Lonely Together - A Short Story

It was a full grown day with clear sky after yesterday's rain. The Sun was at its peak in the mid afternoon with slow and cool wind blowing around. Dr. Seema Sarthak was sitting in her cabin which was near the elevator on the 9th floor of the hospital, giving a clear view of the city. As she examined the reports of Pooja who was sitting across the desk, she kept juggling one report over other, intermittently revisiting some reports which she had just pushed aside. She sometimes observed Pooja and gave her a fainted smile. “Something is wrong” Pooja was assured from doctor's reaction, however she was not amused. She was at peace and kept looking out of the large glass window. Some pigeons were playing on the window pane. And a pair was lost on its own world. The male pigeon would suck rice from the ground and gave it to his partner to eat. He kept repeating it for a long time. 'That's love' - Pooja looked intently at them, smiling and wondering how lucky they were.

“It's serious Pooja. We can't delay it further. We will have to operate immediately” said doctor with visible nervousness in her voice, though she tried to sound assertive with strong pitch. Pooja simply looked at her for a while knowing well that there was no point arguing, and asked, “What do I need to do, Dear?”

“We will start at sharp 5 PM. Pooja, listen to me....I don't want to hide anything. Chances are 50% - 50%. I would suggest you talk whom you want to and better call your family here immediately.” replied doctor. “You can stay in my cabin till then” she added. She rang the bell to call the staff members and started instructing them to make arrangements in the Operation Theater.

“Hi Diiiiiiiiiii....how are you?” replied Pooja's younger sister Samitha on her mobile from the other side.

“I am good. I need a help if you are free.” Pooja could only complete this much when Samitha interrupted, “Didiii...actually I am going for Ranil's convocation tomorrow. I need to prepare for it. Hai naa Diiiii.....time flies........it seems just yesterday that he was born and see tomorrow he will be a graduate. I am so happy. I am so excited. I can't explain.” add Samitha. Pooja was surprised. Samitha had not told her about Ranil's convocation. He was most close to her in childhood and it was she who had looked after him in those years, and Samitha didn't even inform her about his convocation earlier.

“Di...kya hua?” asked Samitha.

“Ohh..nothing baby…you go ahead. I was joking...I had called to just check about you guys. Take care....and give my blessings to Ranil, my darling. Do send some pics of convocation if you can” instructed Pooja.

“Diddddddddddduuuuuu.........my Diduuuuuuuuuuu....you are so good....love you..........muaahhhh. One more thing Di...we are planning to celebrate Ranil's graduation. Can I borrow your home for the party? You know naa...my house is so chaotic these days. You can stay at my home during the party” asked Samitha with a giggle.

“You can. Bye” replied Pooja and cut the call and took a heavy breath. Doctor Seema, who was working on some reports, looked up and she could see tears in Pooja's eyes. She had been a family doctor for a very long time and had now become good friends with Pooja. She had, sometimes, tried to persuade Pooja to think about herself, give herself some attention and time. She had an intuition that Pooja understood as well but preferred to ignore so she kept quiet and didn't pursue it any further. Pooja sipped water from the bottle kept on doctor's table. Before doctor could say anything, she dialed another no. from her cell phone.

“Hi Shikha, Pooja here” she said on phone.

“Hi Pooja…Kaisi hai tu? Long time yaar...come over some time. I have so much to talk to you” replied Shikha.

“yeah yeah..I will. Listen...I need some help. Where are you now and what’s the plan for today?” asked Pooja.

“yaar....sorry........not today. I have come with my daughter in law to meet a gynecologist. There is a good news on its way. Yahi to batana tha tujhe. I am going to become a daadi soon. I am so happy yaar. This is the best moment of my life” exclaimed Shikha.

Shikha and Pooja were colleagues. They had shared some good and bad moments together, but off late Shikha got busy with her personal responsibilities and they were not in touch much.

“Congratulations yaar....I am so happy for you. Take care...I will call you later” said Pooja and pushed the phone on table.

Dr. Seema, who was busy on compute so far, understood the situation and rang the bell. She instructed nurses and office assistants to make arrangement for sufficient amount of blood. She asked them to keep some people on note for any emergency. She instructed them to put the requests on some blood donor’s websites as well.

“Pooja let us come....we need to make some arrangements. Operation will start at sharp 5 PM. You have some hours. Do you want to relax? I can get a room done.” asked doctor.

“No..its ok here” simple replied Pooja with a fainted smile.

“Yaar wo Hrehan Roshan ki movie aa rahi hai month end pe. We will go together after your operation. He looks just like his father Hrithik” said the doctor to cheer her up. Both of them had a good laugh over it.

“Acha Seema...I will go out for a while and return in some time” informed Pooja.

“Where...but do come by 4 PM. I have called a panel of doctors. They need to examine you before the operation” informed Dr. Seema.

“You know where....I want to see him, maybe for the last time” said Pooja, collecting her phone and bag from the doctor's desk and left towards the parking where her driver was waiting in the car.

Pooja pushed in the large gate and entered inside. The gate was very old, the paint had long gone but it still looked very imposing. It was lush green inside with big trees lined all around. She moved slowly on the narrow lanes and reached the right most corner where he was resting. She sat on the ground and moved her hands over him, like she has done years ago for so many times. She wished him to roll over and embrace her in his arms. But it was not to be. As she removed the weeds which had germinated all around after the month full of rains, the area around and stone was cleaned. She put the flowers and kissed the stone. While she rested in his embrace, 'Mayank (1980-2020) – unto the infinity' became visible on the stone. Wind was blowing her hairs away and she would tug them time to time while she remained still. Mayank would unravel her hairs whenever she was in his arms, and she would warm him to keep his hands away. Though he would leave it for a while but would be back after a while.

It started raining suddenly. Pooja remained resting in Mayank's embrace. Then it thundered loud....she was coerced into the reality as if someone had pushed her aside. 'No...not now Mayank” she murmured. Mayank had pushed her aside and walked away slamming the door some 30 years ago. It started pouring heavily, Pooja stood still. “Go away......go away” seemed as if he was shouting from the grave with each stroke of thunder. She kept looking at the grave, with tears flowing down her cheeks till it met with the rains losing both its purpose and identity. “Mayank.....not now.....I am coming to you” she said with a deep breath. It thundered again. She shivered.

“Madam....Madam....chalo ab....it raining heavily....Doctor Sahiba has been calling continuously over your mobile in car.” informed the driver while bringing her back to present. He had brought the umbrella over her.

She touched the grave, her tears flowed over it, and suddenly turned back walking away from him. She sat in the car looking into the imposing gates of the cemetery. She pushed herself a little back, keeping her head on head stand, looking up onto car's roof, lost in her own world, it seemed to happen just yesterday what had happened 30 years ago. “Kaha chalna hai Madam”, driver interrupted.

“Maalum nahi” she replied, still looking up, lost in her own thoughts.

The Truth – A Short Story

This story has already been published by YourStoryClub (An Online Publisher) @ http://yourstoryclub.com/short-stories-social-moral/short-story-the-truth/

“What would you like to order, Sir?” asked the waiter, carefully pouring water into the glass.

“Masala tea with toast for me and what would you have Mihir?” replied Sam who was sitting at the preferred table of his favourite cafe. This table was at the farthest corner from the entrance, having open terrace at one side while the city traffic bustling on the road on the other side of it. Glass window provided the needed separation between the two worlds – AC cooled, peaceful, coffee smelt interior from the hot and humid, dusty and dark outside.

“I will also have masala tea with toast. Bring in two” said Mihir, signalling the waiter to leave.

Sam sipped some water from glass, looked at Mihir and said with a smile, “You know Mihir…I might not be a very lovable and popular manager, but I have always delivered the goods. Never ever in my career, I have missed any deadline and nor would allow my team to miss any at this stage of my career. I might be ruthless, but I am effective. I have built my reputation within the organization on this strength. This is my last lesson for you as a manager – never lose sight of the goal i.e. deadline”

He paused for a while. The pride in his eyes was visible, his voice got hard and confident. He continued, “And if it is a deadline and someone in the team will have to die. I mean…will have to work till he is dead…..do you understand?”

Sam laughed loud. Mihir could only match it with a fainted smile.

Sam was Mihir’s manager for last five years. He had now been promoted to senior manager position and was asked by organization to handover his responsibilities to Mihir. He had been grooming Mihir for some years and after handing over most of his responsibilities in last six month, was invited by Mihir for coffee at Sam's favourite café.

“Sam..but where is the line between me as person and me as an employee? Can I allow organizational needs to spoil my personal relation with colleagues?” asked Mihir.

“Aahaa…there you go. Remember….Mihir cease to exist the moment you reach the desk. He is the employee of the organization and should do whatever has been asked by the seniors…whatever is good for the organization” replied Sam.

Waiter had brought the tea and toast, and left after putting it on table. Sam pushed one set towards Mihir and continued after taking a bite of the toast, “You know Mihir…on this very table…I have given termination letter to more than 20 of my colleagues. Do you remember Saurabh? I was very close to him personally but I had to terminate him because organization wanted me to do so. But to control such incidents to some extent and to relieve myself of depression, I made the separation smooth, for all of them, by doing if outside the office with a parting coffee at my favourite cafe…at this very table. That was the only luxury I allowed myself while dealing with my colleagues.”

There was no sign of remorse on his face. Stone faced, he continued sipping tea.

“I understand Sam. But why should an organization lay off an employee who has given his best for years to it. We are a family. If the organization is not doing well, if external business environment is adverse……..other alternatives could be found out like reduction in salaries, or job rotation rather than terminating the services.” countered Mihir.

“It’s easier said than done Mihir. Employees’ salaries are the largest operating expenditure for the organization and it is the first thing we should be controlling. Those who are laid off are not the under performers all the time. Sometimes they are the well paid ones whom company can’t afford in the times of distress.” added Sam.

Mihir had, meanwhile, finished his tea. Sam signalled to the waiter to bring the bill. They walked towards parking after Mihir had paid the bill. Mihir brought out one envelope from his bag and passed it towards Sam, saying "Kiran (senior of Sam) gave it to me to pass on to you as he is outstation at the moment".

“What is it?” asked puzzled Sam and looked at the envelope. It had the seal of the organization with ‘Confidential’ marked in bold red font over it. He tore it apart and immediately his eyes caught the subject line ‘Termination of Service’.

“How can they do this to me? I was promoted just 6 months ago and have I got so expensive in these six months that they can’t afford me now. I had given my blood and sweat for this organization…literally……..I have sacrificed my personal life. And see what did I get in return? “thundered Sam.

He was visibly shaken up. Never did he imagine himself facing such a moment even in his dreams. However hard he might have tried to control, tears were visible in his eyes. He stood still, looking at the car which he has brought on loan some months ago.

Mihir gave him a soft pat on the back, held his hand for a while, and suddenly turned back and walked away, like Sam had done on Saurabh and 19 others.

__END__

An Ignored Truth - A Short Story

“35 years…..35 long years, still it seems just the yesterday when I took oath as a first time MLA” Mayank Chakrdhari thought, sitting on his favorite chair having two lions carved on both of its front legs.

The chair was gifted to him in a large felicitation ceremony when he, later, became the Chief Minister of state. It was the biggest rally of that time. City Maidan was full to the capacity. It was flooded with his cutouts and party flags, and when Mayank Chakrdhari raised his arms in acknowledgement, whole ground had come to life, at once, with a big naara of “Mayank Chakrdhari Jindabad”.

Mayank switched on the TV and the same scene was playing again today. The difference this time was that it was not for him. It was the felicitation ceremony for a new leader. City ground was again filled with people, cutouts, flags and TV crews. Earlier there was only Dordarshan and it took around two days for news to reach people. Now everything was on TV, live. The new leader was made to sit on a similar chair on which he was sitting.

“History repeats itself, only the Actors change” sighed he.

Lawn of his house was full of flowers. Gardening was his new hobby. He has brought the best varieties of flowers, nurtured them for months and in this winter season, lawn was filled with different varieties of beautiful flowers. He looked at it proudly and asked Shayamlal, his helper of many years, to bring the chair in lawn, along with the newspapers. Afternoon sun was glowing in a cool winter day.  There was a time when this lawn used to be filled with people, never allowing the grass to grow. It always had barren spots in the middle which Mayank disliked immensely. But now though the grass has grown, uniformly, all over the lawn, but what he missed, now, was the company of his people.

Mayank had wanted to promote flower export from the state during his tenure because climate and soil were suitable for horticulture. But he was forced to shelve the plan as his colleges felt it would seen as generous grant for his castemen- he belonged to a caste which was known for gardening skills. He agreed and rejected the proposal from a private enterprise which wanted to enter into an agreement for flower export from the state. Many other such projects were also shelved for one or other similar reason. Later on, same colleagues questioned his commitment towards the development of the state. Mayank closed his eyes and a faint smile of realization was apparent on his face.

He asked Shayamlal to call the new leader. He wanted to wish him. Shayamlal informed that he could not connect to the new leader. Mayank didn’t say anything and simply nodded his head, but deep within, he knew that the new leader had refused to talk. Mayank was not even invited for the function. In his prime, Mayank could not attend all the functions he was invited for, and now he waited for invites so that he could meet some people. It was very lonely at this secluded quarter. His son had moved to US, daughter was happy with her family and wife left some years ago out of illness.

“Yeh duniya agar mil bhi jaae to kya hai….” these immortal lines came on their own and he started singing.

Mayank left the lawn when the Sun went deep west and went to his bedroom. He didn’t open the door till afternoon next day. Worried Shayamlal knocked on door but got no reply. Intuitionally, he informed both, police and ambulance, together. News spread like a wild fire and the new leader announced that Mayank would be cremated with full state honours. People kept pouring in to pay their obeisance to the departed soul. News channels ran special programs on him for the whole day.

“The world which had rejected him in life, has embraced him in his death” thought Shayamlal, standing in the corner of the house. He brought some flowers from the lawn and put them along the body of Mayank.

(Embedded photo courtesy Google Images)

It's Better to Tell than Take Along - A Short Story

She was lying on my bed, reading the note book which I had, lazily, left on table. Her bag was put on floor, makeup box on my study table and her wet clothes were hanging in balcony. This is how I meet her for the first time. Furious…….I just banged on the door and shouted, “Excuse me, who told you to enter this room?”
She pulled the notebook down and I was looking at the most beautiful eyes of the world. Innocent, childish, soft, she mumbled, “Hmmm…actually…actually...Aunty” and by that time mom entered the room.

“I asked her to take this room. She is your maamiji’s distant cousin and lives in US. She is on a vacation and wanted to witness an Indian marriage, so we invited her. She will be here for some days and then you would have your room back” said Mummy and took her along.

She turned and gave an apologetic smile and I raised my eyebrow. I, then, secured my notebook, took some clothes and moved into the adjacent room.

I was on a week leave for my elder sister’s marriage, and had planned to spend it resting my room which has been my territory ever since childhood. A week of complete rest, even if it combines with your sister marriage, is justified for a person who has returned from the border after 1.5 years. Yes….I am an army officer posted in north eastern part of India.

My plan for rest war already gone; but now I was losing something else in me. The more I saw her, moving in company of cousins, talking with aunts, or just reading something sitting on sofa, I felt some unknown excitement, uncontrollable attraction towards her. But so far, even after two days, I didn’t get chance to talk to her.

“Tea, Saabji” I heard these simple words thousands of time from my subordinates every morning, but this was different. I opened my eye and saw her having tray in her hand. She kept the tea on side table and turned back to leave the room, saying “I am not safe if our army men sleep so long and so deep”. She was gone before I could say anything. This was for the first time, she talked to me directly and it made my day.
Next day we went to groom’s place for function. She was to come in my car. She insisted on driving and I kept making fun of her driving, even on the slightest of her mistakes. Sometimes she ignored, sometimes gave an eye and at times frowned at me. Luckily we had the conversation started between us.

For next couple of days I took her to famous places in our town, organized a dinner for her and presented the hand crafted dolls made in our town. She was enjoying and I felt closer. Once she casually asked, “when are you getting married?” and I could not muster the courage to ask her. I didn’t reply.

Finally after a week she left and I joined my post back. We kept in touch through mails and occasional calls. Mom kept on insisting for my marriage and I finally decided to ask her. But I was not sure about her feelings. She was just friendly, is it me who was exaggerating it as love? She was happy with me, or was happy in the new surrounding and warmth of India? She was keeping in touch, or would she not obviously reply to friends? I was torn between two extreme ends of thought. I asked my inner self, but it eluded me of answer.

Today I muster the courage to ask you, Mehek. Yes, the girl mentioned in this letter none but you. I have a liking for you from the day we meet, but I never had the courage to ask you. This letter when reaches you, I expect a reply. An answer need not be affirmative; needless to say I will respect your decision. I am trained enough to get bullets, negative answer will not kill me. But of course, life would be simple and uncomplicated if spent with someone I really want to.

Take your time and do reply, “Will you like to spend the remaining of your life in army colonies, with a man who in our first meeting wanted you to go out of his room. The same person would like you to rule his home. Will you marry me?

Awaiting you reply....

-Mayank.

Mehek put the letter in her purse, keeping the notebook back into the black army box which was sent to the family by Army after Mayank had sacrificed his life in an ambush with ultras. Family was shattered, but Mehek was calm. Calmness of morning dawn which is beautiful in itself but still misses the radiance of sun. She went to Mayank’s room, lying on his bed, and started reading the letter, which was never posted, again.

Unjustified End

“My choice is this one. You know dad….She is the best. High class, beautiful and of our standard” Rama heard Samir say this in the living room. Her heart sank and ears popped up. The conversation continued in the living room between Samir and his parents. They, though, initially disagreed with him, later gave consent to his choice. Rama who was listening to this conversation from her corner, small room thought that her grandson was getting married and they were discussing the options available. She got furious, stormed out of room and said, “So…now I am not even that worth that you should inform me of my grandson’s marriage.” Her voice had a begging tone but it was delivered with the authority of older days.

Rama was in her seventies and had lost her husband some years ago. She was living with his only son and his family. Family, that usually used to welcome her with open arms, had been indifferent towards her after her husband’s death. She was given the corner room, initially she was discussed and was involved in family functions but for last some months she was not even informed.

“Naah Maa….how can we do that? You are the eldest member of our family and nothing will happen without your consent.” assured Samir’s father. He added,” We are purchasing a new car and we were discussing that. We didn’t invite you for the conversation as you don’t have much knowledge about cars. Isn’t it?”

“Yeah…..Yeah…you are right. Take me for a ride when its home” replied Rama.

“Haan Maa…definitely……..now you take some rest” said Samir’s father and escorted her to the room and returned back.

‘But Baba, where would we keep the car? We need a parking area in our house?’ asked Samir.

Samir’s father didn’t reply, thoughtful with his head upped on the sofa, eyes closed and one hand on forehead. He murmured, “I will arrange for parking”

Car was home after some days. Next morning Sameer’s father took Rama for a ride. She was proud of her son. She kept on saying how happy his father would have been, had he been alive today. He took rounds of the city ground and then raced up towards the outskirt. He stopped at a small building and asked Rama to wait inside till he came back after servicing the car. He said that it was his friend’s house.

It was a two stored building with a office in the front. It had a big lawn on its right side and a garden in front. Some people were busy with minor jobs in garden and rest was chit chatting in the lawn. Rama entered in the office and was welcomed generously. She said, “I have been asked by my son, who is your friend, to wait here”
‘No probs….be comfortable…He had called me yesterday” replied the office in charge and asked the peon to bring tea.

“What does his friend do? This could not be his home.” wondered she. This was a different place. All were busy; depression was evident on their faces though they tried to cover it under their manufactured smile. Rama went inside and saw two rows of cots lined up in two big rooms with a large sign ‘Male’ and ‘Female’ written over the door.
She sat on one of the cots. She was worried, unsure what to do. Tired, she went into sleep till somebody woke her up, “Hey lady! Wake up. Its dinner time”

It has got late, it was evening now.

“No Thanks….I have to go back. My son will be coming anytime to pick me up. He might have got busy some where” confidently replied Rama.

Lady left for dinning room saying in Rama’s ear, “I have been waiting for my son for last three days. He never came back. Old is not gold always”

Distant Horizon- A Short Story

Electric….Newspaper……..Gas Cylinder…….Grocery store……..Milk……….Mehir kept shuffling the bills, threw them back on table and tried to concentrate on the serial running on TV. Renuka was late from office and Shridhar just got off on her. She first tried to calm him down, letting him know how a meeting scheduled at the far end of the day outstretched. But since he would have none of her reasons, she stormed out of the room shouting, “I run this house. I don’t sit idle in home like you all day”. Mehir’s mind was least interested in the story of Renuka and Shridhar running on TV. He switched off the TV and again pulled the bills back, calculated the total amount and took out money from Mehek’s purse.

*********************************
‘Mehir, Wake up….Its already 8:00…We would be late’ shouted Mehek. He rose from bed, cleaned himself and ran towards car. They were late, he tried to pace up the car and Mehek kept on counting how he had turned lazy these days, how he was always lost in his own thought etc. etc. He first dropped their daughter to school, then Mehek to her office and returned back home, back to the bed. He checked his mails, read newspaper, brought groceries and picked daughter from school while returning in the afternoon. Mehek returned in the evening and kept checking with Mehir if he had received any important mail, if he got any call and did he work on the plan. Frustrated he left the room and sat for hours in the reading room. There was the novel which he had purchased months ago but didn’t get time to read. It was the story of a young couple, both working, pushing their life through the labyrinth of expectations and aspirations. Misunderstandings and cracks in the relationship which had cropped in with time. Bored..he put the novel back on the shelf.

***********************************
Same routine kept repeating for days. He would wake up with no job to do, look into household chores and end up having small alterations with Mehek. Frustrated he started spending most of the time out side home…….chatting with locals and involving himself in society work which eventually landed him with a NGO working for the upliftment of the area.

************************************
“Everything happens for a good. Had I got defeated or attempted suicide after I lost my job in the recession that happened 15 years ago. I would not have been addressing you from this podium. It was a though phase……..rather a very tough phase. I too felt defeated and frustrated and trying to run away from the difficulties back home, I landed up among you. Today I understand the importance of patience, confidence and hard work. Every black cloud has a silver lining. So I would urge you all to have the nerve of steel. Road that lie ahead for you is wonderful and promising, but it will have moments of uncertainty and self doubt. Those who can steer those moments will only reach the dreams we all have. I wish you all the luck as you pass through the of rolls this great institution” said Mehir, Honourable Prime Minister of India, in his convocation address to the students of IITM, one of the premier institutes of India.

Waiting Forever.....

It was a small, nondescript, oval shaped park sandwiched between roads from both the sides, with residential societies standing on the other sides of roads. It was named ‘Anandvan’ but was very well maintained or lush green. There were some benches in the park, oval noses at the ends had long Ashoka and big mango trees; and centre of the park had open space where societies’ children played.
On one side of the park was a residential society ‘SevaGram’. Naynaa along with her mother Mehek lived on the 3rd floor of the building, with their balcony facing the park. They enjoyed evening tea in the balcony, watching children play and some oldies sitting on the benches chatting continuously for hours, till it was dark. It was an amalgamation of two distant ends of life, children unaware, enthusiastic and enjoying every moment. On the other hand were old men/women tired, disturbed and uninterested. Park was their solace, their territory and their independence. And children’ unadulterated love and kindness was their daily dose of stamina which kept them going.
For some days Naynaa observed an old man, of around her mother’s age, sitting on the corner bench, all alone, little interested in happenings around him, submerged in his own thoughts and gazing intermittently on distant horizon till it was dark. She had never seen him before and none of others present in park seemed to recognize him. This has been his routine for last 2-3 weeks. It was no different for next some weeks till, one day, when Naynaa came in the park and sat beside him. Surprised, he looked at her and gave a gentle smile.

“Hello Uncle, I am Naynaa. I live in SevaGram Society” said she to start the conversation.
“Hi Beti….How are you? I see you daily in your balcony with your mother. How did you come down today” he asked casually, plucked a leave from the nearby plant and kept making small pieces of it till it was impossible to tear it any further. He had made a heap of leaves’ pieces on the ground and this was the latest addition. She thought, maybe, this is his time pass activity in the park. The plant closer to the bench had very less leaves left and she knew it well why it was so.
She replied, “Hmmm...Yeah...I enjoy my evening tea in balcony with mom, watching children play in the park and setting sun in far sky. But it is you who have pulled me here today”
He threw the leave pieces and looked surprised, worried at her. “I…how can me?”he asked.
“I mean...I have observed you sitting here daily all alone, lost in your own thoughts. So thought to give you a company. Hope I will not bore you”

“No...No...not at all. You are welcome. I am new to this locality, am a bit reserved kind of person and don’t easily mingle with all, so generally keep a distance from others.” said he apologetically.
They kept chatting on general topics, whether, politics, sports and literature. It continued for many days and in the process they started admiring each other. If he was an intelligent and knowledgeable person. She was quick and witty. Naynaa liked spending time with him, and he no one knew when he felt. Whenever time permited she would come down in the park and they would chat for hours. Intermittent chats became routine and they came to know each other very well after some months. Naynaa was employed in an IT company and was living with her mother. She had lost her father last year to cancer. He was Mehir, a retired government employee, shifted some months ago in the city and was living all alone. When Naynaa asked him about his family, he informed her that he was never married and requested her not to ask any more questions about it. She respected his feelings. They would chat for hours on varied subjects, but never about their personal life. Naynaa would share most of her conversation with Mehir with her mother.

One day when Naynaa asked him, “Uncle. I know you won’t like it but this is within me for months. I have come to know you well but still I feel I don’t know you. You are a stranger to me. Who are you? Why didn’t you marry? Why did you come to this city?”

“You will know it all one day. Just have a little patience” he said and she didn’t ask anything more. It was all normal after that. They met, chatted and respected each other. Suddenly Naynaa stopped coming in the park and even Mehir didn’t turn up for a while. The bench in the corner stood unoccupied, witnessing their absence. Mehir started coming after some days but Naynaa didn’t turn up. He would come daily, wait for her and then return back when it is dark.
One day she came to the park, she looked down and dejected. They chatted but the weirdness of the circumstances was obvious. Mehir cut it in the middle and asked, “What has happened? Why are you looking so sad today? Where were you for so many days?”
She was stunned by the bluntness of his question in the middle of the conversation. She took time to bring her together, trying to control her emotions she said, “I lost my mother. She is no more”
He was shocked, didn’t move an inch, eyes fixed on her. They kept quite. She was trying to control herself, staring sometimes in sky; sometimes kept her head pressed down; or moved her eyes in varied directions
Mehir was observing this. He added, “I know it’s tough for you. It is natural. It is tough to loss some close to heart. But she was always like this, living the moments, doing things in flash and see… she left in a flash. It was also tough to me when I lost her almost 35 years back. She didn’t say anything, just left a note “Bbye Mehir!! Wish you all the best from my side for your life” That was it. No calls, no meetings, just the end. I tried hard to contact her but she would never reply to my messages even if she was aware.
“Who???...my mother”
“Yeah….your mother, Mehek. You remember…you asked me….why am I alone? What am I doing here? And I had said, “I would let you know when the day comes”. Today is the day. I and Mehek were together in college, together till our first job. Subsequently as we inched towards our youth and age got over us, we would have fights; there was insecurity and the question of marriage. We were from different parts of India and your mother was not ready to go against her parent’s wishes. One day we had a big fight and she left. She left…just left….neither ever contacted me nor acknowledged my many attempts to get in touch with her. And then I came to know the she married your father. She moved ahead in her life, but for me she was the full stop. I remained there still the same she left years ago. I was not waiting for her to come back. But living along her shadow, with the dreams we had together, for the future that I didn’t wish to see. I kept following her…..through common friends or internet, secretly, never coming in her way. I never married….it was tough to get over her…I could not do that. I kept working for my parents and brothers and when I retired, came in here and would come every day in the park to see her when in the balcony. I am not sure if she ever recognized me, it’s tough to recognize some body after 35 years. But for me her single gaze was enough to live for the day”

Tears rolled through his eyes. He wept uncontrollably in the presence of Nayana. He might have wept after years, for long time he had lost all emotions; earthy pulls never affected me. He kept crying, not sure if this was for Mehek’s death or for the decision she made 30 years ago or for the life which he sacrificed on her.
It had gone dark, 8:00 PM, Naynaa brought him in her apartment. She brought water for him. Mehek’s asthi, mortal remains, were kept in an earth pot in the corner of the room along a big portrait of her. She was smiling, maybe saying welcome to Mehir.

He was about to leave when Naynaa started speaking, “She always knew you are around. If you were following her, she was also informed about you. It was she who sent me to you to sit in the park. I would share everything which you used to tell me in those conversations and she would simply say he hasn’t changed. If she moved away from you, years ago, due to her parental wishes, she maintained the gap till her end for the rules of the society we live in”

Those words hit Mehir hard, caught him unawares. She knew all about him? She still loved him?? Message of those words were smooth to have flown inside him, he felt the rush within. He was at peace after so many years……got the answer for which he had been wandering. He opened the door and said turning back,” Bbye Naynaa…Take care of you….I don’t know how to live from tomorrow and for whom”
“For me….my mother died sure that you would look after me in her absence” replied Naynaa.

Serial Chain Killer - A Short Story

S.S Malhotra, Sub-Inspector, Puraani Hawelli Thana was filling FIR register in dim candle light. He had cluttered complains in a page and was transferring those in the FIR register which had been found worth after initial ‘unofficial’ investigation. It was a single room police station with two tables, some chairs, an almirah that contained record books, some many years old, and an old watch hanging from the wall. S.S Malhotra flashed the torch light on watch and its wings were closer. It was 8:30:00 PM. His night shift had just started and there were hours left. He wished they went well.
Last some weeks of Malhotra’s night shift were explosive. A series of killings were recorded and since all victim’s chains and valuables were missing, it was assumed that they were cases of ‘theft and killing’. Police didn’t have any clue about the serial killer even after 3 months of intermittent killings. This incident caught people’s attention and was famously referred as ‘Serial Chain Killing’. A wave of fear and anxiety was flowing through the spines of citizen, especially women of the area. Malhotra got night shift every alternate week along with an assistant. There were 2 sub-inspectors and 2 hawaldars who swapped their shifts, morning and night, every week to run the station. Unfortunately all the incidents of ‘Serial Chain Killing’ had occurred in Malhotra’s shift and today expectedly he was extra cautious.

He reviewed all the comments on the sheet for complaints made in the day by SI of the morning shift and made official entry in FIR register only those complains which were serious and could not be solved by small intervention from police, senior members of the society or also 1-2 shots of police danda. He completed this job by 10PM. There was no electricity and it too humid inside.
This small town had seen some development off late, all due to new young and energetic MP from this area. He has succeeded in getting some small scale industries established around this town. Locals were getting employed and the all women textile industry had caught the attention of media. It was started by an NGO, lead by women and employed only women starting from guards to top management. It had got very popular and orders were pouring like uninvited guests. To fulfill the orders on time and keep the commitment, company started night shifts and most of the victims of ‘Serial Chain Killing’ were night shift employees of this all women textile company.
Malhotra put the record book in almirah and pushed the chair back, moved his legs up on the desk and went for rest. He had been quite generous these days. He didn’t mind consecutive weeks of night shifts, even manning the station single handedly on many nights. His companion, constable Ramesh, had got married some months ago and Malhotra was quite generous to leave him mid shift every week to go back home. Also Malhotra’s wife was pregnant and was living with her parents, so he was all alone and it didn’t matter which shift he was doing, till this ‘Serial Chain Killing’ appeared.
Senior officers had visited the area and instructed Malhotra and others to remain extra vigilant. Lady employees of textile firm were instructed not to venture out alone in evening and night. Police holed up some local history sheeters but none accepted the crime. Some chains captured from these men matched the missing ones from the victims. Police saw this as success and was trying to close the case putting the blame on these men. But Police knew it well that murder charge would not stand in court, there was no proof to prove that these small time chain snatchers could kill someone.
Ramesh brought food for Malhotra and waked him up, “Sir, Have your dinner”. Malhotra was having his dinner when he remarked,” Ramesh….Go home buddy! I am enough here. I will call for you if something comes up. Anyway your home is 1-10 mins walk from here.”

Ramesh left, Malhotra finished his dinner and went back to sleep again. Silence of night, with musings of cockroaches all around, was broken into pieces by the thunderous roaring of police station phone. Malhotra shot up from his chair, brought himself together and picked the phone. ‘Hello! Puraani Haweli Thana’ said he. ‘Hello Sir! I am Sangita, an employee of ‘Akhil Mahila Suti Udyog’. I have been returning from office, when two miscreants intercepted me and pulled triggered on me. They snatched my purse, chain and all other ornaments. They left my cell only because they could not find it; it was in my back pocket. I am very scared sir...pls help me...help me please” cried the voice of lady on phone. Malhotra said,”Sangita, Don’t worry. I will pick you and catch the culprits. Let me where are you currently”
She replied,” I am near R.M Road. Nobody is here. Save me...help me sir”
He said,” Sangita! Control yourself. Don’t get into the eyes of any stranger. We can’t allow ‘Serial Chain Killer’ to strike. Can you the see khandahar( an old house) on R.M Road?”
‘Yes Sir’ replied she.
He assured, ” Good. Go to that khandahar and wait till I am there in police van. Don’t make any noise and switch of you cell. I don’t want ringtone or light of your cell to alarm anyone. ‘Serial Chain Killer’ could be anybody. Have you called someone other than police?
“Yes Sir, My father” said Sangita and moved towards the khandahar.
Malhotra took the no. of sangita’s father and put the receiver down. He then called her father and assured him that he was on his way to bring his daughter back home. He pulled out police van and moved towards khandahar on R.M. Road.

He stopped police van at some distance from khandahar, pulled out rod from van on one hand, brought out revolver in other hand and moved slowly towards the khandahar. When he reached there, moved up on the stairs and inside, he whispered, ”Sangita! It’s me! Police! Don’t worry! Come out. I had talked to your father. He is anxiously waiting for you. Let us go home”

Sangita didn’t come out first. But when she found the whisper to be same as the police voice she had talked to on phone. She came close to the whisper and said, “Sir, I am here. Thank you for coming” and she started crying. It was pitch dark and both of them could not see each other. Malhotra tilted the rod on wall and placed his revolved inside the cover hanging on his waist. He said,” It too dark here. Did you call someone after talking to me? “
She said, ” No sir. I had switched off the cell as instructed by you”
He exclaimed,”Good! Give me your hand. I am unable to see you. Let me guide you to police van”
Sangita raised her hand in the direction from where the voice of Malhotra was coming and midway it met with his hands. Her hand was smooth and cold out of fear and on the other side, his was firm and warm.
He came close and said,” why are you so cold, out of fear? Don’t be fearful. I am with you and snatched her in his arms and started kissing. Before she could understand anything, he had embraced her and was kissing her vigorously, slowing moving down the body with his one hand on her mouth. He pushed her on the floor and wrapped his handkerchief on her mouth, grabbed her hands and tied her legs with his. He was completely over her, sucking breast, slowly removing T-shirt, grabbed her bra and pulled it away in single stroke. She lied there helplessly wondering if he was really a policeman, serial chain killer or some third person. She closed her eyes, praying to God, suffering the pain. He continued, caressing her body, playing with her hairs and his mouth sometime finding her tongues and sometime her breast. He kept lying in steady state, his hands exploring her curves till it rested on her butt. He moved his hands around and unbuttoned her jeans, lowered it down and pulled down his zip. He was inside her, stroking it hard. She kept on banging on the wall with each of the stroke. Finally, motionless, he kept hanging on her.
She laid unconscious, tears flowing down eyes and her body spread on the floor. Malhotra collected their cloths, prepared himself and started putting clothes on her. She didn’t react anyway…she was laying their almost dead, maybe wondering if it was worth living anymore or where would she go from here? When she had her clothes on, Malhotra stood up, took the rod which he had kept by wall, and raised it high and shot it off over her head, with full force. Thhhdddddd……it was all over…..she didn’t make noise and whatever life was left in her it left without a noise. He removed the handkerchief from her mouth.
Malhotra dragged her body outside khandahar and left it in the ditch near road. It had all her clothes on and he made sure that she looked normal and itlooked nothing suspicious. When he was sure that everything was ok, he took her phone and called her father.

“Hello..Hello…Sangita…where are you? Why didn’t you reach home till now? Are you safe?” Her father kept on asking, and then Malhotra replied,” Sir, This is ASI Malhotra calling. Your daughter had called me when some miscreants looted her valuables and purse but when I reached here, it was too late. I am sorry…I found her dead body in a ditch on R.M Road. I think it’s the case of ‘Serial Chain Killer’”
There was no reply from other side and her father somehow replied that he was coming to the location of incident. Malhotra then called Ramesh and informed him that ‘Serial Chain Killer’ had stroked again and asked him to come to location of incident.
Next day newspaper said, “Serial Chain Killer strikes again. A lady employee of local Textile Company was looted and then killed. ASI Malhotra informed press that they had prepared a comprehensive plan to catch the ‘Serial Chain Killer’ soon. “Police will not be a mute spectator and soon culprit will be behind bars” he said.

IT's life: Chapter 2

Railway station was empty with some passengers waiting for the early morning trains and beggars and late arrives sleeping on the platform by the side of station walls. Shops were closed and water sprinkled profusely through the public tap. Dim yellowish light of bulbs lead Mehir’s way to the main exit of railway station. He walked down the stairs but there was not a single taxi or auto in front of the entrance but where was Mehir going...errr…hmm…even he had no idea. He kept walking and passed through the boundary walls of railway station that were filled with the posters of latest bollywood movies playing in Varanasi’s theatres, famous coaching institutes and neem hakeems advertising their skills to cure any sexual disease. These walls were also used as a shield and were effectively turned into a urinal. The smell all around pushed Mehir to take some fast steps and he reached the connecting road with no vehicle in site. There were some autos and taxis lying in the parking area but drivers were fast asleep. Mehir preferred not to wake them. At the left corner of station connecting with main road, there were two roads spurting towards left and right. ‘Which one is mine?’ wondered Mehir. He was about to take right when a voice echoed,’ Are bhaiya!!! Kidhar jaat ho raat me akele? Sunsaan sarak baa…koi chor lutera sab samaan paisa cheen li’ (Hey Brother! Where are you going alone? Roads are empty. Some thief will snatch away all your goods and money).

‘I have got nothing valuable in my bag and have very less money in wallet as well’ replied Mehir.

‘Is there something more valuable than your life? Don’t be adamant…come here…have tea. I will arrange a rickshaw for you’ said the man standing behind the small tea stall, which was filled with the smoke of initial coal/charcoal burning.
Mehir had tea and it was better that any of those that he had at better places and hotels. Stall owner asked his helper, a small boy covered from leg to head with a thatched bed sheet knotted around his neck, to run and bring Ramlal along with his rickshaw. It was winter season and cold in northern part of India is unbearable during this phase. But so is the resilience of its people. Many of the poor spend this phase covering their bodies with whatever they could lay their hand on. Long cloths like bed sheets and shawls are wrapped around children of the family to ward off the chilly streak of cold. Helper returned with Ramlal in his rickshaw. Mehir had waited in the small tea stall wondering what he was doing and about his destination from here. Meanwhile the stall owner kept on informing him about the importance of Varanasi in Hindu mythology and palaces to visit in and around Varanasi. Mehir paid for the tea and sat in rickshaw.

“Where could I take you Saab?” asked Ramlal.

“Hmmm…don’t know! Take me anywhere where there is peace. A place that could help me forgot my past, worries of present and that there is something called future” replied Mehir.

“Are saab…I don’t understand what you mean. There is sankatmochan temple, BHU temple and Baba Vishwanath Temple. Where do you want to go?” wondered Ramlal and started peddling his rickshaw.

Mehir wondered where on earth he wanted to go…thought of temples mentioned by Ramlal and said,” which one is the most peaceful? I mean...the least populated. Any place that would be empty where I could be with myself…concentrate and mediate. I want to be alone for a while”

Ramlal turned back, looked at him and said, “what babuji? Is a temple peaceful in India? There would be long queues outside each of these temples. People visit from all parts of India and they make queues from the early morning and temples to remain empty…out of imagination. He paused and continued,”Today only hearts are empty, not any place of worship. We all have turned into a monster waiting to strike and more bad we do, more we visit places of worship….maybe to wash away all the sins.”

Mehir was startled by the serious and meaningful talk of a rickshaw puller. He added,’”I don’t want to go to any of these places. Take me somewhere else.”

Ramlal stopped the rickshaw and said,”There is only one place which can make you meet you soul. It is a place where souls separate from bodies of dead but living meet their soul….Ganga Ghat (Bank of river Ganges). I would take you there” and stirred the rickshaw through the labyrinth of narrow lanes leading towards the bank of river Ganges.

Mehir left Ramlal at the end of the road towards river Ganges and walked alone towards the river. It was early morning and deep red sun was rising from east side of the river. It seemed as Sun was coming out of the river, very slowly rising up in the sky in the far away horizon. Sun looked relaxed, fresh and its rays were low in intensity unlike the daytime. Motion of the Sun slowly from the river gave an impression of someone coming out from the river after bath.
People had already started descending to the river for holy bath. Mehir watched the strength of unabated faith when people plunged themselves into the cold and dirty water at the height of winter season without any remorse. The glow on their face after the bath, all because of their unquestionable faith that all their past sins were washed away by the streams of Ganges, was surprising. Mehir had never been so radiant even after bath in the crystal clear hot water from geyser and layers of creams over his face. He wondered,” Bhakti ki Shakti(Strength of Prayer).”

Far away on the other side of river, small chunk of woods were burning at some distance from each other. Mehir went to a boat and asked its owner,” What’s that brother?”

Boatman replied,” Saab…that’s a shamshaan and those are burning pyres of dead. Mehir had never been to a samsaan but today, he being running away from his own life, it was the best place to be. It is a place where we all summaries our life. He requested the boatman to take him to the other side.
Mehir went and sat on the small temple in the shamshaan. Watching dead bodies being burnt, relatives crying first and being back to normal just after some minutes amused him. We human fight all through their life for money, position, name, fame and lust, to be burnt someday into ashes which leave nothing of you in this world. We are born out of atoms to be ended in atoms. That’s the circle of life.
Lost in his own thoughts, Mehir little did realize that the priest had arrived in the temple. He cleaned the temple, bathed the statue, offered flowers and prayed. All though this, he observed Mehir sitting on the stairs staring towards the flow of Ganges. He completed his prayer and came towards Mehir saying,”Son...have some prasad. Don’t worry. Everything will be ok. Have you lost someone close? I have observed you sitting here for a long time all alone”

Mehir was snatched back from the embrace of thoughts by this little intervention of priest. He smiled and took the prasad. “No…I didn’t lose anyone today. I have lost myself. It didn’t happen in a single day but was stretched across years.” Mehir paused for a while and then continued,” Running in the race of life…..running for money, appreciation and fame…somewhere in the process I lost myself. I lost the ground to capture sky which I could never reach. I lost everything to find something that would never be mine.”

Priest didn’t look amused. He had seen people wondering over their life’s earning and learning but this sort of feeling is always momentarily. When you sitting in a shamshaan with pyres burning all around. It is nothing but natural to have extreme stream of emotions running through your blood. Priest took Mehir around the temple, offering water and murmuring the slokas of gita to calm him down.
Mehir sat with his back on one of the pillars of the temple. Priest was still sitting along with him. There was no one in the temple. Wind coming through the direction of Ganges’ flow had cooled down the surrounding. Sun had risen through the horizon and it had transformed dark foggy dawn into a wonderful clear day. Priest looking at Mehir wondered,” You seem to belong to a well to do family, learned and intelligent. What has made you so sad? Why are you wondering about life and death when you have a long life to live? Go back to your home….you will forget everything in some days. Everything will be back to normal”

Mehir looked into the eyes of priest and asked,” Why didn’t you go back to your home”
Priest was socked by this question. He looked away, collected himself and replied,” I am a Sanyasi. I have no family. I am away from all Moahs and Mayas.”

Mehir’s question caught the priest off guard. He tried to divert the attention of Mehir and asked,” Why are you so sad? Let it flow out of you. This is God’s home. You learned people may not believe in God but it is the only reason for my existence. If you could believe me even for a second, bring the past out and throw it into the Ganges. Ganges will take it alongside. Let the bygones be bygones. Destroy the past. Start afresh. Make a new beginning.” pushed the priest.

Mehir shook his head in negative but didn’t reply. Puzzled priest took his arm around Mehir. Mehir felt the warmth of his father around him. It was always easy to curl up in father’s arm after every mischief hoping to avoid mother’s warth. He would first correct the mistakes of Mehir and then would take him for a walk telling him the stories of great people and their life. He had never scold Mehir but his words of wisdom would always make Mehir accept his mistakes with a promise to never repeat it. Mehir started crying with his head over priest’s shoulder.

Priest asked slowly,” What happened, Son? Who are you?

Mehir relaxed himself by the pillar and replied,” I am an IT professional working for one of the most reputed organisations of India. My life has been on run and in the process I kept losing small parts of me that when I gather today seem to be a larger section of myself. I have lost my values which my father imbedded in me. I have lost strength to face someone because I could not cover for my faults. I have money, home and cars etc. but I am alone. I don’t remember when I last visited my sister’s home. I don’t remember when I called my mother on my own. My brother is working but what does he do. I have got no idea. I write code with no bugs. Customers appreciate my work. I have won many awards and accolades but not any heart. A small life for me seems to be too long to live now.
Today after many years, God snatches me back and plays the past to make me realise how much have I lost and whom have I alienated and hurt. IT’s life. It’s my life”

Priest added,” What is your story and whom did you hurt?”
..........can be continued

IT's life: Chapter 1

It was a dusky night with moon at its full glow. Silence of wide spread fields were cut across by the roaring thunder of fast moving Purva Express connecting Delhi with Kolkata. It was passing through UP and was scheduled to reach Patna next morning and Kolkata in the evening. Mehir, suffering from bad throat, had a tough day in office and he somehow caught this train at the last moment in Delhi. He had to reach Kolkata on weekend to meet his family and the girl whom they had finalised to be his would be bride. Tired and exhausted, Mehir fell on his berth and went into deep sleep.
His sleep was cut short in midnight by the crying of a child on front berth. A lady was trying to console him but the little monster was in no mood to sleep. Mehir tried hard to go back to sleep, blocked his ear with pillow and has his quota of Gaalis exhausted for the child but the child continued.

‘Why don’t you give him something to eat? Maybe he is hungry’ Mehir said to the lady in an irritated tone.

Lady took the child closer to her heart and put her duppata over it. Mehir presumed that she had started breast feeding. It was dark in the compartment but the uneasiness of the lady could have easily been felt. She kept arranging her duppata…bringing it to left, right, up and down. The jingles of her bangles kept coming intermittently. Child enjoyed the drink and the compartment was back to silence with only deafening sounds of rails playing the background score.

‘I am sorry if I was rude to you. I had a bad day in office and was in deep sleep till your baby cried’ said he in a slow and smooth voice.
Lady replied, ’It’s ok. It was my mistake that I forgot his milk bottle. I am sorry if his cries disturbed you’
Mehir replied in negative and was about to turn on the light but left it off given the uneasiness of the lady while feeding her child.
He questioned, ‘Are you alone? Don’t you have someone along with you?’
Lady took a sharp turn towards him and said in a stern voice,’ why are you worried? I am sorry if my child disturbed you. Now please don’t try to show sympathy. Go back to sleep. I don’t need anyone’s mercy.’
Mehir was hurt and decided to go back to sleep but there was something in her voice that was unusual and attracted Mihir’s attention. He decided to continue the conversation.
‘Please don’t take it otherwise. I was just inquiring. It’s quite unusual to find a lady travelling on her own in a sleeper class that too in a train that passes through the patches of UP and Bihar’ tried to assuage Mehir.

‘It is ok. It’s just that I get irritated whenever someone tries to invade my privacy. No one is interested in giving a helping hand. All they want is a topic to discuss which will help them pass their time in train…akeli ladki….ek bache saath….bacha hai jo rota hi jaa raha hai…all these craps’ replied she and put the child on the berth who had slept and again arranged her dupatta to make her comfortable.

‘You are a genius….have understood human dynamics well’ said Mehir and had a healthy laugh.

‘No Sir…you are wrong. I am very bad in understanding people’ said she and took a long pause and added’ or else how could had I misunderstood the intentions of a man who was most important person in my life’ after taking a heavy breath.

He kept quite. He had a look on watch and its radium glowed arms showed it was 3:00AM. Train was nearing Mugalsarai station. He assumed.

She continued,’ Life is tough and tougher is having faith on someone else who is not your family or relative. But it is hurtful when the same person leaves you shattered, all because he could not stand on his own against his family wishes.’

He started understanding her story. His heart was pounding on his ribs. There she was…traumatized….all alone with a child and the most he could offer was an audience. He continued to suffer in silence of his agony.

‘Are we dead? Have we lost all our compassion? How can a man leave someone who he said was his life? He said he could not go against his family’s wishes. Today I stand against whole society…being a single Mother. I took it as a challenge to show him that it’s not family but you. We always hide our weaknesses under the layers of family and society’ said she and anger was evident. His heart was racing and had this conversation continued, he would have fainted.

Train reached Mugalsarai station. Mehir was numb, so was she, staring at the child who was fast asleep. He took the window up and light from railway station pierced into the compartment. Mehir took a quick glance at her face and quickly closed the window.

‘What happened? Why did you close the window so quickly’ she asked, looking up to him, maybe trying to imagine his face in the darkness.

Mehir replied,’ No. nothing…it would have disturbed the child.’

Train left Mugalsarai station and the lady lied down on her berth, moving the child closed to her body.
It was 3:30 AM. He thought,’ two more hours and it would be day.’ Mehir was sitting on his berth, staring at the darkness of room.

Train reached Varanasi. Lady was in her sleep.

‘Sir, ticket please’ said the TT manning the exit of Varanasi railway station.

Mehir handed over his ticket to him. He checked it and said,’ your ticket is up to Kolkata. Why are you terminating your journey in Varanasi?’

Mehir took his ticket back, moved slowly and replied,’ my past reappeared and blocked my destination’
.........can be continued!!!

A Story of All, disclaimer: any resemblance to living or dead is pure coincidence

“Alla Hu Akbar Allahhhhhhhhhhhh” announced the mikes fitted on the pillars of the village mosque. “Its 5:30 AM” whispered Juman Miyan and left his bed, took the lotta (a steel utensil filled with water) kept under the bed and left for field. It has been the routine for Juman Miyan for last 50 years. He would wake up early and go directly towards his fields. Once he is complete with field’s inspection and has attended to nature’s call, he would reach the bridge over the river that flows by the village. The bridge is situated in the north-east corner of the village and acts like a gateway for the village. Many respected elders of the village would have reached the bridge by the time Juman arrives. Babu Kamaldev Singh would share national news that he had heard in 6:00AM bulletin on his radio. He would be chewing a long daatun (villager’s brush) in between his teeth. Others would sit surrounding him from all side. Govind Mahato would pass some comments on every news and would be continuously staring at the bank of river where many children would be playing and doing their morning chores, occasionally scolding someone who has gone deep into the river. It was a daily routine for the entire village’s elders.

“Election dates have been announced. It would be held next quarter in four phases” informed Babu Kamaldev Singh and chewed his daatun for a longer duration. It gave some time to Govind Mahato to pitch in with his comments, “kya karna?..These elections do no good to us but the politicians. Our life has always been the same” and shouted at a boy who had swam up to middle of the river.

“Naah….this time we will make sure that promises made by the politicians are fulfilled after the election” added jumman Miyaan

“ Ohhh Jumman…nothing will happen. We have repeatedly been promised roads and electricity but I think we would not be able to see good roads and electricity in our life time” said visibly sad Kamaldev Singh and other elders nodded in unison.
“Don’t lose hope Kamaldev babu. Last time MLA saab fulfilled his promise and opened a primary school in our village” said confident Jumman Miyaan.

“School with no teacher….It has two teachers who never bother to visit” added Govind Mahato.

“ acha bhailog…I am leaving. I need to go to fields” informed Kamaldev Singh and took out the daatun from his mouth and went towards the river for bath.
“Hmmm..even we would leave” echoed all the elders and meeting was off.

Jumaan Miyaan returned home after completing all his remaining morning chores along the bank of river and shouted for meal. His daughter Razia came out with water and plate full of meal. He ate and left for fields with his pair of oxen. Villagers generally have three meals a day- one before going to field, in the field and the last before going to bed. Their meals are quite heavy and their hard work justifies it.
“Hoorhhhhh………hothhhhh” Juman Miyan kept shouting and maneuvered his oxen through the labyrinth of village’s narrow passage like an expert, occasionally sharing pleasantries with others, lazily sited on the front of their house. Village was like a big family where one knew all and Juman Miyan never felt alienated even when he was following Islam in a Hindu majority village.

“ Kaaki!! I am not going to leave you this time, you will have to prepare the delicious for me this dussara” informed Juman to the mother of Babu Kamaldev Singh, who was 80 years old, on his way.

“Naah…….I will not prepare anything this time. I am too old now. I have brought daughters-in-law who are good cook. I hope they will prepare delicious food for you” said kaaki and inquired” If you are going to your fields…bring some fresh chana for me”
“ offcourse kaaki but you have more chana planatation than me. I am a small farmer compared to you son babu kamaldev singh” said Juman and laughed heartily.
“No...No…your chana are the tastiest” countered Kaaki and Juman noded and maneuvered his oxen towards his field.

Kaaki would always ask Juman to bring chana from his fields, though she had more chana plantation than him and he would always bring a bunch of fresh chana plants for Kaaki every evening. This gesture was an emotional act as Juman’s mother and Kaaki were very good friends and Kaaki looked after Juman like a mother when Juman’s mother died. It was a mother son relation, not by the birth but heart.
Juman had been living in this village since childhood. His father was posted in the local post office and though he originally belonged to Bengal, it has become his home since then. He was the only son of his father and fathered only daughter Razia before his wife died while giving birth to their second child. Memories of his wife and commitment towards his daughter Razia never allowed him to marry again. His income from his small land holding was enough for the survival of two member family. He would save some money every year for Razia’s marriage. That was the sole aim of Juman Miyan.

“Once Razia gets married, I can die peacefully” Juman had repeated this sentence many a times to fellow villagers and all would agree. In a patriarchic society like India girl child is always looked upon as a disadvantage and their marriage is one burden that bothers her father from day one.

Razia would play with other children when Juman worked in field. She would be in babu kamaldev singh’s home for the whole day, playing with babu kamaldev singh’s children. Juman would take her back while returning in the evening. Her best friend was Mehir, son of babu kamaldev singh. They would roam aimlessly around the village with other children, occasionally stealing mangoes from other’s orchid. Mehir would always keep the best mangoes for Razia and carry her on his arms when she got tired.
Days passed and Razia blossomed into a beautiful girl and Mehir joined Armed forces. They would meet occasionally whenever Mehir was on leave. Mehir would tell fascinating stories of armed forces. They were inseparable and shared all their secrets. Mehir would tell how he managed to escaped from his camp to watch movies and Razia would share her secret about her visit to Mela without Jumman’s knowledge.
That had been a tough day in field. The left boundary that separated jumman’s fields from others gave away and the all the standing water for rice plantation from neighbour’s field entered jumman’s field which he had not even been ploughed completely. He tied the pair of oxen in the mango tree planted at the corner of the field and started blocking the cracks in the banking. It took quite a long time and by the time he reached village it was dark. Jumman directly went to home but Raiza don’t reply even after repeated shouting. He tied oxen to naad( a big conical shaped earthen material made object in which cattle eat) and put some hay with water in it. Razia didn’t come back by then.

“She must be at babu Kamaldev singh’s home. Mehir has come back and she is always with him. They are still children” thought Jumman.

He washed himself and ate some morning roties that were kept near the chullaha. “Ohhh..this girl has not even prepared food today. Its limit now. I will scold her ….every time gossiping with one or the other…how long will it go” thundered Jumman and left for babu kamaldev singh’s home with bunch of chanas that he had brought for kaki.

There was something different today. It was dark and none of the homes had put laltern (light) on the terrace. It was all very silent and he found none on the road. All dark….no shouthing…..even the dogs were missing from road…..”I hope everything is alright. Has someone passed away that the village seemed to be engulfed in sorrow” thought Jumman and his hearth skipped a bit with this thought. Tense and fearful …he started taking big steps and was worried about Razia. “Where is she? Can’t she be at home...Why does she keep on roaming all over the village…..but what can she do? How can one leave all day in a lonely home?” kept thinking Jumman...he was full of worry and reached kamaldev singh’s home.
It was full dark and its doors were closed. This was the first time he found kamaldev singh’s house so deserted. “Kamaldev babu…….kamaldev babu” shouted Jumman but got no reply. “Razia….Razia”..again no reply. Jumman got worried and started patting on the door.

“Jumman…Jumman…don’t make sound and come here. Have anyone seen you coming here?” asked kaaki slowly from the side window’s small crack.

“No..No kaaki but where have all gone? I found no one on road...It’s all deserted. What has happened? Why are you inside? Where is razia?” inquired worried Jumman and wipped off sweats from his forehead and offered the bunch of chana that he has brought for her.

“wh…Jum….Jumman” said kaki and started crying inconsolably. Jumman was standing puzzled and blank.

“What happened kaki…don’t worry….let me know everything “assured Jumman.

“It’s all over Jumman. Sab khatam ho gaya……all have become devils” said kaki and signaled Jumman to stand behind the pillar so that none could see him.

“Elections were announced yesterday and today’s afternoon news bulletin announced that Jairam Pandit, leader of opposition party was killed while campaigning. This lead to rumor that it was done on the behest of other religion’s fanatics. This news spread like a wildfire and local police office was burnt and local tailor, bakery and madarsaas run by people of other religious faith were burnt and owners murdered. This lead to brawls all over between two community and Govind Mahato who was returning from his fields unaware of the development, was murdered” informed kaki and again started crying.

“Thanks kaki….You saved Razia. Please keep her with you. I will take her back when the things are back to normal” said relieved Jumman.

Kaki could not stop crying and said,” I’m sorry Jumman. Mujhe maaf kar de mere bête……….Razia came running to me in the afternoon and I kept her inside the house. Mehir and Kamaldev returned after an hour and were volatile and had death on their head. They just had been informed about Govin mahato’s killing and at once they saw Razia, he attacked her. I could not do anything Jumman. Mehir kicked out Razia once he had his revenge. Razia, shocked and betrayed, jumped into the well.”

Jumman felt vacuumed and blank. He had no remorse, no hatred and had no fear. He stepped back and walked away.

“Jumman…don’t go my child…they are searching for you. They have gone towards your field. …jumman..jumman” cried kaki.

Jumman was walking but didn’t know where to go. He was not weeping….the tears had dried down. Razia in no more…..Mehir ..Mehir did that to Razia who was like his younger sister. They were best friends. Allahh….is this you world? Images of past, of Razia playing with mehir, Kamaldev singh cajoling Razia…..were passing though his conscience. Jumman kept on walking aimlessly...praying to meet one mob which could free him of all his pain and trouble. He reached home and freed his pair of oxen. They gave Jumman a surprised look and continued eating from the naad. Jumman walked ahead and had no sense of his where about. He reached bridge and could hear the jingles of water flowing beneath.

The reflection of stars in river seemed as the stars are flowing on earth. One of those stars resembled Razia and tears started flowing. He cried inconsolably. He cried for Razia, for all who lost their life to satisfy the greed of politicians, he cried for himself, he cried for Mehir, for kaki, for Babu Kamaldev Singh and for humanity.

Two days later, an unidentified body was found on the bank of river in the nearby village. Police asked babu kamaldev singh to come for identification. Babu kamaldev singh identified the body and said, “It’s of Jumman Miyan, a co-resident of my village.”

Simultaneously, “Alla Hu Akbar Allahhhhhhhhhhhh” announced the mikes fitted on the pillars of the village mosque.

The Journey

It had not changed at all. It remained the same old red brick building with a big clock at the top and both sides flowing as far as I could see. The big bazaar of people….with as many going in and as many coming out. All in a hurry, giving no thought to others and in the process running over other’s leg or colliding with other’s luggage. It was like a race, with no time to show pleasantries or express sorrow. Standing in the sea of people were some black coat wearing people trying to find their prized catch, some more were in maroon robes running around to find the person with the bulkiest luggage and many more were having goods either on their head or hanging sidewise making all sort of noises. Randomly scattered were some stray dogs, cats and numerous rats which could not have found a better place than this in the whole city. I took a closer look at the building and though it had got extended, it was equipped with better facilities and looked better and clean. But it was the mannerism of people and aroma of surrounding that had not changed at all. It was the same old “HOWRAH” railway station, even after 5 years-the last time I saw it.

I took my suitcase and was about enter the building, when a person in maroon robes came forward. “Babuji, I am Santhosh.10 Rupees only” said he and took my suitcase over his head. I wanted to snatch it back but a look at his pale face and endearing eyes didn’t allow me to do that. We reached Platform No. 1 and I paid him “10 Rupees” as demanded and although he was having the suitcase over his head, it was I who felt relieved.

It was 3:30 PM and Coal India express arrived on time. I checked S-1 and entered the compartment towards seat no. 9.

“Chai..Chai” announced one and other followed with “ice cream...ice cream”, “Newspaper….taajo khaboor...Magazines”, “locks...Locks”, and “cold drinks…Water bottle” etc. Passing through the narrow labyrinth of seats, I found seat no. 9 and to my surprise, it was already occupied.

I said, “Hello Sir…It’s my seat”.

He was an old man wearing a spectacle with thick glasses. He looked straight into my eyes...maybe trying to destroy my eye sight by conversing his glance through his lenses. “Man, I have not captured your seat….I am not travelling. Can’t you allow an old man to sit on your seat for a while? How mean of you? Today people have no respect for elders. I am here to see off my son Debu who is at seat no.10. I will get off when the train is about to start. Meanwhile, will you mind sitting on the adjacent seat?” thundered the old man.

“Sir Chai?” asked one of the vendors. “Naa baba..chaie naa” protested the angry old man. I took this opportunity to move away from him and got seated to the adjacent seat, waiting for the train to start.

Pooooooonnnnn….siren went out. All started to leave the compartment and to my surprise it got empty. We were left with around 20 people and the same compartment was full to its capacity, just some minutes ago. “Nothing has changed.” I thought.
The train started running to its full throttle after some time. I arranged my suitcase, got into tracks and opened my writing pad that had novel “Maadhyam” by Mehir in its side pocket.
“Hi….I am debojit….I am extremely sorry for my father’s rude behavior” said Debu, extending his hand of friendship.
“Ohhh….no Problem. Old men do get irritated. It was too crowded as well as noisy at that moment” I explained.
“Are you reading ‘Madhyam’ by Mehir” asked Debu, without giving me a chance to introduce myself.
“No…no...Actually I have already read it. It came out as it was kept along with my writing pad” I replied and kept the novel back in the suitcase.
“I have read all his novels…5 so far….Madhyam being his first. In that case...You are junior to me….you need to catch up with the rest to come closer to me….ha ha ha ha” said the proud Debu.
I looked in his eyes and asked whether he was an ardent fan of Mehir. He replied in affirmative and started explaining, “My association with Mehir started when my father presented me his first novel on my 10th birthday. I grew up with his novels. Every 2-3 years…he would publish another novel and I would be the first to get hold of it. I and my father would compete with each other to complete it first.” It was followed with an extended laughing session.
“Even Mehir would be unaware that he had such ardent fans. He may be writing and leaving the rest for others to judge. I think he is a person who gets inspired by some individuals and situations and writes down the same with fictitious names and backgrounds” I added but debu didn’t like this explanation and his face said all.
He protested, “So do all. Writing is all about inspiration and experiences. Even fictions are a work of imagination with a tinge of author’s personal experiences”
I could only agree with him and decided to keep mum.
He continued, “ Mehir has not published any novel for the last few years. ‘Mausam’ was his last. I heard some rumors that he had left writing. He left his home and got settled in a faraway place, away from his past”.
I could see pain in Debu’s eye. Why does a person get attached to other? Debu never meet Mehir but he is as much disturbed and pained for Mehir’s personal life as Mehir himself.
“I have heard that there was a girl in Mehir’s life and she died of cancer. Mehir left everything after her death. If ever I meet Mehir, I would ask him that how could he leave writing? Though it was his personal work, it added fun, inspiration and values to our lives. I grew up reading his novels. I always tried to emulate the characters of his novels. My family would spend hours discussing his work. How can he take such a rash decision of not writing again? Everyone loses someone close during lifetime but does it mean we stop everything and keep mourning? ”, added Debu.

Debu’s reasoning made me blank. I had no words to say and didn’t want to disturb him anymore. I looked outside the window and the train was still running to its full throttle. I calculated that the train would take another 30 minutes to reach Jamshedpur. I could see rice plantation as far as I could. It was the cultivation time. Much of Jharkhand has been industrialized; though there still remains a major chunk of land that is used for cultivation. The sight of farmers working in an open field with the scorching sun running over, gave me strength to reply to debu. I looked back at him and said,” Debu! Don’t be so sad. It’s all an individual’s decision. There are many better writers. You should start reading their works also.”

“But how can a man leave his flourishing career at such a juncture where he was firmly placed for greater heights…..for the aim that he has worked all though his life?” reasoned firm Debu.

“You already have answered that in our conversation. You yourself said that writing was a work of inspiration and experiences. Mehir would have lost his inspiration with the loss of the lady in his life. Attachment is something that surpasses all the boundaries. You can get attached to anybody. These things are beyond any logic...the same as you got attached with Mehir’s novel. Some are strong enough to withstand any losses in their life…for some like Mehir, it is tough to face the non-existence of someone who was his life. They feel their life is meaningless without them and hence like to get lost where there is nothing to remind of them again.” I countered Debu and saw that the train has reached Jamshedpur.
I took my suitcase and was about to leave when Debu intervened, “It was very nice meeting you. I got answers; for them I was searching for years. I think this conversation will end my quest about Mehir and I would pray to God that may Mehir find other inspiration to write again….his writing inspires us”

I left the compartment and was about to leave but Debu shook my hand and said, “I didn’t get a chance to know about you. May I know your name?” with smile on his face.

I didn’t want to answer his question but a glance at his face didn’t allow me to leave. I answered slowly, “ Mehir…..I am Mehir”. I took my suitcase and got lost in the crowd. I could imagine Debu standing at the compartment gate looking at me, stunned. I had no strength to look back. Today, I had found another inspiration to write again. Today onwards I will write for persons like Debu. I am sure even Mehek would be happy with my decision.

Do or Don't - A Short Story

“Naani, Today I will go inside that Khandahar (Old House)” said Mehir.
“Which Khandahar?” asked Naani.
Mehir replied, “The one that lies behind our school. I have heard many stories about it from my friends. I will check whether they are right or not”
“Buddu(Fool)!! Don’t ever try to enter that Khandahar. Bhoots (Ghosts) reside there. They will kill you and make delicious food out of your parts.” Informed worried Naani, Mehir’s Maternal Grandmother.

These sentences were enough to frighten Mehir and he vowed never to go to that Khandahar. Naani felt worried about Mehir’s adventurous nature. She was looking after Mehir as his parents lived in a village and he was sent to his maternal family, living in the city, for studies. But every day Mehir would do something that would frighten Naani about his safety. Even today she knew that there was no ghost in the Khandhar but felt it safe to frighten him as the old khandhar might be filled with snakes and insects. She thought it safe to keep him away.

Mehir would always pass through the Khandahar while on his way to school…looking closely at it. He would see the mosses all around it. Trees had grown over its walls. The open space infront of it was full of grasses and many small plants. The house was in complete mess. “Why do the bhoots like to live in such a dirty place?” wondered Mehir.

He could not keep his eyes away from the Khandahar whenever he passed through it. He would try to imagine its interior. He would concentrate hard to hear voices from inside. He was attracted towards the mysterious Khandahar but the fear of bhoots would not allow him inside. It was always “DO or DON’T”. He would choose later. It became a daily routine.

The interest in Khandahar kept on increasing day by day. Not a day passed without some new stories being heard about it. Time washed away the fears that were instilled in him by Naani and one fine day Mehir decide that it was enough now, he would go inside the Khandhar today.
He asked his friends that he needed to collect some copies form teacher’s room and would not join them when the school closed. He left alone after some time. The road was empty. He walked fast as he wanted to go inside the Khandahar before somebody could sense his plan. When he reached the Khandahar, a wave of shrill passed through his veins. He controlled his fear and zoomed inside it. By the time he got back to his senses, he was inside it. It was dark. He recaptured his composer and started walking in the darkness. He heard different noises. He kept on moving slowly and suddenly saw red light coming out of one of the rooms. Loud noises were coming from inside. He wanted to run away. He could remember all the words of advice from his Naani. He was sweating. His hands were shaking. He could not walk an inch.

“It will be safe if I look inside the room by hiding myself” thought Mehir. He moved ahead slowly. The noises got louder. He hides himself behind the doors and when he was assured that nobody could see him, he peeps inside the room. The noises were getting irresistible. Finally, when he managed to get a clear view, he was stunned by what he saw. “Ohhh...my God!! Naani was right.” A large flame was burning at the centre of the room. Big monsters were sitted around it and small children were being fried in the fire. Fear gripped his soul. He decided to run away.

Thuddd….Mehir felt something on his shoulder. He looked up…It was a monster looking at him happily. He asked,”who are you?” Mehir fainted.

When he got onto his senses, he was lying on a dirty floor. His hands and legs were tied. A monster was sharpening his kataar(Sickle) in front of him. He sensed his end. He was fully soaked in water due to excessive sweating. He applied all his strength but could not free himself. He started crying. He wanted to run. Mehir promised...”God… Help me! I would never come back here again.” The monster was coming nearer…his eyes were red…Mehir saw his death floating there. As Monster raised his kattar, Mehir closed his eyes.

Dhammm……..Mehir opened his eyes and saw fan running over the roof. He touched his body. He was alive. He was sweating viciously. “Ohhh..it was a bad dream” assured Mehir. He recollected himself and had water from the fridge. He felt better. He moved out of bedroom to balcony. The cool breeze calmed him down. He felt relaxed.

Standing in the balcony of his flat, Mehir’s memory went into the afternoon in college last Friday. Memories of that Afternoon in college filled his senses …the lunch followed by those routine chats with friends and then, on his way back … fight with Mehek… when all those smaller frustrations, those bits n pieces of anger which somehow had got stagnated inside found a way to erupt … taking such a strong force which threw the instant caution of the mind and the deepest love of the heart in to the wind

“Who was wrong?” he thought. Quite possibly no one.

Many a time one’s expectation outweighs other’s act and hence it gets complicated. He was aware that he might be talking to Mehek for the last time. He knew that Mehek would not meet him again, pained by his behavior. He had expected Mehek to go wild at him but she was as cool as ever. She heard him silently and moved away slowly.

But everything we do, does come back at us… just the form in which they come remain a mystery – and here it came, with all its cruel claws at him – the effects of those bits n pieces of stupidity trying to take away all that genuine feel and all that abundant care weighing on his heart, away from him. It was the same Mehir who fought with Mehek well aware of the outcome and then suddenly in midnight he was feeling bad, that too after a week.

“Why is it so?” he wondered. Maybe that dream had a message for him.

He never met Mehek after that incident. He had anticipated the outcome of the fight but then again he did it. It was again “DO or DON’T”. This time he had chosen the former. Naani had warned him never to go to that Khandahar but he went and found himself in danger. He could now decrypt the dream. He fought with Mehek well aware of the outcome and again he is in mesh today. He felt choked. An urge to call Mehek and say “Sorry” came but….he knew that she would never receive the call.” It’s all over” whispered Mehir. He looked into the sky. It was a beautiful moon in a cool night. A lonely night. He could remember Mehek going away. Will she look back again? That might never happen. Mehir closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His eyes were moist. He wished it was also a dream.