A Companion To The Forgotten

Timeless

‘What the heck do you think you are doing ?’ a furious Anand raged. ‘Flee or stay till I thrash you into pulp’ he warned.  The neighbourhood bullies scurried away. The scoundrels had resorted to their reprehensible antic of pulling down the dangling trouser of the harebrained Jaga. The target of their mockery stood shell shocked, stuttering hard to mouth the right words. Unlike the brain inside his head, his perfectly normal legs were trembling out of weakness. To his childlike wits, pulling up his pants at that moment seemed as complex as building a spaceship. So his fallen pants remained vanquished at his feet and he began to weep like a toddler. It provided for a perfect dose of laughter for the gathering around him. The customers of the nearby betel shop and grocery store were visibly amused by the sadistic hilarity in Jaga's humiliation. All  laughd in chorus.

Anand rushed to Jaga's aid. He placed his briefcase by his side and bent down to lift the latter’s pants, which sat crumpled on his feet screaming to be restored to its proper position.  Anand never tolerated anyone tormenting or ridiculing Jaga. Nor did he ever reply to the hackneyed question as to why he was so protective of Jaga, causing a pervasive suspicion that he was privy to some covert cause. But the truth simply was that Anand felt so outraged over the disgraceful repetition of such insensitive query that he invariably chose to stay quiet, instead of spitting on their faces the simple answer that as a man it was his rudimentary purpose to prevent undue harassment to another, more so when that poor soul was one who could not tell the difference between sun and moon.

A year ago when Anand had arrived at Sunrise Colony, with a truck load of furniture, surveying the area for the correct address of his soon to be home and to join his first employment, he was quite affable to the people of the locality. At thirty Anand had no intention of getting married and starting a family. He had made up his mind that, unlike his friends, he was going to devote his life to the upliftment of the needy and impoverished, instead of reconciling with the unexciting and commonplace way of life. As a first step he had offered to serve an organisation which had similar goals. They pay was minimal but he didn't care. Money wasn't a problem. He had been bequeathed dizzying amount of wealth from his industrialist grandfather.

In the beginning, Anand was not so acerbic on the tormentors of the social pariah that Jaga was. But soon Anand repeatedly noticed that almost every passerby  somehow considered it his inviolable entitlement to deride Jaga in one manner or another. It wasn't as if he didn't suppress his natural revulsion against the whole affair. However, when he confronted his conscience he held himself equally guilty for not raising his voice in protest.  That moment onwards, Anand dutifully stood between Jaga and anyone who purported to trouble him. He even tried to reason with the incorrigible frolic mongers that it's unkind to treat anyone in their manner, hypothetically putting them and their family members in Jaga’s position. He realized that he was wasting his time.  The only difficulty was that Anand could not remain around Jaga at all times.

Anand was most disturbed upon knowing that, though the plight of Jaga was a household tale of the whole community, none treated him with the love he deserved. Forget love, on the contrary they made him their amusement toy. The priest of their temple, Madhav Babu, had found him as fragile as a sapling, fully wrapped in a thin white linen sheet of cloth, leaving his pink face adorned by his gem like eyes and his pursed lips, hanging to its life by a thin thread. Madhav babu was strolling down the flight of temple stairs to make his customary walk around the deity chanting hymns of dawn puja, when for no apparent reason he felt like peeping inside the small dark chamber just around the corner. The murky cavity which was used as a dump yard for unused material had sheltered a newborn life. The priest forthwith took Jaga in his arms and strolled out under light and checked for signs of life in its tiny form. He was assured of it when he noticed his furtive breathing. He wasted no time in taking him to their community health centre where the Lord Almighty not only restored to him his life but also ensured that the child would have the love of a father. Thence the priest and Jaga lived under the same roof provided by the temple committee where the former became inextricably entwined to his fate of being a devoted father to Jaga, who was given up for dead by his own. As time passed Jaga's frame grew stronger and he looked healthy and fit with no hint of his endangered infancy presenting itself about his appearance. But it didn't take long for his kin to discover that he wasn't mentally able as other children. His mind hadn't kept pace with his age. At fifteen he had the brains of a five year old.

Many blamed it on providence, many on past life sins and many figured that it could be the result of the lack of mother's milk. Madhav babu was unable to cope with this misery. He had invested his dreams of being succeeded by his adopted son but that hope was reduced into a mirage with his son's newfound disability. It was too much for the ageing man and he took ill. A man's old age is perhaps livened by his family and his children's prosperity. That was not to be in the priest's case. Dark imaginings and sorrow took their toll on him. He reduced into a living straw and finally one stormy night he breathed his last. The whole night Jaga sat besides his father rambling to him unsure of what to make of his still lying frame. The next day his body was cremated on the banks of the Mahanadi. Everyone returned except Jaga who sat their for two days clueless as to where his father had vanished from the pyre. When he strolled back, life was not the same for him. The pitiless society blamed him for the priest's demise. They ostracized him. The doors of the temple room were forever closed for him. He was banished, back to nature's lap. He found shelter under the large Peepul tree in the center of the colony where he remained resigned to his dreadful fate, surviving on scraps thrown in by a kind few. Till the powers that rule providence sent Anand as his saviour.

On a bright autumn morning as Jaga lay gaily immersed in his senile delusions , Chintu and his partners in crime hurled a bagful of cow dung at Jaga. The poor chap was startled from his sleep as if earthquake had jolted him. He woke up to find the smelly waste smeared all over his shrunken belly. Anand saw this. Outraged, he threw his handbag where he stood and rolled up his sleeves readying himself to catch hold of the rogues and give them the beating of their lives. But being alien to the geography of the area, he looked helplessly as the scoundrels melted into the myriad lanes and by lanes of the neighbourhood. The next day he ensured that Chintu’s pristinely shining white school uniform was given the same treatment that its wearer had meted out to the innocent Jaga. He waited till Chintu got down his father’s scooter, waved him good bye and sauntered along the pathway towards the school gate. Just when the rogue was about to step inside, Anand took a perfect aim at him and forcefully flinged a polyethene bag brimming with fresh manure at him. It landed exactly where it was supposed to. The dung lay plastered on his spotless shirt, partially dripping down to his feet. The whole gathering around him broke into laughter. Anand emerged from his hiding and strolled towards a stunned Chintu.

The gang was never going to take this insult of their leader, lying down. So they beat Jaga black and blue, a night later. Leaving his arms and face swollen beyond recognition. When Anand saw this he swore then and there that he wasn't going to leave Jaga at the mercy of his tormentors. He took him in, & let him live with him. He held his hands and guided him inside his house. He fed him warm soup and boiled rice. He took a close look at his wounds and applied ointment on them. They stayed together from that day onwards. Anand purchased a set of toys for Jaga to keep him from straying out of his house in his absence. He didn't feel embarrassed at all when he bought those in a large transparent polythene bag for his seventeen year old friend.  Jaga fell in love with the toys. He would play with them for hours when Anand was away. When he came back from work, he would take him out for a stroll under his watch.

Soon the neighbours stopped troubling Jaga. Word of Anand and Jaga's friendship spread far and wide. People in the locality began to revere Anand. Persons who dismissed Jaga as a madman began inquiring from Anand about his well being. Such was his unadulterated and unpretentious sincerity in caring back for Anand, that the latter claimed he'd found a true friend in Jaga. People started paying visits to Anand's house and many even wanted to say 'Hello' to Jaga. When summoned by Anand, he would come out and offer a perfected namaskar to their doting guests, and quickly amble back into his room. Women prepared special dishes and sent them over for the friends. At times when Jaga remained adamant not to open his mouth for a morsel, Anand would announce that he too wouldn't touch his food and conjure up an act of pain in his stomach. Within moments, Jaga would surrender, assume his favourite lotus position ready to be fed. During idle Sunday noons a relieved Anand would loudly sing songs of friendship and Jaga would incoherently join him.

At times when Jaga would be engrossed arranging and rearranging the plastic puzzles Anand would confide in him about his inner feelings. He would tell him that he understood his destitution as he himself was an orphan. He would often caress Jaga's head when he'd be fidgety and scared for no reason. Jaga would wake him up in the middle of night pulling his hands demanding him to take him for a walk outside. It would take a great deal of explaining and cajoling for Anand to convince him against his wish. Despite many inconveniences and annoying antics of Jaga, Anand never regretted having brought him along. When it would rain with gurgling thunder and blinding flashes of lightning, Jaga would hug Anand tightly and sit close to him. Anand would always quickly return his embrace. With passing time, Anand discovered certain remarkable traits in his friend. He came to know that Jaga was an avid observer and a quick learner. Whenever he had to hurry for his office without performing cleaning chores, he often returned to notice that his bed and other places were pristine, his dishes and sheets put exactly the way he normally kept them. Jaga remembered the names of birds and animals that he'd told him. The two friends would secretly make fun of a few chosen men of their colony and their peculiar funny habits and mannerisms. In the best of his days, Jaga would even mimic the most funny ones, whatever he remembered of it. He often pleasantly surprised Anand with his ability to remember about the latter's most annoying habits. Anand was elated. He couldn't have asked for more.

A year had passed since the day Jaga was ushered into Anand's house And the latter was always curious to know about Jaga's actual date of birth. But he never asked anyone. He'd been toying with the idea of celebrating his pal's birthday and once when the two friends were lost in banter, Anand declared  ' I don't know when exactly you were born, but let's just celebrate the day we began to share this roof over our heads, as your birthday. It'd be a celebration of our friendship too. What do you say ?' Anand wasn't quite sure if his friend understood his message. The latter simply looked out of the window and said "Sky.. Big Sky". 'Yes, that's a big sky my friend just about as big as your heart.'  replied a smirking Anand. He got ready in a jiffy and announced to him that he'd be back in an hour with his favourite cartoon toys from T.V. and ofcourse unputdownably delicious snacks. Jaga was unduly adamant that Sunday evening to accompany Anand. Anand had to speak a few harsh words to quiet him down. Something he regretted all the way he walked to their town's most busy Chinese restaurant. He would make it upto him when he got back, he assured himself.

But the delightful soul that Jaga was, soon forgot his savior's chides and became busy in conducting a fierce talon fight between a rubber dinosaur and a plastic dragon. A few hours later when Jaga was in the loving arms of sleep which had rescued him from boredom, a relentless rapping on the door jostled him out of it's embalming hold. When he opened the door he saw two uniformed policemen posted outside like twin poles. He quickly dropped his toys and raised his left hand to salute them. Realizing his mistake he immediately put down his left hand and raised his right. He'd learnt  about it during the Republic Day parade at the town gallery, where he had accompanied Anand. He remembered how uniformed men like the ones standing before him gave and took salutes. He was a bit perplexed when no salute was returned by them. Even more puzzled were the two gentlemen who received the honour. One of them strolled inside after important queries by him weren't replied with any rational answer by Jaga. His eyes fell on a framed photograph of Anand, which he surveyed it with rapt attention. Then he turned around to show it to his colleague, who took a deep breathe after taking a good look at it.

A police van in an untimely hour in front of the most unlikely house of their peaceful colony had naturally attracted a small crowd. The elderly men of the locality curiously gawked at the Policemen and the women stood far behind them trying to figure what was going on. Why had the Police come to Anand's house ? they wondered and exchanged hisses among themselves. The Officer came outside with Anand's photograph and quickly swapped his glances between it and what looked like a small card sized document and asked the crowd aloud

'Is this man Anand Majhitia ? And does he live in this house ?' 

'Yes..yes' came the half hearted chorus reply.

'Where is his family ?' he continued probing

'He has none Sir' replied the grey bearded man standing just near him.

'And who is this man ?' the officer asked pointing his finger at Jaga.

'That's Jaga Sir. But he's not Anand's relative. They are just fiends, living in one house.' the same man answered gleefully.

'I need to take him to the Police Station' said the officer.

 'He's of no use Sir. He's a lunatic.' someone objected.

The officer took a good look at Jaga and nodded his head as if he now understood where the salute came from.

'' Someone has to come to the Station' he announced with pretentious regret

'But why Sir ? What's he done ?' the same old man asked

'Just come.' the officer blurted dismissively.

The van roared to life as two of Anand's neighbours hopped inside it following the officers. It sped away with the rest of the onlookers trailing it's dwindling form swallowed by smoke and dust. Jaga strolled back inside the house and shut its doors.

At the entrance of the Police Station a white mini van was parked. The men got down from the vehicle and were led to the back of the mini van. A constable rushed and flung it's doors open. The two men who had accompanied the officers hissed and damned and turned their heads away aghast. Anand lay still inside it, on a decrepit stretcher covered with starched white cloth upto his neck. Had it not been for his still chest, one could not have said whether the man was in slumber or asleep for good.

What happened Sir ? asked one of the men in between stutters.

'He was hit by a speeding car. Probably died on spot.'

This time Jaga was inconsolable when he saw his friend being torched. When his adoptive father had left him, death was not an idea that his mind had known then. But today, even for a feeble minded fellow like him, flaring up the body of his friend was beyond his tolerance. How could he stand and watch while they burnt his friend. It took three sturdy men to subdue his relentless attempts at salvaging his friend's blazing body. Only when it had been fully devoured by the insanely dancing flames and the bits of his flesh and bone had been reduced to smoking ash, Jaga was let off. He howled for an hour, sure of his loss. Like an infant deserted by his mother, thrown into the dark confines of nothingness, with no light to guide him, with no hand to caress him during hopelessness, no gentle voice to reassure him and no one to shelter him from his fears, forsaken and forlorn he cried and cried till the source of his tears dried up. Someone saw him lying unconscious and brought him to his residence. People feared that miseries would return swiftly to Jaga's life, when he would open his eyes, now that his friend, his liberator had abandoned him, once again leaving his survival to the mercy of the cruel. But Anand didn't abandon his friend. To even think of such a thing was to disgrace the great soul that he was.

Anand had made his friend the nominee for receiving twenty five lakh rupees of his insurance policy. But confident of the fact the he'd be swindled, he had put all of it in a trust constituted in Jaga's favour and made its trustee his mentor cum boss Mr. Bimal Mishra, the man who also ran "Sharan', a philanthropic organization for the care and upliftment of abandoned and forsaken children. The fifteen paged 'Trust Deed' stipulated that the money could only be spent on his treatment, education and if need be other of his necessary expenses. So that he could attain the best flight to his destination with  dignity. Anand had never disclosed that he'd purchased the house where they lived and that he had made a will whereby it now stood tranfserred in Jaga's name, also protected by the trust, in case Anand's allies turned against him. At no cost he could have gone without ensuring a roof over his beloved friend's head.

A week later Mr. Bimal won over Jaga and convinced him to come with him to 'Sharan'. Jaga now resides there in a cozy quarter allotted to him. How soon time flies. Jaga has managed to find his laughter. He is adored by all his mates at 'Sharan', as much for his affability as for the fact that he was the great Anand's friend. After all Anand had been Bimal babu's most hardworking deputee in building 'Sharan' from scratch to what it is today. He deeply connected with all the teenagers living under 'Sharan's roof.  Though many times Bimal babu asked him to bring Jaga there, Anand had respectfully denied saying that he needed his personal care, concealing within himself the truth that he too needed Jaga's company.

When Anand is reminisced at 'Sharan', Jaga keenly listens to the tales of his dear departed friend and smiles over whatever he understands of it.  They also ask him about their friendship. He is unable to answer, yet. Many have spotted him staring infinitely at the garlanded portrait of his friend, put up on the wall of the auditorium. As if the two are engrossed in a clandestine communication.  Memories of his friend are not hard for him to recall. They are the only good memories he has in his life. They are immortally etched in his mind just as the eternal sun and stars painted on the heavenly canvass.

He has recently begun his lessons on English alphabets and he enjoys it to the core. It's fast sharpening his mind. Someday he'll find smartness. He has abundant good wishes pushing him ahead to that goal. He loves being at 'Sharan' but misses his home where countless memories lie bundled. They await for him to return to them. He plans the same.




**   ' Timeless ' is a work of fiction.and any resemblance in it with any person, place or incident is purely coincidental. 

Selfless

She pledged being by my side 

Forever and ever in dark and light 

In this world and the life above

She assured me 

Of her selfless love

Once in passing, just a mere musing

I pined   'In your lap I want to die'

She sprang -  .'How dare you ' she cried

'It's my right that before you, 

In my grave I shall lie '

I grinned bemused

For I saw glimpse of both

The truth and margins of her selfless love

Angel Eyes

Pranab frequented 'Sip' more than he consciously wanted to. His desperation to indulge in romance puppeteered his volition in arduous and often unabashed pursuance of that ambition. Pranab's visits had earned him the glorious distinction of a 'Royal Guest' in an eatery where perhaps one would only rarely find a second visitor of his age group. He stuck out like a sore thumb in the vibrant and juvenile gathering. But for the fact that waiters always kept hovering around Pranab, the guests would have found out his motives. Most passed him off as someone related to the business of that eatery. It's a good thing that a clandestine scheme had been devised between Pranab and the floor manager of 'Sip' owing to his apparent customer loyalty. The waiters had been instructed to keep the table at the southern end of the lounge always available for the man. He was never to be returned for the lack of accommodation. That was the instruction.  Also the waiters of 'Sip' memorized Pranab's choices in the menu card like their bed time prayers. Ofcourse it had more to do with an edict of their immediate boss and a habitual repetition of the same servings, than any truth about the analogy 'Customer Is God'. In those countless times Pranab ordered the 'cappuccino', 'apple's ale' or 'grilled chicken sandwich', the waiters broke into hiss hiss disgusted by his repetition of the same old treat for his tongue every day, day after day.

"Sip" had bagged itself the niche of being the most visited frolic zone for youngsters of the near and far corners of the city. The distinction was not however equally welcome among elders of the town. All kind of foolhardy indulgences were heard of being encouraged inside the place. Be that as it may it held its pride for being an addiction among the adolescents of the town. It was often remarked by it's most avid admirers that one must personally visit the place and spend some moments there to get a real sense of why the place is such an incredible rage among teenagers. Pranab never cared about or met with those reasons. He had his own reasons. It was in many ways the most fundamental of all. He looked out for meeting some girl and befriending her, with no dubious intentions whatsoever. He considered himself purged of all evil motives, especially ones with which those boys in the darker parts of the eatery pecked away at the necks of their female companions.

The eatery had two distinct zones tailored to cater to the desires of its two 'most visiting' categories of guests. The bedazzling lighting buttressed by vibrant upholstery and airy spacing among the tables in the eastern part of the cafeteria, just around the entrance, made it the 'look -no-further' preference of the friendly gangs. They flocked there, treating it like some extension of their living rooms, with their legs mostly not on the ground and their words mostly heard by even those to whom they were not spoken. Everyone moved beyond their personal grudges and remorse in the embrace of the enveloping aroma of the bakery. Much unlike the farther part of it where the lighting was near dark and the whole zone was cut off from the rest of the place by a huge wall of translucent glass, allowing partial imagery from the other side, just ample to tease one's imagination. The glass separation allowed it all the exclusivity that would suffice to entice pubescent hormones. They said that the ambience beyond it was euphoric forever. Glimpses of the alluring ecstasy stole its way out, the maddeningly loud decibels escaping everytime someone opened the glass doors. It'd gradually die down with the gradual closing of it. It was amazing how the two spots, sharing the same roof over their heads (not the ceilings for they were strikingly distinguishable from each other) shared nothing when it come to their purpose and their occupants.  

Pranab walked into 'Sip' on a Thursday morning, something which he never did. His homemade brunch was his favourite. He wore a fade proof smile. He drifted to his designated couch, simultaneously eyeing for promising tables. He noticed none. His grin left him like a disgruntled ally as he settled down. He closed his eyes and thought of his dream of dawn. He sat on the exact same chair where he was seated, staring  away at someone. Everytime he tried to make out who he was looking at, a power cut would ensure that everything turned to blinding dark. Power would resume the moment he would turn his head somewhere else. This went on for an uncomfortably long time before he saw two people walk out hand in hand. By the moment he was summoned by his senses to the real world he had managed to discern a beaded bracelet on the girl's slender wrist which had the words ANGEL EYES embedded on it. The climax of his dream was the cause of his chivalrous smile. He'd been led by it to expect that it was a sign of soon to be found romance. The smile had of course faded when he'd noticed that 'Sip' was teeming with couples that day. He hadn't noticed carefully.

The table fork slipped out of his fidgety fingers and met the granite floor with head turning levels of clink clank, jumping on its four pointed tips and turning over its head and musically tossing itself around before it was finally disciplined by Pranab. When he resumed his seat he discovered that his fork had distracted many eyes. He quickly nodded his head gesturing at all of them, his wordless apology. As he was steadily shifting his pleading eyes from one table to another, unlike the usual fleeting glimpse he affords himself, that he saw her.

He was fairly surprised on having missed her the first time around when he'd surveyed the tables and their claimants. No one could miss noticing her even in the most congested throng swarming with distracting faces. Pranab was seated at about ten feet away from her just in the mid of her right and her north. She didn't seem to have noticed Pranab, much less his toddler gaze fixed on her. Pranab savoured the glimpse and sat stunned under her spell. He didn't mind. It wasn't easy to penetrate beyond the reflecting surface of the goggles she'd worn. Somehow he caught her as she blinked her dreamy eyes behind the transparent glares and with each blink something inside Pranab succumbed to her allure. She looked lost in some distant by gone land of fairies. Her gleaming hair cascaded on to her perfectly broad shoulders and lay collapsed like benevolent admirers swooning about her angelic face. When she closed her eyes momentarily, everything priceless turned worthless. He was fixated on her visages like a infant glued to the plastic spinning merry go round, suspended right on the top of his cradle He had no doubt that her face was the most unblemished formation of the Lord's hands. Her faultlessly carved nose ran for just the adequate length, before silently surrendering it's feet to the depths of her face. Her moist lips reminded him of unplucked fresh red berries in dew drenched gardens. For a moment he felt something gentle flutter inside him and challenge the calm of his heart. It made him weak.

Pranab guessed she must be averagely built, may even be petite. Her fingers seemed like unbloomed lotus petals, supple and fragile. Her nails were prominently polished in magenta and portruded non menacingly from her fingers, a feature he hadn't seen about many girls. As his eyes roved along her contours and were on their way to her heaving bosom, they were distracted instead, by glimpse of a  open book on her table, besides the other usual lady stuff. She kept reading its pages and looking at the glass walls over at the entrance in alternate turns. She did it in infinite pattern. Pranab was amused. He wondered. What precisely was she doing ? May be she was learning by heart something for her exams, or memorizing vereses of her favourite poem. She did it in such kiddish fashion that Pranab found himself giggling, something he was not accustomed to doing in 'Sip'. She put her index fingers pin pointedly at the words and glided it across the page row by row,every page. Pranab was rapt by her elementary mannerism. He had been lured to inadvertently break out of his self imposed grave disposition, A smile had long dropped by and remained hung to his lips. Pleasantly startling the staff of 'Sip' who had concluded that their place of employment and Pranab ji's joys were mutually exclusive naturally doubtful therefore of his intentions behind his unusually recurring visits to their restaurant.

His eyes were keenly anticipating her next move. The palpable curiosity in them, was like that of a twelve year old. God knows what she read. A glittering smile consumed her face which in turn infused in Pranab such ethereal bliss that he was transported heavens apart in a moment and in the next, pulled back by her magnetism. Pranab sat charmed just like he'd figured he would be, on his first encounter with the fairy from his treasured fable, one whom he secretly planned to marry and make his beloved wife. The waiter in maroon costume brought her a glass of fizzy carbonated liquid teeming with restless bubbles, eager to swim up to the brim and find their freedom. The waiter didn't stop to take her gratitude but simply turned and marched away. The girl slowly moved her hands in the direction where the glass had been placed without taking her left hand off the pages she seemed to be engrossed in. All along she kept her eyes shut and chanted something. It all seemed weird.

Her cellphone began to buzz aloud. Thrice, four times, six times. She didn't pick it. The ring died. It rang again within seconds. Her hands didn't leave the surface of the pages. Pranab was getting restless. A waiter passed by and Pranab caught hold of him and commanded pointing his finger at the girl 'Could you please tell the lady over there that her phone is ringing ? The man resumed his erect posture and exclaimed with spotless politeness 'Sorry Sir, Can't do that...can't disturb her like that.

'Can't you see, she is not picking up her phone.

 I think Sir, maybe she doesn't want to take the call.'

'What ? Are you kidding me ? She's in a restaurant, chilling out, why wouldn't she take a simple call ? ' Pranab shot back in purposeful tone.

'I wouldn't know why Sir'  exclaimed the poor waiter

'Well then just go tell her and we'll find out'

'Sorry Sir. I don't think I can do that'

'Alright I get it' Pranab remarked with a half grin and reached for his wallet. He forked out a twenty and pushed it right into the hand of the waiter, whose palm had by now fully blossomed for receiving the nourishment it sought.

After offering a bow of obligation, the man went straight to the table where the unsuspecting lady was lost in her own world of words, and spoke to her. She didn't budge. She was simply seen making some serious facial expressions followed by some rapid movement of lips. The waiter was struck with nervousness and scampered away, not to be seen anymore. Poor Pranab could not even know what was happening. She wasn't raising her head from the 'God Knows What' book she was drowned in, she wouldn't take her calls and even won't look at the glass when she drank the blue liquid inside it. Pranab decided to himself unravel the mystery. He got up and began walking towards the washroom. She was settled on a table en route to the loo. He planned to steal a swift glance at the book. He had a good twelve feet to cover before he crossed her table. Just when Pranab had reached midway, she shut her eyes again letting out a steady gasp right from the depths of her lungs and began sinking back in the chair, her spinal frame falling towards the wooden support. In a lateral movement of hand she flipped the hardbound cover of the book and closed it in one go.

'Damn', a frustrated Pranab murmured to himself as he crossed her seat exasperated. He caught her fragile musk laden fragrance. It spread in his veins like a rising ecstasy. He strolled away hastily on his path.

Fiercely committing himself to the task of starting a conversation with her, Pranab strode out of the washroom. He'd spent a good fifteen minutes before the mirror in there, choosing and picking from the innumerable introductory expressions that he knew of. Nothing had changed about the lady. She sat embraced by the same enticing aura about her.

Pranab summoned one of the attendants and instructed him to serve the lady with a glass of their best mocktail. He specially instructed him to make it visually enticing. He thought of the colorful glass of whatever she was having a little while ago. He also tutored him to politely point at him and hand over the piece of paper to the lady if she wanted to know who bought her the drink.

Off went the waiter. He was trembling. It was his first day on job and to add to that this tricky deal. In five minutes he returned with a frosty glass of orange colored fluid with tits and pieces of yellow solids floating on the brim besides a diced lemon eating the rim of the glass. A rainbow like straw bobbed up and down the mocktail as the waiter lifted it off the tray and courteously placed it for being savoured.

There was no response. The waiter stood dumbfounded waiting for his cue. He could not decide whether to stay or leave after saying 'Enjoy your drink'. How about giving away the piece of paper anyway ? ' he thought. How would it alter the scheme of things ? he feared and stopped.

What's this ? the lady asked without even opening her eyes.

'That's your drink Ma'm. Sent over by the gentleman over there' came the waiter's reply as he turned around to slightly raise his finger towards Pranab.

Pranab's fingers were restless to gesture a 'Hi'. That would happen as soon as she would turn about, under the guidance of the attendant. That moment never came. The waiter stole a glance at him and sought his order regarding the scrap of paper. Pranab signaled at him and he placed the neatly folded piece on the table and walked away. Pranab looked on, as she neither touched the condensing walls of the glass nor inched her fingers towards the note which was fluttering in the breeze waiting to elope with it from under her ignorance to some place better. Pranab was flabbergasted at the inexplicable non chalance of a seemingly decent lady who'd just been shown a gesture of interest by a man. He would have considered himself fortunate if she would have responded invitingly, but admittedly he was expecting  resentment, some resistance, at least. She didn't even care to read the note which he'd sent along. Pranab decided that he must approach her personally. May be she doesn't believe in indirect propositions, he convinced himself before hand pressing his tousled hair and rectifying creases on his shirt. He got up nervously.

Lost in scheming Pranab didn't notice that a man, about his age, had come up to her. He bent over her table and began picking up her articles. Pranab saw him plant a gentle kiss on her head and take her hand in his. Pranab froze. They began slowly walking out of the restaurant. A speechless Pranab followed their leaving figures like a statue with roving eyes. The moment they stepped out, Pranab noticed that the woman slipped her hand out of the man's grip and pulled out a pair of dark glasses and put it over her eyes replacing the transparent goggles. A moment later she took out a steel rod and stretched it to full length. She began walking beating the rod on the path, partly announcing her movement and partly making out her way forward. Every time the man would extend his hand to guide her, she'd gently shove it away, claiming her independence despite her torment, though unable to make him give up. Ultimately, the man began to walk by her side, step by step, like a silent shadow, eagerly guarding her from any hardship that might fall on her way. Colour faded from Pranab's face

One of the senior attendants, who had been witnessing the whole event, walked up to Pranab and interrupted his thoughts

'Sir, She can't see.'

'What ?' Pranab broke out of his contemplation. 'Yeah'

'Her name is Kamla. The man is her fiance'.

A startled Pranab gaped at the waiter.

'Amazing. Isn't it ? They met at this place a year ago. Matters moved fast. They do when feelings are mutual, don't they ? Mr. Shantanu proposed to marry her exactly a month ago. She lost her eye  in a fire that broke out in her office. She surely lost quite a few things with her eyes. Love wasn't one of them.'

They have been coming since a year. Why the heck didn't I ever see them ? probed an aghast Pranab.

Your schedules never met, till today. replied the attendant.

Why the transparent goggles ? I mean why not the ones which she put on outside. Pranab queried out of perplexity.

Oh. That, Well, I had that figured out before anyone on the staff. 
It's because she doesn't want anybody to know about her handicap. She obviously doesn't want anyone's pity. She wants to live as normally as she can.. She doesn't want those unsuspecting vigorous noises around her to die out of sympathy for her.. Hence the normal goggles. the attendant explained with a warm smile

Someone yelled the waiter's name and he rushed off with the untouched glass of mocktail after shoving the small unopened note back into it's author's hand. Pranab unfolded it slowly. A smirk found its way to his lips as he read the words he'd scribbled for her.

It read 'Till this very moment I thought I knew who had the most beautiful eyes   :) '.



                                                                                       *************


"Angel Eyes" is a work of fiction and any resemblance in it, to any person (alive or dead), place or incident etc. if any, is only coincidental.

My Second Publication @ Vivid Online Magazine

Got informed yesterday by Vivid Online Magazine that they have approved my article "Bonds Of Blood" and it's already published in their magazine.

Coincidentally it was my birthday yesterday.

So thank you Vivid for your lovely birthday gift.

My esteemed readers can read the published article here .




(Picture Courtesy http://www.vividmagazine.in/)

Bonds Of Blood

This article is now published @ Vivid Online Magazine .

Please read it here .

Thanks for all your kind support my dear readers.

(Picture Courtesy - Times of India.Indiatimes.com)

A Worthy Life

Nothing changed about Vikram, during a epoch span of almost four years, who lay like a vegetable on the foldable bed in Cabin No. 11 of Sri J.J. Naidu Hospital, bound to the tubes and pipes galore. His zealous eyes, blinking in quick succession followed by an undue hiatus, suggesting a faint forgetfulness and unmatched intrigue alike, were the only moving organs of his frail form. In a stark contradistinction to his being, everything outside the window always moved and changed in a predestined fashion. In this change there was indeed the sense of freedom due to the ability, of those who moved, to do what they willed. In that way they tormented Vikram, reminding him of how indetachably he was tied to his still fate. But the brazen optimist, that Vikram was, he saw beyond the obvious and noticed how the sun always set at the same distant horizon outside his window, the myna couple alighted at the window near that bed at dawn and chirped loving confessions to each other. But they eventually flew apart in obedience to bereaving obligations, for their survival. He thought of hundreds of men and women who seemed perfectly free, but ran to their mundane servility every day and how even the seasons never changed their course, even if they were beyond the restraining mortal bounds. He had taught himself to believe that nothing in this word enjoyed absolute freedom. Every entity and being is inescapably tied to its destiny under nature's command. This gave Vikram a delusional sense of relief as he considered himself similarly placed as all those perceived free creatures and therefore considered himself no less free. Despite such an insensitive interpretation of their purpose by Vikram, the seasons displayed their kindness to him, by offering themselves in a minuscule yet significant ratio to his senses, who otherwise remained deprived of similar pleasures inside the air conditioned cabin. When the rains beat against his window panes, he tricked himself into reminiscing moments from yore when he too had let hundreds of heaven's drops spray on his face. When he saw the winter forcing everyone into increased layers of clothing he too stepped up his ask for woolen stuff to keep him warm. Though the ones he requested , knew very well that it was a gimmick inside a cabin adequately warmed by the ever humming room heater, they nevertheless obliged him . And in the summers he would often pretend to be irritated at the heat, which barely presented itself inside the cool ambience of his cabin.

Over time, Vikram's condition had gotten better and then worsened back. When Vikram was rushed to Sri J.J. Naidu Hospital after his tryst with misfortune on road, he was unable to move a limb, except for his eye lids which blinked to an abstract stimulus felt only to his deepest sense which miraculously remained unhurt and uncrippled by the peripheral damage. The doctors had written him off keeping nobody in any fantasy land about his condition. But who has ever fathomed the mysterious ways of life. In a span of only six months Vikram had shown a remarkable zeal to get better. His fore limbs had shown intermittent signs of sensitivity and exhibited progress in their sensory motion now and then. But still the doctors could say nothing with certainty about the likelihood of his recovering to a state as normal as before his accident. Since they were aware of the equal probability of his slipping back into a condition which could be worse than the one in which he was priorly. Their fears won as Vikram's condition alarmingly deteriorated within the next couple of months. Most of his body parts stopped responding to treatment. Visitors often witnessed his relatives sobbing just outside the cabin where life played a heart shattering game with his frail and motionless body. Finally on the last Sunday of October, that year, when winter was just around the corner and he was due to finish his fourth year on the same bed, doctors gave their final word concerning his survival. The prospect of being unable to take back their son home after waiting for almost four endlessly long years, shattered his parents. Their twenty two year old son was going to die and there was absolutely nothing that could change this reality. They cursed their sordid fate howling and screaming in utter agony.

But Vikram had other plans. He wished to ensure that he'd survive even after his death, after his life was over. When opportunity presented itself, he seized it with uncanny enthusiasm. He agreed to donate his eyes post his death, at the first instance when he was offered the choice to do so. A part of the reason why he decided on doing such charity was that he was filled with a sense of a vague purpose to see all that he had missed in those four bed ridden years of his life. No one could talk him out of it. He was determined to stay alive after his heart stopped beating. And what better way of going about it than through eyes, the doors to this picturesque world. He'd often fancy about the quintessential treats for eyes, those hued phenomenons of life that he never paid attention to when he was living a regular life. He would, for hours, dwell in those colorful, scenic places that everyone said, existed outside his cabin. It wasn't like Vikram hadn't seen places with vibrant natural imagery. But he believed that his short life robbed him of so much more that he could have witnessed. In donating his vision to another, he pretended to be motivated by an outright desire of serving his own self, howsoever implausible that may have sounded, rather than any intent of being kind hearted and charitable towards the needy. But deep down he was naturally relieved and gladdened by the joy of being able to give someone his eyes back. Laying on that bed, bereft of motion for so long, he had realized the value of relishing life, in his own inability to do so. Vikram dissented when life was nicknamed a gift because nobody knows how good or bad, fortunate or unfortunate, pleasant or horrible, life would ultimately turn out to be. Vikram thought of life more as a chance. A chance at experiencing things, good & bad, loving and hateful, pleasant and horrid, sweet and bitter, comical and frustrating. Diagonally opposite experiences, all of which fill life with undiluted fragrances and make it the mysteriously complex yet worthy experience that it is. He was overwhelmed with a sense of immense pleasure when he thought of donating the source of all that experience, his eyes, to someone who so desperately needed them. Experience was all that his vibrant soul sought for within the confines of his withered mortal frame. Oblivious to the engulfing grief that his folks succumbed to, Vikram lay still, his breathing body rising and falling with a tranquility uncommon to those at the gates of death, his eye balls dancing inside his fast shut eye lids, causing a wonder among sympathizers with regard to the subject of his dreams.

Vikram wasn't offered a choice. They came together like a surging deluge hurled at infinity sans order or destination, like prison breakers running hither tither, never to return. He saw a string of flashes beginning with those of his memorable childhood days spent mostly in his grandfather's jestful company, his first trek with his father, his mother's embalming glance, faces of his friends who never left his side in good and bad, his beloved Labrador barking impatiently, his father's bike which he stole to give his high school sweetheart a ride, their first nervous and naive kiss on it and then it came. Excruciating suffocation gripped him. He sensed difficulty in breathing, he could no more afford to play the hero who did not feel any pain. His eye flung wide open, filled with blood and an unusual amount of redness, and his mouth went gaping and gasping for air. His quintessential smile had deserted him. In that numbing  momentary pain he saw the everlasting uncanny smile on his grandfather's face telling him "Everything will be fine, I'm here now". Then in a suddenness known to birds who rocket away at a gunshot, Vikram's life flew out of its mortal prison. There wasn't much wailing heard around the cabin, for their sources had bankrupted themselves with time.

Days later, when the frequency of consoling visitors had declined in Vikram's house, two men, who appeared like father and son came searching for somebody to it. One of them pressed the door bell. Vikram's father answered it and as he powerlessly pulled the door open, he froze upon seeing what he saw. The effect was not similar though on the other side of the door. Vikram's father suddenly appeared to well up with anger and palpable resentment. He kept pushing the man, refusing to hear him, till he had pushed the man to the gates. He wanted to shout out loud, but before he could say a word, the man before him sunk to his knees and touched his feet. He went on and on, relentlessly offering his apologies. He begged Vikram's father for his forgiveness stating how much he hates himself for what he happened. He began weeping inconsolably. Vikram's father was indeed, for a moment swept by a feeling of kindness, but turned his back by saying "Forgiveness is not mine to give". He tried to keep upright his grieving structure as he gradually began walking back. The man behind him shouted "There's one more thing Sir, please, you've got see this...please Sir." And then it struck Vikram's father as he abruptly halted. He took ages to turn around. The man and his companion had now moved inside the gates again, and they were just behind him. Upon turning about, Vikram's father looked at the boy. Moistness welled up in the old man's eyes. He was speechless, as there was no word in any language, that could have expressed what he felt in that moment. 'Is that.." he blurted. "Wait, this can't be...Are you serious?....Did Vikram know..?", he continued, unable to conceal his stifling amazement. The child's father was nodding approvingly all along. "Being a father myself, I knew you would know... And Yes, Vikram knew where his gift was going" he assured calmly. This time, the child touched the feet of Vikram's father. No part of the latter's body moved. The father son duo walked out as he watched their frames dissolve in the throng.

His wife came out and asked him to join her for the evening tea. Noticing her husband looking at the blank distant, she walked up to him and slowly slid her hand upon his hung shoulder  and queried softly 'What happened dear ?' Just then a flock of tired birds flew past their heads, returning to their hanging abodes & awaiting kins, and the dusk seemed not far away. Vikram's father turned to her and said "Nothing my dear" forging a smile from his heart as he battled to escape the flashes from that fateful night when the man who just left their house had rammed his car into their unsuspecting son thereby irretrievably crippling his spine. It all made sense to him now. Vikram didn't want the man's son, who also lost his eyes in that incident, to suffer for his father's deeds and the moment he knew he wasn't going to make it, he made sure that his eyes went to that boy. It didn't matter anymore if one casualty of that night could not be salvaged. He ensured that the other got back his precious vision and  his life. Vikram may have died after living a short life, but it sure was a worthy life. Needless to say he'd also won the deal of immortality, for he'd be eternally remembered by the boy and in the memories that he'd pass on. Remembering his wife's question Vikram's father thought to himself "How could I tell you my love, here stood the man who caused the life out of our son and with him stood the boy who looked at me with the eyes that our son gave him." and glanced at the heavens as if to say " I'm proud of you."

                                                                       
                                                                                                       *********



("A Worthy Life" is a work of fiction and any resemblance in it, to any person, incident or place is purely co - incidental)

Death Of A Dream

At the tender age of 14, Ashutosh was pretty much convinced about what he wanted to do in his life. In fact he was so much into doing that for the rest of his life that when people asked him about his career ambitions he would shoot back with conviction that he wanted to be an author. It took him some time to get used to the perplexed reaction that his answer almost invariably drew. Most would ask a subsequent question "No, I mean what do you plan to do for a living". Ashutosh would pause, wondering quickly the reason why the good man rephrased his question. He would simply restate what he had uttered a moment ago. Half would be totally forthcoming regarding their denigration of his idea. They found it totally unacceptable and they would put it forth in no uncertain terms. The other half would be slightly subtler. They would wryly comfort Ashustosh as if they knew the fate of his dream. Their wryness being ostensible even to a 14 year old. His parents, especially his father, never spoke, forget discuss, a word when the topic of his son's career was raised. This left quite an innocent impression on Ashutosh's mind that he had his father's support.
                                                                         
Years passed and Ashutosh stepped into more decisive stages of academics. Ones which significantly mattered in preparing him for the battle of job-bagging. His parents had blissfully forgotten about their son's aspirations. One might call it a natural outcome of the sincerity and fervor with which Asustosh pursued the subjects of his syllabus.  This camouflaged, much to his own detriment,  his true craving. Not many understood that his academic sincerity owed itself to the simple fact that Ashutosh was inherently an honest and sincere lad. He miserably lacked in abilities required for being deceitful. He did with verve whatever he undertook. Hence nobody cared to see through his surface to find his inner cravings, the true destination where his heart aimed at. Ashutosh's family struggled to make ends meet. His father had been an eternal struggler in finding success, hence wealth. His mother took temporary jobs in schools of the neighbourhood. But they caused more harm than gain. She would toil there mainly because she liked teaching. But the salary was always paltry. That defeated the whole point. Passing a single day seemed impossible. Nothing seemed to work. He would often overhear relatives comforting his parents by saying that their son would definitely salvage their future. The hopes of everyone cast on him a palpable burden. Everything now rested on his shoulders -  the future of his family, his own future in those terms and hence burial of his vision of being a writer.  Unfortunately for him there was no middle path, no way which led to harmony between his aspirations and the world's expectations. They were clearly mutually exclusive.

Usually on weekends Ashutosh would take to creative writing. He penned short stories, sonnets, articles anything that seemed flowing in that moment. His pieces were not without admirers. He heard everything starting from "You could make writing your full time work!"  to "We feel sorry that your gifts shall remain hidden from the world." Hearing all this, Ashutosh would decide, for a fleeting moment, to rebel against all who stood in the way of his fulfilling his yearnings. Within moments, a part of his aggression would have subdued under recollection of promises made to his mother, and the remaining would give way to undisputed reconciliation when he would see the melancholy prevailing in the blank eyes of his father when he would open the gates late at night for him. Matters became more difficult for him when he read illustrious stories of great men who fought all odds, taking the risk, to pursue their dreams instead of being told what to do by the world. The unforgettable part for him was that they had succeeded in the end. He would often under the starry night sky, wonder whether some miracle would deliver him from the dilemma. Nothing happened.

Time flew. Soon he graduated with decent scores. He applied for jobs. Within no time his credentials brought him interview opportunities. The Lord Almighty indeed blessed his family for He landed Ashutosh in a well paying job in a multinational corporation. Congratulations followed without any delay. Suddenly he saw happiness engulf his home within its blissful white wings. He noticed dazzle return to the eyes of his parents. It did not therefore take him long to realize the value of his present success for his family. Neighbours who did not seem to even notice his mother now flocked around her all the time. Men of social repute residing in their locality started dropping in to say "Hello". Intermittent talks of his matrimony also started doing the rounds. He was astonished at the swiftness with which his father's body language changed. The once depressed man was now in his original form infusing joy and humor wherever he went. Ashutosh would visualize how his father's college days must have been. He had heard tales of his father being vibrant and dynamic in his youth. He felt somewhat satiated notwithstanding his belief that his salvation lay somewhere else. They moved into a new house where they did not live amidst cheap lime paint and the constant fear of rain water entering their living room and nights were no more accompanied with curses and swearing flying out in all directions of drunken brawls. Scorching summers were not worsened by ridiculously unaccountable power -  cuts and his family members did not have to carry in turns, water from the colony tube - well owing to the irregular water supply.

Marriage propositions started arriving for his sister. In no time, providence gave her hand in marriage to the boy of a respectable family in the city. Ashutosh's mother remarked "Son, do you see now what the blessing of Lord Almighty has brought us! It is only because of your engagement in a reputed service, that all this has happened. Never throw away what He has blessed you with. God Bless You!"  She was correct. Without the job, changes that were occurring in his family, could not have occurred. That's the way this world works. Before a further year elapsed Ashutosh heard marriage bells ring for him too. His marriage was arranged with Namita, as his parents found her in possession of qualities that made her their son's soulmate. Work and family now constitute all of Ashutosh's time. In fact they make him what he is today. He has no time anymore to feel the throbbing urge to break away from all this and walk on the road not taken.  It has been two years since the last time he felt anything close to staging an opposition in a bid to save his true will. There's something about him which suggests that he is afraid of testing the strength of his wish that once was. Life appears to be in a sort of equilibrium. He is not complacent. He knows nothing will last forever. But that alone cannot provoke him to throw away all that the Lord has given him. He thus walks on, without complain, without nostalgia. Strangely, at times, he gathers his wits to write. But when he is under the starry night sky, which is one of the few things that seems to have traveled unchanged, with him in his journey, he mourns the death of a dream.

("Death of A Dream" is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person (alive or dead), place or incident etc. if any, is only coincidental.)