutual and they both had come to terms with the realities of living in distant cities. There was Nathan waiting patiently beside his car, puffing the last ounce of his burnt cigarette as Madhav dropped Esha. He had one last look at Nathan, and waved at them. Nathan acknowledged it and perhaps nodded his head, it was a gesture befitting of being complacent at the complexities involved in what it meant to have dated the same woman. Madhav had finally made truce with his wounded past and smiled as he rode back home.

At home, he frantically searched for his diary; it was the last mile he had to take before he could hit the road to freedom again. All those years of scribbling and hard work were to finally bear fruit. The climax was evident, there weren’t any more questions as Madhav rung up Shankar to tell him that his story has been completed, he had decided to sell his soul and if his stars were to smile again, Shankar would introduce him to any of the publishing giants and get his work released. Smitha hugged him from behind and he jumped onto the bed realizing that this was a woman he had sparingly loved over the years and he should from now on.