The tryst of air

In the monsoon of August I breezed through the heart of India, the Capital, Indraprastha ,Dilli or New Delhi. As sustainer of life I flew everywhere.My tryst with people then amazed me. 

In the monsoon,cooling the scorching earth I halted at the traffic signal.As the signal turned red and the serpentine queue of moving fleet came to the halt. Through the meandering space of vehicles out came a thin tiny hand. She had been holding a small flag in one hand and a dozen in other. Flagging the spluttering paper flags in monsoon’s air, the matted hair crooned in high pitched voice- “Dus ke ek ,dus ke ek.”

She ran through the lane of interlaced vehicles. The momentary business deal brought sparkle in her soiled pale face. To cash the momentary business deal her body got into a nervy jerk. Her walk as well as her droning became fast, to cash in the moments before signal turns green.

Since last year, month of August appeared promising to her tribe-the flag sellers. Usually the Independence Day would be regarded as the day of sale for them. But the scenario of flag sell changed since last year due to Anna’s movement, “India against corruption.” Like last year, that year too month of August boosted her sale. Anna’s movement at Janter Manter extended the period of their flags sell.

Every morning with her family or street folks she would head to the place to get big sell. En Route to  India Gate on the occasions like Independence Day or Anna Movement would draw a big sell. A good sell like these days ensure a full meal at night. She knows after that she would have to turn to begging, perhaps near a temple or Gurudwara.

She peeped through the glass of closed window flashing her small flag-“dus ruiya, dus rupiya ka ek” expectantly. A little motion of rolling window would bring sparkle in her eyes. Her bony frame would hurry to make most of the moment. Her agility left  other flag seller  kids disillusioned. She knew that she had to be alert to avoid being left out. That day Monu and Ganesh were also moving with her in the same fleet of vehicles.

Watching the struggle amidst the speed, for some respite, I slowed down to relax. The hide and seek of sun rays pushed me inside an imposing vehicle. Some big weights were inside the speeding vehicle.

“Is the Lokpal, really an anti corruption movement or just a motive to fulfill their political ambitions? Let’s see what they will do this time. These are simply their gimmicks to enter into politics,” The heavy weight stated.  “The weak long same drama every year, they are aimless and confused themselves. Does this way country run?”

The big eyed one retorted, “It is better they  get refusal at first day by government. There won't be any discussion on Lokpal bill this monsoon session. And who care about their baseless charges and request for probe in mining scam. Politics of 66 years are not going to change."  "It will remain same,"  he chuckled.”

Big impressive fleets, with big people inside had been heading the Raj path to take part in function. A sickening thoughts engulfed me, " 66 years of republic-billion plus populous, surging economy, two winter session to pass the right and strong bill.42 years of their lackadaisical intention just kept it postponed till date."

"Is it a dead movement of anti corruption crusaders or start of new era?" a muse crossed through me.
"Whether a new party of clean people will ever be formed? Will they compete with existing one? Will a strong Lokpal Bill come?

I knew," Future of all these queries depend on the people. It must come from their hearts. But whether the high class with ruling money power, the ever busy middle class, in honing their skills or the toiling lower class will contribute their efforts to form clean governance. Or they will just move on to their lives taking corruption and inflation as their destiny."

"Or will I move in the same lackadaisical attitude of denizens watching irony of their lives? Or will I ever see a new India, free of corruption and problems of common lives?"

I am the air .I breathe through you and a part of you.

In the land of apathy

Through the gaps of thatched roof the morning rays filtered in. It softly caressed Mangtu’s face. He stirred under the sheet feeling the warmth of it. Slouching on his charpoy the thirteen years old reckoned the day ahead.

He saw the vacant kantha of Aaji on the floor. Being greeted by the morning sun, she had already been up. He looked at her. The cranky faced, Aaji was an emaciated frame. Her gray hair were matted. Burdened with failing health, she had been crouching down. Getting up from mat, she staggered towards the river for morning wash.

An orphaned child of violence ravaged zone, Mangtu had lost his parents’ six years back in rivalry. In the family he and the frail Aaji were the ill-feted survival of the gory aftermath that had taken toll of his parents.


After that, for years ,tagging him along,the frail elderly would  walk for work. The house hold leftovers were his childhood feed.   Sometimes she had to beg for favors for her underscored served menials. Suitably the name Krishna left far behind in the struggle of life. Eventually he got rechristened to Mangtu.

He would still get quiver at the memory of bloodshed. Under the violent jerk of marauders the decrepit door had soon yielded off. For years the nightmares of rattling door would shiver him. The seven year old then, he was the only witness to the gory crime. But no one came forward to take note of his story.

Justice was a mirage to that violence infested land. In that part of world there were only two choices of survival. Either to join the violence with elusive civilian life or avoid it to face hunger. The place had been steadfastly turning into a land of no god.

After his bath, in front of stained piece of mirror Mangtu combed his hair. He put back it on dusty shelve. Taking out the nylon bag from the peg of rickety wall he counted the bundles of sell.  Twelve bundles of incense sticks a day sell would be suffice for his outlay.

Before stepping out he bowed to the pasted photographs of god and Goddesses. A gleam appeared in his eyes. With prayer infused strength he would walk the day. It  ensured him some luck and food.
“As he was taught in the ashram, whoever is born, Lord Vishnu – the sustainer of the world takes care of him.” Engrossed in his thoughts he exited off his bunged place and closed the rickety door behind.

Every morning he would sell the joy sticks before heading for ashram school. The supplies of joysticks he had been getting from the Ashram. The school an Ashranshala had been running for orphaned children of violence ravaged area under the rehabilitation plan of govt.

His village and neighboring areas had been witnessing the violence of Maoists verses administration since twenty years.

That day Mangtu, the scrawny one had walked about 10 kilometers for the sale. He reached the market area a bit early. The rural market was slowly awakening. The shops were being opened with the creaking removal of wooden planks.


Till then the few wheeled stalls were somehow staggered at different places. At the corner the wafting aroma of frying snacks had been trying to appeal the clintele. A man of the tea stall had frantically been fanning the coal hearth. After a while, a thin strip of smoke billowed out to it. The billowing smoke seemed to install the show of the day. Soon few people gathered near it. Mangtu spectacled the marketplace standing nears the corner’s eatery. The shop keepers were his regular customers.

While standing near the entrance, aroma of boiling tea rumbled the pang in his belly. He touched his coins in the bag. Those were hardly enough to cover his commute to Ashramshala. He walked towards the parking vehicles to take the trekker for school. There he would be provided the next stock of joy sticks and breakfast. In evening with Aaji he would have the dinner of thick chappatis.

Santosh with another lad of his village was there, in gaudy shirts and jeans. Both of them were orphaned children like him, but now they were gloating in blatant self-reliance. Wallowing in fast acquired confidence of easy bucks they walked to road side kiosk for  coke.

Mangtu, took a side seat and waited patiently for the commute. Finally in half an hour, folks poured in to board the vehicle. When it bulked with commuters it rambled ahead on the pock marked road. But a few yards ahead, it snarled and halted for few more travelers waiting alongside the dusty road. The commuters easily squeezed in between already stuffed vehicle. Then again it rattled and moved ahead.

At the Asramshala he would have the free breakfast of khichri to chill his hunger pang, he mused. Santosh with Manni sat beside him. He asked Mangtu “Are you going school for joy stick bundles, you don’t have anything better to do?” He nudged Manni with simper.

Flashing out his cell phone Santosh got busy in conversation.The lure of easy money had been trapping the teens and youths of the village, the rumors were abuzz around.

Youngsters were lured for easy money. Till last year these guys had been to the school. Since winter they hadn’t been to Ashramshala without any rationale. After a drive of twenty minutes the ramshackle jeep creaked and halted near a stall for gasoline. Both of them alighted to have a tobacco sachet, Mangtu turned his attention to other side.

Alighting off the jeep he walked for half an hour to reach the Asramshala.

For last two years Mangtu and other children had been relying on the food and vocation offered by the Asramshala. But the olders of the lot were evading the classes and prayer session on trivial excuses. Perhaps they were now being engaged in different chores. Flashing their gaudy shirts, and gizmos many of them were being spotted at the different places.

In past, many had been left the school unannounced, who knew-where did they head?
Like Mangtu, thousands of children in Thaneboli traverse long distances and turn up at Ashramsala under the hunger and lost childhood. But months or year later, a large number would disappear abruptly.

Like Mangtu many smaller children would be encouraged to join the school with the help of local NGO and government help for two years. But the rate of disappearance was gathering momentum. Now a day’s many of them were roaming around with hushed up rumors of better work and extra money, flashing the eye catching gizmos.

Dip in obscurity since independence the far flung Thaneboli had been in people memories for deadly battles between Maoists and police and then for the abysmally low literacy rate.
Were Thaneboli’s drops out going back to home, joining another school, or picking up arms? No one knew!

The fluid movements of children, in and out of the school were concern of none.

The ongoing strife has had a debilitating impact on the fallen illiteracy. It had been enhancing poverty rate in the entire region. Media and public attention on the conflicts’ failed to bear any result. To deal hapless violence schools had been turned into barracks by security forces. And others simply reduced to rubbles by the Maoists.


No one knew when the battle of twenty years would end by the spartan help of government or NGOs? Or will it be replaced by another insurgent faction which was taking shape to replace the older one. After all who had bothered to find out in the land of apathy?

Congrates!

“WILL I make it?” Rhea debated."
The corridor had been bustling with jean clad, tech savvy throngs. Most of them were trailing the corridor with peers. Their vibrant walks and discussions of infinite worlds had been vibrating the campus. The session had just been commenced.

Next class was after the recess of ten minutes. Thus Rhea chose a quiet corner to sit and to chalk more about her chances of triumph. But it was still a tiresome wait…

“My marks are good. I have studied in a planned way throughout the year. My GPA if not excellent but it is impressive.” She debated her chances of success.Her extracurricular activities- as debater, writing skill and creative extinct had always given her an edge. “Well, I can make it. I must be positive!”She assured herself.
She had called Mom in the morning and repeated her query. She had asked her, to pray for her. She knew she had already been doing it. But she repeated it out of nervousness.

Meanwhile, viewing her unsettled self, Mom had advised her to stay calm and accept whatever comes.
 But she wanted the sweet taste of success. “Success, she deserves, as she worked really hard for it. Will she make it, again the query rocked her.”

Ah, better to take refuge in spirituality, as she often advised by Mom to incorporate stillness for focus. To get rid of haunting query she composed herself..

 She decided to pray, “She will create stillness. In that created stillness she will plant her wish. She will pray to universe to support her wish and bless her.”With open eyes she prayed and planted her wish.”  What she exactly wanted to see, she chalked. Actually she had been waiting for the SMS from the premier institute as successful candidate, with congrates! She conjured her wish.

The shrillness of bell chimed in the air, she lifted her cell phone and earplug and  walked towards her classroom.
After her class, she checked her cell phone for message. “Today any time she can receive it.”

While walking she received a message,   “Hey result is out, I made it what about you? " Jaya. Her heart skipped, she stared at her cell phone and started fidgeting to it but in vain. Arjun just crossed her way. He shrieked, “Hey result is out.” She nodded in affirmation still fidgeting her gizmo. He watched her fiddle. Hurrying out his cell phone he said, “wait mine is black berry, I can connect fast, but let me see mine first.”  Rhea too engrossed in her cell, listened him quietly. “Hey Rhea, see it is yours.” she glanced at his screen.Her eyes gaped at flashing message, “congrates!”  She shrieked in delight. Yes, she did make it!

The cook book

Mimmi mind was whirling; the lines had just stuck in her head. “Plain ! Ma she is too plain for me.”Ritesh had been telling to his mom. And that plane was she! Mimmi! Holding the jar of snacks she overheard their conversations at the entrance.

She regained her composure and returned back silently. His discloser shook her. How could she judge him so wrong?

What about, that warmth he would convey to her every time on her gastronomic expertise!  On his every visit she would meticulously prepare his favorites items. Her face blushed hot.

What about those pecks! She felt the warmth again but soon it turned into disgust. So her epicurean skills were a just a time pass to him. Were all that fun for him? Or was she just a fun for him? The palpitating anger turned into disgust. She wiped her sopping cheeks.

She put the snack’s jar on the table. With flimsy eye she switched the laptop. She click open the file of her food column.

No, she couldn't let him to sap her vitality.And she would not let his denial to sulk her. She would go ahead in her life. Her food columns now roll into book. She had not missed anything in her life. Loser was Ritesh. He failed to see her love and concern.

Today she will complete preface of her food book. She sat on her desk, her eyes were still cloudy but finger were playing on key board.

“…My food columns are my travelogue to food. It intends to delight the palate. I want my readers to get the touch of food through their mind. Food is the source which shapes thoughts. So for pure thoughts food should be pure.

My ordinariness, is my strength, it helps me to take any color. As a figment of masses I relate to them easily. The ordinariness gives me fluidity for my dynamism.

 A face of crowd without any identity! I am not scared of failure and success. It is not only recipe to me. I am ready to try and take chances.  Success enthralls me and failure acts as a lesson that points of my weaknesses.

 I have nothing to fear, I have only opportunities to try and work. I am ready to take my chance and face the challenges. The world is limitless so my potential and chances of growth.

My fluid conscious easily empathizes with lives around me, though myself a figment of the world. I get endless topic and stories of food which had been waiting to be told. The food of my region, of my experiences and my people….As a voice of masses I want to convey my food stories to you.

 It is rather a symbiotic association between people and me which benefits each other.
The clouded heaviness inside Mimmy  had been evaporating. She felt a rising sunshine inside her and a rainbow at the horizon.

Seeding the run down settlement

In the dark, dank stretch under the flyover, the monster of modern world, a slum has sprung up. In few months, it gobbles the adjoining lanes. Till date, it has already been crossed the few neatly built brick houses.

The mighty ugliness has nothing to do with pruned miniature garden house or the posh locality or beautification plan of the city. So what if it is just a stone throw from the Sadar Thana. Slums are the prices and facts of modern world, the urbanization. As a monster of urbanization, it is ready to engulf what may come its way!

Piles of sacks stuffed with rags lie strewn all around the boulevard few days after the hurricane. After math of hurricane Ailla has rushed the displaced hoards to the neighboring metro. The hunger stuck, fatally tired drifters have been collapsing at any accessible space.

Now the place under fly over has been turning home to a couple of families. Earlier, it has been used as a parking space for dumped vehicles by police Last week only, after the years of struggle the residents have acquired permission from court to clear the place. The rising congestion and pollution have been taking toll on the wellbeing of residents. Sky rocketing graph of asthma, bronchitis and cancer were making common realities in homes.

To have some respite from the hard realities of illnesses. The elderly and office goers were looking for an open space, in the locality. The place has already been ear marked as recreational place in the municipal plan of the city. The rising temperature of city and shooting graph of illnesses among residents has been pressing the need of park every day.

But in few weeks, to the dismay of residents another settlement came in view under the road flyover. The metros by its  nature has every resource to feed the monster, the slum- job opportunities for menial work, the free accessible space, support and hands over their shoulders of local goons and callous attitude of law enforcing agencies. Who had time and concern for the safety of human lives!

Especially when the apathetic law enforcing authorities are dealing with it! For them it is job of civil authorities. The civil authorities see it as a crisis of migrant. The problems of displaced, roofless, hungry hoards!

Thus the slums were impregnating the public spaces at their very sights. The inability and the apathy of law enforcers are acting as driving force to encroachment.

The conflicts of unparallel lives of migrant and settled residents have always been seeded the crime graphs of the city. The persistent ignorance of security factors are the real germ of slum. But who does care about the securities of residents even if it is a basic need?

The low and high end of strata is the easiest recipe of crimes! Now the ingredients are fuelling the locality into potential place of crime. But who and why anyone will look into it? It is land of apathy!

The concerned authority don’t heed to the problem. Then who can resist temptation of fast bucks with cramping hunger and roofless head! It concerns none! See, another monster is in its way! Who can dare to check it?

Sculpting Dreams

In the cubby holes enclosure, the artisans were engrossed in idol making. Aromas of wet clay in the damp, ill lit lanes were evaporating. It was the dingy locality of potters with rows of cramped workshops. The artisans were giving shapes to soft clay moulds.Ma had sent Munia to bring some money from Baba as   Raghu,her five year old brother had been sweltering in the fever.

She entered into the windy lane, the near completed idol were hemmed along the edges of the lanes. They captured her imagination and her pace halted, galvanized on freshly painted wide eyed Goddesses.

The festive occasion of Puja, she always counted the best time of year. At least, for her it was the annual affair to look forward for new cloth, unlike of her destined hand to down cloths of entire year. She looked at her oversize dress. She  loved the free spirit of Puja and festivity to roam around and feel the joy of the city.

Realizing the lost time, in gaping the idols, she brisk her pace. She conjured her Mother's foul mood of morning. Leaping the drain of the nartiw lane, she walked towards Sarkar Da’s  stall. The smell of raw earth, grease, paints and heaps of straw were floating in the space.

 She conjured the festivities falling few days ahead.  Though her Baba not a skilled artisans,yet he had been hired by local artisans for odd jobs as an assistant during the peak work season.

 At some of the places colorful plastic sheets were spread over the idol to protect them from unexpected rains. The artisans in front of their half sculpted mould were reverently engrossed in their work.

What would she wear on Navami…? Munia, an eleven plus was a lanky frame.Her course, near matted hair was the product of abject scarcity. Her big eyes on malnutriated face had a void but still had  yearning to have life of fullest. She had never been to school. Every few month they had to change their settlements, either in search of work or were forced by police. They were the squatters, who would usually dwell in the desolate corners of footpaths or vacant earth beneath a fly over.

With every passing day she  had  now been getting new insight about the  intricacies of life. These days after going through the hardships she would try to comprehend life. Now a days she would weigh the viable options of her life. While walking past the high rises she thought," She could work in those big, high rises." But her disheveled look didn’t allow her to enter in any one of them. "The guards standing there would certainly  reprimand  me, taking  as vagabond." She sighed while looking at the uniformed guards.

At night while family sleep on the pavement she had been getting aware of the night movements. The sights and movements of night would give her more perspiration than the sultry air. At the night, the movements of vehicles and hushed tones of strange faces, near their hoards would frighten her. Few of the girls at the pavements were taken away by them.Afterwards they didn’t return  neither sighted by anyone there.

She had listened Ma screams at night and her abhorrence to the way of life of the dwellers. Ma would often clamour,"She didn’t belong to that place so she couldn’t do all this." After a while her hysterical scream that she would return her native place would slow down. Perhaps admitting the fact that she had no place to go.

The panic-stricken vows of Ma to return to her native place, she began to understand and hollowness of her words. She knew Ma  screamed for self assurance or just to console herself. It was a sort of self assurance for Ma that there was still a place for her to return. Though she knew they would never return to their native place. As for them, in their native place, there was nothing but a roofless existence wrapped in hunger had been in waiting. It was the place which her mother would refer longingly to others.

To feel supported ,Ma evoked, her native place, a place of her own! A void! An uneven rustic place, with dingy lanes, full of cow dung stinks. There again, they had to repeat, the same story to vacate one place for another. With pangs of hunger, they had to wait for first meal till mid day. She was aware of her rib counted infancy. On the good day she would get a mouth full of  left over food of other houses holds.

These days she had been feeling some pressing gapes in the people’s eyes that would make her uncomfortable. Mother would suggest her to walk fast from there. Some times after her bath Ma would tag her along. They would walk to the temple and sit there on the stone under the banyan tree.

She walked to the market,she slowed near the T.V. shops. On the numerous screens same soaps were running. Gaping on one of them she longed  to break her vagabond life. On the screen she saw a girl child of her age. She tried to relate her life with the screen child. While watching the soaps on T.V. shops she would long for a house to sleep, to play. She loved to watch a  child in comfortable house,a secure life,a peaceful sleep in the bed.

 It was her dream- A comfortable one, at least a place of one room , a bed to sleep whenever she felt, food to eat when she felt hunger…," She smiled and prayed for her dream,"no when I  feel to have some food or to have some fun!" She conjured a home for the family with four walls.

To entertain and break the monotony of her childhood, till few years back she would play the imitation of normal life. In her play, she would long and would pretend to dislike school. Going to school and  imitating the life of a normal child were her precious dream. She would  act hurrying for school.Walking in school uniform with backpacks on the shoulder and sulkingly telling something to accompanying Ma. Sometimes she would play these games with vagrant children like her.

While walking the lean frame  tried to comprehend her life but could she? Wasn’t  a big issue for an eleven year old one?

THE WAY OUT

She put her signature at the paper, the crushing anguish shivered through her. In overwhelming dizziness, she conjured the sight of home front. Dealing with sadistic sucking vampire! How she abhorred that life!
Few moment of escape she wanted for her survival from that horribly created anguish at home. She wanted to escape from those people, the suckers! Vampires of life!

They mean to negate and sap one’s vitality, but at this closed, desolate place, with scarce opportunity, the last hope to continue there for her crashed today. The permanent one was returning at his place. Hopelessness engulfed her. Through her frosty sight she conjured her state- she visualized her dealing with them throughout the day.
Few more years advanced, few more crises came and jolted her life. How long all this going to envelope her? She would question herself. When her life would be normal like any other person?

When did she feel some enjoyment? It seemed more than a decade to her when any incident jubilated her to the core. Why happiness had been turning so remote to her? Why one after another she is getting engulfed in the crises she abhorred most.

In the big hall, during meditation session, she felt distracted unable to follow even the simple instruction. She got amazed watching the people who were following the instructors promptly. It amazed how openly people were talking or discussing their problems with masters.

For her there were array of amazements waiting to be unfolded. She was perplexed in many ways. “Is it safe to open up?” She questioned herself, though her heart had long been crying for redressal.  In fact she was having problems with bowing down to those simple looking couple. They were teaching the methods, brimming with happiness, smilingly stopping to different people. Several times without any insistence by them she was suggested and told things, which she grasped despite feeling it non convincing.

But then with book of inner journey in hand she stood from there to walk the path of life. “Not so easy, but not that difficult either”, she speculated. The bunch of key to solve the problems was in her hand. Now she had to find right key for right path. Learning, studies, contemplations were now the new additions to her routine.

Few years more added in her life with few more opportunities, few gratifying growth and few more crisis to solve! Still she contemplated and seeks for solution. To chalk the right way to solution, she would mull over the origin, was it inside or outside? And every time she found the origin of problems inside.

She assessed her projection to the world. As a fragile self it was she who presented herself to others, to be taken granted or being utilized. She realized her wrong  projection as a frail self had prompted others to take advantage of her.

Now it was time for her to stop the blame game and to take responsibility to create her life.To create strength to face compliment and criticism at the ease.

To create life,  she realized there must be clarity in mind, a full picture of life.She felt that the outside efforts of correction measures cent percent should be supported by right attitude and clear picture of solution, unfailing, always and permanently.  

Beyond the rule

Tossing the frugal leaves and rolling the dust in the way the gale of earlier monsoon raced through the open corridor. The smoky clouds dispersed in the sky and diminished the light in few minutes.Soon the earthen smell wafted in air. The drumming drizzle followed the move with rushed breeze. And care of rest were taken by hilarious students in class without teacher. In few moments the ambience got charged by frenzy chorus of theirs.

The uproarious chorus line started surging through the hallway and surpassed many classes. Then the hilarious merriment of first shower rushed forward and echoed at the far end of the corridor. Lost in jubilation the merrymakers rioted in the hall way and were making everyone oblivious of the surrounding.But not for long the place was not meant for glee club. The dispersed throng most of them were either walking or standing near the entrance. Still engaged in gala affair they jerked to sudden halt after sighting Maim Authoritarian.The festival of rain suddenly turned into frozen chill.

The bespectacled, lean frame was standing near the door with firm expression. In crisp, cotton saree, her annoyance glowed through the fair skin. She had been standing with stern look scrutinizing everyone.Though she was tight lipped yet her silence was screaming at everyone overthere.

The walk inside the classroom encountered her more unexpected sights of unruliness. The serious frame caught few more involved ones inside the classroom-“Dhing chika, Dhing chika”-many were gyrating in synchronized chorus with uplifted arms. Her serious expression froze everyone to statue. Arms still rose in air the faction had caught her sight. Assimilating her presence and following her silent dictate they moved to seats, lowering their heads.

The hard pressed compliance had been still floating over there. And a firm voice pierced through the air- “guys, today we have shortage in teachers’ attendance. So there would be no substitution classes. I believe you do understand the decorum and discipline of classroom and intend to maintain it”.

Absolute silence prevailed in the air, moving towards the place everyone got silent and serious. Maim Authoritarian walked ahead in the corridor with firm lips and straight stature. Silence was evoking and prevailing through her every step as she moved ahead.

But now her created silence was haunting her. Both the sight of jubilation and merrymakers were instilled many of the lessons to her. The tempest of surrounding was now storming inside her, questioning many of her faiths and believes.

A whirlwind of thoughts occupied her tired yet firm brain. She accessed, “how long had it been for me to laugh with open heart like them?

When did the simple happening of life make me hilarious? When did I laugh so hardly that had brought tears in my eyes?

She failed to recall-she recalled the horrible sights of those moment…

The emergency call…the news…that wait near….his body..She got blackness in front of eyes, but fortunately she found herself near the table. She grasped the back of the chair.Her eyes still choked in tears and blackness. She wanted to retain that blackness in front of her eyes as she wanted to omit the sight of white sheet and body beneath it. The soft body of .. Whom she had nurtured in her hands. Shaken to her core she stood there.Her gaze still fixed at far end at the horizon seeking the address of her lost one.

“Today the weather is turned really magnificent.” The attendant announced keeping the bundle of books at the table. She nodded in affirmation through her choked teary sight.

I terrible heaviness rose inside her. She witnessed all that –the earthen smell, those flashing of lights through the clouds, an intense cool drenching rain but all without any meaning to her. What made her so immune to happiness? Does she consciously insulate happiness of surrounding? No wonder the life sometimes seems so meaningless to her?

She debated in silence. Isn’t it crime to suffocate the laughter at its birth point? Why do we reformers or adults doubt the shaken faith of depressed youngster? Why did we ask them where did they get the infection of depression? Not we, the reformers are reason for it? Don’t we consciously suppress the merrymaking in youngsters and sow the seed of depression? She walked through the corridor choked in noisy self debate.

The windy air

While typing the last few words on laptop I glanced on the clock. It was 6.00p.m.of evening. I had to get ready for dinner at an inaugural function. Anticipating a longer outing at night and to know how of the world outside I switched the TV for current forecast.

One after another the sequels of women atrocities that ranged from five yrs old child victim to forty plus woman flashed on the screen.

In yellow lights of MUV, the zooming engine had been piercing through the woods of plateau region. A narrow stretch of metalled road was reflecting in front of us. Through the abound chitterling of crickets the atmosphere was fragrant with flowers of Palash.

At the 7.30 the evening air of advanced spring was breezy. The darkness was serene except for occasional distant howling of jackals.The narrow windy road had been passing along the base of the hills. It was hemmed by the bamboo groves on the sides. And at some places the stretched was covered with the red of Plash blosooms. 

While enjoying the secenic view outside I  regretted my decision to visit the place after the dusk."Before dusk the scenery around could have been better enjoyed," I thought. The drive through the forest to guest house was of about forty minutes.

After the drive of more than fifteen minutes through the woods Bidyut, the driver seemed clueless and turned the vehicle at different passes. Puzzled in local dialect he yielded I took the wrong turn. “Hmm…. ask someone,” suggested Adi.

In past twenty minute we had crossed occasional hamlets along the path. Most of the routes were deserted through the forest. In abundance the orange blooms of Palash were strewn on the road.

When the vehicle took a turn and rode a bump we saw a girl in red attire was standing at the turning. At the turn the vehicle moved swiftly and I caught the glimpse of her big eyes. At the distance others folks were also walking ahead in groups.

“They are going for Bihu festival’s fair ”- Bidyut informed. Then we were hearing the faint chorus of folksong with rhythmic dak beats which was straining  at the distance.

The ride for next ten minute again passed in silence. We were listening the howls of wilds and occasional rhythm of beats in the commute. The grooves of bamboo were still accompanying us on both the sides of the roads. And now the clueless commute was puzzling us.

Fortunately after sometime an old man was seen walking on the path with a girl behind him. Ask them Adi retorted- “ How did you forget the route,you came many times at this side.” “But that was during the day,” countered Bidyut.

Nearing them Bidyut rolled down the glass. The duo stopped - in local dialect the old man explained something pointing to a side lane. I felt girl’s gaze on me. The moment I moved my attention to her the vehicle moved ahead. Thus I managed only the glimpse of her big, longing eyes and red attire. Bidyut slowed down the vehicle and they walked ahead with us for the time being to show the right lane.

I exclaimed to Adi," Thank god, we found the way." When the vehicle moved ahead both of them were still standing at the corner of the road. With gratitude I viewed them from the rear screen. Her expressive eyes were still at me.

The MUV took the turn through the thick bamboo groove on its side and in five minutes we were at the venue.

In dining hall for women I took the place at the far corner near the window. Through the windy breeze the folk songs with vibrations of beats strained through the open windows.

At the central courtyard of quest house the presentation of local artiste was going on. To continue the sequel of the events the artiste were passing through the passage near our chairs. Again I felt a gaze on me through the passing group. The same girl in red attire, while moving ahead she smiled. Her smile and gaze puzzled me. The function continued till latenight.

Around mid night we were heading back to home, a forest official was accompanying us on the front seat. Other vehicles were coming out in fleets. After the drive of few minutes MUV rode to the single strip road.

“Few hours back a fair was going on here nearby- somewhere near a side lane. We had asked the path and had taken the route,” Bidyut broke the silence after the ride of five minutes.

Ranger stated solemnly –“Only a single strip goes up to five kilometers and after that the nearest hamlet starts.” Again silence reign inside the vehicle. My baffled gaze met Adi. He stared back in puzzling silence.

Next day I get her image and story,the girl in the red attire in the local daily.She was the daughter of an old man.A local had persuaded her in the relationship, promising to marry. But after a while he stopped responding to marriage proposal-the girl fed up with his sexual advance had been seeking help.The relationship earned her and his family dishonor in the society. Fed up with dishonoring the family and unable to check his sexual advancement she ended her life.

I was dumbfounded. Why was I getting her frequently? Why the red attire and her eyes were so evocative? Whether she was aware I had recently been helping and working with local women commission. Was she wanted to be heard and knowingly following me everywhere or was its just a coincidence? I was unable to find out.

The stuck up lives

The roaring train thumped into the platform and a sudden motion surged over there. The emptying of trash bin and unloading of furnishing started.

Putting at the shoulder the nylon net of collected empty water bottles Vilash walked off with Malesh and Tulsi. He tied the lower edge of the shirt to put sachets of edibles which he had got from train.

The western fringe of the platform was joined with the slum. They stepped out of the station and crossed the drain. The over powering stench of uncollected garbage and excreta signaled him the border of slum. The nauseating smell would tell him – his breakfast time of Paw with fried snacks-before to pick up the day’s job. After scrutinizing the trash occupied place they mounted the fenced wall of railway’s colony for their breakfast. The congestion had been rising day by day as the station was getting bigger and busier.

Just outside the platform the smell and the slums were the shock of the city for the first timers. Especially the foreigners who gape abhorrently the contrasts of the city-the muck and the heritage site of the city. But still, the open soaring trash and littered garbage had been the fact- a part of the city though a contrast to- swanky- would be- world class platform, like their lives and the lives of well to do.

The day’s soaring mercury ensured the brisk business to him and in few hours he hurried the sale of more than half dozen of sealed fake water bottles. Only few had left in net, might be he would have to frequent the slum for another dozen!

The descending sun had mellowed the heat. Sitting on the bridge he had been watching the commuters of the elite train who were trading the way carefully evading the glance of choked drain and heaped trash.

Till evening he had filled the quota of his twice meal. At night he never cared for food. To soothe the strain of the day he had been depending upon the sniffs. Sleeping along the deserted dividers the starry night would herald nightmares to him. For last couple of years he had been on the seduction of adhesive sniffs for night sleep. The enforced drowsiness would blur the reality of dark hours and nightmares.

Near the dividers at night with other children he would huddle to sleep. The hard come sleep would vague the difference of glitz urbane crowd and Spartan life of choking drain and repelling smell.

During the visit of VIPs and big events in the city they would have to evade the platform. Then they would move to the parking bay for buses, right across the old station building.

Few years back during the raid the children had been picked up by the cops and were sent to a NGO for night shelter and learning. For two years he had been to a school and had learnt to read. He remembered the quotes of his school day about the Kashmir, “ if there is heaven on the earth it is here ,here, here.” he glanced upon the trash and drain and mused about renovating platform-the disparity of places.

Few railway officials walked ahead putting the handkerchief on nose. “ The smell is disgusting.” Another added-“It amazes me how such obnoxious air can prevail for such a long time even on this busiest Metros platform.” But before making the report make it clear-“What can be done to refurbish it?

He moved ahead near the bridge and stumble upon heaps of garbage. The uncollected muck had been a play ground and treasures of some good finds for them.

He moved from the fetid, unhygienic environment to sparkly railway station. The election was round the corner so it was declared as world class station. The work of renovation was going inside, the adjoining areas had been renovated. The new garbage bins were placed at regular intervals with dark plastic bags neatly tucked inside. These days not a single bin was overflowing with trash. The sweepers were swooping down on every piece of discarded paper, food packets, plastic cups and other trash. There was not any filth on the station. The bags were removed from the bins before they start spilling over. He trudged the foyers of the platform which was being sprinkled with water to settle the dirt.

Till dawn to dusk the day changed, the sparking world class place would transform into appalling sights after the walk of few yards -akin to his life. The day again passed and the next dawn ascended but every change and move would be same for him. To pass another day of non waiting..in the array of movements the stuck up lives of theirs…

The plateau village

Walking behind the herd of goats Topno stopped near the red tower alighted on the rugged earth few years back. In the last two years many pyramid shaped red block towers had been erected imperiously on village hillocks over the bay of Sapura.

At the foot of the hill he walked over the remnant of the bridge that never got built. The concrete stump was hidden under the over grown grass and mosses. The flashes of memories dismayed him further.

The sequel of disturbances created by the Maoist had sucked the development works of the bridge. And then under the threat fearing for their lives engineers and construction workers left the site. The construction work of the bridge once had been a regular means of hearth and home for villagers like him. Now the thoughts of paucity stricken summer on Mahua blossoms marooned his face.

Since morning the urgency bent urbane crowd was pushing to the otherwise desolate Sapura. Last evening the abduction of big official had suddenly awakened the geography of his oblivion village. For naive villagers the fleet of officials’ vehicles and lens lashed journalists stranded in his remote village were both startling and amazing.

His remote village of thousand square areas was pulsating to the life with urgency stricken crowd. The non access of basic amenities over there had been proving ordeals for official visitors and TV journalists. Thus the ongoing debate of the no man’s land was the no accessibility of Mobile network, potable water and electricity. But for him and other village folks it was the way of life.

A decade back a dam had been built on river Mogini that had added another figment to their woes. First the government took the land of villagers and tribal. Under the forced eviction many dispersed in the adjoining areas and got scattered across hills and forests in cut off areas.

A private company was roped in to build a dam over there.The built electricity was being sold by the state government to neighboring state. The darkness seemed allure to the Maoists and best refuge to their activities.

Under the dark cover the business of abduction by the Maoists warmed the tribal areas, sending the already poverty ridden village to another shock. And now the government every move of development –pension schemes for senior citizens and social benefits were drawing wrath of Maoists.

The industrialization- initiated to develop the zone-by the government had added further figment of hardships to their lives-one more twist of fiction. Now the government had been grabbing the land at throw-away prices, pushing scores of them in abject poverty–and then an another forced displacement was waiting for him. Till then he had forgotten the real counts how many times since his birth he had moved the places-the despairing thought bored more emptiness in his caved eyes and wrung his already tired muscles.

For Topno it was another death to cross the stationed paramilitary troops on the border of the village. And those days the dilapidated police post had also came alive with armed battalion positioned there. The surging Maoist activity and stationed troupes at his otherwise sleepy village had forecasted the empty stomach in summer night at the home or coating the tar at the sweltering summer on the road of cosmopolitan. He was born to choose between two.

Those moments

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The silence prevailed in the classroom as everyone was busy in solving the questions with rapt attention. Walking in between the rows for the while I stopped near the table to put my specs on it.

After a while reverberation of distant cymbal drifted across the classroom. Following the source I gazed the cathedral across the road of a prestigious campus- a convent school.

Just out of university and with fizzy confidence I had cleared my first interview successfully at an Institution.

Moving towards the vehicle with the appointment letter in hand I had suddenly spectacled a splendid cathedral inside the campus of a prestigious school across the road. Perplexed I analyzed my miss to notice the magnificent Institution at the unfamiliar place.

Magnetically I moved towards it. A gothic cathedral was there at the entrance of the Institution with beautiful flower beds in front of it. Beside it there was a fenced pond with flocks of geese floating into it.

Next moment I found myself in carpeted waiting room of the esteemed Institution with testimonials in my hand. Inside the campus walk of missionary people in robes were complimenting the anglicized air of the Institution.

In the Principal’s room positivity and congeniality were rolling. My testimonials received appreciative look with few cordial queries and my application got accepted over there.

The season of spring enchanted inside when I was asked to join the same at the start of the session. Off course after clearing the written and interview that I was confident to clear at comparatively smaller place. And then flung the last query regarding my experience and naively I flashed my appointment letter from another school to him. That was the end of spring over there. A solemn expression reigned the principle’s face- “We don’t appoint teachers of neighboring school.” My one misplaced step had crushed the brilliant opportunity there in a moment.

Battling the mental debate for two years I worked at the previous school situated across the road. From the assembly till dismissal the silent comparisons would rule my mental frame-“the present work place” verses “that-esteemed- my would be Institution.”

Suitably qualified I was being paid nicely over there. In amiable work mores I had been given charge of computer and science lab. I was the class teacher of senior section. Still I had been working or rather preparing over there for the life of “ my would be Institution - the bigger-esteemed one-across the road.”

Every morning alighting out of the vehicle and walking through the cheery echoes and wishes of students I would steal the glances of “my school and flocks of my students’ appreciatively.

Day by day the determination to be at the best had been scaling- I was working on every details- on course materials, the subjects, the soft skills and computer. Although I had visited and worked at the campus of “my esteemed Institution” at several occasions- attending the science seminars and teachers’ workshop as an invitee teacher from other Institution.

And then at a point I felt enough and decided for a discrete talk over there to “my esteemed Institution.”

In next session according to ethic and rules I applied and got call for demo class over there. That was my chance to make an entry and for that I had been waited for long two years.

In the demo class I had to prove my gripping prowess- I had to grasp attention of the class- first to last desk. I had to invoke “whys?” at every possible step and provide apt solutions at best of ease. I had to make the explanation gripping without dropping the spirit of the class even for the moment.

Inside the class room the flashes of curious eyes, resonances of my explanations and shuffling of pages were only vibrations. In pin drop silence the class was jotting down the details explained by me. When the bell rang then I realized presence of the Principal at the back of the class.

During the recess I was asked by the students about my joining date. By the Vice Principal I was assigned work as regular staffs though my date of joining was due next month.

After the recess I was told to invigilate the mock tests of senior section. At the hall I got the sight of him- a person more than a decade older than me. My greeting startled him - he congratulated me and made a fast escape from the place. In the elation the first brush of seize I felt over there.

In the staff room he was the weakest among teachers and frown of every gaze. His departure over there was being viewed as the delights of the students and relief of the Institution.

Next day during the assembly, adoringly watching the flower beds my gaze followed a pair of worn out shoes. Ascending above the shoes I greeted him- again the same sadness engulfed me sapping my contentment. This time he came near me- composing himself he was explaining something about the unruly children, the obnoxious colleagues and many more things.

My eyes were unintentionally gripping the details- of his unspoken words - his forty plus age, a vivid picture of jobless house hold, the engulfing poverty that was raising ugly head from every possible corner of his persona, out of his worn out shoes and cuffs, his shaken self confidence, illogical explanation and incoherent choked voice, more intensely his painful, hopeless look.

Everything sent a shiver through me-“how long will I survive this heaviness?” I felt I had never wished for these sights. I wanted to move immediately as the entire cheer inside me had evaporated. There was complete loss of liveliness- the sweetness of long wait and my success all seemed so heavy to carry. To escape that heaviness I wanted to run away from there…