Tuesday 31 December 2013

Living Day-to-Day

Shailesh’s mother was suffering from a disease, about which I didn’t know much. The doctors had given a strange name to it. The family was one of the reputed families but the sufferings inside the family were persistent to not disappear. Shailesh has always tried to be nice and hopeful. He was one of the very calm and peaceful personalities I ever knew.
“It has been almost eleven years.” Shailesh said.
“We have been visiting doctors. There has been regular medication.” his father added. His voice was cracked, with some weariness and exhaustion dissolved in it. “I long to sit in the sunshine on the terrace. But I can’t climb the stairs. I’m too weak for that.” said the lady encircled by the quilt. There were short sentences, partially broken followed by long uninterrupted moments of complete quietude.
“The doctor of FORTIS hospital, Dr. Amish, says that she will be better soon.”
“The previous doctors had been claiming the same.”, replied his father.
During the conversation, Shailesh’s sister entered the room with the tray in her hand. Her striking eyes spoke of high ambitions she had. After serving me some snacks and tea, she went to the other room to study. Barely a few minutes had passed when the old man in the house called her.
“Make me a cup of tea, your dadi says she is not feeling well.”
“Okay dadaji,” was the obedient reply.
I realised how different chores in the house swallowed the few hours she wanted to devote to the books. But, was there any choice?Life rarely comes with alternatives.
Their father is a small businessman. The expenses of the treatment of the lady forces him to toil more. The fatigue surfaces on his face when he speaks. Shailesh himself is pursuing graduation from Panjab University. It was after his first year that he realised her mother’s health had worsened. Now he spends most of his days at home and misses the routine life at the University. The illness,
she said, was affecting the other parts of the body too.
The walls of the room had a number of sea landscapes and few happy photographs of the family. There were smiling, bright faces in the frames, which now had vanished. Endless dullness had saturated the surroundings. It was quite apparent that the complete focus of the family had shifted to her health.
I remembered the time when my mother was in a similar condition. It was one of the hardest times for the family. We would help her in every chore of the house. Sometimes, we had to do all the work. There was helplessness, but there was hope. Mummy would weep sometimes in the middle of the night. She did not want to bother us for every little thing but, was there any choice? There were clouds of sadness.
There were rains as well.During the little time I spent there, I spoke very less. With a heavy heart and wishing her a soon recovery, I walked out of the room, followed by Shailesh. There was an atmosphere of complete silence. I could not find any words to suit
the moment.
“See you soon.” I nodded, smiled and started walking outside the house. The fog had become very dense and the visibility had decreased in the same proportion. Nothing, beyond a few yards, was visible.
Take a step forward and you’ll see what life has in stores for you.The freezing temperature made me shiver. I tried not to stop, for one may not find sources of heat in this chilling cold. It just goes on.

Sunday 27 October 2013

A Story


The three bodies in front of me are not moving at all. Other than the moving fan, which adds to the cold atmosphere, everything else is still. The waste wrappers of eatables lie on the desk, disturbing the sight again and again. The eyes are half open, ready to be hypnotized to the sleep, at the extended night. And at the little washroom there in the left corner, there is no light but darkness. The darkness of the little room spreads to this room and overlaps its light. There is something heavy, something too huge to swallow.



On this occasion, I find my imagination recalling what the previous night contained for me, for all seven of us rather. Those who were unconscious had a great advantage, but those who did not find it worth sleeping on a Saturday night got something valuable. It all started with a moaning sound that was coming from the top. This was told to us by other friends in the PG. So it was interesting for all of us to explore the source of the sound. Shivam took his imagination to a wrong place and was predicting some love making in the direction. Ravinder was assuming it to be crying of a six year old. But we had to be confirmed. So two among us, thrilled and nervous, climbed up the stairs and sneaked through the well lit corridor to announce that the second floor is clear. This was a clear indication that the roof had stores of secrets. They progressed their way upwards in the same fashion. The hearts were beating louder than anything. The steps became shorter and shorter. There was some old broken furniture lying on the left side of the stairs, which was partially visible in the light coming from the gate of the terrace. The leader of the army, Deepak, was trying to have a look in the partial rays of light and finally concluded with a sigh that it was nothing but two cats and their cries.



All of us began to scream realizing the folly and returned to the room with some relief. Since the topic was fresh for the night, the room was locked from inside and the conversation started among the seven. Anyone who had ever heard of the most interesting stories of ghosts and corpses began explaining in the bright room, until he was interrupted by some laughter or another 'claimed' more interesting story. What lay outside the box, full of darkness was something surprising. There was a knock at the wooden door. The expression on all of the faces was of suspicion and dubiosity. All were left clueless. Still for that precise moment. Aashish, who at times claimed to be the strongest was also scared. It was Shivam, the sexologist in the group, who stepped ahead, slowly towards the source of the sound. We all stepped back waiting for the disaster to happen.



As the door opened, there was some darkness which entered the room along with a tall guy. He was Salim, Phew! We were panting as heavens, and welcomed him inside the room. He was a smart guy, blessed with a good height and a pleasing personality. 'What beautiful mehfil you all have organized.' 'And your coming adds to its beauty, Salim.', greeted I suppressing my ghastly emotions. We all sat on the beds and chairs. As the discussion progressed, our obsessed minds made the new comer aware of the fact that the content of today's discussion is nothing merry. Aashish started throwing another story of his village and the witches there. 'Could you please switch off the light?', interrupted Salim and added, 'The light is too radiant'. Some of us agreed and asked to switch off the light. But the bulb of the washroom was turned on, which then made the room dim. After a few minutes, Salim again interrupted, this time the story of Anshul. 'Do you all want to hear a story?'
Most of us nodded in yes, unaware of what he had in his mind. 'Do you really want to hear one? I have a masterpiece.' We agreed waiting for the magic tale to boost the spirit of the night.



So Salim took his seat in the center chair of the room and all of us circled around him. 'The story dates back to thirty years ago. There was a house in Aligarh, in which resided a man, tall and strong. He had left the house twenty-three years ago and migrated to Bombay for business purpose. And now, his son, Ajmal had returned to the long forgotten house. (It is believed in Islamic culture that any place abandoned for forty days is occupied by the Jinhaat.) So, many people in the neighborhood feared that there might be some existence of Jinhaat after such a long period. But the young rationalist man ignored their advice.'



'He was rational', distracted Aashish. 'Who anymore believes in Jinhaat?', Anurag provided stamina to his argument. 'Arre listen for once', continued Salim. 'Don't detract me from the story.', and he continued with his anecdote. 'For the first few days, everything was fine. Ajmal would remain busy with his business and sleep, and sometimes his friends, Shahzad. He also would visit some of the houses in neighborhood and interact with them. They were often seen together, as it was Shahzad who had helped him settle in the new place. But after eight nights, Ajmal felt there was something wrong in the house. One fine day, he felt some tremors in the old wooden cupboard. But he took it too lightly and continued his stay. This took place for some nights but the man, ignoring the little indications.



'That was a fine Sunday morning, Shahzad had enjoyed a good feast at a friend's house last night. The Sunday was to be spent with the new friend in the town, Ajmal. He reached his home and shouted- Ajmal, Where are you, my friend. He entered the room and discovered that he was not in the house. The walls of the house had developed cracks with the span of time. The paint had fainted and the wall was covered with a few paintings and a calender. Not finding his friend, he left the house towards the railway track, at the edge of the city. There was a crowd there surrounding something in the middle. As he struggled through the crowd, Shahzad was shocked to watch his friend's body lay on the railway track.'



There was a momentary pause in his speech. We all were stunned. This was almost impossible. How would a man suddenly reach the railway track? Was it a suicide? Was it a murder? Who would murder such a nice man? Was it really done by the spirits who lived in that house? Many questions were flooding in our mind. The pause was necessary, to digest the story we had learnt. And the narrator was well aware of that. He did not rush through the story. Slowly and steadily, he was uncovering the great story. 'After this, Ajmal's younger sister Sakina came to that house. She was so much attached to her brother that she wanted to spend her rest of the life with the memories of her brother. She knew that would hurt her, but she was ready. She believed that this was the only way she would be the closest to her brother.



'Sakina was friends with a girl in her neighbourhood. This also helped her to maintain a contact with the neighbours. She would often chat with her, sometimes had their meals together. The time was passing and after some days, Sakina too faced the same problem. There were some shakes in the house, that would make the objects in the house tremble. Also while sleeping, she had heard some voices which threatened her to leave the house. But the strong willed lady did not leave the old-abandoned house. One morning, there was a little pungent smell in the street. And some of the folks discovered that the source of the smell was the old house. In the verandah, there were a few trees and bushes. There were the withered leaves, which were piled to form a huge heap. And under the heap was found the decaying body.'



The dominating silence, the strong darkness and the narrator's voice of unknown long lost stories had woven a web of illusion on our minds. A few of us had slept, the lucky ones. Those who would miss the story and the horror, which was trapped in the narrator's eyes. There was complete stillness, no movement whatsoever. There was hunger for more while enough had been taken in to be digested. Salim continued his tale of horrors, 'After a few years, a young man came to live in that house. He would not speak to anyone. He had no friends or no contact he had with the neighbours. There was only one characteristic of his. Whenever he would pass the tea stall at the corner of the street, he would wish the old man Aadaab. The old man, whose mind was an epitome of peace and tranquility, would kindly reply the young man. The same was with the solitary young man. He looked lost in peace, stable, untouched from all the worldly worries and wars. There was a different level of intimacy between the two. They never talked a lot, they might knew each other's name, but none of them would miss wishing the other.



'One fine morning, the young man did not appear. Already been the witness of two suspicious deaths, some worry had coagulated in his mind. And his disappearance consolidated the anxiousness. He sent his grandson to look for the young man. "I'm completely fine, It is some dizziness, nothing else." informed the little boy. The old man was relieved after becoming aware of his well being. The next day also the young man was nowhere to be seen. The little boy this time reported that he was sleeping in the room. That evening, the old man himself visited the old house. He straight away went to the room of the young man.'



'The funeral procession of the young man was the last from the old house. His body was in a terrible state, swollen, half-eaten, decaying and smelling very strongly. The Forensic reports indicated clearly that the young man had died at least a week ago.' He was finished. His long tale had done the job. No one after that dared to enter the sealed house again. Salim left the room and went upstairs, leaving our minds to imagine the most extreme moments of the story. Aashish was left pale, fear reflecting from his eyes. With a false hope that we could sleep after this tale, we closed our eyes and slid in the bed. No one dared to switch off the light, which was turned on after Salim had left.

Friday 25 October 2013

The Dragonfly

The Dragonfly




Travelling the Terrace time late
Yet another moon-lit night
Creating self... Beyond,
On grey wall is thrown,
A tall-small fly form of Dragons...
Knocked by blowing breeze.
The wings like the shade,
Of ice.

Wore by eyes a burgundy shade.
Skinny bent legs, now deny
To support it.

Green Helmet of safety,
Proves futile on the back.
And a long tail, stepping down,
To that sharp sting,Harmless.

How would you wander in gardens.
I catching you, opposites sometimes.
How that buzz stole my attention.
To green, from that black board.

How you would irritate us,
Arriving in almost lost soccer game.
Or a story of dragons, those blues n pinks.
And greens fantasized toons!

Keats' pen at time walked,
"Thing of Beauty is a Joy Forever!"
You bring me shadows,
Of the gone, Sweet 'Rose' Memories.