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?

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?

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…

Those moments

Dear readers, this post is a part of Close Up's Fire-Freeze contest. You can submit your own stories here or as a comment to this post. :)

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…

The best food

The peace and happiness are the ultimate aims of life. The Universe filled every heart with them still the created suffering rules the life. And like everything else the heaven too distributed it so unevenly in different lives. Therefore the vast magnitude sometimes becomes unbearable in someone life .
Even suffering around us too jolts and conscious fails to restore peace. Then to respite the self the words act as savior.

Often I wonder why does even the vast universe with its unlimited potential to support life fail to cease the grief? Why don’t we make a habit to create peace in ourselves and around us to make the world a little better?

After all in twenty four hours how much we eat, how many clothes we wear at a time- why then the meager needs of survival of individuals create misery and sufferings in the life of others.

Golu was lying on the ground beneath the huge Peepal tree. He was gazing the fluttering leaves up above in the air.

Through the foliages the streaks of sunrays were filtering brightly, to avoid them he slid his head to other side.

His heart was pulsating – the breath was flowing – the mind still conscious – it was thinking. He was thinking about the food- the best and the sumptuous one – the food cooked by the loving hands of granny- feeding the four year old Golu.

She would beckon Golu with food bowls in hand. While feeding him the adoring smile would play on her face. Her silver locks of soft wrinkled face were the tenderest feel of his heart.Sitting in the gentle aura of granny the morsel would taste best to him.

The meal time story used to go on- of king, queen and small princes-“ the princess, whom he will bring as his bride when he will grow up.”

Golu eyes would sparkle with flow of story, not for princes as his bride, but floating in the pleasure of granny’s smile. He would chuckle in his delight not for princes but for granny's presence.

Golu didn’t chortle at the arrival of king and queen chariot because they were full of riches. His eyes had never witnessed the support of grand rich father and mother as he was only accustomed of granny’s lap. Even in his dream he hadn’t seen any motherly and fatherly king and queen.

He had opened eyes in the loving presence of granny. Her touch, her feel and her nearness were his world. The vast world beyond her was unknown and harsh to him.

That day was the tenth day since he had not taken any food. Now the cramping in belly too had subsided or perhaps he was unable to feel it.

There was a giddiness in the head with feeble pain. Day before today he had entered in the park and safely chosen that isolated place at the far corner of uneven earth. The mother earth had given her the comforting lap.

He had never seen his mother and the father never bothered to look after him. Dumping him in frail old granny’s arm was his biggest relief.

Four years back he lost her too. Granny’s death gave him a new name - a burden- a good for nothing fellow -an empty stomach with unfailing hunger.

Subsequently the smirk became unavoidable addition of his food and grief inducing contempt a ritual affair of his meal time. He would get a lump in throat while swallowing the morsel.

His sliding rank in the studies tagged him - a useless fellow in all respect. At sixteen he was not earning. How he supposed to do so?,but he had been eating and was spending on school fee, clothes and food.

He started to detest the food as the contempt would haunt him perennially. He did not know how to deal with hunger? He could stay in old clothes, without school but how to stay without the food? He desperately wanted to expertise the way to beat the hunger.

The smirk on the face and haunting sharp tone during the meal time would numb his brain.

Like Buddha he too wanted to learn the way to mitigate the suffering - how to stay without food became his biggest concern.
Again and again the sneer on the face while receiving the meal had been turned unbearable to him.

Listening everything calmly that day he stared at her blankly . He had sat there quietly for long holding the plate. He was listening the growling around and after a point the added snarls were not making any difference to him.

As he was ready to start his journey he had made up his mind.

He put the plate down – cleaned the dishes, made the beds in different rooms and went to his own at last.

Next day he did all the chores without any food- the dizziness accompanied him at a time then next after that it followed him with intermittent frequencies--.

The howling around him rose the clanking of plates he heard near him several times. But he was peaceful he had now enlightened not to have it any more – the root cause of his misery.

Exhausted till then the eyes were unable to see with clarity but brain grasp the meaning. Now there was no place for him in the house. At last he felt the grip on his wrist someone pushed him outside the door.

To regain clarity of the signal standing at the door for the while he stopped to gasp.

It was fine to get the lap of mother earth under the sky as she never refused any one. Through the foliages in his dimming vision he glanced the soft crinkled face of granny .

His eyes embraced the gaze. She smiled again – behind her there was another face- the beautiful queen of the story. He had seen her in framed photograph at granny’s room-the beautiful mom.

Then she came forth and smiled on him. He was staring at her and after a while he was only staring everything else had stopped.

The couple

It was the post festivity season of advanced autumn there fore there were slight travelers inside the compartment. The rattling of train increased as it crossed the iron bridge of Victorian era.The monotony of advanced journey wrapped me in melancholy. Feeling drowsy I closed the open book on my lap, and outstretched my legs to relax comfortably.
When the train started slithering, I craned my neck to peep outside, the piercing railway's announcement got sharpened and eventually it halted. At the well lit platform the usual urgency was pulsating with rushing people and lug gages against the back drop of food stalls of irctc with bottled water and fancy snacks.
The scuffs of feet and mumbling chit chat near me steered my attention back inside the compartment. A couple the occupants of the berth opposite of mine were standing by the berth. Confirming their berth number they slid down the luggage under the berth and occupied the place opposite of me.
Dragged in prevalent monotony I chose to have a nap. Suddenly through the half closed eyes I got the glimpse of a manicured hand putting a chic hand bag on small dining board near my head. The glow of a fleeting milky hand disrupted the dullness of my mind for the while.
Quite a tuned coordination was stirring at the opposite seat of mine. A melodious discomfiture of coughing wife got reciprocated by the hubby with the magical donation of shining bottled water. The sight of bottled water recalled my neglected need of throat and I started looking for my own. The coolness of chilled water felt good and out of concerned I passed the bottle to Ed who was sleeping on the upper berth.
Fatigued with day long occupation we were contemplating an early siesta and waiting for the meals to be served.
I passed the food tray to Ed as he was reluctant to come down, and started the meal on my berth. On the opposite berth the symphony of love was in the air. The hubby was frantically unpacking the food items on the tray kept on the food board and arranged the plate for the wife. “The love birds, how nature binds couples,” I thought.
The drop in temperature before the day break seemed a bit inconvenient, and after few toss and turn I decided to view the nature after the refreshed siesta. Before that I felt need to freshen up.
Being inside the wash area the incoherent noise of an arguing couple was audible outside. “Who started in early hours?” I got amazed. A feminine tone in sobs was panting her annoyance. To douse the incensed wheezing of the lady the mumbling cajoles of the guy seemed so genuine. My exit halted their panting and raving for the moment. While coming out, my glance fell on the gent’s back in the striped night suit, and black t- shirt of the girl.
I returned to my berth the lady was sleeping peacefully opposite of mine. The hues outside were changing continually with advancing moments of twilight. I decided to feel the magic and it seemed best to watch the nature outside with its ever changing frame.
The rendezvous of mine with crack of dawn acted as a catalyst to induce me in sleep with the ascending sun soon I dozed off.
I sharp voice pierced my snooze and the rattling of train reminded me of my where about. It was irctc staff with news paper and tea, and standing by the berth Ed was telling me to have the tea. After waking up I realized that I was having belated tea in the compartment.
On the opposite berth of mine the gents was engrossed in tea preparation sharing the sheet of his slept wife. After a while he softly shook the fragile loving thing to have her tea. And then as slow recap the scene unfolded according to my conceptualization.
In the morning sun the loving thing sat lazily, holding tea in her manicured hand, beside her henpecked hubby, “A lucky thing indeed”, I mused.
Feeling freshened up with beverage, I caught the attention of a jean clad – a girl-with long open hair who was passing through the boggy, in black t- shirt--? Asking for the charger point she stopped for the moment. The attention of the guy, opposite of mine too got hooked to her. A changed of expression seized his ease for the moment then he composed himself.
For the moment he hesitated then pulling out his legs out the sheet, with charming smile, he held the empty cup from his wife hands, put it beneath the berth and added I am coming, after washing my hands; he walked away in his striped night suit, behind the black t- shirt. My sight got freezed by the dubious affiliations of his.