Illusion

The old woman turned and smile. I stood there, my head reeling with thoughts, my mind a jigsaw puzzle. My peaceful afternoon had been transformed into a chimera. A dream I couldn’t wake my self from. I will relate to you the reason behind this. It was a hot , Sunday afternoon . Like every week I had decided to spend my afternoon in the old age home near my house. I had been doing this since a year now. Every other Sunday afternoon I spent with old people whose families had abandoned them. They were the grandparents I never had. And maybe I was like a child to them or just a friend. I spent hours listening to their stories. I took something special to eat sometimes. And when I went empty handed, they did not complain . Like small children they received me smilingly. That afternoon , I found my companion sitting under the big banyan tree, in the middle of the garden, knitting. The green grass appeared almost white in the blinding sun. I walked slowly towards the old lady. My steps contemplative. She looked up from her knitting and smiled. She had long Grey hair, neatly oiled and plaited. Her face was not wrinkled and that made her look relatively younger. Her lemon yellow saree fluttered lightly in the afternoon breeze. “Get a chair for yourself child”, she said in a high pitched, nasal voice. I pulled a chair and sat opposite her, waiting for to start talking. She remained quite for five minutes. Then she looked at me through her gold rimmed glasses and remained expressionless. I felt a sudden stab of disquietude in her presence. Her piercing eyes, the silence made me uneasy. I had a sudden urge to get up and run. But I stayed put on my chair, clumsily playing with my sweaty hands. “So tell me about yourself”, her voice startled me but I was relieved that the silence was broken. “I am from Mumbai”, I told her. “Is it? What a pleasant coincidence, I am from Mumbai as well. My son lives there now, with his family.” She became forlorn, thinking about her son. So I changed the topic. “I am an engineering student, studying here in Pune”. “Oh my son also studied engineering from Pune only”, she said, bringing the topic back to her son . Then without asking she started narrating her story. “I belong to a very rich family. We all used to live together in Mumbai, me, my husband and two sons. My elder son studied in Pune and the younger one was with us in Mumbai. He was studying to be a journalist. I was very close to him. One day he didn’t return home, I waited for him all night. In the morning we went to the police. For a whole week they looked for him but I did not loose faith. I was positive that he will return. My family lost hope, the search party was called off. Then after almost a month, his body was found in a slum in Bandra. Nobody knew how he had died. Police came to the conclusion that he had committed suicide. But I still find it hard to believe. I could never get over his death. Me and my husband started aging early. We never went out. Our life had come to an end. Then one day , my husband died in his sleep. My elder son moved in with me and life continued. But soon he married and life changed again. My daughter-in law did not want me in the house. She said I was too interfering. Everyday there were fights in the house . So one day my own son chucked me out. I pleaded with him but he was blind. He drove me here in his car. Its been two years now. No one from my family has come to see me. I have to fend for myself in this age also.” My eyes filled with tears. What a terrible life this old woman had led and still she seemed happy and content. I took her hand in mine, “ Don’t worry aunty. God is there to look after you”, I tried to comfort her somehow. She smiled but not through her eyes. Her eyes remained glassy, hollow. “Can you get me some water”, she said. I got up, glad to be of any help to her. I went to the kitchen but could not find anyone. I looked for a clean glass but there were none. After twenty minutes I was finally able to get a clean glass with drinking water. I carried it to the garden. She was now sitting with her closed eyes, as if exposing her soul to the sunlight. I shook her lightly , to wake her. She opened her eyes and looked at me in a confused way. Then she looked around. “its me aunty, here drink this water”, I said handing her the steel tumbler. She took it , still looking at me suspiciously and drank the water thirstily. “Are you from that NGO who spends time with us old people every Sunday”, she asked, wrinkling her nose slightly. I was surprised , why was she asking strange questions suddenly? “Good you came, come sit with me , I like company some time.” And again without asking she narrated her story, “ You know I have two pretty daughters just like you. They both are married. We are Parsees and my husband doesn’t live with us. Its better to be here than living alone. I quite like it here.”, she smiled warmly. My mind went blank. I thought I was dreaming. Had I imagined all that she had told me only half an hour back? I nervously got up from the chair almost falling on the grass and ran towards the entrance. I looked back for the last time, the old woman turned and smiled.

Kindness

Right out of journalism school, I had started working for an English daily in Bangalore. Few months into my job, I decided it was time to take a break. Few of my college friends were going to Kolkata, so i planned to join them. It so happened that the day I was to leave, my parents had to go to Mumbai. So with much difficulty I woke up for my early morning flight and somehow managed to reach the airport without my mother's assistance. I reached just in time for the check in and totally forgot about eating breakfast. I had taken one of those flights which do not serve breakfast. The flight had a stop over so it was a pretty long journey. I instantly went of to sleep. I woke up to the voice of the air hostess asking me whether I wanted to order for food. I realized how hungry i was. I asked the air hostess what was on their menu. She smiled, "Sandwiches", she said. I asked her to give me one. As i opened my wallet to remove money, to my embarrassment I saw that I had only Rs 10 in my wallet. I had completely forgotten to pick up cash. I looked at her and asked, “Do you accept cards?” She answered in the negative. I put my wallet into my bag and said, “Oh let it be”. There were still two hours to go. And i had to do without food. The air hostess came back after two minutes and said, “ Are you a vegetarian or a non vegetarian?” I was surprised. Not to embarrass my self further, I literally whispered, “ You don’t understand but i have no money”. She asked me again, “Vegetarian or non-vegetarian?” I thought maybe she was hard of hearing, so i simply said, “Vegetarian”. I was just cooking an answer in my mind when she came back again, with a sandwich in one hand. She gave it to me. I got angry. Was she deliberately trying to embarrass me? How many times should i tell her i have no money? Very politely I said again, “Look i have no money to give you, so i don’t want the sandwich.” She smiled. Placing the sandwich in my hand she said, “ Its ok , don’t pay me . It's our little secret”. I stared as she walked away. I ate the sandwich hungrily and then drifted off in a deep peaceful sleep. I don’t know the name of the air hostess but i know that people like her make the world a better place.

Deep Under

As I matched my steps with the people I was marching with, I realized all the passers by were staring at us, but that did not stop us from singing aloud bhajans praising our little elephant god whom we were bidding goodbye. Chanting aloud the shlokes I had shed all my old clothes and I walked naked absorbing the radiant glow the idol was bathing in.

The sea was just not water today; it was a hot volcano burning souls and their idols in spirituality. Hundreds of hosts like us stood bowing down to their own ‘personal’ idol, though they were all clones, but each group had put a bit of themselves, their family, their spirit in these idols. Inhaling the camphor fumes , I saw dancing shadow of the little flame it produced , putting a smile on the onlookers, bowed heads looking for an answer in that fire on the beach. Tears filled my eyes, it was ecstatic, and a blurred image of red faces formed a beautiful scene in front of me. People who had left themselves behind were now moving towards the fire, probably in self destruction, it was pulling them to it, like a fragrance, like a drug. I felt high, head spinning I was lost in the many lights shining, fuming, swallowing the sea.

And loosing all their inhibitions, souls ran toward the light, soaking themselves, like new born tortoises who rush to live, at midnight. And as they immersed our idol in the water, I too was submerged with it. Taking in all the water, filling my nostrils, but not choking, giving me a yet another life. I relived a hundred years in those few seconds, I relived a lifetime.

The Rain

7, his wristwatch said, he tapped it twice, to check if it was working, it was. A deep sigh escaped his parched lips. Sipping some cold water he anticipated his situation. If he took the train, it would transport him to the other end of the city in mere 15 minutes. Walking down to the station Kumar thought about his day, it had been rather tiresome. And the frequent, angry calls from his wife added nothing to it. It was still raining and after a week of water slashing down he had almost forgotten the warmth of the rays.
He waited and waited but the pleasant whistle of the evening local did not reach him. Was he at the right station? He tarried for some time, pacing the platform in hurried steps. Where the devil was his train? He gazed irritably at his watch, almost 8.
Clothes sticking, phone ringing at every second, Kumar waited rather tolerantly to get a taxi, his last resort but none of them budged. “The roads are blocked because of the rains, sahib”, they all said. He dialled his wife’s number to tell her that he would not be able to make it to the dinner party they were having , but stopped as he saw a taxi coming his away . Slowly it approached him, the headlights flickering, the machine making a loud growling sound. It stopped short of where Kumar stood. For 2 seconds nobody moved. Maybe both were waiting for the other to approach like a prostitute who waits uncomplainingly to be picked up by her employer, the silence till the deal is done, is uncomfortable, revolting.
Kumar made the move, he hurried to the taxi and peered inside, and he looked at the man inside who was to be his companion for the next 60 minutes. Dark complexioned, pork marked nose and a little fringe for hair, Deepak was in his 30’s with the most genuine smile ever, child like. Kumar instantly took a liking to him. Deepak agreed happily to take Kumar. As he stepped inside, he realized he was not alone. 6 pairs of eyes gazed back at him. He hesitated, thinking if he had mistaken. Then he heard Deepak laughing, ‘don’t worry sahib, this is my family, i also live in that part of the city. Hope it is not a problem if they travel with us. Kumar smiled, smiled at the taxi driver’s simplicity, smiled at his children’s glowing faces, smiled at his own fate.
Everything was an illusion, mixed with the transparency of the rain; soaking wet in its warmth. He looked on through the glass, touching the rain drops from the other side, there shadow staining his hand with darker and lighter shades of light. He made shapes with his finger on the frosted pane, with children’s laughter playing a soft note in the background. With Deepak’s family in that little space, he felt whole, complete. And soon he was playing little games with the kids, becoming just like them, forgetting his origin. They twisted their hands to make chirping birds and roaring tigers and then burst into babyish cackle. In that 60 minute journey Kumar forgot about his angry wife , his friends, their dinner party , in those minutes he made a new world , which he had not known before . He wanted to hold these minutes, wanted to capture them, wanted to capture the memories between minutes, wanted to capture time... he took out his phone and clicked whatever he could. The children made funny faces and they all laughed till their sides hurt ,a merry go round on wheels.
And then the minutes were over and the taxi was turning towards his house. The journey had ended too soon, he thought. He wanted a few more moments to relive it.
Kumar stepped out of the taxi, ready to pay Deepak whatever he asked for. As he fumbled inside his pockets to get the change, he realized that something was wrong. His phone had gone. He came out of the trance and started searching everywhere frantically. He turned into something totally different, something totally wild. They all engaged themselves in the search. Looking everywhere they could, opening up the heavens. But in vain, the devise was lost or stolen.
It was the first thought that crossed Kumar’s mind. It had been stolen, and the thought made him blind. He accused Deepak and his family, accused their innocence, accused their existence. They stood there, in the rain, heads bowed, mute with the silence.
The muteness made him barmier, and in that insane second he put them all in the cab and took them to the police station. Not once did Deepak revolt, he just looked on with dead silent eyes.
Beaten, tired Kumar walked back home. His mind free of thoughts but in a prison of them. He felt deceived, shaken. And as he reached the lane where the taxi had dropped him and the unpleasant events had unfolded , in the blue darkness, he saw it, lying there, condemning him. He picked up the listless device, put it in his pocket and walked on.........

For Love

When I looked into ‘chinkis’ beady eyes for the first time on that dark lost path , I knew we were meant to be soul mates. It was almost a year ago, when I met that golden retriever for the first time

Yellow leaves were strewn on that tree tunneled poetic path, as if an invisible needle had stitched all of them to the cemented road, making a colorful carpet. I crossed that way everyday to get home after work. Walking through it I was reminded of the striking yet lonely maiden who looks with searching eyes to find something that did not exist. Sometimes I too was swallowed by its loneliness.

I had left work late that day and had missed my train; it was dark when I started on that path to reach home. Walking slowly, feeling the breeze on my skin, i was in a state so transparent yet so clogged up by the smoke of thought, I felt light headed, swaying in the course of the wind.

A pair of glowing eyes startled me. I felt fear gripping me like a swirling snake, crushing me in its spiral body. It was quiet late and the night, so dark, was deceiving. I looked closely, anticipating my chances of escape.

It was an old man, with an older dog, a Labrador. I went closer to the ‘couple’. A streak of light from the old lamppost made their eyes look simple, naïve. They both stared at me , and i stared back at them , and we knew that this evening would be etched in our minds forever.

After that day, every evening I would meet my old man sitting exactly on the same place, besides the rusted lamppost. They looked like a charcoal painting in the evening sun, smiling with their eyes.

I would take chinki for long walks; he had a lot of stamina for his age. We would talk silently, indebted by the nature. It was a selfless relation between us , I never bought food for chinki or it never gave me anything , it was just the love for each other’s company that kept us together. Sometimes we would sit together and watch the setting sun and I would whisper old Hindi songs in his big ears, he would fall asleep in that tranquil moment.

I would finish my work as fast as I could to reach on time to witness my very own charcoal picture by the lamppost. I started making excuses to my boss, to leave early, started shirking off responsibility; I was always caught up in those miraculous moments spent with my friend, caught up in time.

And then one day they were gone, just like that. The charcoal painting was broken; its habitants had left, leaving the frame hollow. I waited for long hours every day by the lamppost, waited for the old man and his dog, but they never walked in. They were like an illusion in the desert which had disappeared when I went to close.

I became restless, looked for a golden retriever everywhere, my heart would skip a beat when I saw a Labrador in the park, but instantly I would realize, it was not chinky .

Then one evening the park’s guard told me that the old man had died and the dog had been sent to a remote village in the interiors of Mahrashtra.

I was heartbroken, deceived by the laws of nature.. And then I realized that suddenly one day, people we love will be snatched away rudely without an admonition. And still people didn’t cease to love. Selflessly they committed their feelings, thoughts, their mind to something which was not permanent and in return they didn’t expect ‘the world’, they expected nothing.

Everything in love, ‘for’ love.

Stationed between time

I am traveling on the second’s hand, going round and round, swaying between the black numbers, stagnant with tranquility of a still pond where the ripples leave the surface unperturbed, not leaving a mark. With each tock the hand moves causing a flurry but I am glued to that one spot, I am stationed between time.

From every thought I can take the next train traveling to another set of beliefs, conceptions, but I sit there, on a bench watching the early morning rays making an ugly mark on the dreamy velvety blues, jostling it from slumber, shattering yet another chimera.

Lifetimes pass by as another minute goes, and I am swallowed by the silence, its muteness devouring my soul making me numb, void. But I still sit there on that old rusted bench waiting for my life to come around, waiting to be swept in its emptiness. Not once does it occur to me that why not ride home in another rail of ideation, I am inconvincible, stuck to my ‘bench’.

And I loose my existence just in those few seconds as I refuse to ‘give in’, refuse to travel between it, I prefer to stay stationed between stations, stationed between time. My stubbornness reduces me to a mere mortal, a human that refuses to give in the laws of nature.

I become one of ‘us’, curled up away from reality, perched on that one ‘bench’ , with a hard bound book of scripted ideas, which never change, which never dissolve

The Joker

Flipping through the pack, I came across a dancing face, a gagster, buffoonery written all over it , not in words , in rhyming duets which refused to rhyme. It was a mask from my classroom days, it was a caricature created by my pencil, residing in my little notebooks, which I had innocently drawn lost in thoughts when the teacher taught the most important laws of nature ‘Illusion’. To me it was a stooge , a prankster that had tinted cheeks and ringing cap, but 15 years later as I held the card in my hand I tried to recall what my physics teacher was trying to explain in that oration . A symbol that was created in my fantasy was destroyed; I was looking at the present day’ Joker’.

A token of guffaw, had burnt down to a denotation of Evil, irony at its best. And then it struck me, it is all illusion, my thoughts, ideas that have built existence.

And today this painted mask behind a child’s laughter has become a mockery to humankind. As we go ahead, we crush that comes in the way making it look like a complicated puzzle, a boulevard of broken conceptions. I am lost to the illusion of our mind, lost to the illusion of mankind.