Retired Hurt

Chapter A

‘What’s wrong with him? He seems very weak’, my good friend subbu asked me while I was taking Lin for a walk. Subbu knew us pretty well. We have been living in the same community for years before he went to the US to be with his son for a while. I would see him daily while I walked Lin, my 8 year old dog. The question was very relevant and disturbing. Because that would mean all our fears were true. Lin was not the same anymore. I tried to take him to the vet, but the vet confirmed that there is nothing physically wrong with him. But then we all knew what the problem was.

“He has been acting a bit strange, lately”, I told subbu.

“I can see that. He would be all over me by now, otherwise”, ranted Subbu. Of course the enthusiasm in Lin was something anyone could notice. He was one of the most outgoing and aggressive dogs back then. He wouldn’t let anyone come near bittu, my 9 year old son. They were the best buddies. They still are. He likes him more than anyone else in this world. But things took a nasty turn one day last summer. At 35 degrees it was one of the cooler summer days.

Our house faced the beach. Thanks to my Granddad who had bought it in his good times. It thus became a center for all events. Family get together, Friends pop-ins, kids play area. All in a single storied apartment built under 4 cents area. And the terrace – The terrace was the most sought after place. The beach view from the terrace is something that everyone seemed to keep coming back for. But all of them were scared of one thing – Lin. It took a while before he became friends with anyone. May be because of the way we brought him up or may be because he was a German shepherd and he just likes to scare people.

I was inside our home, watching the India Australia test series. My wife had gone to her sister’s place and I was more than happy to watch over Bittu. More of cricket than Bittu. Bittu had invited his new found friend over. In the afternoon, Harsh came in with him and they started building their Lego blocks. I hate to see kids playing interiors. I kept quiet and let them be for a while. But soon after the constant chatter made me lose my temper. I instructed them to go out and play.

Bittu and Harsh ran outside and I went back to my cricket. It was tea time and they were analyzing how India should approach the third innings. That is when it happened. I heard a loud scream. I wasn’t sure if it was Bittu screaming or Harsh. I ran outside and saw Bittu gasping for breath, tears pouring down his face as he shouted, “Papa.. Harsh.. Harsh” pointing towards the back. I ran to the backside of our house and I saw the most horrible thing ever. Harsh lay there in a pool of blood. Lin was standing next to him sniffing him, barking at me. He had fallen down from the terrace. I froze and couldn’t move. I gathered myself up. Being a selfish father, I rushed to Bittu and sent him inside the house and locked him up. I took Harsh in my arms and ran to the road. By the time I had reached the hospital, Harsh had passed away.

The following few days were the worst days of my life. I had to lie to my son, first saying that his friend was in hospital and he will be OK. And then after a few days I had to tell him that they had moved to a different city for better treatment. But the anguish in his mother’s eyes is something that will haunt me throughout my life. I had to take sessions after sessions with my Guru to get myself to believe that it was an accident and none of us had anything to do with it. But Lin did not have that luxury.

The day after Harsh died, I was looking for Lin and he never came down from the Terrace. I thought that he sensed the things that had happened and was feeling sad. But then Bittu told me what happened the day before. Harsh was not aware that we had a dog. He was terrified of dogs. As they started playing catch-catch, Harsh had ran behind Bittu with full energy. Lin saw this and he started chasing Harsh. Harsh thought that Lin wouldn’t follow him to the terrace and hence ran up there. And when Lin stood right in front of him at the terrace and he had nowhere to go, out of panic, he jumped. 

Lin went into a depression post that. He wouldn’t come down from the terrace for days together. He wouldn’t eat at first and then he stopped drinking too. We brought a vet who came in to see Lin, but Lin was not cooperative. Even the injections that the vet gave to make him feel hungry wouldn’t have any effect on him. His mind was locked on the spot where Harsh jumped from.

I narrated the story to Subbu and he suggested that I take Lin to a different location. It meant that I had to leave my house and go stay elsewhere.

It was a tough choice to make. We all loved him with all our hearts. But the love was not enough to bring him back to being the cheerful guy he was. Finally we had to let go of him. The vet suggested putting him to sleep. But I couldn’t have lived with myself if I had done that. We left him at an adoption center. I just prayed that he would heal someday and I could go back and get him. Harsh’s mother had lost their son. But we lost someone in our family too.

Chapter B

“Ms.Mehnaz, do you plead guilty or not guilty”

She kept mum in the court. The prosecutor stood up to register his protest towards the time the accused was taking. But before she could say anything further, Mehnaz collapsed to the floor. She did not faint. She was not crying either. She just kept looking at the clock that was hanging in the court room and did not utter a word. The judge adjourned the session and asked the accused to be taken back to prison. The court for juvenile was adjourned until the next Monday.

Mehnaz was being escorted to the police vehicle through the court’s corridor. A good crowd had gathered in front of the court holding banners, “Mehnaz – We are with you”. Most were her friends.

The trial went on for a year. After a year Mehnaz was sentenced guilty. But since her lawyers were able to convince the court that she had done it in self-defense, she was let go with a 1 year sentence. She had already spent the year in jail and walked free from the court. She was pressurized later that month to give an interview to one of the more influential news broadcasters. Threatened would be a more apt word.

“Did you do it? Or were you being framed? No one from your family have spoken ever since the incident”, the broadcaster asked  

Mehnaz looked away from the anchor to her uncle who stood beside the camera gesturing her with folded hands to speak up.

“Yes. I did it. In my full consciousness. I killed my dad”.

“Why? Your lawyers stated that you did it in self-defense. What did he do to you?”

“He did nothing to me”

“Then why did you shoot him?”

Tears rolled down Mehnaz’s face as the images rolled in front of her eyes. “I shot him”, she kept repeating those words.

Finally when the anchor had almost given up, Mehnaz spoke.

“I came back from my painting classes around 3 PM. I had actually bunked the class since I was in no mood to sit through a lecture on art. The house was locked. My mom had gone to the college for giving some special lectures that day. I usually have a spare key, but that day my dad had taken it from me saying he lost his key. There is usually a spare key at my aunt’s place. I walked up to my aunt’s house two streets away and got the keys”

“When I entered the house, I heard noises coming out of the master bedroom. I ignored it at first, but then the noise seemed like someone was trying to scream for help. I pushed open the door and saw my dad lying on top of someone. I first thought he was having an affair and I started closing the door. But then I noticed that it was not an elderly person. It was a girl and she had her face covered by a pillow. My dad pulled up his pants and he stood there confused. He started threatening me to keep mum about the whole scene. By that time the girl gathered herself up. And to my horror, it was my friend. I don’t want to take her name. She was sobbing her lungs out trying to cover herself up.

I knew my dad kept a revolver in his drawer. I pulled it open and took it out. He stood firm laughing at me and smirking at me. But when I pulled the hammer, he realized I might fire. My friend kept screaming to me to pull the trigger. She shouted at me to hand over the revolver to her and that she will shoot. She said he has been raping her for months now. And threatened to ruin her future if she told this to anyone. I sat down on the floor crying with the gun in my hand. My dad walked towards me to take the gun away from me. He held on to the gun and tried to force it out of my hand. I wriggled and got it out of his hand. Then I fired the revolver. It was the first time I ever fired one. I had seen him shoot it once though. I lost aim and it hit the wall clock. I pulled the hammer again and fired again. This time I hit him in his ribs. Once he fell down, I shot 4 times in his groin. I did not want him to die. I wanted him to live and tell the story. But he died”

Chapter Z

Mehnaz was sent to rehabilitation center later that year where she spent all the time with fellow inmates. But she was not able to get out of the rut she was in. She would stare at the wall clock for hours together and cry. As soon as she turned 18, the family tried to marry her off. Finally she broke free and went off to live by herself. To a new city.

Once she got to the new city she started working at a BPO where she could earn her living. But the loneliness was killing her. She couldn’t trust a guy after what had happened to her. She decided to do something about it though. One of her colleagues worked for rescuing animals and she told Mehnaz that there was a dog at the adoption center which was undergoing chronic depression.

She met Lin and the sorrow in their eyes connected them instantly. For the first time Lin responded to someone’s call and went near her. She bent down to pet him.

Linesman

I rushed through the crowded roads. It was raining, and Chennai in rains has the worst of the traffic. The bus was at 10 and it was 9.30 already. ‘Not a bad bus to miss’, I said to myself as I navigated through the sea of vehicles. Finally I reached the parking lot and left the bike there rushing to catch my bus. Finally I made it to the bus at 10.15, the bus showing no signs of motion.

I stepped into the bus, hoping that seat number 21A would be occupied by some hot chic. I took my seat, 21B. There was no one in the adjacent seat. I would have settled for that. It would have given me a bit more space to get through the trip. But just as the thought was leaving my brain, a gentleman came in and occupied the seat next to me. He looked calm and composed. “Would you mind if I take the window seat?”I asked the gentleman who agreed immediately without even smirking. Finally I settled down into my window seat.

After a while the clouds started clearing away. The sun was beating down on my face and I could feel a sense of relief. Away from Chitra, away from Chintu, all by himself. I was excited about taking a trip alone. I had always wanted to do that. But a married man seldom gets a chance to take a leisure trip alone. Even if it were for a day, I thought the outing would inspire me to take up more such trips and more importantly make me believe that I can take a trip all alone and not bore myself to death. I knew it could be bit of a challenge. Especially given the fact that I loved to talk.

“So, you going to visit the temple?” I inquired to the gentleman sitting next to me. He looked to be in his forties and was in his pale green shirt and black trousers. I could imagine him to be one of those white color workers sitting in a cramped insurance office building doing a 9-5 job.

“Ya. Been long pending - the visit”, said the man.

“Jeevan. Hello”, I said.

“I am Sheshadri”, the gentleman said.

“I am going there to click some pictures. Wanted to explore this new camera that I had got”, I said

“Oh. Great. It’s always nice to have a hobby”, said Sheshadri as he opened the newspaper that he had brought with himself.

I felt a bit stupid when he said that. Honestly, I had no clue how to use it. I desperately wanted a hobby. Everyone around me had one. In fact some had much more than one. Music, Photography, Trekking – I could take to none of those. Of course, I heard a song here and there in the radio, but nothing beyond that. I realized I don’t have a hobby. I mean NONE. I did watch TV and was used to going to the movies. But those are hardly hobbies anymore. Those are routine. Buying a SLR camera was an attempt to ‘create’ a hobby. That tactic seldom works, I guess.

“I don’t pray that much these days. I would rather appreciate the art in the temples than the God”, I told Sheshadri.

“Well, for each, his own”, he said.

“Anyways, I don’t want to get into the GOD conundrum now. Have enough of it at home with my wife. It’s tough to keep her away from the fasting and poojas, you know”, Sheshadri listened patiently to my rant.

I gathered that I was forcing myself into the conversation a bit too much. And I resisted asking the next question. As the bus was screaming through the highway I sat thinking about life and within minutes I snored off. I was woken up by a sudden jolt and the murmur in the bus went heavy. The tire had burst and the frustration level in the bus was starting to grow. I stepped out of the bus for a smoke. I stood there looking at the endless road. I always loved the highways. May be I should have taken a road trip, I thought. As I stood there gazing at the sand kissing the newly tarred roads, I noticed Sheshadri walking towards my direction. Before long we were chit chatting about the big nothings.

“I so needed the break”, I exclaimed, “I mean, I cannot complain much about my life. I have a decent job and a nice family. But then it all becomes mundane. We become like those fishes in a tank”.

“That’s true. But then we have to find our own way of getting a tour outside the tank”, said Sheshadri.

“I need the tank to burst. That’s what I need”.

“You seem to be stressed. Good that you took the break”, replied Sheshadri as he walked towards the middle of the highway”.

“Oh ya! I mean, I love my kid. No question. But then, simply put, he’s a pain in the ass. Got to keep watching him as he runs around. Stresses the hell out of me”, I replied.

“Ya. They tend to have that effect on you. How old is he?”, asked Sheshadri.

“He will be 6 this year. He is a good kid. But the questions! Oh my God, the questions! They never stop. That put along with the concerns of my wife dearest. I tell you. Men are under rated”, I said while taking the camera out to see if I can get some good shots of the highway.

“I know what you are talking about”, replied Sheshadri smiling in acknowledgement.

“You have kids?”

“Ya. Two in fact”, said Sheshadri.

“Oh boy. That’s double the trouble. You need the break more than I do”

“Not really. I have gotten used to it by now. Once you know that your life is going to be in a certain fashion for a period of time, you tune yourself to accept it. Acceptance is the key”, said Sheshadri.

I was going to dwell more into it but Sheshadri excused himself and started making a call. All the passengers were wandering near about the bus and I stood there wondering what to do. I kept telling myself that I am doing the right thing by taking the trip alone and promised myself that I wouldn't get bored. I tried to imagine standing under the sun, near a broken down bus along with Chitra and Chintu. That gave me some relief. I was sure Chintu would have had at least a thousand questions regarding how the bus tyre had burst. And Chitra would have blamed me for choosing this bus. I felt a bit better after those thoughts entered my brain. I took out my camera and tried to figure things out in it. In a matter of minutes I shut it up and went back to my seat.

When Sheshadri returned, I re-started the conversation with him. We spoke about how difficult it gets to handle kids among other things. Sheshadri briefly touched upon Philosophy but then that did not last for long. Those things are better off discussed under the influence of alcohol, I told him and he agreed with a smile.

I reached the town and checked into the hotel and got freshened up. The daylight had faded already. Once I had settled in, like any good man would do, I checked with the hotel people for the nearest bar. They suggested a restaurant which would serve liquor. They said that the restaurant would show the cricket match in the lawns too on a big screen. I went and sat inside the restaurant, avoiding the lawns. I was going through the menu, when I noticed a man and a woman sitting at the table at some distance. The man had his back turned to me and I couldn't see his face. I had a feeling that he resembled Sheshadri. And I was not wrong. It was Sheshadri.

I walked up to him and said hello. He was acting all sheepish. He introduced the lady with him as a ‘friend’. That’s some spiritual journey the man is taking, I thought to myself. I told myself not to make any judgment about the man.

“Alright. I thought it was you and I was not mistaken. Thought I would say a ‘Hi’. Will leave you guys alone. Have a good dinner”, I said and in the process I scanned her completely. There were no signs of her being married. She looked to be in her thirties. I sensed a flavor of Kannada in her English. Later in the night I saw them checking in to the same hotel as mine. They did go in the same room too. I couldn’t wait to tell this story to Chitra and score a few brownie points highlighting how genuine her husband was. The events that followed in my brain was stressful. I had to keep sheshadri out of the picture while I fantasized about her. Also a moral war was going on in my brain debating for and against Sheshadri. And thankfully, the alcohol took over and knocked me over.

I finished the visit to the temple. I took a few snaps, to show Chitra that I had indeed gone to the temple. And more importantly to show that I am enjoying my new ‘hobby’. I should chose a beach or something the next time around, I thought to myself. The return journey was even more boring. There was no Sheshadri either. I reached back Chennai and settled into my cycle of life.

A few months later, I was at the Bangalore railway station to take a take the train to reach back Chennai after a weekend at my In-laws place. Contrary to the women, a guy’s ‘sasural’ is much better. You are fed, asked to take rest, fed again and asked to sleep, again. The only low point was my Father in law asking about my finances. Almost implying that I am good for nothing. I stood there at the station ignoring Chintu’s chatter. 

As the train was about arrive, I noticed a kid, about 8 to 10 years of age, lying on a stretcher on the platform. His mom and sister were by his side. The kid had his legs broken. But that was not the worst part. He was mentally ill too. The kid kept shouting out loud and everyone in the circumference were glued to him. I took a deep breath. Chitra saw it too and was already in tears. As much as I tried, I couldn’t look away. The kid kept shouting, ‘Amma Train Amma Train’, in a loop. The lady called out to her husband who was buying something in the nearby stall. The man turned around and it was a familiar face. It was Sheshadri. He walked towards the kid and gave him some water. The whole family was smiling throughout the scene. They were more normal than anyone else around. He kept patting the kid saying, ‘train train’ too. As the train pulled in, they carried him into the compartment. 

I asked Chitra to board and told her I will join her in a minute. I could see them put the child in one of the berths with much difficulty. But the smiles never faded.‘Acceptance is the key’, kept ringing in my ears. As I looked through the window of the train, I couldn’t hold back the tears. Sheshadri came out to grab his luggage and he noticed me standing there. I guess he gathered how I felt. He smiled at me and said, “Go ahead, don’t miss the train. May be we will meet in another journey”. And he rushed back to his kid. I rushed towards mine. 

Out of the Park

It was a rather uncomfortable summer day. He peaked out of the shed and examined if there was a glimpse of a cloud cover. There was none. Bangalore usually had it’share of it’s 4 o’clock rain during the summer. But on that day it wasn't to be. On one side it helped his business, since more people would tend to buy the tender coconut from him. But on the other hand, it would give him an excuse to wrap up early. He went back and switched the FM station and took his seat on the wooden stool. He hated to stand. It felt like a rather long day for him; longer than usual, possibly because he had gotten up early to drop his wife off at the bus stand.

The point of sale for him had shifted. He had to move out of his earlier location since he couldn't afford the increase in the tip that the policewala was demanding. The sort of thing that usually happens in India. He was lucky to get another spot closer to the park, and at a much lesser tip. He got the discount since the hawaldar monitoring that area was his Brother-in-Law’s brother’s neighbor. The sort of thing too that usually happens in India. For some strange reason, the number of customers on that day was less. Probably because it was a Friday evening.He had noticed the maximum crowd building in the park on Monday evenings for jogging. He never understood why so many people came to run. When there were no customers, he would sit and look at the park, observing the joggers. They were funny – The cane stick walkers; the fat joggers who mostly just walked around the park; the aunties who wore shoes like men usually do - they walked in groups chit-chatting. And there were the odd runners, who would come behind the old uncles and wait for them to clear. Most of them had their headphones on. He wanted one of those too for long. But then he could never fit it into his budget. He saved most of the money he earned for starting a shop of his own. The shop that his dad always wanted to open, but never could. He spent the next fifteen minutes thinking about his dad. The easiest memory that came to him of his dad was that in the hospital, where he sat beside him hoping that he would remove the oxygen mask and speak to him. But he never did.

It was getting dark and he was planning to wrap up earlier than usual. His friend had promised to bring a quarter of Old Monk that day. As he sat there looking at his knife, he noticed that something was lying on the other side of the road. It was a hand bag. He crossed over and picked it up. The initial reaction was to check if it had a bomb in it. As he opened it he could see that there wasn't much in it. It had a hair clip, a few papers, an envelope and a few receipts. He returned quickly into his shed making sure no one noticed him picking it up. He ignored the papers lying inside it and reached for the envelope. He opened it up and for a second he gasped for breath. He could see a few 1000 rupee currencies inside. Many in fact. He again looked around to check if anyone had noticed him picking up the bag. He closed the shed with the huge coconut tree leaves, which acted as his door. With the help of twilight, he opened the envelope and took out the cash. He slapped himself to make sure he wasn't in the middle of the dream; but he was actually experiencing one his many day-dreams. He started counting the notes. After a 50 he lost track and started counting again. Finally after recounting a number of times, he figured that there could be over a 100 of those. He sat there with his mouth open.

Over the next one hour he sat there deliberating what he should do. He couldn't  hand it over to the cops since it would mean that the hawaldar would take his family on a holiday and may be buy a few gadgets for himself. He thought of asking the Pharmacy across the road if anyone had come looking for the bag. But then the green painted envelope would not let him do that either. He thought to himself that may be God was being kind to him. May be it is the result of the trip that he made to Tirupati last month. Back then he thought that God might not have heard him since he did not shave his head off. His hair-style was very important to him. He couldn't blindly keep the money with himself either since his dark side, the conscience, would kill him. It would make him go against the principles that his dad had taught him. Finally he struck a deal with God. He would wait till 8.30, half an hour, more than the usual, and see if someone comes looking for the bag. If they did, he decided that he would gracefully hand over the bag to them. He waited there in anticipation and fear. He promised to make another trip to Tirupati if he gets to keep the finding.

He started to wrap up proceedings for the day at around 7.30. He identified the coconuts that could be carried over to the next day and that those need to be carried back home and sold to the restaurants. He closed the shed with his work around door and stood there waiting. The clock hanging in the pharmacy showed 8.00. He looked around to see any seekers. He had carefully kept the envelope in his inner pocket and he kept the cycle ready, balancing the coconuts on the carrier. The clock was ticking as if it had a snail as the needle.

At around 8.15 pm he noticed a female, may be in her late twenties, walking across the road. She was wearing a Saree and was walking on high heels. She was looking carefully at the road as if she was looking for something. Something which she had lost, may be. He threw his head back in disappointment. The next 30 seconds saw a battle inside his head - the worst of its kind.Right side compelling him to take the cycle and flee and the left side asking him to stand still, even asking him to go talk to the girl. He stood still. The lady after examining the road slowly stared at the pharmacy for a while. She then crossed the road and walked to his side. He could see the shop-dream shattering into pieces. She approached him and asked in Hindi, ‘ Did you find something from the road here?’  He gave a confused look as if to suggest he did not understand Hindi. She inquired again, this time enacting along, ‘I am looking for my ring. Did you by any chance happen to see it’?  He tried to recollect if he had seen a ring inside that bag. But he was sure he did not see one. He shook his head side to side vigorously.  She gave a suspicious look and walked away from there. He let a huge sigh of relief and promised God that he will shave off his head this time at Tirupati; Just to be sure. He saw the clock strike 8.30. He took his bicycle and started towards his home.

She checked her watch as she approached the park and it showed 8.31 pm. She looked stressed and tired. Her brain was not listening to her anymore. The tears had dried up but her head was still aching. She had no hopes of finding her bag. She went into the pharmacy and inquired if they had seen a bag lying around. The guy at the pharmacy said he hadn't. She couldn't make out if the guy was lying or not. She remembered that she was rushing through the streets on her bike to make it on time to the hospital. She was wearing a skirt too which did not help her cause.  She might not have worried so much if the money was hers’. But then she knew the pain that she took for collecting the money, going from floor to floor in her office, urging everyone to contribute towards a noble cause. A 10 year old kid was dying and she had collected the money for the surgery. She looked up in despair seeking some divine intervention. There was none. She waited in front of the closed tender coconut shop without knowing what to do.  She knew she would be in deep trouble over the lost money. But she was praying for the kid’s recovery to God. She promised to visit Tirupati if the kid made it alive. As she was preparing to leave, she noticed something glittering on side of the road, under a pipe that was newly laid. She bent down and picked up what was a ring. She looked around and couldn't find anyone there. For a moment she thought that she can sell it off and give the money to the hospital, but then she knew someone else might come looking for it, just like she was looking for her bag. She didn't trust the pharmacy guy anymore and she couldn't wait there longer either. She stood there thinking about what could be done.  Finally before leaving, she carefully slid the ring through a small gap into the shed hoping the vendor would give the ring to the seeker.

Two days Later:

He sat in his couch glancing through the paper. He was not able to concentrate much as his mind wandered through the troubled thoughts. He had planned to work from home that day since he was lazy to drive in the maddening traffic. As he scanned through the paper, he came across an article about a 10 year old kid who died because of lack of fund for surgery. And that someone had swindled a hundred thousand rupees in the name of providing assistance. He started to think about the meanness o the person who could do this. After a while his thoughts again drifted towards the troubled waters. The engagement was not going that great and he ended up thinking about it every other minute. ‘May be she didn't lose the ring. May be she threw it away on purpose’, he kept thinking to himself. He folded up the paper and left for the park to take a jog. He stopped for his usual tender coconut near the park. As he tried to clear the cloud in his head, he noticed a beaming smile on the vendor's face, which made him feel a bit better.

Touch Down

“What’s wrong with Roosevelt? We have a music school here. Why can’t you pursue your music here?” asked Ralph. He did not want his son to fade away from his life so early.

“I can’t be like you dad. I cannot be sitting at the back of an orchestra and keep swinging my bow to the conductor’s directions. I wanna be go out there and see the world. There is a world beyond Roosevelt and the Salt Lake City, dad. You would not understand that” replied Steven.

Those words felt like pieces of glass which pierced through him. Ralph never lost his composure during a conversation. He was always known to be the soft spoken guy in his group. He slowly walked away from the room, picked up his coat and got out for a stroll. Even though he knew most of what his son told him was true, he would rather not have heard that from someone else; especially his son.

Ralph lived all his life in Roosevelt, studied music there in the early 60’s. He did well in most of the areas including music direction. In fact his professor had urged him to take up music writing more seriously. But he ended up teaching violin in a school in the neighborhood.  The students who came never took the music seriously. If they did, they would not hang around much in Roosevelt. The only satisfaction he got was from the music he wrote. He kept writing notes after notes, but never did anything about them. He never approached any labels; never tried to find an agent who would promote his music. Things changed a bit in the late 70’s when he was forced to take up offers to be a part of the Utah Symphony, in Salt Lake City, for financial needs more than anything else. He used to drive down 150 miles to reach the city, take part in the practice sessions and perform at the hall near temple square. But again, it became a routine and even though there was a good audience for the orchestra, most of the adulations would go to the music directors or the lead players.

He sat there in the park watching the kids play softball and recollecting what his son told him. His wife, Margaret, had told him the same a million times too, over the years. But then he just brushed it aside as the usual cribbing. But that day, it felt different. It felt like he had wasted his life pretending to be content with what he had. He never had the courage to take his music to the next level. The notes he wrote never saw daylight. He would shut himself up in his room and play them. He would not even record them since he thought he would be laughed at. And when he found his spot in the symphony orchestra, he was more than happy to just play what he was directed to play. He was not alone in there. All his contemporaries who were a part of the symphony were in the same league. He knew that he was only a drop in the ocean and preferred to just be a part of the waves. He did so for over a couple of decades. While the composers and the directors changed, he along with his set of fellow violinists stuck to their positions as backing violinists.

After that day, he never felt the same while performing at the Salt Lake City. The words kept ringing in his head and he just could not concentrate on the music. So at 64, he decided to call it quits. His son was long gone that day. He had moved to Boston to pursue music. His wife could empathize with him. She thought that Ralph would not be able to live without his music. And she tried to urge him to continue for a few more years, for his own good. But it was tough to convince Ralph on anything once he had decided to go with it.

On the day of his last performance, he had invited his wife and a few friends who cared for him. His wife had persuaded their son to give his dad a surprise by attending this concert since she knew it would mean a lot to Ralph. Ralph knew that there would not be any sort of acknowledgement from the organizers as such, but all his fellow violinists knew that it was a special day for him. The audience applauded as the stage was taken. Ralph took his customary left corner in the group of violinists. The violinists responded by waving their bows, which was a traditional way of thanking the audience. But this time around all the members in the orchestra were looking at Ralph while waving their bows. Ralph felt a bit of satisfaction and nodded in acknowledgement. Silverstein was to be the conductor and leader of the orchestra for the day. A huge crowd had built up in anticipation to watch the maestro perform.  But as soon as the stage was taken, the curtains went down. An announcement followed, “Ladies & Gentleman. We apologize for the stoppage. There has been a medical emergency for one of our performers and we will update you shortly on the resumption of the performance”.

Behind the curtains, murmurs started to erupt. Everyone in the orchestra was assembled together. Keith, one of the organizers spoke to them, “Silverstein seems to have a medical emergency. He might not be able to perform tonight. We cannot abandon the show. That would mean we have to make huge refunds for the tickets. The show must happen”.  The artists remained silent. “We have to look at alternatives”, suggested Keith. “I can conduct tonight’s performance”, said one of the young Cello players. Keith frowned under his breath but gently declined his offer.

Keith looked at the group of violinists and he walked up closer to Ralph. “Ralph, can you do it“?

Ralph could not speak up for a few seconds. Things were happening all too sudden for him and he was not able to fathom the fact that he would be leading an orchestra. But then he felt like all the things in his life were leading up to this one evening. He nodded to Keith. The fellow violinists were elated. They called for one of the back-up violinists to fill Ralph’s place.

As the stage opened Keith addressed the audience, “Ladies & Gentlemen. We deeply regret to inform you that Silverstein would not be able to perform tonight due to a medical emergency. I hope you all would support me in offering prayers for his recovery so that he can come back here and enthrall you all once again”.

There was silence for a while in the audience. Many were preparing to leave the hall. Steven was forced to sit down by his mom. There was a hustle in the crowd.

Keith continued his address, “But, as they say, the show must go on. We have with us one of the members of the orchestra who would be leading the orchestra.  He has been with us for over 20 years now and has been an integral part of the Utah symphony. I wish you would join me in welcoming Ralph Morris”.

There was a delay, but soon the people in the audience were applauding. A few with skepticism, a few for obligation and a few with optimism. Margaret and Steven could not believe what was happening. Ralph took the center stage and bowed to the audience before he started playing his violin. Soon the restlessness in the audience started to vanish and everyone got into the groove of the music. Ralph performed Paganini’s Caprice No. 24 to start with, which was one of his personal favorites.  He followed it up by Tchaikovsky, Bach and a few others. As he drove to the end of the concert, he picked up the microphone and announced, “The final piece is one of my own compositions. I would like to dedicate this to all my fellow violinists who spent their life time in the shades of great musicians. I would like to call this piece, “Destiny”. And as he performed his last piece the audience was high on the music. They were captivated by the piece. Margaret cried openly while a few drops of tears rolled out of Steven’s eyes. 

As Ralph finished, the crowd gave him a standing ovation. And as he bowed out of the stage, he glanced one last time towards the left corner at the seat he was supposed to take amongst the violinists. A smile ran across his face and he bid good-bye to the crowd and to the symphony too.

Stumped

It was yet another work day. I dragged myself to the Dadar station. The crowd did not amuse me anymore. I was a branded Mumbaikkar now even though the Thackreys might disagree with me due to my ignorance of Marathi. I was putting my efforts towards that too. Three things I never forget while travelling to my office is my wallet, my dog collar or in other words my ID tag and my iPod. But it was one of those days. I did forget the third. I would have rather left my wallet home and begged for money. But it was to be a music-free day. I realized how much loud Indians could get in public places. The decibels would beat any rock concert, I thought. I had the longest 20 minutes of my life ahead of me, I thought. 

Two minutes passed and out of the corner of the train came a shrill voice. It beat all the noise levels. It was a kid, about 10-12 years old, singing on top of his voice. I had seen him before in the train, and I could gather that he was singing for money. The Floyds and the Benassis kept me too busy to unplug the earphones and listen to him. But that day, I had no choice. The kid sounded amazing. Everyone in the bogie had stopped talking. All were listening to the music that was coming out from his mouth. It was a old Rafi song, the kid was singing, which got immediate nod of approval from the older uncles in the journey. They had to follow it up with the usual dialogue, “Aaj kal ke ganon mein wo baat hi nahi rahi”. It is strange when the younger generation appreciates the Rafis and the Burmans, the older ones still hesitate to acknowledge the Vishals and the Shekars. The kid collected approximately 10 bucks before we both got down at Andheri. I am always caught in two minds when it comes to giving money to the kids who are begging. Would I encourage them or help them?! Before I could decide, he had vanished into the thick flow of human beings.

The day was moving as slow as the train journey itself. My team mate, and a new found friend of sorts had run out of smoke partners on that day and he asked me if I would accompany him to the Tapri. I was happy to do anything apart from staring at the incomprehensible codes. They always appear to me like cryptic crossword of the toughest category. We strolled down to the tapri and were cribbing about the project and giving some nice galis to our manager. We were running out of galis infact. My friend ordered tea and I sat there checking out the babes who were out there for a smoke. That is one proof I would take for branding women as a minority. That and the amount of female music composers.

“Bhaiyya, chai”, someone came from behind me and spoke. It was him – the kid from the train. I had just managed to take the figure of him singing in the train, out of my mind a while back. But, there he stood again with a couple of glasses in his hand filled with hot tea.

“Tum wahi ho na? Train me jo gate ho ? “ I asked.

“Haan bhaiyya. Aapko acha lagta hai mera gana ? ”. He smiled.

I guess he would rather be a trained singer than a train singer, I thought.

“Tum yahan Kaam Karte ho?” I enquired.

“Nahi bau. Ladka apna ich hai. Uska leave chal raha hai na ischool pe. Toh aa jata hai” The guy behind the counter interfered.

I ignored him and asked the kid, “School jate ho?”

“Haan Bhaiyya. I go to school daily. School bhi idhar ich hai. Apan daily train mein gaake aata hai. Pocket money bhi mil jata hai, aur mera riyaz bhi ho jata hai”. He ran in to pick up his next order.

He came back humming ‘Iktara’.

My friend asked him, when he is back, “Acha gaa lete ho yaar. Singer banoge bada hoke?”

“Mazak math udao saab. Hum kahan banenge singer. Nazeeb bhi koi cheez hoti hai”. Even his words had soul, like his songs.

“Sunte kahan ho gane tum?”, I was curious.

“Radio hai na apna. Lekin saale hamesha naye gaana hi bajate rehte hain. Wahi khisa pita Pritam aur Himesh. Ek baar movie hall se gayi, toh wo movie ka gaana bajana bandh kar dete hain. Phir wait karna padta hai ki gana kab aayega”. He could go on and on I thought.

I remembered getting frustrated about finding it hard to search a song in my iPod. I was finding it hard to swallow the tea. My friend gave me a smile which had helplessness written all over it. The kind of smile we all give when the general elections take place.

“Raat ko mast English gaane bajte hain. Kuch samaj nahi aata phir bhi mast lagta hai”. His eyes lit up everytime he spoke about music. “Main bhi Indian Idol mein gayega. Mast hai wo”.

“Haan Haan. Abhi keliye glass saaf karke de. Customer khada hai” The guy behind the counter shouted.

I called out to him and asked, “Naam kya hai tera?”. “Kishore” he said and ran away. Couldn’t be more appropriate, I thought.

I kept thinking about the whole thing throughout the day. The next day I went back to the tapri with a small mp3 player that I had bought for my dad, which he had used once in the last 3 years. I called out to the kid and gave him the mp3 player. His eyes couldn’t have expanded more. “Gaane hain kya ismein?”, he asked. “Thode bohot hain”, I said.

“Baaki mera friend bhar dega. Uske paas bhi aise ich iPod hai”. He said. I stood there watching him run inside the shop jumping up and down. I plugged on my iPod and walked back to my office praying that someday he becomes a trained singer.

Run Out

I had to pen this down. And now that I had all the editorial powers, bestowed upon me by my dad, I might as well. I am not used to writing about myself, or anything to do remotely with me. I am more used to editing and proof writing the shit that my editorial team brings in - Mostly page-3 stuff; and at times random nonsense about lifestyle and how to live life kind of things. I am Yamini Upadyay. Chief editor, Life-X magazine, and an erstwhile sports person. And this is not my story.

Sports never was my first choice. My uncle was the secretary of the Indian Olympic Commission. And that was my short cut to the few international events that I had participated. First as an athlete, in which I failed miserably and then as a coach. I think I was the youngest coach India has ever produced. Again, it had nothing to do with my talent. I just thought I could do with a trip to Italy. And that made me the coach for the Commonwealth games in 2006. I just had to hint it to my uncle and there I was training few of the Indian athletes.  I competed in the national games event once and that was it for me. The reason I gave my dad back then was that I could not deal with the tan. He happily asked me to take up a Journo’s post in the magazine he co-owned. And of course the part-time coaching job that I would do whenever there was a nice trip on offer. Back in 2008 I was not in a mood to miss out on a trip to Vegas. So there I was in Oregon, US of A pretending to coach the minimal number of women athletes who had made it to the Olympic qualifiers. That’s when I met Preeti. A name I would love to forget, for it causes that feeling of discomfort in the gut - A feeling of shame and helplessness.

She spoke only broken Hindi. And I was supposed to be the translator more than the coach.  She came from the city of Kolhapur. The first question I asked her was “Do you practice running with Kolhapuri chappals?”. She grinned. The widest grin I had ever seen in my life. The ones you get from a child, if you get him what he wants. “Nange paun”, she said. At that point I wished I never had a tongue. So here was the girl who practiced most of her running bare foot. But that was not the worst part of it.

There were free drinks on offer that night when we arrived. I chose Chivas, trying to ape my dad. I and the few girls were left there to chit chat. Not many interfered into our affairs. It was possibly because all the other country athletes were busy training. And the ones present wouldn’t care to talk to bunch of Indian girls. The male athletes, I was told, were warned about the Indian culture and how conservative the Indian girls are. Most of the crowd was gathered around the couple of Russian athletes. One a pole vaulter, I was told who looked more like a pole dancer.

Eventually it was only me and Preeti at the table, rest retiring early to their rooms. “ Kaunse Olympics bhaagi tum?”, she asked me. I kept sipping my drink. I did not want to reply. “India mein events ke liye kaafi ghooma hoga na tum?” , she asked. “Quite a bit”, I replied this time. “Bus ya train?”, she had a question bank with her. “Flight”, I said, trying not to show off. “Federation flight ka paisa deta hai kya?”, she inquired. “Nahi. Baap deta tha mera”, I replied trying to cut her questions off. “Bohut luck ho tum”, she said smiling. She switched to Marathi and I had to put my best school days to test to understand what she said. What she said translated roughly to the below:

“It is quite difficult, didi. Traveling all alone across the country. We get second class tickets. Sometimes not even that. Every time I travel for an event, I had to carry knife and chili powder with me.  This country is full of perverts, didi. North, south, east, west – everywhere they are the same. There are a few good people. But they don’t bother about you or what is happening to you. This girl who travelled with me once told me that she was molested by 5 guys in a 3rd class compartment. One of them was a hawaldar. Luckily she was not raped. From the day my mom heard this, she would not allow me to go for any of the events. I had to beg and plead to be allowed to participate in the last Asian games. God was on my side. Bad things never happened to me. Except for once when I had to go to the police station. I was sleeping in a bus stand since I could not get the accommodation from the federation. The police thought that I was a prostitute (us type ki ladki was the exact phrase she used) and picked me up. Morning SP sir came and blasted the hawaldars. He dropped me to the stadium himself”

I kept listening to her and she kept going on and on. As if she was narrating to me her autobiography.

"This is my last chance, didi. If I don’t qualify, my mom said I have to get married. 22 is too much of an age, na. I have cannot hold on for another 4 years".

It was her last chance and she did make it to Beijing Olympics. I wasn’t her coach then. I went in as a part of the administrative team. She saw me once while training and came running towards me. “Mujhe pata tha tum aayegi”. That night she told me that she wanted to win. I told her she will be popular if she does. The whole country would be watching. She said she did not want to be on tv, because she did not know English. She said she just wanted to run; because she knew nothing else. And may be a medal could change her mother’s mind. May be she could run for another four years of her life.

Preeti finished 25th in the 10000m. I saw her watching the Ethiopian, the Turk and the American women standing in the podium. Tears rolling down her face. I couldn’t gather what made her sadder. Not getting a medal or imagining that she would never be able to run again. She received Rs.10000 as a part of the good will gesture from the Kolhapur district collector. 10000 rupees lesser from her mother’s dowry fund, I thought. Last I heard, she was running behind her 3 year old kid in Sangli. 

Toss

She walked at a slow pace, making designs with her feet on the beach sand. She was lost deep in thought. She had easily beaten the thousand thoughts per second record of hers’. Her mind had only two words alternating between them – ‘Yes’ and ‘No’. Those words were the enemies that she was born with. They kept popping together when she had to make a decision and her brain would go into a world war mode. The beach was her favorite place to find answers. And sometimes to find questions. She preferred the weekdays since they were less crowded. There were lesser number of families and more couples who did not have a room. She had mastered the art of ignoring people around her and getting lost in her thoughts. The music player helped, of course.  She sat at her usual spot where she could see nothing but the ocean. Her identity card was touching the ground as she sat. ‘Mithila Shankaran’ it read in bold. She removed it and kept it inside her handbag.

She was used to being confused. The other day she was standing at a junction confused as to whether to go left to have Chinese food or to right to have north Indian. She waited there for 5 whole minutes before her friend called and she went with her to have pizza. But she knew the decision she had to make now was a bigger one - That of spending a lifetime with someone. She cursed her luck for she was born in a country like India where every unmarried person had an expiry tag. But then she thanked her stars for not putting her in some place where she had to look through a veil all her life.  She had been dodging the proposals one by one with different reasons. But she was reaching a point where it was getting difficult to take a stand. Stand against the parents and their happiness; their to-do list. And she had no reason to say no this time around. The guy she had met even cracked a joke or two. e was not able to understand the pun which was there in almost every sentence of hers and he kept smiling and nodding for whatever she said. But then she was running out of “good options”. The good options always had better options with them. And it was an infinite loop.

She was about to get up and leave when she noticed that the sky was real clear that evening. She decided to stay on for a while even though the battery of the music player had given up on her. As she weighed the pros and cons in her head, she noticed an elderly woman walking towards her from a distance. It was very rare to see them in a beach taking a stroll in the beach by themselves. For some reason her eyes kept following the lady. The old lady walked towards where she was sitting and took a spot a few feet away from her and sat down. She was intrigued and irritated at the same time. The whole acre of the beach was there and the lady could find a spot only right next to her. But then something about the woman kept her interested.  She turned around to see the waves.

“If it wasn't for the beach, I would have left Chennai long back”, said the lady.

Mithila did not know whether she should reply. She was caught in between ‘please leave me alone’ mode and ‘please talk to me and help me’ mode. The line between them is many a times quite thin.”It is something to live for”, she blurted out eventually.

“You look lost in thoughts”, the lady inquired.

“Everyone is mostly, aren't they?”, said Mithila.

“That is true. Isn’t it?  Look around you. Imagine all the thoughts going out from each one’s brain into the atmosphere. It must be one polluted place with all the thoughts intertwined into each other”,  said the lady as if she was speaking to herself. “Sorry, I tend to get a bit too philosophical these days”.

“That’s alright”, said Mithila, “I myself am like that most of the times”.

“So, what is bothering you?” asked the old woman.

Mithila was not too comfortable with the question. She wanted to brand her as officious. But then she somehow felt the urge to talk to someone. About the whole thing.

“I don’t know”, said MIthila, deciding not to open up.

“Come on. Everyone knows what the problems are. You just tend to ignore them. Or like in this case, you are just trying to ignore me”, said the lady.

“Not really. I am not sure I want to discuss”, said Mithila as her phone started to ring. She reached out to her hand bag and started searching through the garbage in her bag to find her phone.

“Ya Amma. I will be there by 7-7.30”, she spoke into the phone. After a pause, she spoke again. “No Amma. I haven’t decided yet”. This time as she listened in, her expression changed and her cheeks turned red with anger. “Well, if he can’t wait for 2 more days ask him to go to hell. Tell him it is not a business deal that he is doing”. She cut the call and was preparing to leave.

“It’s about marriage, isn’t it?”, inquired the old lady.

“Ma’am with all due respects I am not in a mood to discuss my life story with you”, said Mithila. She was regretting the tone she used immediately after she finished her sentence.

“Alright. It’s fine. Just try and take it easy. See the lighter side of it, if possible”, remarked the lady.

“Sorry. I did not mean to be rude. But I am not in a good state of mind now”, apologized Mithila.

“Would you like to listen to a story?” asked the old lady.

“What?!”, exclaimed Mithila.

“A story. Do you want to hear one?”, persisted the lady.

“I kind of had to leave.  Another time, may be”, she said as she got up and started walking.

She took a few steps and then turned back to the lady. She said, “Is it a short one?”

“What? The story. Of course it is a short one. I always like short stories”, said the old lady smiling at Mithila.

“Ok. Go ahead” said Mithila as she removed her sandals and sat down besides the old lady.

“So there was this guy whom I met” started the lady with the story.

“There always is a guy”, said Mithila.

“Are you going to keep interrupting me?” asked the old lady.

“Yes”, said Mithila.

“Very well” Said the lady and continued ..

So there was this guy whom I was supposed to meet. You know the usual matrimony thing. We met in a beach, in fact. He was a quiet guy; wouldn't speak too much. But he was an awesome listener. It is a highly under-rated skill - the listening. He kept on listening to whatever I had to tell him. And whatever I asked him, he would come up with short answers like, ‘well, not much’, ‘I guess I do’, ‘May be, never gave it a thought’. I had already judged that he was highly uninteresting  And my set of demands was ridiculously huge. I was hoping to meet someone with whom I could converse freely. You know?  Like this guy from college of mine. Every time we started talking we would be in the middle of the subject. No introductions, no build up. We would be right there, right in the middle of the topic.

“I know exactly what you are talking about”, leaped up Mithila. There was a lingering tone to her voice. She was reminded of that someone from college too. “Sorry, go on”, she said.

We met a couple of times and a stage came where I had to decide. And after so much of thinking, I said ‘No’.  It was a struggle at my home, trying to justify why I was doing it. Everyone understood. But nobody accepted. Eventually it faded off.

A year later I was still unmarried. Things never fell in place. That one piece in the jig saw was always missing and I kept looking for the entire picture. I met the same guy again in a library. He smiled at me and said hello. We had a small talk and he left. Anyone else at his place would have just looked away. But he was nice enough to come over to me and strike a conversation. You know the feeling you have when you almost reach the station and miss your tran? I had the feeling that day. I had noticed a ring in his hand and a deep hole bore through my mind. I wished I had an option to have a hindsight a year ago. At that point I consoled myself saying it was not meant to be.

A long pause followed. Mithila was getting restless. She asked the lady, “And??”

“And what? That’s it. You wanted a short story”, said the old lady.

“Oh come on. What happened next? Did you see him again”, Mithila was curious.

“I will tell you that the next time we meet” said the old woman as she got up in a hurry. Mithila was quite taken aback by the weirdness with which she behaved. The old lady started to walk away from her.

She stopped and said looking at Mithila “Every story doesn’t need to have an ending. And if you know the ending you would not enjoy the story, would you? Have a good evening.”

Mithila smiled. “ You have a good evening too, Mrs.?”

The  old lady said as she walked away, “Mithila Shankaran”.

Shot!

“Story is a wonderful tool that man has invented. You know they are not true. But still you cry and laugh with them, don’t you?” The professor started off the morning with the opening note.

“So let me welcome all you young minds to this year’s batch of creative writers. Remember this - you will influence the people’s mind; for a short period of time, may be, but it will change their thought process. Your idea will become their imagination. And a good story is one, in which you almost feel that you are in the middle of it. Alright, let me not bore you too much with the things you know already” He grinned at the wide audience.

“But let me begin by telling you a couple of things that I have learnt over these years of teaching people like you. I keep hearing complaints from people that they do not find inspirations to write about. Now, I cannot imagine such a situation. Look around you – you will find at least 10 stories happening around you at a single point of time. Every person brings in his own or her own story. All you need to do is to keep your eyes open! Look around you – in buses, trains, traffic signals, coffee shops, movie halls. Instead of thinking about your own life, think about what they would be thinking. There lies a story for you. Just note them down as you keep watching them. And for Shakespeare’s sake carry a pen and a notebook. None of those touch pads of yours. I want you to become writers; not typers” The whole class listened to every word he uttered. His charisma was almost intimidating them.

“So let’s begin. First up, I want you guys to tell me the first few lines of the story that is coming to your mind right now. Let’s leave the surroundings aside for the moment. Go straight into the characters and the situations they are in.” He paused and then continued pulling out a list of names in the audience, “Let’s see who all we got here….,Anika. Who is Anika? Ah, wonderful to see you all smiles, Anika. So let’s hear your story” He went into the listening mode.

Anika started narrating her story:

They stood against each other as they were passing, giving each other one last look. The last look which always leaves the lasting impression. It was their decision to part. The marriage was not working and the divorce was the only solution. “I wish I could say I’ll miss you” Vivek said to ashmita. “You have said whatever you could, would and should say. So stop faking at least now” She responded. A tear rolled down her face as she stormed out of the court room….


“Ah, the sadness of a broken relationship”, interrupted the professor. “Gloom always works well with readers. The most dramatic stories would be the ones which talks about miseries and crying. Strange is this addiction of the human beings to melancholy. Good beginning, Anika. I will not point out the errors, right now. We have a whole year ahead of us” He smiled as he went through the list. “Who’s next: Let’s see… Prithvi..Let’s hear your’s, son”.

Prithvi stood up and waved to all. He went about his story line:

“You have to make the choice, Anwar. And I wouldn’t blame you one bit whichever choice you wish to take. I know I have been playing like rot this whole year. The racket is just not hitting the shuttle at the right places. And you have been on a song. We just are not pulling it off. You should start looking for a different partner. It’s time that I concentrated on my single’s too. Please take this seriously. Find a new partner” Ravi went on and on before Anwar stopped him, “And should I find a new friend too?”. Ravi went quiet.

“Brilliant. That was wonderful Prithvi. Build on it. You might have something there. Let’s move on. Gaurav. Come on mate. Start your story” The professor was feeling all happy.

Gaurav stood up and kept mum.

“Go on son. We don’t have too much time here” The professor re-iterated.

“I am sorry. I can’t” Gaurav said.

“It’s alright. Let it be a piece of crap. Just push it out of your mouth” said the professor.

“I am sorry, sir. I can’t. I just can’t. I am no writer” Gaurav was adamant. He did not look up.

“Then why are you here?” asked the professor.

When there was no response, the professor raised his voice,”I demand an explanation, Gaurav”.

“Sir, I am not a writer”, said gaurav shivering, “ I am a business man. All I know is profit and loss”

“Then what are you doing here, may I ask?” The professor asked removing his spectacles.

“I am here for a reason” Gaurav looked up this time.

“What would that be?” The professor stepped towards him.

“I am here to find my girl” He said

“Oh no! None of those mushy love stories, please. I have seen them all” The professor said.

“It’s not a love story sir. She is the mother of my child. We were seeing each other in the final year of MBA. She left Pune and came here. She cut all the contacts. Last week I found out that she had a baby, last year. My baby. I am here to find her. She is a visiting faculty there” Gaurav was breathless.

The class room went silent.

“I know sir, that it is unethical. But I had no other choice. If I did not turn up here today, the seat will be filled up. That is the only reason I am here. I hate this, but I couldn’t think of any other solution. This was the only stupid, but practical one that came to my mind” Gaurav went on.

The professor broke his silence. “Let’s keep the practicals to the science labs, Mr. Mehta. Go ahead. Look around the campus. You have my permission. Your seat will be safe here. And if you find them and it inspires you to continue here, you may very well come back tomorrow”

Gaurav was almost in tears. He apologized and left the hall. He ran out of the corridor. He knew where his destination was. He had been to the cafeteria in the morning and he almost did not want to come to the classroom. He could’ve sat there waiting for the moment. But his conscience did not allow him to do that.

Gaurav was almost running now. He felt like it is one of those climax scenes in those Indian movies. He could even hear a background score. “And a good story is one, in which you almost feel that you are in the middle of it.” The words rang in his ears and he smiled. But sitting in the class room doing nothing would have killed him. His best chance was to get to the cafeteria and wait there, till it happens. He felt like he might miss the bus and ran faster. And faster.. till he reached the cafeteria.

And as he entered it happened …

‘That’s it. It’s yet another century for Sachin Tendulkar. The first cricketer ever to have made 50 centuries. What a wonderful player’ screamed the small TV in the cafeteria! The whole cafeteria was going berserk. A satisfied smile ran across Gaurav’s face. ‘ I wouldn’t have missed this moment for anything’ , he thought.

He loved the story he told back there in the classroom, but he liked sachin’s century better.

Blind Fold

It was a debate - like one of those in the Parliament. Chaos galored. Four of us trying to kill time on a boring Saturday evening. Swathi with a ‘H’, was as usual at the top of her voice. “I wanna party tonight. Why cannot we party tonight? “. She demanded. Ramanujam venkatachalapathy was standing right next to her covering his ears. Ram-v as he likes himself to be called was almost going to cover Swathi’s mouth up when she stopped. “I am not going to a club with you guys. I mean I need a girl to go there. And if I had a girl, I wouldn’t be with you guys, anyways”. Proclaimed Anshuman. I was the spectator for the event. I had no opinion. I was lost myself in the amazing notes of “Jaa re udd ja re”, sitting in my apartment in Mandaveli. 

“Hello! Sir ji. Aap kuch bakkenge?” screamed swathi. I was sure she never appreciated soft spoken-ness.

“What is the problem? Would finding 2 more girls solve it? Then we can go to disc, cassette, wherever”, I remarked.

“Does anybody out here ever notice what I say?” exclaimed Anshu.

“Let’s get a few beers and crash in here. I have at least 100 unwatched movies on my hard disc” Said Ram-v. He smiled gleefully at me for getting the last two words right this time around.

“Ya. 75 ghost flicks and 25 mushy love stories. Hell no!” I sprang up from my seat. “Alright. We have to plan something. In 36 hours time, we have to get back to our cubicles. So this, ladies and gentlemen, has to be one of the most important decisions of our week. Where do we hang out? “ I said.

“Nautanki sala” Anshuman said

“RDB” the rest of us screamed in chorus. No one got the point for guessing this time. The one of the many stupid games we played to make ourselves feel that we are a happier lot.

“Let’s go plan over a low-tea, shall we?” Ram-v faked his brit accent.

All of us walked down to the tea shop at the corner. Swathi the last standing woman at the tea stall with round about 20 eyes fixed on her said, “Kitni Garmi hai yaar. Main Bangalore transfer le rahi hun. I can’t stay in this heat”.

“I don’t know what the hell I am doing here anyways. Getting paid in peanuts. I am going to write GRE next month”, Ram-V said.

“Anshu, was that 106 or 107?” I asked

“106 tha shayad” Anshu replied

“What are you guys talking about?” Ram-V spat out the words and a few droplets of tea.

“The number of times you have said that!” Anshu grinned.

“Whatever! I am going. That’s final”, he said

“Guysss. Partyyy. Please, can we plan now”. Swathi screamed.

“I feel like watching a movie in a theatre”. I demanded.

“Ya. The multiplex owners in Chennai are your uncles na? You can get a ticket easily on Saturday evening”. Ram-V said, trying to make some sort of a comeback.

“I wanna get drunk. Let’s go to Distil” Swathi wouldn’t stop. “I am not paying 750 bucks for stag entry”. Anshu, the cheapster said, “Let’s do something different, yaar. Let’s go to ECR for a ride”

“Let’s play hide & seek”, I said.

“Ya right”, Ram-v gave me a disgusted look.

“Actually, it is not a bad idea”. Anshu almost jumped at us. “We will call a few more people. And then we can play”.

“Dude. I was just joking. Have you left your sense of humor at the tea shop?” I checked.

“It does make a good idea. Come on. When was the last time we played hide & seek” swathi supported the cause.

“Okay. Since it is the first time someone is listening to my idea, I cannot say no. Let’s do it!” I said picking up my phone to make a few calls.

We kept walking without noticing that Ram-v was waiting behind us shocked at the idea. When we did not turn to look at him, he followed us throwing his hands in the air to show his desperation.

The next thing we knew, we were counting inky-pinky-ponky. We managed to get another couple of guys and a girl to join in the dumbness. The rules were set - No hiding inside the house, no leaving the block. The seeker will call out ‘Name of the person Spotted’. And then they together will hunt for others. Last standing person would be crowned with glory. And as Murphy would have it, the ponky fell on me first.

I counted 20 and turned around. Everyone had vanished.

I spotted Anshu first. The idiot was trying to hide under a car parked in the lot. “Saala the oil was leaking. Pura upar aa gaya mere”, he was furious.

Me and Anshuman decided to split. We went opposite direction. The showpieces that we were, we had to take out the hands free and talk while we were looking for others.

“Left alley, clear”. I said.

“Copy that”. He replied. Let’s face it. This was the closest we were going to get to playing CIA agents.

The two guys who joined us, Arun and Anuj were like brothers from other mothers. So we knew that they would be together somewhere. And we decided to look for them later. We went after the girls. We climbed up the stairs and reached the terrace. It was getting darker. We almost winded up searching the terrace, when Anshu noticed some movement on top of the water tank. We could not imagine that Swathi or Annie, the girl who joined us could climb up that. But we were wrong. I climbed the steel ladder up with my heart pounding. I peeped above the top of the tank. There she was sitting and eating the biscuits that she had bought at the tea shop. “Shit yaaar”, she screamed, ”Not so soon”.

As she came down, she said, “Ok. I know where Annie is. She will be in the store room located at the ground floor”.

“Roger that. Are you positive?”. I asked her. “Yes. Mr. Jack Bauer. I am. The dumb blond told me before I came upstairs. She was thinking I would save her if something happened to her in there”, swathi said.

I spoke into my handsfree. “Agent Anshu. Target found. The store room in the ground floor. I repeat..” .“Oh. Please cut the crap”, screamed swathi yet again.

Anshuman found annie. She was more than relieved to be caught.

We had to look for a while for the non-related twins. Then after an hour, we were standing in the terrace again, when we heard a sound, “Hum idhar hain”. It was Arun’s voice. Anshu said it was Anuj’s. No one could tell. We looked over the border and saw two of them sitting precariously on top of the sun shade.

“Yaar. Uthar gaye. But upar nahi aa pa rahe hain”, anuj had a terrified look on his face, All of us laughed our asses off before we realized that we shouldn’t. Ideas started flowing - on how to get the morons out. Annie asked, “Should we call for a fire engine?”

“Ya. Let’s torch them first. Ullu-ke-pathe, Ram aur shyam”, anshuman exclaimed.

“Go find a rope, somewhere” I told swathi. She started wandering across the terrace pretending to look.

“Yaar. I am scared of heights. Can u have a net in the ground floor. In case we slip the rope?” Arun asked. “Ya. A net and some fishermen too I have ordered for”. I screamed at them.

Swathi brought a tiny rope. But that was enough. Me and anshuman leaned over the border wall and lowered the rope. They clung on to it and we pulled. Luckily there was a ventilation hole right above them. And with the ropes support they started climbing up, one at a time. It was the most dangerous act we had done the whole of our lives.

After they came up, Annie started beating up Arun.”You dumb ass. How can you think of doing such a thing?”. Arun moaned in pain.

“Love hurts”, swathi smirked.

“So it is Ram-V. The jackass won. He did not even want to play”. I said.

“Where could he be?” Asked Anshuman.

That question rang in our minds for the next coulpe of hours. We searched the nook and corner of the flat. We even looked at the septic tanks. No luck. We tried reaching his cell phone, but it was not reachable. We called up his roomie and he said he had not seen him for long. We started to worry a bit. He wouldn’t have left without saying something, we thought. And the stories of the software engineers being kidnapped lately were running at the back of everyone’s mind. The scene became serious.

We decided to take our bikes and look around. After an hour, we came back. Tired and worried. It was getting late. Annie left with the two A’s. Swathi, Anshu and I stood in front of the apartment wondering what to do. We decided to call one of my uncle who was a lawyer . He had enough contacts and wisdom to help us, we thought. I had to look up his number in my telephone book. We went to my house.

As I entered, the door was open. I remembered having locked it. I ran into the house. But there was no sign of anyone. The chair was lying on the floor; the cupboard in the hall was open. We looked at each other not knowing what to say. I almost dialed 100 to get help. Anshu took the cricket bat behind the door into his hand and stood waiting. Yet another noice struck us from my room.

It was not a scream, as I had expected. It was someone snoring. We went in there and saw Ram-V sleeping like a child. Anshu ran from behind and kicked hard on his butt. He fell off from the bed. He jumped up and sat on the floor. “What? What happened?”.

“What the fuck are you doing? We were looking for you all over the place. And why is the house not locked? How did u get in here first of all? “ I showered him with questions.

“With the spare key that you had given me, duh. I forgot to lock it. I was too sleepy. I even fell down from the chair sleeping”. Ram-v said sleepily

“We were playing a game. Remember?” Swathi exclaimed. Her voice woke him up completely.

“The stupid hide & seek? I thought you guys would have got bored and stopped it long back. I mean, who plays hide and seek in their twenties?”. He demanded.

“I need a drink. And I swear, I will smash the bottle on his head after I finish”. I screamed pointing towards Ram-V.

“You have only cans in the fridge”, Ram-v said smiling.

“Well. That was my idea at the first place. What kind of men say no to drinking”. Swathi screamed for one last time before her throat got jammed. Silence prevailed.

“At least we got to do something different” Anshuman said, bringing the cans from the fridge. “To a great Saturday evening..Cheers”, he toasted as we drank.