Later that evening, while I sat on the nearby football ground, Pota came up to me. Being my best friend, he exactly knew what went through my head and how to comfort me when I needed him the most. And I always trusted his wise mind for he always had the most unbiased and able advice. ‘Get back home,’ he placed his arm around my shoulder, ‘you and kaki don’t look good fighting with each other.’ I looked at him and nodded my head faintly. ‘We have never seen you two quarrel,’ Pota went on, ‘she’s been crying all day long.’
At night, when I walked into our house, I found Ma cooking our food at the stove. She still had tears in her eyes and as I hugged her from behind, she spontaneously turned and hugged me and burst into tears. As I held her head in my arms against my chest, I realised I had hurt her more than anything else could possibly ever have. I vowed never to hurt her again, hardly realising that one day I would hurt her so much that I won’t find her back again.
The next evening, while Ma and I sat on the floor, sharing our mutual experiences throughout the day, Ghungroo masi entered our house. From my childhood, I had always nurtured an antipathy towards this lady of our colony. Though she always seemed to be an ardent well wisher of our family and especially Ma, I never liked they way she imposed herself as a self-appointed guardian of us, sharing her unsolicited advice. Ma welcomed her with a big smile just the way she always did.
Ghungroo masi apparently came for an ‘important work’. She had fixed a job for Ma – a nurse to an old man in one of the neighbouring apartments. ‘They are looking for nurses in two shifts for the old man,’ she clarified, ‘they have already fixed upon a girl for the 8am-8pm shift. They are now looking for someone in the 8pm-8am shift.’
Ma looked at me and I shook my head in disapproval. I had never stayed away from her for even a night. Now, every night she would have to stay away from home, serving some old ailing man. Ghungroo masi looked at my ex-pression and understood Ma won’t go against my will. So, she instantly added the bait. ‘They are going to pay 5000 rupees a month,’ she said, ‘much more than what you earn by washing and cleaning so many houses. And it’s an easy job. All you have to is give the medicine and bed-pan to the man when he wants to shit.’ Sighing a small pause, she told Ma, ‘It’s a golden opportunity both for your own operation and Bunty’s education.’
The very moment I understood Ghungroo masi had lured Ma into the job and now Ma is going to convince me by all means.
By the end of 2 weeks, I was slowly accustomed to Ma’s absence at night. Pota used to come and sleep at our house, to give me company and also spare himself the congestion of 6 people in the same cramped up room. Ma used to leave at 7-30 in the evening, after a bath and changing her dress into a tidy one. The next morning around 8-30, she used to come back. But when she returned, she looked tired and spent. Waking up the entire night and serving to the orders of the old man was taking a toll on her health, she said. I made her promise that she won't continue this for more than 3 months.
Late one night, when Pota and I were up in our house and talking of trifle things, Keshto da entered. Keshto was the local head of all the slum boys – he acted as the saviour when the guys needed his help but also reprimanded them when he wasn’t listened to. Most parents in the colony asked their children to stay away from him but there was a negative charm about him which attracted all the kids to him. Pota never had a liking for Keshto da, however I was always in awe of his persona. Keshto da was accompanied by a couple of his sycophants when he stepped into my house. I welcomed him in as Pota looked at him with dissent. He sat down while his other companions kept standing. He looked straight into my eyes and said, ‘So, what do you plan to do?’
I was puzzled by his question. What was he trying to mean? ‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘I didn’t get that.’
‘Do you plan to keep lazing around while kaki keeps working,’ he said in an insulting tone, ‘Or do you want to earn for her operation.’
It wasn't a great mystery how he got to know about this. Nothing was ever a secret within the boundaries of Gobindnagar. Especially when it came to people like Ghungroo masi or Keshto da, they were among of the influential people around who knew every detail of all the houses.
‘What can I do?’ my tone was both ashamed and desperate, ‘I have been asking her to work less. But she wants to earn the most till she has the vigour for it.’
‘Work with me,’ Keshto da declared, ‘You will earn 3000 every night. And it will be only a weekly task.’
‘He is not meant for your type of job,’ Pota intervened before I could reply.
‘You better keep your mouth shut motherfucker,’ Keshto da answered in a gruesome tone, ‘I don’t want faggots like you in my team either. I am only looking for men like Bunty.’
Pota was about to reply when I held his hand and asked him to stop. ‘What am I supposed to do?’ I looked at Keshto da, a bit scared. ‘We have a list of small businessmen who return home every night with their pockets full,’ Keshto da said, ‘You will have to just stand there with a knife in your hand and alarm others if there are policemen or police cars in sight while we take care of the rest.’
‘But that’s crime,’ I exclaimed, ‘this is same as robbery. I am too scared to take part in any such thing.’
‘Oh come on,’ Keshto da justified, ‘you are not doing anything criminal. We are not going to harm the persons. We are just snatching the extra money which such people illegally extract from us.’
I swallowed and looked at him, still not convinced. ‘You read Heeru Dakat in your school, didn’t you?’ Keshto da used my favourite childhood book hero (Bengali’s Robin Hood) to ensure me of his noble intentions, ‘we are doing just the same. And you are not going to do this forever. Might be for 3-4 times, and then you will have money to arrange for kaki’s operation.’
The house staff informed me that my car had arrived. I got dressed and went downstairs. The driver opened the door and I got in. The car moved outside the hotel premises and darted through the EM Bypass towards South Kolkata.
I never thought it would be the last of my childhood nights in my hometown when I went out with Keshto da’s gang to his task, much to the objection of Pota. But I tried to convince him of my desperation and made him swear he won’t disclose this to anyone. It started drizzling as our white ambassador stood near Exide at one in the night, the masks firmly strung behind our heads, waiting for a furniture seller to pass by in his car. One of Keshto da’s associate informed him over the phone that the businessman’s car had crossed the last crossing and was heading towards the place where we stood. Within a moment, the nails were scattered all over the street. And just then, we saw the Santro heading towards us. As everyone got prepared with their weapons, I took out the dagger I was given for threatening the man and primarily for ‘self-protection’ as Keshto da said. The car screeched past the nails and within a short distance, perhaps a bit more than Keshto da had estimated, it stopped as two of the tyres got punctured.
As we all ran towards the car, the man got down and started running. Perhaps, he had estimated that the wealth he was carrying with him was in danger. And so, holding his briefcase firmly against his chest, he ran along the deserted wet streets while we chased him. It was almost near Victoria Memorial that one of the gang members got hold of him. Within a moment, all of us gathered around the spot.
‘Give us the bag,’ Keshto da commanded, ‘if you want your good.’
‘Listen, I have contacts in the police,’ the man tried to warn us in a trembling voice, ‘they would trace you out in no time.’
‘You want to argue,’ one of the other members said, ‘or you want to reach home alive.’
I stood at the path obstructing him from racing ahead, my inexperienced hands still shaking in fear, as we were all now getting drenched in the heavy downpour. The argument between the man and the gang went on while I kept praying for the man’s safety, when all of a sudden we heard another gang approaching us. Their scream took me out of the reverie, as others turned to look at them. It was a group of four middle aged women – clad in fashionable saris, dark lipstick shades, carrying umbrellas, and typical hooker accent. However, their faces were not clearly visible under the umbrellas.
‘What are you guys doing there,’ one of them said, ‘do you want us to shout and alarm the police?’
‘Are you threatening us,’ Keshto da replied, ‘so, now whores are going to tell us what’s legal and what’s not. Wow!’
As the ladies walked ahead amidst the silence of the midnight, I could observe that one of them was limping. And as they shut their umbrellas and confronted us, I could almost feel my heart stop beating. Within a moment my eyes almost soaked in tears, as I realised what Ma’s night-long tiring nurse duty was all about. And as she limped ahead along with the other ladies, my entire body started shivering. So that’s what made her earn more than her maid job. I couldn’t believe it was happening to me, to us. I just wanted to run away from the spot. I looked straight at Keshto da, who had also realised by then that one of those street-walkers was my Ma. He nodded at me with a look that assured me this entire thing won’t last for long.
‘Go away from here,’ he said loudly to the women, ‘or else we might not spare you either.’
Seeing the opportunity, the man realised it was a ripe moment for him to plan an escape. As the debate between our gang and the women continued, he decided to flee and ran straight ahead towards me. As a loud shout of ‘catch him’ arose from among the gang, the man darted straight into me, lifting his case and trying to hit me. Even before I could remove my hand, he had run his chest straight into my dagger. And all of a sudden, a huge roar of shock and fear rose among both the groups. I tried to rest my arm beneath his waist and stop him from falling, but he grabbed my mask and thumped straight onto the wet ground, the dagger deep inside his blood wet chest.
I looked up and saw Ma looking straight into me. There was a look of shame and fear in her eyes, as she stood still. Her face was stone stiff as tears melted from her eyes. Strangely, there was no hatred in her eyes, perhaps she didn’t know how to hate me. But, she knew her secret has been revealed.
One of the members from our gang collected the brief case while Keshto da pulled out the dagger from the man’s chest. The women looked at us in shock and started running away. Keshto da tried to pull me along with them, the same way as one of the women tried to pull Ma from the spot. But, we both were stiff, and finally both our companions left us there and flee. Ma and I looked at each other for a while, both wondering what to say, as the thunder manifested the numb silence that existed between us. And suddenly, I turned and started running. I just wanted to escape, I wanted to run away from her. I didn’t turn again to look at her. I just ran from the spot, as fast as I could, my legs not defying my will. As I ran on the bridge, I knew I wanted to get away from the city as well. When I finally reached Howrah station, I heard an announcement of a train leaving for Mumbai. Perhaps, it was the call that was destined to change my life and I quickly decided to board the train.
As my cab raced along the streets towards South Kolkata, I looked outside the window, hoping to see her once more. Perhaps that wasn’t the place I dreamt her to be, but I knew not where to find her. As the driver drove endlessly, I realised this couldn’t be the end of our story – of Ma & Me…
A short fictitious tale about a guy and his mother. It's in two parts. Hope you all like it.
As I stepped out of the airport, the city suddenly seemed a stranger looking at me with contempt, despite the fact that it was the same city which had witnessed my childhood until the night I decided to flee from here. Strangely, an air of recognition seemed to blow on my face, though nothing was the same anymore – neither me nor this city.
As my taxi steered through the streets, I felt that the city had changed drastically over the years – the more fashionable cars, the flock of flyovers, the quicker pace of life – it was not the Calcutta I remembered, perhaps a new Kolkata that still hated me for all that happened that night. But as the car meandered into the narrow lanes of Gobindnagar slums, I realised that there were some aspects about this city which hadn’t changed yet, beside the government.
As I paid off the driver and slowly walked through the narrow lanes bordered by homes on both sides, I could sense a host of suspicious and inquisitive eyes staring at me. The kids ran around, either semi or totally naked, the ladies sitting at the doors with their nighties tucked up to the knees, the shower of expletives, the bare chested foul smelling men bringing buckets of water from the nearby tube-well, the ailing old men coughing – it all felt like a sepia version of my own childhood played to me on a three dimensional screen. The nauseating odour was familiar yet it made me puke as I was no longer accustomed to it. As I finally stopped outside my old house – I could see myself and my mother at the doorstep, as she forcibly poured the mustard oil on my unkempt hair and rubbed her palms against it to make the oil soak, and I shouted in protest.
But the house was now occupied by new residents. The lady who inhabited in this house now saw me staring at her home and came out. An obvious feeling of displeasure was evident from her tone. ‘What do you want here?’ she said sharply, a flock of Gobindnagar residents already gathering behind me. ‘I came here to find my mother,’ I said, ‘We used to stay here 12 years ago.’
Suddenly, the air around me changed. The lady now looked at me with less hatred but more wonder, while a roar of murmur rose among the crowd. ‘But we have been staying here for 10 years almost,’ the lady said, ‘ever since my marriage. This was unoccupied except for a very old lady who used to come here at times and get it cleaned. She died last year.’ I sighed and nodded. It couldn’t have been my mother; she would be at most 45 now, so by no means was she old. ‘Can you tell me where Pota stays?’ I asked her. 'Yes,’ she replied with an assuring smile, ‘round the corner. The kids will take you there.’ She shouted at one of the kids, ‘Naru, take this dada to Pota da’s house.’
The little guy, who would have been hardly 8years old and perhaps the most fragile among the rest, looked at me with a smile which said that he was more than ready to help. I looked at him fondly and smiled. ‘12 years back I was like him,’ I thought to myself, ‘the leanest guy around. Now, I have put on weight and a look that was far off from my childhood fragility. Naru rushed ahead and before I reached Pota’s house, I saw a young man almost my age come out of the house. Pota still looked the same, a bit taller and had a beard now. The doubtful question in his eyes strengthened my anxiety that he won’t remember me. But, as I walked closer, there was a sudden spark in his eyes and his jaws dropped in awe as he looked at me head to toe and burst out in an amazed laughter. Once again, my best friend proved me wrong. ‘Bunty,’ I heard the name almost a decade later.
‘Do you know where Ma is?’ I sat on the couch in his sole cramped up little room that had only a half-door and a curtain to cover its contents from a stranger eye. Pota’s mother who was cooking on a rotten stove in one corner of the room looked at me with surprise. ‘Didn’t you two leave together that night?’ she asked, ‘we thought you both had gone away.’ I shook my head and looked back at my childhood friend who had his eyes fixed on me. And I knew he didn’t share his mother’s thought.
‘I always knew I might not see you again,’ Pota confided in me a while later when his mother had gone out to fetch some sweet for me, ‘but kaki went missing since the same night. Everyone thought we you both had left together. I never refuted hoping that they are right.’
My jaws had stiffened in shame as I whispered, ‘And what about Keshto da?’
Pota smiled sarcastically at me, ‘He is a man to reckon about now.’
‘He never got caught?’
‘A couple of times,’ Pota nodded, ‘but he has mightier hands resting on his head that take him out every time he manages to get in.’
As I sipped the tea from the small steel glass, Pota asked the question I thought he was wondering ever since the moment he saw me. ‘But what are you doing now?’ the tone was that of doubt than surprise, ‘You seem completely changed.’
I narrated everything that happened to me ever since that night, ever since the moment I boarded the train to Mumbai that night.
When I got down at Dadar 12years back, I didn’t have an idea where I was destined to be. All I knew was I couldn’t go back, whatever destined for me was there. But as time went by, I slowly felt lost in the melee to survive among the hundreds of young guys like me, all trying their luck, dreaming their way from rags to riches. The tea-stall assistant job on the platform of Bandra could help me manage only two meals a day but not a roof for shelter. The platform still passed on as an abode until the Mumbai rains replaced the summer, and I decided it was time to start thinking big. For that, I needed a new job.
The next I landed up was an assistant to a Kashmiri carpet seller, Rahman. He was a genuine person but an unable businessman, and in attempts to cover his loopholes, I learnt the tricks of the trade. As my contribution in selling carpets gradually surpassed that of my master’s, the bigger lords started trusting me more and I kicked my way past Rahman to become a seller myself. The lords kept on entrusting me with greater power and responsibilities, hardly realising that my aim was never to get the better of Rahman, I had just started climbing my ladder with him as the first rung.
From a door-to-door seller to wholesaler to regional distributor, I kept on growing pleasing each senior level on my way up and then riding past them. I made friends, disciples and bundles of enemies. But most of all, I made clients who would swear by my new name, Basantlal. Today, I was one of the leading exporters of carpets from India – the plush flat overlooking the Marine Drive and Mercedes bearing testimony to that.
However, amidst all this confusion and desperation to grow, I had kept on hold the second promise that I had made to myself – search for Ma.
As I stepped out of Pota’s house, I gave him my card and asked to get in touch if he ever felt a need. As my taxi sped back towards the hotel and Pota waved towards me, I felt I was leaving my childhood, for ever. Time seemed to move in a recapitulating mood as I leaned back on my seat and remembered all that led to that night.
Our family constituted of Ma & Me. My father, a rickshaw puller on the streets of Kolkata, had died a few weeks after my birth, overrun by a drunken truck driver. Since then, Ma had been taking care of our family of two, working as a maid in neighbouring apartments while I grew up in the slums as a fragile young guy, dependent on mother for everything. Even when I was 14 and taller than Ma, I used to sit on her lap and get caressed by her, a pampering not received by many in my neighbourhood. Every morning, she used to rub her hands wet with mustard oil on my hair as I protested, ever in disgust of the smell.
At an early age, I was enrolled in the local municipal school and much to Ma’s pleasure, I proved to be a good student, acing in almost all subjects especially Mathematics. It was a few months before my Standard X board exams that I discovered Ma was slowly losing her vigour. An overgrown bone in her right foot was slowly hampering her movement. I saw her getting exhausted more often than before. I avoided sitting in her lap lest it pains her leg. At night, while she lay on the floor, I sat near her and massaged her foot – it got her some relief and made her sleep more comfortably.
As I had expected, my exams went off pretty comfortably and I was certain that I would perform the same way I had been doing at school. But by then, I could also notice that Ma had started to limp a bit. The long hours of work tortured her health even more and the doctor finally concluded that the defect can’t be remedied without operating. The cost of the operation was however beyond our reach, and everyday this topic became a contention of debate between Ma and Me. We knew the cost of the operation would consume all that she had saved and still keep lagging. But Ma couldn’t afford to spend all that for her operation for she wanted me to go to college and her entire savings was meant for my education.
‘How will you study if I spend all that money now?’ she reasoned.
‘There’s still two years left for that,’ I argued back, ‘obviously something can be managed by then.’
‘Bunty, two years is a small time,’ her tone was submissive. She came ahead and held my cheeks in her arms, ‘if you don’t go to college, how will you earn your mother a home?’ I pushed her hands off. ‘If you go lame by then,’ my tone was insulting, ‘I am not going to lift you and take you inside.’
I had never been so harsh to her. But I couldn’t take the fact that she would ignore her health in excuse of something that was still 2 years away. A rush of tears filled her eyes as I darted out of the house. I heard her call a couple of times but amidst a shocked crowd who had never witnessed a dispute in our house, I walked beyond the reach of her voice.
As the taxi finally reached my hotel, the porter came out to carry whatever little luggage I had. Walking across the giant hall of the five star hotel, I remembered how Ma and I used to walk past it during my childhood and dream about coming here one day, to have food and stay in the deluxe rooms as the Hindi movies showed. Today, I could afford it all, but my partner in dream wasn’t there to see me fulfil it. I stood at the glass wall of my room and saw the city while the sun set in at the distant horizon, ushering in another stream of memories.
Sorry for appearing rarely on iland because of interent facilities at home.
This is the link to a short film that I made for a short film festival organised by an enginnering college in Kolkata. Hope you like it. Eager to read your comments.
I don't take many such opportunities to thank you all for the support and familiarity that you have all blessed me with. iland truly is a den for my ex-pressions, emotions and writing experiences. I would have never thought that I can write well had it not been for the support of you all.
In the same breath, I would also like to apologise for not being such a frequenter to iland except for the last few weeks and not being able to read all the wonderful posts on time. My MBA studies surely took me away mostly and I missed spending more regular time here. Let me just say, you all rock!! Now that I have been following iland for the past some time, I know that what awesome stuff you all come up with on such a regular basis.
To all those who have been following my first love story on iland -- Love positive. I can't express my thanks enough to you all. You don't know the amount of boost that you have given me through those kind compliments and suggestions. I am sorry that I have withdrawn the 2nd and 3rd parts of the story. I have accepted the suggestion of many of my friends both here in and outside iland to make it a much more detailed story.
Hence, I am trying to write my first novel on the plot of 'Love Positive.' Hope it gets published one and you all like it. I wouldn't have made this effort without your support and encouragement.
Just a small request -- please pray that 'Love Positive' gets published. :)
My first attempt at writing a bigger story on iland... That too a Love Story.... This is the first part.. Hope you all like it... Part 1
I was always certain about two things when it came to Love. One - 'Love ends much before Love Stories do,' and Two - 'Girls can't ever love you as much as they say they do.' For the first - Look at my parents, they have for long stopped living for each other, they are just living with each other. Why? Perhaps society, perhaps security or perhaps me. For the second - Look at my brother, his wife left him when he needed her the most. Now, he is just stuck to his wheelchair, staring at his marriage photograph, waiting endlessly for her to return.
So, when it came to me, I stopped believing both in love and girls. But now I know that both my beliefs were wrong, coz fortunately in unfortunate times, fate has taught me both of them.
Nalini always said, "When it comes to Love, nothing else matters but Love itself." I smiled, feigning agreement. But on those numerous nights while she drudged at her call-centre and I made love to other girls, I proved her wrong time and again. I came back to her the following mornings and she accepted my incorrect soul, oblivious of its imperfections.
And then one day...
I was on my way to office. Standing at Exide crossing, waiting to cross the street, I mentally tabbed all that I had planned for the day. 'Meeting with Khurana CMD, tender submission for ABB, checking the quotation of vendors,' I sighed, 'so much stuff!'. The red light seemed to take an eternity to turn green. Suddenly, the man standing beside me patted on my arm. I looked at him, surprised. 'Your mobile's ringing,' he said. For a split moment, I failed to register what he said. Then I realized my mobile was ringing. I pulled it out from my trouser pocket. 'Thanks' I smiled at him but it hardly seemed to matter him. 'Boss' the display flashed.
'Uff', I left a gust of exasperation, 'Yes Arpit.' 'Tushar, when are you arriving?'
The red-light blinked 4 times and the green signalled the walkers to cross the street. I moved ahead along with the crowd that seemed to surround me like a cloud of bees.
'I am just 5 minutes away,' I replied pretending calm. The appraisal was due soon and I needed his recommendation. No matter how informal and 'first-name basis' you might be, a boss will always be a boss. 'What's the matter?'
And then it hit me. Like a sliver of lightning cutting across a bright morning sky, a dazzling shimmer fell on my eyes. Before I could look around or cover my eyes, everything around me started to spin. I could feel warm drops of sweat rolling down my ear-sides.
'Tushar, are you listening? Helloo, helloo!' I could hear Arpit shouting over the line. But my throat muscles arrested my ability to speak. I looked at the sergeant, waving at all the walkers to pass by. I lifted my hand to beckon him but before I could wave, my 6'1" structure came crumbling down on the street. That was the last thing I could recollect when I woke up at South Calcutta Nursing Home. 24 hours later. Room No 112.
'How are you feeling now?' was the first question I was asked when back in senses. I saw Dr. Hazra standing by my bed.
'Better,' I replied, 'Does my family know I am here?' 'Yes,' he assured, 'They would visit you during the evening session for visitors.' I was surprised. 'You were out of any danger, so I asked them to go home,' he noticed my reaction, 'and I also wanted to talk to you alone.' His tone was grim. 'What's the matter?' I asked, 'anything serious?' 'For how long have you seen these rashes?' he pointed a couple of red patched in my neck. 'Two months,' I pondered for a moment, 'might be a bit longer.' 'Did you have any blood transfusion or similar stuffs in the past one year?'
His questions were now unnerving. I just felt I knew what he was pointing at. 'It can't be,' I told myself.
'What's the matter Doc?' my voice almost choked. 'You need to be strong,' he held my palms tightly, 'you are HIV+. It's been over a year.'
I just froze for a moment. It can't be happening to me.
'I couldn't tell your family,' Dr. Hazra continued, 'you have to break this news to them.' 'I always used protection,' I said even before he could complete, 'I was very particular that...' my voice was choked. I could see my entire life being ripped away in parts and I couldn't say anything. 'Condoms are not 100% safe,'doctor said, '90% times they work efficiently.' 'So the 10% proved too fatal for me,' I looked blankly at him. A week later I moved out of my house...
As I expected of him, my father could never accept my fate. He wanted everything around him to be ostensibly perfect even when they were not. He never had the courage to accept the truth. So, as my brother tried his best to make dad 'understand' and mom cried helplessly, I dumped a couple of stuffed suitcases in the baggage car of a taxi and made my way out. Nalini knew I was coming. But not the reason. It was she who changed my decision of putting up at the office guest house. 'My flat-mate has left, why don't you share the flat-rent as well,' she laughed over the phone. So, as my taxi pulled inside the cooperative gates, she rushed out of her apartment to greet me. She tried to pull the door open but I had locked it from within.
'I want you to know why I have left home,' I remained seated as she looked at me. Bewildered. 'I am HIV+ positive Nalini,' I felt my eyes quiver trying to look straight into hers, 'it's been over a year.' And it's my fault. I could sense her grip on the handlebar slowly loosen. 'Who was the girl?' she was still strong. 'I don't know,' this time I had no further courage to meet her eyes. 'I never fell in love with anyone else,' I don't know whom I was trying to convince, 'but...'
I could see her eyes moisten quickly. But I knew she won't cry and expose her vulnerability to someone who had betrayed her. 'Come inside,' she said finally and traced her way back slowly. I don't know why she called me in - perhaps she still loved me, perhaps to show her generosity, or perhaps to teach me a lesson. But I went in because I knew would be able to atone only when I see hatred in her eyes for me. And that can happen only when she sees me constantly. So, I picked up my luggage and stepped into her apartment.
I am extremely sorry for deleting the other parts of this post due to some personal reasons. Will be back soon...
1BHK flat, 10 hours of job a day You stay a city life-- congested, but alone 'The country would be a change,' you surmise, 'calm and serene!' So, you pack the weekend in travel bags And zoom! You are off to terrain unseen.
Looking through the wind-glass Peeping into the rear mirror The roads seem leading to wonderland But then the sound comes, a screech And all your dreams shatter like a house of sand. Tyres have stuck in the mud Brakes have stopped working The accelerator doesn't move the car ahead You press the horn because you want to scream 'If things have to go wrong, they will,' Memphis had said. There's not much you can do 'But why me?' you scream at the sky As if you wanted it to happen to someone else. You have no idea what lies ahead But He laughs coz He had played many such games
Defeated, frustrated, you walk along the road What seemed pretty moments back Have no significance to you anymore But, all of a sudden, you hear someone whistling And your mind enquires questions galore. A little boy comes wandering from the other side Torn are his shoes, ruffled is his hair His shirt has dirty patches all over But, he dances to himself, singing all alone You wonder, 'What do I gain trying to act sober?' He smiles at you Greeting or was it sarcasm? Amazed you are and watch him pass by And then, something beckons your name Look around, it's Nature in her beauteous fame. The cliff overlooks the turquoise sea Playing hide-n-seek with its own waves A nightingale sings hymns of joy, messenger of the spring The flowers tell you it's the season of love 'Heavens must fall here,' you hear your heart sing. Blame yourself, What have I been missing! Isn't this what I came for? The nature is ahead, virgin is her land You thank the boy, but then it strikes you Did you just see nail-marks on his hand?
This is a story written by me for an assignment for one of my friends... It is a personality development programme where they are asked to elaborate on a plot... Though I didn't do a great job at it, I thought of sharing it... The first para is the plot given to them and then starts the story..
Rupali and Rupankar are a newly wed couple. Rupali forget to take her keys to her office. At 11 o'clock Rupankar receives a phone call from an anonymous number. Madhabi, the domestic help informed Rupankar about the keys that Rupali has left home at 1 o'clock. Private investigator Dhritiman arrives at Nilachal cooperative society at 5pm. Rupali's parents arrive at the police station at 7pm. Rupankar was released from the police custody at 11 o'clock in the night.
The elevator doors slid open into the basement car-park of Nilachal cooperative society. Rupankar Guha Roy stepped out of it, clad in an elegant pinstriped suit, carrying his laptop case in hand. It was again a horrible start to a hectic day.
It had been just a month of nuptial life, but the affection had seemed to die down so fast, as if he and Rupali were surviving a failed marriage for years. He had knocked the bathroom door so many times, called her repeatedly. But, she was in no mood to relent. The sound of the shower had killed all his efforts to be heard.
As his Accent drove past their apartment, he looked up at their balcony, hoping against hope to find her standing there. But, disappointment got the better of his hopes once more.
Rupali checkedherself again in the mirror. The lip gloss seemed a bit dull. She quickly added another layer of it, took her purse and walked out of the door.She had an important meeting today. This could possibly change the shape of her entire career, she thought as she stepped into the elevator, and Rupankar had to create a scene today only. What's the big deal if Madhabi had added extra sugar to his tea? She never knew the charming guy she was dating for so long would turn out to be such a different person after marriage. But, in all these thoughts, she forgot that she had left her keys at home.
It was exactly 1 o'clock. Rupankar sat down for lunch with Sayan. Sayan, Rupankar's batchmate and roomie at engineering college, was also his dearest friend and confidant. They had joined the same organization after passing out from engineering. But, Rupankar soon left the organization to pursue his MBA while he stuck on. Four years hence, fate brought them together to another organization, this time Rupankar as his boss. But, neither of them seemed to really care about it. They were both happy in their own lives.
'So, things are not really going well?' Sayan asked. He could read what's going on within his best friend. 'Nope.'
Rupankar sighed.
Just then, his phone started ringing. It was an unknown number. 'Hello!' Rupankar responded. 'Get back to your home soon, your wife's in trouble!' a voice said from the other side. 'What?'
Rupankar was shocked, 'Who are you?'
But, the line was disconnected. Rupankar could feel his arms and feet perspire in fear. Is this a hoax call? Or can it be true?
'What happened?' Sayan asked him, 'is anything wrong? Whose call was it?' 'Nothing, a bit personal, please excuse me' Rupankar replied and walked past. How could he possibly tell Sayan that his somebody had threatened his wife's life.
He called up Rupali but her phone kept ringing. He cancelled the call and redialed.But, there was no response again. As much as he hated doing this, he called up Madhabi. This was another thing that made him hate this lady.
'A house maid with a cellphone,' he said, 'that's too much.' Rupali used to get irritated at this.
'Halloo,'Madhabi replied. 'Nilachal se Rupankar saab.' 'Haan saab.' 'You know where Madam is?' 'Madam left for office long ago. But, she forgot her keys.' 'Then, why didn't you call her and tell her that?' 'I did but her phone was not reachable.' 'Then, you should have told me. Disgusting.'
Rupankar cancelled the call and rushed out. He had never his car so fast. But, he didn't care, Rupali's life was at stake.The elevator seemed to creep up to their 7th floor. Every moment seemed to be passing like ages. He pushed the keys into hole and burst into the drawing room. And, suddenly, everything seemed to freeze. Rupankar knew he was crying but the pain had surpassed the level where sound would emanate from grief. His wife was lying on the floor, drowned in a pool of blood. A dagger stuck out from her back as her body stretched out on the floor, her eyes still open. Rupankar collapsed on the floor, not even having the power to walk up to her.
Life at Nilachal Cooperative Society seemed suddenly rejuvenated with excitement, mystery and gossips. Cops had already sealed the flat by five o'clock when private investigator Dhritiman's Alto cruised into the society. Dhritiman Ghosh, was often consulted by Kolkata Police for murder investigations. It has been 20years of experience for him in this field and now, even a look at the accused told him whether he is guilty or not.
Rupankar was sitting on the sofa when Ghosh entered the drawing room.
'Innocent,' he muttered to himself. But, he wasn't a man to be guided solely by gut feeling.
Sub inspector Arunava brought the statement sheet of Rupankar, along with a couple of clues that he had gathered. Dhritiman looked around the flat. His eyes were now powerful enough to see what guys like Arunava would take years to develop.
He came back to the site and walked up to Rupankar's sofa. Sayan was sitting by him, consoling in vain.
'Mr. Guha Roy,' he said calmly, 'I want you to cooperate with us. I want you to come with me to police station.'
'Can't we have the discussion here?' Sayan interjected, 'Rupankar isn't in a state to...' 'It would be better and easier for us.' Dhritiman replied. 'It's okay,' Rupankar nodded, 'I will come along.' 'Thanks.'
Dhritiman replied and walked up to Arunava, 'What about the maid servant who was working here?'
'I have already spoken to her and she has been taken into custody,' Arunav replied. 'Okay,' Dhritiman nodded, 'let's go.' When Rupali's parents entered Kasba Police Station at 7o'clock, Dhritiman was questioning Madhabi.They swiftly walked over to Rupankar and sat by his side. Dr. Tanmay Ganguly, Rupali's dad, have always been a parental figure to his son-in-law.
'I didn't do it,' tears rolled down Rupankar's eyes, 'believe me!'
'I believe you,' Tanmay replied, 'and so does Rupali's mom. We know you can't kill her..
Rupankar looked up towards Rupali's mom. She looked burnt out in the grief of her daughters death. But, she held his face in her hands and said, "I have already lost my daughter, I won't lose my son.' And they both burst out in tears. 'Mr. Ganguly, you need not worry,' Dhritiman said, 'the story will unfold shortly.Your son-in-law is innocent.'
'How do you know that?' Tanmay asked in surprise.
'The maid was party to the crime,' Dhritiman answered, 'and so was Mr. Rupankar's best friend.'
'What?' Rupankar stood up, 'Sayan? Why would he do this? You must be mistaken Mr. Ghosh.' 'Just wait for sometime,' Dhritiman kept his hand on Rupankar's shoulder, 'your friend will tell you why he did so. Though I doubt he would be at home now.' Dhritiman was bang on as usual. Sayan was about to elope, when the cops caught him getting on a cab. 'Why did you do this?' was all Rupankar could ask his college mate. 'Guess what Mr. Guha Roy,' Dhritiman interjected, 'your wife was killed trying to save you.' Rupankar looked at Sayan, his sight almost blocked with tears. 'Why?' he asked again but there was no reply. 'Let me put the jigsaw pieces together for you,' Dhritiman said as sub-inspector Arunav pulled Sayan to the lock up.
'Mrs. Guha Roy left her keys in the flat,' Dhritiman started, 'as your maid had already informed. But, she didn't tell you that your wife came back. But, by that time, someone else was already there. 'Sayan?' Rupankar asked.
'Yes,' Dhritiman sighed, 'guess what he was doing there?' Rupankar looked at him without responding.
'He was preparing plans to kill you,' Dhritiman continued, 'You came back as his boss with a double salary. He couldn't really take that. And somewhere you also snatched away the lady he dreamt of.'
'What? Rupali? But you said he killed her,' Rupankar was shocked. 'Well, he used to love her sometime,' Dhritiman clarified, 'but when she chose you, it turned into hatred.' Dhritiman continued, 'But, his plan was to primarily kill you, not her. And in the entire thing, his pawn was Madhabi, your maid servant. She never liked you, yet knew all your details. So, she knew that you have a glass of lime water which was prepared in the morning. And Sayan knew that, this was the safest way to kill you. So, bribing her into this was the simplest way out. But, while he was poisonous adding fungae to it, Rupali entered. And they had no other way but to kill her. The greatest mistake that he did was to ask Madhabi to act normal. That doesn't work, especially for people from that society.
'And another mistake that he committed was to leave her cellphone unchecked,' Dhritiman handed over Rupali's mobile phone to Rupankar. Coincidentally, her video button was switched on and it caught all the action.
Rupankar sat down on the sofa, devastated.
'I tell you Mr. Guha Roy,' Dhritiman clarified, 'your marriage might have been unhappy but she loved you much more than you thought she did. Prioritise your relations, they are much dearer than man's fake ego.'
Mr. Ganguly signed on the release sheet of Rupankar. An hour before midnight, Rupankar Guha Roy stepped out of Kasba Police Station. He was a free man, but alone forever.
He was my brother; he was my son. But his sin? His sin was unforgivable He left a scar on my soul It healed, but remained unforgettable.
She brought in love, she brought in life I thought she was the one who brought in trust But she faltered where faith came into play And slowly our relation... our relation began to rust
His pains were dearer to me than mine Her joys were dearer to me than mine But love and blood played the tricky game And, in the end, I lost all that I could say mine
Today I stand at a crossroad, defeated. Both the roads take me away from myself I choose not to traverse either of them But to take defeat and kill myself
I now see the end, blurred with tears I took the first way out -- slit my wrist The second route was getting too tough Between love and blood, I couldn't stay AMIDST.
This is a follow up to Dhawan's much appreciated poem... a sequel of sorts... PD, thanks a lot again for writing Amidst...
Existence, knowledge, truth Beauty, justice, validity Finding the truth of life Is simply not serendipity.
Blood plays the tricky game... Can't just run away from it No matter what you do Feel of guilt is bound to hit.
But what about that recent stranger?
Who came as a bliss and swept you away She is the one, without a doubt But you falter again for crying out loud!
Only if life was that simple You rather wish for physical pain But choice between love and blood Often leaves the heart slain
One way out... the easy way Let the blood drain and wait for heaven All you have to do is cut your wrist The other way... for the rest of your life Between love and blood, stay AMIDST!
This poem is written by one of my dear friends -- Praveen Dhawan... for a script
of mine of the same name. He is an awesome poet... Thanks Dhawan for writing
An Obituary printed in the London Times - Interesting and sadly rather true.
Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as: - Knowing when to come in out of the rain; - Why the early bird gets the worm; - Life isn't always fair; - and maybe it was my fault.
Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge).His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.
Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an aspirin to a student; but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion. Common Sense lost the will to live as the churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims.
Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault.
Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement. Common Sense was preceded in death, by his parents, Truth and Trust, by his wife, Discretion, by his daughter, Responsibility, and by his son, Reason.
He is survived by his 4 stepbrothers; I Know My Rights I Want It Now Someone Else Is To Blame I'm A Victim
Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone. If you still remember him, pass this on. If not, join the majority and do nothing.
Interesting and true... might be a bit pessimistic yet cant be ignored. Thanks to Sahu, my friend, who showed me this...
