Unrequited..

All I can remember is the cold and the darkness. I was born into it, grew up with it all around my existence and never knew that there was a brighter, more lustrous world up above until the day I was old enough to venture out into it. The darkness was my comfort, the deep tunnels my retreat. The little light that filtered through very rarely was an abhorrence, a plague that I avoided, fearing it was somehow potent enough to shatter my peace.

When finally the day arrived for me to go seeking out provisions for the community, an unnatural premonition of fear gripped me. I felt sick and dizzy, dragging my feet slowly through the familiar tunnels, towards the alien shimmering world above. I breathed deeply, urging my fears to lay silent and cold as with ever increasing audacity I trod through the dark underground maze.

Gradually soft light filled the tunnels, steadily dispelling the ever consistent darkness of my life, and with a sudden outburst of willfulness I rushed ahead and broke free of the sinister fear as sunlight filled my soul. I was blinded and lost, yet my life had changed forever. As my eyes slowly adjusted to the light, I was dazzled by the brilliance of the world around me. It was beautiful and astonishing, its hues filling my heart with warmth.

It was then that I saw her, standing quietly under the brilliance of the sun, her dusky skin glowing with pleasant health. She seemed to be lost in some thought of her own while the sun rays reflected off her whole being. She seemed surreal in her trance like state and I desperately wished to touch that warm skin, to feel its glow radiating through mine. And I kept coming back again and again each day to drink in her beauty. I loathed the dark tunnels now, their cold and gloom a stark contrast to everything up above. Her beauty was balm to my existence and the desire to feel her warmth kept steadily growing with each passing day.

It has been months and collecting provisions for the community is a tedious task. Yet I tread through the black tunnels towards the ever brilliant surface and look forward to seeing her up there each day. Of late I have watched her sleep, seemingly more exhausted, her glow gradually fading. A dark worry haunts her sleep and manifests itself around her eyes while her health diminishes like the setting sun on the horizon. Her skin deflates closer to her bones and a dark omen fills my heart.

So here I stand tonight, watching the moonlight fill her room with its pale hue. I creep through its vast expanse, my accelerated heart beat deafening to my own senses. The covers on her bed are soft and warm and exhilaration, thrill and ecstasy are almost blatantly palpable to my senses. Her hand lies upturned on the bed and as I stealthily climb up her wrist a deadly cold infuses my body. The warmth I had so yearned for fails to fill my being as I feel no pulse beating life through her. I recoil in fear, her death reaching out to me like suffocating tendrils craving to softly enclose round my neck. The room is suddenly flooded in pitch black darkness and I escape to the ever present deep tunnels to seek solace.

360 degrees..

I looked into his eyes as I fired the shot. There was no fear, no regret. The bullet ripped through his innards and his eyelids closed over those intrepid brown pools. And as his lifeless wrinkled body hit the mattress, I hurriedly stocked all his valuables into my backpack and left the place. As I jumped off the window and hit the solid ground with a loud thud, my eyes flew open and a deep silent night greeted me. I could hear distant barks and my own ears picked up almost inaudible scraps and skittering around. I looked behind me at the ivy covered, melancholy bungalow from the dream. My master lay asleep upstairs while I stood sentinel on the grounds, my eyes luminous and fiery in the dark.

The dream had haunted me ever since my master had rescued me from those vicious stray of my kind on the streets. My feeble young body, bruised and bloody, had lain in the cold, shivering from the aftermath of their assault when master had cocooned me in his warm embrace and brought me to this refuge of his ancestors. This melancholy bungalow became my domicile while master’s father (looking down with a deep contempt from the painting in the central passage) started haunting my dreams. An old wrinkled man who looked back at me with scorn while I murdered him in cold blood. The dream felt so real and familiar that it always left me with an inexplicable remorse, an eerie qualm that unsettled my peace and quiet.

Lost in this reverie, I shot up almost instantly as a strange scent rippled through my nostrils. My ears pricked and my senses instantly went on alert. Muffled footsteps, treading carefully inside the house, the smell unfamiliar and dangerous, had triggered my hyperactive senses and I immediately made for my master’s room. I ran like a lunatic, my heart beat roaring in my ears as a familiar bloodlust mugged my senses. Adrenaline and fear rushed to the surface and blurred my morals. I would tear away the intruder’s flesh, shred it to pieces and taste his blood.

 As I tore into master’s bedroom and leapt on the bed, placing myself between my master and this stranger, I looked into the thief’s eyes. There was no remorse in those desperate pools while mine looked back unflinchingly without any fear, without regrets. As I bared my teeth, he fired the shot. The bullet ripped through my innards and my eyelids slowly closed over my luminous fearless eyes. And as my lifeless body hit the mattress, the thief stocked all my master’s valuables into his backpack and jumped off the window.

A Shard of Glass...

As the window shattered and disintegrated into a thousand pieces, I came alive. Glistening in the sunlight, scattering its rays to infinity and beyond, I realised for the first time what it was like to breathe, to feel the light on your face, to touch the cool breeze caressing your jagged ends.

There I lay amidst my siblings, all so bizarrely alike in our differences when we heard a sudden shrill cry followed by a cacophony of diverse notes that felt musical to my ears. I smiled to myself. Oh!! The joy of being alive!! Of letting it sweep you away with its temptations!!!

And then she arrived!! The large brown demoness, spiteful in her fury, glowering down from above and consuming all the light in her rage. Darkness enveloped us all and we lay cowering in our fears. She swung her enormous arms about herself and swooped down from above, clutching her long slender weapon, swinging it again and again in her wrath until I was flung to a pitch black corner while she gathered my siblings in her arms, tearing me apart from my family forever.

In this remote darkness I lay for days, mourning my loss, watching her shadow move about. Fear and gloom consumed my days and I craved to feel the sun rays, the stale breadth intensifying my need to sigh with the cool breeze. I felt closer to death, urging its dark cocoon to enclose me in its folds when I felt the touch of cool moonlight. For a moment I felt like I was in a dream; there lay my siblings adorned artistically around a red sheath which the demoness had proudly placed over by her lair’s entrance. They shone with joy, cheerily scattering the pale moonlight, alive and well cared for.

Anger flared within my depths, a rage of unrealistic proportions, consuming me from within like the darkness that had nurtured me for so long. Neglect, loneliness and loss heaving and crashing like the waves of the stormy ocean around my being until all I sought was vengeance. Patience became my friend, rage my ally. I could no longer watch my siblings glittering with joy in the sunlight. Patiently I waited, willing her to materialise in person, my awareness constantly following her shadow.

And at long last she came, unsuspecting and unwary she drifted into my corner. She loomed over me, large and majestic, as slowly she lowered her foot over my very body. Red blood came gushing out and her shrill cries filled the air. The scent of sweet blood filled my nostrils, joy flowed through my soul. And as she picked me up and threw me out into the bright sunshine, drenched in her blood I shattered into a million glittering pieces, finally finding peace.

Dearly Departed...

So there I lay, my physical body ghastly white and strangely eerie in its death slumber, rotting slowly away as the crowd sheathed in black moved quietly about. I stood there behind the priest, a transparent shadow of my former self, looking down at the dead body I so strongly wanted to possess yet again. My body had something clutched tightly in its fingers, holding on to it like some talisman of strength. And as I watched the crowd slowly gathered around, mournful and gloomy, whispering softly amongst themselves.

As the funeral proceeded, I looked around at the few faces I had held dear to my heart. They stood holding hands, tears streaming down their faces silently. I was strangely unmoved, unable to feel anything but restlessness. I stared and stared at the crowd feeling no sorrow and no longer craving their love. All I felt was a deep need to possess my physical body and fulfilling some unresolved forgotten purpose that loomed somewhere in between the blurred memories of my past.

I drifted away slowly from the crowd trying to recall what it was I so strongly craved even after death, when all physical and social temptations seemed to have deserted me. And suddenly the crowd parted to reveal a pit dug deep in the ground. The coffin was slowly lowered, its confines holding my decaying body. Unfamiliar faces gathered around the box, softly throwing back the brown earth over the coffin, returning the body to nurture the earth it rose from, with its remnants. As the earth fell over me, shrouding me softly with darkness, my vision blurred. The voices became softer, my transparent self that I had so strongly been aware of diminishing softly and disappearing as more earth fell over my coffin.

I was now desperate, trying hard to recall what it was I so strongly craved. And as my vision and senses blurred further, it came back to me like a flash of lightning in the darkness. And as I faded away slowly into nothingness my awareness clutched tightly around the pen in my fingers knowing desperately somewhere that it wanted to be remembered. 

A Little Braveheart..

Chintu ran as fast as he could, sweat pouring down his shirt like tributaries joining the rivers, his breadth fast and uneven. He had only 5 minutes to make it to the theater. He would not miss the movie for his life. He had been saving for months, helping Jaggu polish shoes by the roadside after the morning school. His school shirt was soaked to the skin, the heat draining all his energy. Yet he ran, and finally made it to the theater just a minute before the show was due. After he had bought the ticket, he hurried inside. He could already hear the blare of music from within. Chintu sat down , whistles and whoops followed the grand entry of the actor. A broad smile lit his face, finally he would see it. The movie he had been dreaming about for weeks. Finally.

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Chintu entered the ‘basti’. Scores of pretty little houses done in vivid shades of pink, green, blue n yellow lined the two sides of the road; nearly naked brown kids with beautiful soulful eyes ran about playing while the women sat in groups talking and working at the same time. A constant lively buzz emanated from the ‘basti’ while the old smoked beeri and sat looking lost amidst the incessant bustle. Chintu walked on, lost in the daring adventures of the hero and scheming images in his mind where an older version of himself fought the villains with almost surprising strength n valour. So when he saw the other kids push a little girl away from them amidst loud mockeries n jeering, he was almost beside himself with rage. It was his turn to prove his bravery and live up to the bold antics of the hero he worshipped. He walked up to the kids looking all worldly wise and serious and asked them, his voice quivering slightly, ’Is this the way to behave with girls? Do you have no sense of honour and respect? ’.

The kids in question all looked at each other in surprise. Chintu was one of them and it was almost betrayal on his end to stand up for the girl from the newly founded complex nearby. The huge building recently erected beside the ‘basti’ housed innumerable apartments that were almost nearly empty. The little girl had haunted the confines of the basti almost since the day she had seen the kids running and playing about oblivious to the loneliness that she suffered in that huge apartment all day. However, she had been unprepared for the haughty disdain and scorn that the children had meted out to her; it had taken her little time to grasp that she was not one of them. Yet her heart was no longer willing to stay holed up inside the walls erected around her life. So she looked with almost joyous eyes at Chintu when he stood up for her and it did strange things to him. He had nevertheless more pressing issues at hand and it would not do to dwell on her happy face.

‘She is not one of us Chintu. How can you stand up for her?’, said Jaggu the young cobbler.

‘Who are you to decide that? All she wants is a chance to know us and play with us. Or do you want to take the issue to Amu?’, replied Chintu. Amu was the oldest and wisest man in the basti. All matters of relevance were taken to him and he was equally feared and respected by all. His blind grey eyes almost immediately struck terror in the hearts of the kids and they tended to avoid the porch he sat reclining in all day. However now it was a matter of utmost importance and they had no doubt that Amu would stand up for the girl.

‘We are old enough to make our own decisions Chintu. I see no point in taking matters to Amu’, said Jaggu.

Chintu was adamant. ’We either take the matter to Amu or we let her play with us. I can see how old enough you are to take nasty decisions.’ Jaggu’s face flamed and it was with all his might he controlled the fury waging within him. Yet he knew he was defeated and it would not do to lose the favour of his friend over petty issues like this girl.

‘Fine, she may join us. But am warning you she is not one of us. You will see one day. Come on Chintu, drop that bag and join us. Whats your name?’, asked Jaggu to the girl.

‘Tamina, but you all can call me Tamu’, she replied shyly.

‘Tamu here’s the rules. The game's called -------. We hope you are good enough’, said one of the kids scathingly.

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Tamu’s life slowly became livelier and the kids, in their innocence, were too merry to grudge their playmate. In the afternoons they all gathered after school to play their favourite games and their loud shouts and noise filled the area and almost added a joyous tilt to their struggling lives. Tamu and Chintu were inseperable. It was almost as if his standing up for her in her loneliest  hours had forged an invisible thread of bonding between the two. Tamu would often spend entire afternoons at the basti, while her parents were more than glad to see that she was no longer sitting musing and trying to accustom herself to the new life they had had to thrust on her. On Chintu’s tenth birthday she got him a big ball that had Chintu almost screaming for joy while he gifted her a doll made out of stones on her eighth birthday that took pride of place in her shelf.

 Yet fate has a way of refusing to run to plan, shattering all in its wake to destroy stagnancy and crush innumerable hearts along the way. So when the owner of the land sold off the basti to some promoter, mayhem struck the lives of these people. The pretty colourful houses were bull dozed to the grounds and it advanced on the basti like a huge predator consuming all in its wake. It’s like their lives changed in a matter of seconds. Chintu’s family moved off to some other slum and his father was forced to stop his education.  He took on the job of working at stalls and later, at the age of fifteen, took on the responsibility of riding a rickshaw, helping his father run the family on their meager incomes. Sometimes when he would cross the cinemas, he would see posters of his hero flaunting his dashing looks and smiling like he had no care in the world and think back to those days at the basti when life had been so much simpler and beautiful. Now he no longer visited the cinemas, saving money to survive that had become increasingly difficult after they had lost everything. He toiled day after day and often hoped he would encounter Tamu someday. The joy that would lit her eyes on finding her old friend and the smile that would brighten her young face would be more than enough for him.

So as he sat outside the college gates watching the innumerable students trickling out, hoping to find customers, he was almost prepared to wrangle the best bargain out of the female calling him as he turned around saying ‘Bhaiya, how much will it cost to Chowrasta?’. And as the long awaited joy lit his face, there was no sign of recognition on her’s.

Little Things..

A child always dreams of growing up. The day he/she moves from primary to high school, from pencils to pens, from ruled papers to blank copies, from knickers to jeans, etc he/she is one more step closer to this transition. I remember the day when I held my first fountain pen. I felt so grown up and wisely and worldly mature. All that mattered at that point was growing up and seeing the world and now that we are grown up all that matters is going back to those blissful days of oblivion. Just the other day I got down from the metro and accidentally took a longer route to the entrance. And found myself in a passage full of drawings. I was dumbfounded for a moment and couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to those drawings. All of them were drawn by kids between the age group of maybe 9 to 11. And they were beautiful, portraying how much we have when there are millions out there in this nation who can barely afford two square meals a day. The thoughts gone behind the drawings humbled me and I started recalling all those painting competitions my mother would drag us kids too.

As I stood there gazing at the hundreds of pictures I looked around to see and was stunned to notice no one but myself standing there and gazing into the pictures. The crowd hurried by in a rush, pushing each other in their haste to reach the exit as soon as possible. None seemed to be aware of the drawings on the walls; some would gaze with blank looks and then hastily look away as if those drawings would infect their minds with poison. Adults seem to forget and appreciate the small things in life; the nostalgia of childhood memories, the beauty of gazing into the night sky, the joy of being childish at times, of spending lazy weekends having breakfast in bed, of tripping and falling and getting up again, running around the playgrounds chasing friends, blowing bubbles and acting crazy at times. No one can even comprehend of finding peace and beauty in a metro station and very few people look out for it. We rush through life like zombies struggling to survive and prove ourselves. Make impossible wishes, look out of the window of the bus when going to office, go on a painting spree (even if you are terrible at it) and help make someone’s day worthwhile. Because in the end you do not want to leave this world with regrets; you want to take great memories with you and make your presence felt even after you die. You want to live on in the little things that bring joy to the people you love; in the garden you built for the kids to play around, in the hammock u made for your wife to lie on, in the photographs you took on a family vacation and the friendship you so willingly gave to those who needed it. Because all that matters in the end is not to become an insignificant figment in someone’s memory; what matters is living on in their hearts.

Mirages...

The human nature is a complex study, a finely spun web intricately woven so that all threads are interlinked and entwined. Defying all caution it is almost always judgmental of varieties in its domain. Since my childhood I have often heard that we all leave behind an image when we interact with others. This image is a joint culmination of our actions, beliefs and presentation. Living in Kolkata has been a revelation in many ways as it presents a wide variety of human natures to study and judge. The first impression is like a mirage; a delusion we are led to believe as per the object wills us to. This delusion can be powerful; a shallow person at first can seem to have surprising depth and we may be swayed to believe a dishonest man to be the most honest man ever existed. We pass through life mostly holding on to this mirage as most people walk past leaving behind nothing but a delusion. As soon as a little intimacy is encountered, the true nature starts unfolding.

Let me give you an instance. Last August I met an elderly man, solely devoted to his religious cult and believed to have forged an image of a benevolent benefactor to many. Tall and impressive he strikes instant respect in his devotees and sways them easily with his beliefs and views. Such a religious and pious man can hardly try to exploit victims but as time passed I saw another side to this man. This man is fanatically obsessed with money, making unjustified demands on people whom he believes are unlikely to protest. The image I had of him was a mirage that hides a more human side to his nature. As time ravels we become familiar with both the good and bad within. These revelations are often shocking and damaging. Travelling by train I have often encountered helpful people, rude people and people who are not bothered as to anything besides themselves. We pass through life with these mirages; touching just the tip of the iceberg as we sail. But we do stop at times to sit down and try to break the delusions we live with. This is when we develop bonds for life; friendship, love, enmity, admiration. . We look for compatibility in this variety and develop bonds as per our needs. It is our nature to seek company. It is our nature to seek emotional attachment. This is what I believe makes us so unique, the ability to feel and analyse and hold on to the bonds we so intricately develop. These bonds are for lifetime; it is like the glimpse of an oasis in the desert. Mirages give you hope, oases give u the elixir needed to live. We humans are beautiful and complex.In our own way we are  intricately linked to each other like threads in a vast seemingly endless web called life.