A 'Photo' Sensored Cuckoo

The naked branches of the cedar trees were slowly getting dressed with white flakes of snow. The twilight was the dullest time of the day. Atleast that’s what I felt. The toddlers of the street were fighting it out on the snowy terrain with snowballs to adorn their faces, pale with cold. The note from my husband was still stuck on the refridgerator.


“Honey,

Urgent call. Pardon me. Ceylon trip. Would be back in a week. I haven’t forgotten that its our wedding day in a week, so I will make it up to you as soon as I’m home. The Cuckoo clock I’ve bought from Mexico is quite expensive and a mechanic from our crew might be here any day to drill the clock on the hall wall. I’ve already paid him, so don’t pay him anything. Take care. Love you


-Sanjay”

The note had remained stuck for more than five days because I wanted it to stay where it was, reading it every day.

The cuckoo clock was very special and expensive. The cuckoo would only come out when the surrounding was bright enough for it to come out. It had a photo sensor, that detected when the light was bright enough, for it to come out, which meant that the Cuckoo would come out only at the day time.

It was our wedding day today, and Sanjay would arrive tomorrow. I was lost in the thought of my plans for this big day, when somebody stepped in front.

A heavily dressed man, with a Man-U cap and long boots, stood in front with a toolkit in his hand, and sunglasses on his eyes. Sunglasses on a snowy twilight? I led him into the house. The man entered the house and walked
straight into our hall as if he knew the way by heart.

Kneeling on the floor he set to work.

The hands drew something from the tool kit and then suddenly all was blur. The hands were so fast at the hammer, the screw and nailing it onto the wall, measuring the center of our hall’s wall and hanging the Cuckoo clock and closing it again in less than a couple of minutes.

“That would be it madam.” Said he, in a husky voice.

I smiled, to show him the way out. He was somewhat hesitant to leave the house when he asked for water. I went inside the kitchen to get some, and when I had returned, he hadn’t budged an inch from where I saw him before.

Finally when he stepped out of the house, he removed his glasses and gave a half-look at me. The look by itself was
enough to suck all the air out of me. The way of walking and the amazing speed with which he worked with the tools, as if to confirm the fact, was slapping my brains and ordering it to process this information and make sense out of it.

Yes. It was Madhav.

He spoke in the same husky voice, which he wore with such ease and casuality.

“I give you time till 7 o clock tomorrow. If you don’t come with me, you’re gonna be learning it the hard way.”, saying this, he walked off, with shuffling steps sinking and emerging out of the snow irregularly.

The night was a nightmare. It was typical of Madhav to know where I had my weaknesses. I, at once, ordered the milkman not to come to my house the next day, along with the Paper Boy and the maidservant. Then, closing all the windows, I slumped on the bed.

I couldn’t sleep. I was leaning on the sleeping pills usually, and they were all over by yesterday. I had to get some way to ensure that I would be safe from Madhav and explain what I had to, to Sanjay, before things got worse.

Whenever I closed my eyes, the faces of Madhav and Sanjay kept overlapping and disappearing periodically. The blur of incidents, the surge of memories, sandwiched between the guilt on one side, to give company to my agony
on the other side, were too much for me to chuck, and start sleeping.

My idle mind started to romp around for my past story, trying to recollect it, when I was desperately commanding it not to do so.

It was the last thing I wanted to do. I started counting from 100 to 1, trying to divert my attention. I switched on my CD player and turned on some song.


100…99…98…97…


I slowly closed my eyes. My mind made a backflip to the past.


I considered myself to be one of the luckiest ladies in the whole city, with a handsome young man, for a husband and the cutest child on earth for a daughter. There was nothing I wished for other than this perfect life, with Madhav, my husband, being the head mechanic on board the Damascia, the biggest ship in India. He drew a handsome salary, and was a Jack Of practically everything. It was a year after marriage before I got pregnant, and a year after that, I gave birth to Diya. Life was going all smooth when a sudden brake, pushed all three of us forward. Diya was diagnosed with cancer even before she turned one year, and the money needed for the operation to set it right was too much to accommodate in Madhav’s salary.


90…89…88…87…



There was not a single path, which we left untreaded, to try and cure Diya. All went to dust, when Madhav came up with a last way, to save our sinking child. The worst way I was to take, yet. He wanted me to marry Sanjay, the newly appointed captain of Damascia, and muster money from him. It was a shock to me that my love was sending me to the hands of another man. I madly refused. His flair of talking again subdued me into submission. We wanted to save our daughter and we wanted to do it at any cost.

77…76…75…74…

It had started to drizzle. I could see the tiny but picering drops of water crashing the glass of my bedroom window. I went back again.


Even after Diya was born, our marriage was still a secret and no one knew we were together. To the outside world, Madhav was still a bachelor. As fate would have it, Sanjay proposed to me the next day, and I was more than willing, to agree.


And so I married.


Again.

I was now, Mrs.Sanjay, from Mrs.Madhav. No one could suspect that I was already married, with a child, as I made Sanjay swear that the marriage should be very very quiet. I managed to muster money from Sanjay and somehow gave it to Madhav, to start Diya’s operation.


64…63…62…61…


I could now hear the dripping of the water from the bathroom pipe. The ‘plunk plunk plunk’ of the drops on the mosaic was sickening. I got up to take a cloth and put it over the pipe, to seal it.


60…59…58…57…


Life threw another hairpin bend at me, when the doctors shrugged shoulders and announced that the condition of Diya was not hopeful at all. Diya succumbed to the deadly cancer a week after the operation and Madhav was hysterical. He inferred that it was my delay of getting the money, which made Diya’s condition that critical, and he slowly started turning into an animal, that was barring its teeth, and turning towards me.


Now that my purpose of saving Diya had become wasted, I was itching to break free from the shackles of married life from Sanjay. But it was not that easy at all. I had to find a genuine reason to apply for divorce, which I hadn’t found, till then. This delay further infuriated Madhav and turned him into a beast. He was then totally convinced that I was all ready to lead a life with Sanjay. He swore on Diya that he would get back on me, and never came to meet me from then on.


46…45…44…43…


But as years passed by, the situation was slowly reversing, just as Madhav had predicted. The raw wounds, which sunk into my bosom, were now healing under the care and love showered by Sanjay. He was slowly climbing closer and closer on the ladder, leading to my heart, while Madhav jumped off it at one go.


I had, by the end of two years, become Mrs. Sanjay, physically and mentally.


38…37…36…35…


It was 5 years since we broke up and life was getting back to the top gear slowly once again. I would occasionally hear Sanjay praising about Madhav’s mechanic skills in the crew, when my heart would rejuvenate the past by kindling the old wounds. But that faded too in course of time. It was our fifth wedding anniversary (today) that I saw the first love of my life, and the tragic past came gushing into my life once more.


25…24…23…22…

How could Madhav be of any harm? I had strictly told the paperboy, milkman and the servant to stay out of the house, lest he sent any evidence of our marriage, through them.


But I knew one thing for sure.


Madhav was a man of his word. He had also promised me that if he couldn’t prove our marriage to Sanjay by tomorrow, he would never try to do so again. That was the only driving force that pushed me on and on, to seal all the other doors through which the evidence, in any form, could enter.

11…10…9…8…

The rain had gotten heavier and the music had changed into a serene masterpiece, by my favourite artist. My mind had already poured out its past to itself, in the count of 100. Whatever happened, could not be stopped by me, I decided. Let it happen when it should happen.

I then gave a last look at the Cuckcoo clock.

It was 2:20 am. It read 21st of September .

My count was approaching 3, when my mind slowly closed to the pressing matters of tomorrow, as my eyes finally gave in to mental exhaustion. I drifted away slowly into sleep.

The next morning…



I was almost convinced about myself that I had been thorough enough in ensuring security, that I forgot worrying about Madhav. Instead, I was eager for Sanjay to arrive.

It was 6:55 am on the 21st.


5 minutes before the time limit, set by Madhav.

Sanjay entered.

“Heyyy Rekha!!! Happy anniversary to us!!” he exclaimed as he jolted me with such enthusiasm that I was lifted off my feet.


6:56 am…

Sanjay changed clothes, and was drying his hair. I started taking out his unwashed clothes and cosmetics, from his untidy suitcase, along with his uniforms.


6:59 am…

He put the towel aside and came towards me. He put one arm on my hair and the other arm on my waist. And then facing the clock, he kissed me, when the clock struck seven.

The first rays of the day, fell straight on the clock, and the photo-sensor lighted up, and the wooden cuckoo jumped out of the clock, pushing 2 photos, out of it.

In one photo were I and Madhav hugging on to each other just after our marriage.

The other one contained Me, Madhav and Diya in a group photo.




Madhav had won.



Sanjay was unable to move, and was glued to the spot, where he had been, with the photos still on his hand. He then looked at me.

The eyes were so piercing that I turned away, only to meet his gaze again, and look down, ashamed.
I then explained every word of my past, trying to sound as reasonable as possible, but Sanjay just kept listening,
and listening.

“ THE TREACHEROUS RAT!!!” he screamed, as he lunged for the phone, to call the ship and summon Madhav.

He pressed the loudspeaker.

“Where is Madhav?” Sanjay growled.

“I thought you’d knew sir. Madhav had resigned yesterday night. The last job assigned to him was to go to your house for fixing your clock I suppose sir?” an old voice from the other end answered.

As soon as Sanjay realized that Madhav had been smarter, he took his pistol from his half opened suitcase.
“It is better to see heaven than live through hell with you all my life Rekha!” he snarled, as he brought it closer to him.

I didn’t know what struck me. The piercing look of my husband on finding out that his wife was a wronged woman, was too much to bear for me.

I still didn’t know if what I was going to do would make things easier for any of us. But I was too disgusted with my life and myself, to live any longer in this beautiful world, or share a bed with my wonderful husband.

I snatched the gun from Sanjay, set it on my forehead, and pulled the trigger.

A Cheap Haircut

"Here! If you're not going to keep your head still, I might as well as cut your head along with your unruly hair and pull the shutters and move somewhere else. Why do people like you spoil business early in the morning? As though a haircut makes a difference to you!"

"Sorry Billu Bhai, The visuals of the song were awesome. Never seen them before.", my eyes still on the TV in the top right corner of the Salon.

" VISUALS bother you my lord, when I'm having half a dozen customers, with much better hair than yours, queuing outside my shop, waiting for me to finish cutting your damned hair, with a thousand curls?"

" All right bhai. I'm sorry"

I couldn't hold my mother any longer from pushing me outside the house for having a haircut. Having a curly hair was all fine when you keep growing it. The tricky part usually came when i had to persuade Billu Bhai, my haircutter, to give me a nice decent cut, with SOME hair still on my head. Unfortunately, my father knew this man a little too intimately for me to get away with playing pranks, or having adjustments done to my hair.

My doom was racing towards me. The 'blueprint' of my head after the haircut was made clear by my father, to the barber. He wanted to literally count the number of hairs on my head after I had the haricut.

"Bhai, does my father want you to make me like Ghajini?", I asked, jutting out my head, trying desperately to act funny.

" Slightu to the leftu, will you?", asked he, as he swirled my head to the left with such a violent jerk, that I almost screamed.

I was puzzled. I usually was one of Billu bhai's favourite customers, who praised about my hair often. Something was definitely pricking him today. His neatly combed hair, was in ruffles. A strand of greying hair, cast a shadow on his wrinkled forehead, as he worriedly peered out of the transcluscent door, to witness 13 customers, waiting impatiently near the tea shop, adjoining the salon. Some of them were drinking tea, with newspapers to feed their boredom, some satisfied with the newspapers alone, some were jus pacing to and fro from the salon to the nearby mess, which was pretty crowded too.

I took advantage of his monentary distraction to behold the scene outside, when a sharp pang, jolted me back to attention position on the recsin chair. I couldn't hold myself any longer.

" What's wrong with you Bhai? Any problem with you today? Well, is it anything monetary?", I began, when he pushed me out of the chair.

" Don't you dare stray into topics where you shouldn't be straying Hari. Get out. I will talk to you later. I have a much more important customer to take care of. Get going."

I took a last peek at the giant mirror in front of the revolving chair. On the contrary, Billu's anger had helped me accidentally. My hair was not too short. I could call it the right size to be sporting outside, either. But I could say ANYTHING was better than a Ghajini!

I walked outside, to be greeted by the 45 degree Sunday morning rays, beating me out straight on my face, blinding me momentary. I trod on the crude stone tiles, laid outside the shop, to witness someone, who shouldnt be standing there.

It was Mr. Vijay, the chairman of the TK Group of fashion companies. The surprising fact was that HE was standing outside Billu's shop. Probably a haircut. Then why should he be waiting outside a busy salon, teeming with about a dozen people? To search for shareholders? How dumb could my guesses possibly get?

To be frank, Billu's shop wasnt quite the posh hairdressing havens, a fashion designer could possibly opt for. Then why this wait outside the salon?

I decided to munch the question inside my brain on my way home. Back at home, i turned on the shower. The warm pincers of water began to sooth me, but just began to, while i pulled myself from the shower, just remembering something. I realised I forgot to get back the change from Billu, in my hurry to get off the room.

Making a silent note to myself, to get back the change, after the shower, I went back to the warm bliss, for the next 10 minutes, Changed, then had a quick breakfast, and went out again to destination ultimatum, Billu's Salon. The scenario had changed completely.

The lone customer waiting outside was the Chairman, waiting patiently for his change. His behaviour still hadn't become better explainatory still. I decided to indulge in a conversation, but he refused to get the conversation going well enough for it to be polite for me to keep talking with him.

After half an hour, it was still the same scenario with me being the only person waiting outside for the godforsaken chance to enter the congested room. I couldn;t wait. The time I was wasting for the change was not more worthy than the Maths exam coming up tomorrow, and mom had already been agitated about my last terminal exams, and I couldn;t stay at the same zone any longer.

Pushing the door aside with a burst of impatience, my speed reduced exponentially when I saw what was going on. Mr. Vijay with a completely bald head, was talking to Billu, who froze with horror when he saw me. Mr. Vijay's reaction was not any different.

Seconds lengthened and my steps became elastic. I still couldnt relate the happenings to what was going inside the room. The gentleman I assumed, had realised his mistake my being rude to me.

" Hari beta," he bgan with a smile.

I nodded, signalling him to cointinue.

"Being popular and having a prosperous life has disadvantages. Could you believe that?", he asked, pausing long enough, to indicate me to answer.

I jerked my head bluntly, too surprised to answer verbally yet.

" Two years back, doctors diagnosed me with a vitamin deficiency, to explain the abnormal loss of hair I was experiencing. Being a fashion designer, balding was the last thing on my fashion list. Considering the number of shows I'm organising and designing now, It would have kept vanishing as fast as my hair was balding, if they came to know that I had become bald, So I obviously realised the need for an alter way out. That's when I noticed Billu."

Billu shuffled across to turn off the TV, as Vijay continued.

" Ordinary though, his shop was, I could see the simplicity and the involvement coupled with the ceaseless entusiasm he put in his work. I realised, he was a person, who wouldnt mock at me when he realised my plight. I frequently began talking with him to get a wig to suit my needs and a "Haircut" for the world to believe I had hair, as usual. So i come here to change wigs often. God is cruel smoetimes, Hari. My plight is so worse that my wife and children are unaware of my predicament. So now put 1 and 1. All I have to ask from you is that dont make 1 and 1 as 11 and blurt this out to the neighbour hood. I'm sure you wont, given that you're this intelligent Hari i knew, from what Billu says.", he finished.

I had perhaps thought I had earned an excursion to Antartica on a 38 degree celsius Sunday morning, as I was feeling strangely cold. I couldnt trace its roots though, might have been my rudeness to open the door. I didnt need to ask Billu why he was annoyed today. He had to make sure Mr. Vijay shouldnt be noticed by anybody lest it would get out of control. He was too famous to go unnoticed.

I slowly got the change from Billu in slow motion,and exited the room, when something made me turn back.

Billu and Mr. Vijay were staring at me with eyes full of expressions. I couldnt quite place them properly. Pleading? Thankful? But they definitely were not threatening. I then realised the kind of response I had to give them.

I gave the best look of understanding, I had given all my life, back to them, as I turned.

The door of the salon creaked to close once more for good.

A Pitstop fall

I stared at my monitor with puffed eyes, as I laid my hands on the coffee-stained keyboard to typein the details of the application form. My hands running over the brown keys, I ran down the form to get a gist of the details required.
The form specified about the particulars of the race, the entry fee and the rules and regulations. I sent the form to the organization.

I was about to close the form when something made my eyeballs pop out of their sockets.

“Dad!”, I screamed.

“Yes Sid? Filled up the form?”,he called out from the kitchen.

“Yes Papa, but the form says that the race is about to start tomorrow and the last date is already over. How else will I race?”

My papa entered the room, his usual wrinkles on the face, showing a little too prominently this time. He limped towards me, with one hand on his left leg.

Thinking of his limp stirred my heart to a mixed bag of emotions.

The frown was evident from his eyebrows and his lips curled up to express the emotion, which spread till his
cheekbones.

He scrolled up and down a few times, amazingly quickly, seemed to take in the details.

He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds and then opened them, remarkably calm.

“Listen Sid, I have lots of experience in this, so trust me. No organizer wants to shed competitors away so I bet they would have a last look at it before they draft the racer-list for tomorrow. When they see your application, I’m sure they won’t reject a competitor who seems a clear favorite to bag the prize.”

My father, Ravishankar, was a top class motoracer in India, who carved a niche for himself. As fate would have it, he was sabotaged by his rival, Guru, during a race, paralyzing his leg, never to race again. He had enough experience in registering related stuff.

I strayed from the diversion, back to the topic.

“But Papa, Even if I’m to go for the race, I’ve not practiced in a long time. How am I to get racing from nowhere?”

“Good Night Sid. I don’t want to hear any of your excuses. Both of us know you really need the prize money. If you win this race, it is going to shoot you right to the top of the contenders for the state team. Get some sleep, rise early, fine tune your cycle, and gear up for the race.”

The last image I caught was my father’s face, showing his crystal clear teeth, as they merged with the darkness of the Saturday night.

For a second I thought Mum said all the best, but when I opened my eyes, all was dark.

Putting the dream again to the back of my mind, I let sleep engulf me, and my mind closed for the night.


It was not as pleasant as I expected the next day, when I pushed my bedcovers away and looked out of the window.

It had rained the last night. Rained hard.

I could see the puddles of water filling the places where the terrain was irregular, and the drops of water, dripping from the Neem trees on my cycle seat. The Dahlias gleamed with the morning Sun’s radiance’s help, and were showing off their petals, ridden with dew drops. My neighbor Chinnu Dada’s cock had done its job. It jolted me awake just in time.

I was now wide awake and all set to get my cycle ready. I wiped the cyclefirst, to make it dry from yesterday’s rain. I then brought a new pair of tyres, a screwdriver from the garage. I wrenched the old tyres from the rim with the screwdriver and replaced them and the tubes inside. Filled them with air, and finetuned my brakes, by changing the brake shoe, and adjusting them to avoid unnecessary contact with the tyre rims.

It was 9 am when I reached the venue. It was electrifying. All traces of the rain yesterday had been erased, and I didn’t need to think to know why.

The Ooty Terai stretch which connects Ooty and Coimbatore was the track length. It was amazingly long for an under 18 race. It was 15.2 kms long, with the merciless rocks all placed at the wrong positions, with the hairpin bends adding to my worries. All the rain water had slid down due to the slope of the hills, thanks to them.

Being one of the top racers had its own disadvantages. While I was quite sure that my sense of balance was the best in the whole of Ooty. My reflexes were horrible. This was partly why I shunned motoracing, and jumped to cycles.

Interpreting a turn while going at 200 kmph without skiiding off the track was the last thing I needed.

“Ready? 3,2,1….BANG!”

My 7 other competitors started pumping energy into their pedals and shot off ahead of me, but I knew better than to waste my energy on the first couple of miles. All I had in front of me was my Father’s face, his dead leg, and the vision of me getting the trophy.

I turned to the right, to see my father’s sabotage Guru’s son, Ranjit, smiling at me.

Guru, had got all his evidences erased and kept a clean sheet and got away with killing my father’s career. He trained his son to become one of the top racers of the state, who was as good as me, if not better. But I would never forgive him for what his father did to my dad.

“Hey Sid!” he called out.

“Keep your greeting to yourself, moron.” I said curtly as I raised my pace a little, to stay away from him.

“Hey. Cool it man. I just wanted to talk. By the way, how do you think your chances are, to win this race?”

“My chances can be kept to myself, thank you. You can as well as help your father, who could be better off sabotaging another promising racer and killing his career.”

I could see his eyes blaze for an instant with anger, but turned normal the next instant. We broke contact, as we departed.

Chintu, who was the fattest of the 8 racers, was having a 18 geared cycle. His fascination with the gears was never ending, as he rolled his stubby fingers over the knob that shifted gears. He was rich enough to take this race as a
hobby, but I wasn’t.

I caught up with Chintu after 4 to 5 kms, to see him puffing out short but exhausted bursts of air. I still continued with my normal pace, to inch past him slowly, but surely. I started to talk with him, when I heard the worst sound, which was every cyclist’s nightmare.

My wall tube was leaking air, and was leaking fast. Anychange in pace, would mean a flat tyre, which summed up to losing the race. I thanked God for my gift of balance, as I hunched myself towards the front and put negligible force on the rear.

But what surprised me was the fact that a tyre so new, had busted so early. Concentrating on my balance, I pedaled on.

There were the stray dogs en route, who kept barking at all the spectators lined in the border of the road, to witness the race. The Tea shops were filled with the local people, who had their huts on the hills, and cut trees for a living. Men with newspapers and women with sieves, to separate the husk from the grains, sat on both sides of the track, spectating the race.

Rashid, the mayor’s son was tall, well built and was known for his infinite stamina and strength, from the blackened eyes of the many boys in school. The cool air knocking the doors of my mind, pleaded to let concentration out of the doors. Restricting it, I let my mind do something else other than getting distracted by the beauty of nature and losing my pace.

I started doing things like counting the number of times, Ranjit overtook me, the number of times I used the brakes, the number of hairpin bends and the miles to go for the finish line. Atleast these things distracted me to a lesser extent.

I sped across a racer, when I saw a strange sight. Chintu, who was known for maintaining his cycle impeccably, was standing on the road, with a flat tyre.

My mind started wandering. How could have that happened to two racers? It was so not in Chintu’s way to get THAT problem. How come 2 on 8?

I was racking my brains over this, and failed to notice a turn coming on my way.

“Siddarth! Keep your eyes on the road! TURN!!”, said an achingly famililar voice.

I swerved the handle bar to miss the rock by a whisker. The fact that the voice was aching was that, it made me embarrassed to think that Ranjit actually helped me, stay put on track.

The order of racers were turned upside down in the last few kms, with me and Ranjit leading the pack of racers, the others exhausted from their early bursts of energy. Chintu had quit the race, thanks to his flat tyre, but that still confused me.

I could see the finish line, coming towards me, from a turn in the horizon, as I locked my eyes on the Dead-Man’s Curve which was the toughest turn. All the rain water, swept away, had clogged the pit and made it very very damp.

A sharp whistle ripped the air, as I turned to see Rashid with a spike on his hand.

Several things happened at once.

Rashid’s hand reached for my tyre, I suddenly lost control, My cycle was hurtling towards a jagged rock in the perfect centre of the turning arc, and I was dashing down from the 150 m altitude, to the unfriendly teak trees, which were racing towards me.

I could hear Ranjit’s voice from the background, before all went dark.

When I opened, I could see how lucky I had been. I had fallen on a platform, directly under the turn, which actually was the sole reason of my existence right then.

I recogonised the place instantly. It was Ranjit’s father’s cycle factory, that manufactured all kinds of parts, from bells, to the carriers. Near the entrance were the piles of tyres and wall tubes kept for sales. On the box was written,


TO OOTY.
I was shocked beyond measure when I saw the tyres.

Tyres, which were perforated very subtly but at the main places, and wall tubes with a microscopically inscised cut, were stacked in piles. First I was sure that they were meant to be discarded, but the shock slapped me once again when I saw the approval sign to be sent to the market.

Then it hit me. Realisation and Pain hit me simultaneously. I had my palm, dug into a broken piece of scrap and the wave of nausea that swept over me, but I still tried reasoning things out.

My back tyre had popped because the wall tube must have been defective. I was sure that It was the same brand of tyres because the memory of changing the tires this morning still seemed too clear to forget. That took care of Chintu’s problem. And as for the front, well, Rashid took care of that.

And as for Rashid, there were two possibilities. Either he didn’t want me to win the race, or he was hired by someone who didn’t want me to.

My mind, satisfied with the spell of reasoning, succumbed to the physical strain on my palm, and I blacked out.

When I came to, I was at the finish line, my dad near me, along with Ranjit whose face burned with emotions I couldn’t classify properly. The first event that happened, was when the Mayor hit Rashid.

“How dare you! To think that my son would stoop so low…”, his voice trailed off.

The Mayor apologized to me for Rashid’s behavior but the sight ahead of me was even more shocking as Mr.Guru was handcuffed by the Sergeant, and was being led away, when he met his son, Ranjit.

Ranjit’s eyes burned with shame, filling them with tears of regret and agony.

“Ranjit, I’m sorry to have hired Rashid to bust Siddarth’s tyres, but the probability of you coming second was too much for me to bear. I’m sure I can expla…..”, but Ranjit cut him short.

“Mr. Guru.”

“The gift that you have been giving the people of Ooty can never be forgiven by others, let alone me. Your foolish and the inhuman partiality towards urban areas, by selling the genuine goods to the metros, is the lowest level that can be thought of stooping to. Now I know why Sid was angry with me. Though I don’t have proof, I’m now convinced that it was YOU who destroyed Mr. Nitin Jain’s career. Shame on you dad.”

“As for your sentence, I don’t think it would be any less than a seven year term, for manufacturing defective products. By the time you come out, I would be a major, free to do what I want. So I order you not to come seeking me and I never wish to see you again.”

I was spectating this scene with awe. Ranjit didn’t need to explain anything to me as he was innocent. Rashid had been paid by Mr. Guru to sabotage me, like how he did to my father. Little did I know that my fall from the hill would cost my left thumb, leaving it immobile and inflexible for the rest of my life.

I could have taken the loss to my heart and have targeted Ranjit for it. But I realized it was never his fault anytime.I also realized I had found a new friend.

There were the crossroads in front of me, where one flank led to the police station and the plank perpendicular to it, lead to my house. I watched the painful separation of father and son, but my mind couldn’t force itself to feel a dint of pity for Guru. He had deserved this.

But what about Ranjit? I realized I could talk this out with him later.

But my hand stopped my mind from thinking, as it shot a wave of pain through my body.

My body winced with pain, as my heart whined with regret for Ranjit’s separation. My mind roared with remorse and eyes, with tears, for having used a defective balance to weigh Ranjit’s character.

A Big Brother's Diary

Trying to act as a big brother can be really tough, when you have an obnoxious little bloke, snarling fumes of fury, right at your toes, wanting to break away from the shackles of subordination...

Confused? Well, for those who felt that I had made a complete mess out of the first line, lemme tell you that I actually haven't.

I have a small brother. Big Deal.

The fact that he hates me is an even bigger deal.

Well, things can be surprising when you know what runs in the mind of a human living the worst part of his life. When he is no longer a kid, and not yet an adolescent.

Thank god, kids don't play Baseball in India. I can already imagine my sibling, wearing a nasty smile with a lopsided baseball cap, coming to hurl the baseball to try and kill me during my sleep, when I'm having sweet dreams about my girlfriend.

I puke everytime when I think about this, but whoever told the shit about first-borns getting a lot of "RESPECT" in the family??? First person in my hit list would be him, no doubt. We live like Alligators people!!! Have you once seen them stand on their toes??? Thanks to the species, "HOMO YOUNGERALIS" (forget that, people.....Ive just coined that right now....its just a 'two-minute' old word).

I once peeped into my brother's diary and I shrank back. Not even 'Exhausist' could have scared me more. In it was written in a careless writing, done cruelly by stubby fingers, on how to make me feel at hell!

I Couldn't believe it.The rate at which he was going, he is sure to be publishing a Handbook.

'98 Ways to torture your Big Bro.'

I shake my head in attitude, and he breaks down laughing. Says its insanity.

I sing my heart out, and he breaks down crying. Says its an overdose of a sonic poison.

I plug the walkman into my ears and he pulls them out. Throws a tantrum and says, "Mummy! thats my favourite song!". He wins again.

He bugs my bathroom and says, my friends would catch a glimpse of my bath, if I'm rude to him. GOD SAVE ME!!!

He flirts with my girlfriend when I'm not home, thanks to the auto remember password in Messenger. Sometimes, he adds salt to the injury when we're on a fight. Plays a rotten double game to turn her againsty me for the time being.

How can the mental maturity of kids scale new heights? When he's as smart as me, and 5 years younger to me, how will he be five years down the line?

My Physics record does a somersault, or the Chemistry record does a backflip, when he is at his worst. Flying pillows and outstreetched bedspreads, SIMless cellphone and Gripless cricket bat, are some of the modellings done by the little master of my house.

Modern Art. Aint it?

My math textbook would be lying right now, in some Onyx bin, thanks to the wierdo, who brought it down to tatters.

I've had enough.

Time to get even stevens with him.

I'm going to think of a way, to get back on this urchin who is becoming a pain in the....

Wait a minute!

He's changed my Blogspot password!

I am so not able to sign in....NOOOOOO!!!!!

- Yours 'Bigbrotherfully'

Rajaram.

A Heartbreaking Jump

Trrrring!

I stirred a little.

Trring!

I shuffled for sometime and put the pillow on my ear.

TRRRRING!!!

The Alarm clock was trying its best to wake me up from my 5 hour sleep, and it had eventually succeded.

I pushed my bedcovers aside to exit the bedroom. Mum was waiting in the hall, along with a smart man, in his early-thirties, about 5 years older than me, who was wearing a uniform with a cap.

"Good Morning Ma.", I half yawned.

"Varun, the twin bed has just been delivered. We were waiting for you to get up so that we could shift this to your bedroom.", she smiled.

I smiled to myself. The single bed would no longer occupy my room and invite me to sleep. Instead, I was to have a bigger bed with another companion with me, who was to come in shortly, in my life. My gaze slowly shifted to the table and was fixed on the multitude of colours that splashed itself all over the table. The colourful invitations of my marriage were scattered throughout the table, waiting to be addressed.

But there was one person to who I had to give the first invitation. My soulmate. My brother. My twin. Tarun. Thinking of him sent a pang of pain and a wave of emotions that rattled my heart.


Me(Varun) and Tarun were twins, who were almost a jack of all things. Popularly called as the Whiz Kids in school, we excelled in almost every endeavour we set foot together in. After passing school with flying colours, we set foot into college, with an international trip awaiting us, two years later.

Though I knew all twins looked alike, we virtually broke all the records of being similar. It became difficult for even our relatives to distinguish us, when we wore the same shirts and stood next to each other. When people saw two boys with a tall frame, broad shoulders, prominent nose with a fleshy lip, and the swept back hair that demanded recogonition, they were baffled as to who was who.

Leave alone looks, we were strikingly similar in character too, a feature which is often not found in twins. Both of us liked black, had a liking for football, loved Paneer Butter Masala, along with our fascination towards the same kind of books and lucky numbers.

The story did not change much in college, when we easily became the most popular duo of the campus in less than a year. Sarika, who was Tarun's best friend and my...er....whatever, knew almost everything about us, except for the fact that I loved her.

I was suddenly jerked back to the present. I took up the invitation in my hands.

Varun

Weds

Sarika

On the front I wrote, "To my dear Tarun.". The innumerable days we had spent together in the same bedroom and the laughs we shared together along with the fights, problems and the solutions we searched together flashed on and off...

On and Off... On and Off... On and Off...

"Varun! Stop Switching the bathroom light on and off!" shouted mum, as I realised I was turning the switch again and again.

"Oops. Sorry Ma. By the way, ask Pa to get ready soon. Lets invite Tarun today."

Her face changed. She nodded subtly and turned to exit the bathroom.

The cool water of the shower was piercing me like pincers on my raw chest, soothing them. But no water, nor potion in this world could smother the pain inside the chest, that was to live forever.

Tarun and I had been selected for a trip to Australia to represent our college, along with Sarika. Deciding to have a great time in the Island Continent, we equipped ourselves with fully charged batteries for cameras and iPods, and loads of books to occupy us.

Tarun and Sarika were discussing something in hushed whispers and when I tried to indulge myself, they stopped at once. My good mood overshadowed my urge to know what they were talking, as I pulled my backpack on my shoulders, and dragged my suitcase along the polished floor of the Chennai Airport. After waving a hearty goodbye to our parents, we boarded the flight.

Tarun had to sit with another person in the flight, as Sarika and I had the two seater to ourselves. I noticed Sarika gazing at the multitude of shapes that the clouds assumed. I then looked at Sarika. Her sliding hair... The charming touch... Full of charisma and intelligence, She was the ideal match for me. But the question was, did she love me too?

My gaze was disrupted by a pleasant hostess, who served us drinks and juices, as we prepared ourselves to sleep. The next day, we had ended up with my head on her shoulder and hers on mine.

Australia was awesome. The beaches literally took our breaths while the sprawling expanse of green, sandwiched by the occasional stretches of the pleasant countryside, to be bordered by the treacherous desert, reminded us partially of India, considering the awesmoe variety of geographical features.

The Conference was a totally new experience, partially because it gave us an insight as to how, teenagers across the globe looked at things, and we realised that teenagers all over the world, may it be an Indian, American, Australian, South African or a Japanese, were all the same. We absolutely had a great time enjoying and mingling with our fellowmates at the place.

Meanwhile, I switched off the shower to break the train of thoughts in my mind, and wrapped the towel around myself. My phone had been ringing for a long time and it was Sarika.

"Hey Sarika. I am inviting Tarun today."

"That is why I called you Varun. I'm coming there directly from my place, so I'll meet you there.", she replied.

I revved up the engine of my Swift, and leaned on the steering wheel. It had been a long time since I had last met him. I noticed my parents entering the car. I then maneuvered the car through the 'crisscross'ly arranged cars in the car park and drove out of our apartment.

After finishing our conference, we thought of Bungee Jumping, on the day before our return to India. Again I noticed Tarun and Sarika talking to each other. This time I couldn't restrain myself.

"Sarika, Whats this thing that you both have been talking all the way from India?"

And her reply was short, frank, blunt and crisp.

"Nothing Varun. Tarun just told me that you loved me and I told him that I'm in love with you too."

Nothing, absolutely nothing in the world could have replaced that golden moment and the tingling sensation inside the laybrinths of my heart, when I realised that the love of my life had reciprocated my feeling towards her. I ran towards her and hugged her so hard that she was lifted off the ground. I ran my hand over her tender cheeks and whispered to her,

"I love you Sarika."

"I Love you too Varun.", she replied, with a fire in her eye.

We finally reached the spot, a cliff, stop which we were waiting for our chance to jump. Tarun was the first to go. Before jumping, He smiled at me. The last smile which I was to get from him. He signalled me towards Sarika, who was standing alone. I inferred that he wanted me to spend some time alone with her.

And He jumped.

Never to come back.

He bounced on the rope for a couple of times, and then sank dangerously low. What I saw below, was enough to haunt me for the rest of my life. Tarun had collapsed on the canopy of the treacherous trees which layered the laybrinth of the cliff. The rope had given way.

"NOOOO! TARUNN!", I screamed. In my grief, I had lost sense. I dashed for the cliff to jump off it.

"NO VARUN! I DON'T WANT TO LOSE YOU TOO!", cried Sarika, and held me back.

But things were not bad after all. Tarun was found. Found alive. But just. He was scarred badly and he had a major hurt on the back of his head, treacherously close to his spine, that rendered him mentally retarded.

The return flight to India was the worst 15 hours of my life ever.

Whenever I turned to see Tarun, he just stared at the roof of the flight with a blank expression on his face, and no depth in his eyes. I realised that the dynamic duo had broken that day. What should have always been "WE", now had reduced to "ME".

I finally braked near a pleasantly painted building in Pink, the car tyres, screeching due to the contact with gravel. I looked up to behold the signboard.

"Darshan's Home for the Mentally Retarded"

The receptionist held out a registrar in which we signed our names. We entered Tarun's room. Sarika was already waiting. I looked down and saw Tarun.

Not even Seven long years of loneliness had brought a change on Tarun. He was the same, with an air of careless beauty hovering around him. The long hair and the unkept beard reminded me of the contrasting Teenager who was my Twin.

"Here Tarun, Me and Sarika are going to get married. You will be the chief guest for our reception. All right? And remember? You were the one who joined us together. In Austra...",

I couldn't continue.

I utterly broke down on Sarika's shoulders, unable to justify God's sadistic game, played on Tarun's life. How could one be so cruel so as to break a brand new shining mirror even before it was half used?

Sarika seemed to have felt what I was feeling right then. She replied,

"Varun, we cannot blame God for what happenes to us. Its Fate. Fate that so wickedly plays with our life, pushing us deeply into the bowels of sorrow, or elevating a man-of-nothing to the heights of stardom or greatness. We need to be thankful to God for the fact that Tarun survived such a big accident and is still here with us. I surely have an inside feeling that Tarun will be back to normal someday or the other. Mental injuries can have surprising remedies. I trust God."

Something in her, made sense. Infact, not something, everything made sense. Deeply wishing for Tarun to recover, I walked up to him to hug him whole heartedly.

I felt Tarun returning my hug.

That by itself was a beginning. Trying to console myself partially, I turned to exit the Home, and get on with the astronomical list of friends and relatives to whom I had to invite for my marriage.

Love you Tarun.

Strumming the strings with what you have

I looked down at my logarithm worksheet lying on the table, strewn in the midst of all the other guidebooks for my IIT entrance exams, about to begin in a week. My pen was in its opened state, gaping at the notebook filled with calculations. I must have dozed off, trying to over-tax myself on multitasking.

But more pressing matters woke me off from my reverie as I woke up with a jolt, remembering my drift with Vidya, the girl I so dearly loved, yesterday. The importance of the matter kicked the sense out of me, as we broke up because of not taking her out yesterday as it was her birthday.


Why can't god thrust sense into people, to understand the magnitude of responsibility I'm, instilled with?

I pulled my bedcovers away from me to move to the mirror.

I took out the toothpaste to find it flat as a paper.

Finances were quite low to buy a toothpaste as i was saving every penny to take Vidya out, and that was so totally busted yesterday, with Vidya crying her way home. I made a futile attempt to squeeze the last breath of the toothpaste out of it, as it gave a "sheesh" kinda sound, giving out useless air, instead of the paste. I ruefully realised the need to buy a new one and took out the reserve paste(half empty) from the bathroom to use it conservatively.

Life had hit hard on me, for people who knew me from my birth. Sadly no such people existed due to the earthquake that rattled my city in 2000, the Bhuj disaster had loaned my parents away from me, only to let me know that it wasnt a loan, it was a gift from me to the disaster, as I lost my parents, never to see them again till date.

I had a strong belief that I would be reunited with them by some guardian angel as I couldn't believe they were dead, nor did I have concrete evidence as to their death.I had penned a song for my documentary after I broke uip withVidya, trying to sing it out to her to say how much I liked her. I started for Vidya's house, hostel I mean, to make it up to her,but I realised it was useless as soon as she opened the door.

Vidya was one of those kind of girls, who were as intelligent as she was beautiful. She was an excellent contrary example for those blokes who thought, beauties were brawns.Vidya opened the door, the stains of her tears, still fresh on her face. She usually didn't make a fuss for trifle thing, so that told me what I was dealing with, was serious.

"Well...Vidya....I was really....", I began

"....Really sorry Vijay?", she finished for me.

" I thought you would never even wish me Vijay, and it was the eighth wonder that you did. But I never expected you to take me out, and you never really did. And if you would excuse me, I want to have a talk with Varun, my new boy friend, who is partnering me in the documentary. "

And the door slammed shut, with me gaping at it.

How could she dump me? Why should she go for Varun? When from did she start seeing him? Whyfor did she slam the door? Questions romped my mind and gave birth to a baby-determination, screaming at me to unleash it on the documentary.

Instead of going to my house, I went to the slums, searching for a location, inspired by the latest Oscar winning movie. Maria and Tara, the best child singers of the church coir, attended to my farcry of desperation by agreeing to sing for me. I at once took them to my studio, losing my temper over couple of times, when Tara sat on my Keyboard and strummed the strings of my guitar so hard that it was near to shackles. I patiently made them sit down, put the headphones on, and told them not to sing loud, lest they bamboozle the recorder (thats me).

The voices of 2 sweet 9 year olds couldn't have stirred much emotion than anyother voice I could have thought of. The childish voices which hadnt turned mature, gave me a raw realisation of wat was truly love. I first made them sing alone, without the instruments, lest they got hyperactive on listening to them.

I first added a layer of simple keyboarding, then overlapped it by the occasional strum of the guitar and topped it with some cymbals at the place of choruses, to give it a silent but strong feel.My encouragement fuelled their ambition and once it started burning, it was difficult to extinguish them even after they had finished singing their best. It had taken them all of the first trial to ward off their fear of singing, the second trial to correct their mistakes, and the third one to perfect the song according to me.

By the time I finished the song, I had half assured myself that I would win the first prize alone with the cash award of 15,000. The next step took the hardwork of finding a location.

At last an idea struck me with the arrival of the sweeper into my room. I called out to her,

"Hey chameli aunty"

"Yes Beta?"

"Could you do me a favour?"

"Tell me Vijay, whats it?"

"Could you take me to your home and introduce me to your son, daughter and your husband?"

She was taken by surprise, but agreed quickly, after reeling from the pleasant shock. I swept my handicam from my study table and followed her to the slums. She was proudly beaming to the others on having introduced a city boy to the slums.

I went in to the small cottage at the near of the city trash dump, stiffled by the pungent smells of the slums and stained with the marks of poverty. The grafitti of political partied posed for my handicam as i entered the cottage. The visior of the cam dulled on account of the darkness of the room. My documentary film started with the sweeper feeding her children with the limited rotis which they have.

Suddenly her husband entered. He didnt notice me. He ran towards the children and took them in his arms and hugged them. The scene of love was captured by my handicam as I silently drited off from the slums.I took a series of other scenes of parental love and the love between two lovers.

The documentary, I decided would be on the two different kinds of love. I took the movie, and edited it, merged with the background score. I felt goosebumps of pride and emotion as I finished hearing it fully for the first time.It was midnight. The triumph of completing my album, was dampened by the pang of rememberance of Vidya, who was also contesting with me in the competition by projecting the topic of 'Development of Japan'.

My eye-lids were as heavy as lead and were pleading to let them close. I obeyed them and slowly drifted off to sleep.

The next morning.....

I was late. Half an hour before the competition and I was standing half naked before the bathroom mirror to glimpse a tired replica of me pleading for more sleep. I quickly took bath, dressed up and hastily and locked the door, only to find myself without the CD of my documentary. I reopened the door, took the CD, along with the backup Pen-Drive and climbed on my cycle, riding it in one hand, and stuffing my mouth with a roack hard-stale sandwich with the other hand.

Pumping my energy in short bursts on the pedal, I was going top speed, when the rubber of my back-tyre met with the metal from the fender of a Ford Fiesta. I looked back angrily to behold a slightly greying man in his 50's about the age of my dad, if he had been with me. His face was flaring red, which didn't make any impact on my cool face.

"Give me the CD boy, letme show you not to drive helter-skelter in the road", saying this, he satched the CD and broke it into 2 neatly shaped halves.

If It hadn't been for the lack of time, I would have blasted the life out of the body virtually, from the rookie driver. But realising that I had a backup, i rode off.

The programme had begun with Vidya's presentation and imagine my surprise when I found the man whose car dashed me, to be the unfortunate judge! I desperately wanted the money and how could I win it when the man was already writing me off from the winners list?The response to Vidya's film was sizzling, and that woke me up from the strom of thoughts in my mind.

The last presentation was mine.

It began with the prelude with the Keyboard.

""Thoughts are like glowing lanterns
Like one everyone have in the deepest of heart
Some enlighten memories
Remember your first step
Can you memorize it? May be no
But she can.
The joy in her eyes was dropping on you
Just feel…. That is still there
The lanterns in her eyes are always glowing
For you, to tell her”I love you”"

The first paragraph of the song was introduced with the slums, which led to a big BOO form the crowd. Undeterred the slideshow exposed the raw love in the house of a daily wage labourer and slowly moved to the fountian near the seaside.

The scene of a baby taking its first steps in the sand came into focus. The tentative steps were accompanied by the odd smile from the slender lips of the baby, on walking in a new terrain. After some time, the baby tripped and fell down, to be supported by its daddy. On this note, the second paragraph began to start, the sweet voices of Maria and Tara, richoeting off the walls of the auditorium.

""Remember your insecure feelings during early teens,
Can you memorize it? May be no
But he can.
His shoulders were strong enough for a life like you
They are still there, with you for all
His thoughts are the holy flowers
Always blessed you with warmth and love
The passion in his heart is ever fiery
For you, to tell her “I love you”"

Then the scene of two lovers sharing an ice-cream started to feature. The guy cracked a joke, which led the girl to stamp the ice-cream, smearing it on his face. They both laughed together and hugged each other. The next stanza started.

"The fire in her eyes, looking at you...
expecting a token of love in return,
to the feeling fuelled by your actions,
words and sweet promises
for even sweeter nothings.
The relation, so suddenly shattered,
by an actual nothing,
broke my heart like a mirror.
I crave to stick it together,to say to her(Vidya),
'I love you'"

I looked at the crowd to Vidya, who was using her handkerchief to blot the tears from her beautiful face. That sure smelled victory for me in one area, I thought.

The next one featured a scene of a teenager graduating, and going abroad, never to care for his parents again in his life, the parents waiting with the beacon of hope standing tall inside them that their child would take notice of them. Maria and Tara started the next stanza.

""Remember the two foundation stones of life
Be with them even you are busy
Give them the best thing you can
That is the purity of your heart and attention
A wish for our precious parents
who seem to be ignorant, rather helpful.....""
I love you, I love you, I love you forever dear..."

The response was totaly unexpected as Vidya stood out of the crowd, clapping with all her might and tears flowing full speed from her eyes.At last it was the result of the display. When the judge came to give his speech about his separation from his son on account of the Bhuj disaster, it took the breath out of me.

HE WAS MY FATHER!!!

I was both happy and sick on knowing that such a man could have been a father to me. I learnt from the speech that he had another son(my brother). I decided not to share his love with my brother and not to expose myself to thim that I was his son.

The result was a surprise too the crowd but it wasn't to me, as the judge was biased with the sour incident on the road with me. Vidya bagged the first prize, with me getting the second prize. There was a hushed silence in the crowd, folowed by an even louder protest. After all had ended, I started to exit the hall, with the prize money of 10,000(second prize), when Vidya met me.

The fire of love was ablaze again in her eyes and she hugged him with all her might and held on to him for quite some time, in the presence of others. Her tears wet his neck and the love, his heart. She handed over the prize to him and whispered, "You need it more than I do... Take it Vijay....Love you loads...."

I entered the auditorium singly and exited it couply with Vidya, being the happiest man on the whole wide world. After all the trouble I went, I gave the 10,000 to Maria and Tara, which brought a smile to their parents. I took the 15,000 from Vidya, and deposited a part of it on the way in the bank, and used the rest to meet the debts.

The incident robbed a day off my IIT preps, but it gave me the much needed money, my girl back to me, and reignited the pain of suffering that became intense due to meeting my father.Looking at the Logarithm paper, which suddenly looked more attractive than Vidya, I started to attack the sums...

Crossroads of Destiny

Navdeep looked at the calendar which showed his favourite date, 11th November, 2028.

He eagerly got out of his bed to see his parents holding a book out to him.

Navdeep opened the book, which was near tatters, very carefully, and looked at his Papa.

“Go on Beta, this was your father’s before you came to this world.”

Manisha entered the bed and stroked Navdeep’s hair and said,

Now Navdeep, you must make Mama promise dear.”

“Yes Mama? Whets it?”

“Promise me that you will never open a word about this to anyone. ANYONE. Understand Navdeep?”

“You can count in on me Ma.”

“Go on Navdeep then.” said Roshan

Navdeep blew air into the pages of the diary and opened the first page of the year 2008.

““Tickets please”

“No sir… We don’t have one.”

“All right boys, Jokes apart. Show me the tickets, all right?”

“We said we didn’t have one. Do you need an ENT?”

“Then get the hell out of the train before I get angry.”

“Wham!”

Rajeev’s fist slammed on the freckled cheek of the Ticket Collector of the Delhi Chennai Express, through which Rajeev and I, were travelling from Chennai to Delhi.

“Hm… good shot bro!” I replied, showing my front set of teeth, to Rajeev.

“Yeah. Let’s check whether this ‘Gopalakrishnan’(Rajeev looked at the nameplate of the TT) has any more ticket collecting to do.”, replied Rajeev.

Grinning widely, I took out the pad from the Ticket Collector’s outstretched arms and flipped the sheets of pages across, to find most of them checked. We tore the remaining of the unchecked pages into two halves, and put it into our pockets.

Rajeev then stripped the upper half of the TT and donned his black coat to give shelter to the yellow shirt that would give away his disguise as a TT.

I took out the spare coat of ‘Gopalakrishnan’ from his cabin on the train, and put it on, which made me a good five years older than what I was now.

We went across the train in two different directions, collecting the rest of the tickets and fining those who were without them, just like us. After we had fined about a dozen people or so like that, we had a good thousand bucks in our pockets. Checking the remaining passengers, we thrust the papers back into the pad, and the pad, into the TT’s arms.
“But Roshan, how do you think we are going to spend the two day journey in this trash-can-on-wheels, when this devil of a TT is waiting to suck money from my pocket?” asked Rajeev.

“Never mind da. The poor bloke will be too scared for words when he finds someone with the gut to beat the hell out of a government servant. It’s just better if we don’t spoil his duty anymore by filling his sight all right?”
I remember it well. It was the second day of my travel. The train was nearing Vijayawada. Rajeev was busy writing his diary, when my lungs were feasting on the fresh cool air, that the train presented them on account of the ripples it created in the still air, surrounded by bushes and trees.

My mind was probing on the life of the people inhabiting the lone cottages, sandwiched by trees on both sides, with only the engulfing darkness to give them company at night, and the merciless Sun for company at the day. The wind stimulated my mind to drift to the cause of our ticketless journey.

I and Rajeev were the two sons and the heirs of an industrialist, Tarun Ghoshal, who was a migrant from Gujrat. Ghoshal Sonics, India’s top company manufactured a wide range of appliances relating to Sonics. MP3s, Speakers, Headphones, Microphones, Cassettes, Woofers, Car stereos, you name it and the company made it. Rajeev, my elder brother was on the verge of making it to the revolving seat in the MD’s position, when the company’s legal papers were stolen by Omkar Puri, a childhood rival to my father.

My father and Puri had met in a beach at the peak of the night, when a quarrel broke out, resulting in Puri stealing my father’s life. Rajeev smelling a bad rat, went to the beach, following our father, taking a gun when he saw dad crumpled on the beach sand with Puri on top of him, his hand drenched with our family’s blood. Rajeev’s short temper took him to a new level as he snatched a crowbar lying near-by and mauled Puri with it,

It didn’t take the police long to trace the evidence to Rajeev and he was jailed the next week. We ended up in the train, when Rajeev broke free from the shackles of the police, escaping to the station, where he had called me to join him. Eshwar Puri, the son of Omkar who had masterminded the murder of my father, was taken to the Supreme Court for a formal investigation, though no suspicion was burdened on him. Immediately, a Red Alert was sounded to capture my brother for whom, the police were fishing, with nets thrown all over Tamil Nadu.

I was plodding over all this, when a jolt at my navel took me by force. I blacked out.

Two days later, I was lying on a bed, with a lady near the bed, pouring syrup into it. Looking into her eyes, I saw the pinnacle of evolution.

The eyes resembled the white pearls, fresh from an oyster, with pitch black spots centering them.

The nose was an evenly positioned miniature slide, not too big, not too small, and opening into two slim slits for taking in the wonderful village air through it.

The paper-like ears contained spirals of cartilage, ending at her slender ear-drum through which sounds of the world peeped in.

The cheeks were not chubby, accentuating her other features, which were sandwiching her rosy lips.

The lips were softly textured, and evenly fleshy. Not too thick, not too thin, but just the right size needed to attract a man and pull him out of his reverie.

Before I could think of adjectives to describe her beauty, she looked at me and that froze the air in and around me.
“Where am I?” I asked her in Telugu.

“At Mangalagiri.”

“Mangala…What?”

“Mangalagiri sir”, said the lady, smiling wide, showing her pearly white teeth at the entrance of the opening of her lips.
“Whoa man. Think about a partner, lucky would be the man who weds this damsel.” I said aloud in English, knowing that she would understand.

Her reply shaped my mouth into a wide ‘O’.

She replied in the same sweet voice with the change in language made to suit me.

“Yeah I suppose so Rohit, lucky would be the girl who weds you too.” said she in fluently paced English.

“Rohit?” I asked her, startled by the change in name with which I was addressed.

“Yes Rohit.”

“Well….I am sorry….well whets your name?”

“Ma….ni….sha”, said she, uttering every single syllable with such amazing sweetness.

“I am really sorry Manisha. My mind forced its way to my mouth and said things before I could stop it. Very sorry.”

“Its okay Rohit, I totally am out of place in this orthodoxical village, so you can be free with me all right?”

“And by the way, how was I here, and where is my brother?”

“Your brother Rahul is in the fields, fetching water to take a bath. Do you want me to call him???”

“Yeah please Manisha. Do call him na?”

Rajeev came in. Judging by his face, I could tell that he was relieved to see me conscious and sitting upright again.

“Hey Rajee…” I began.

“Shut up Roshan and listen to what I’m telling you now.”

Taken aback by the curt reply from my brother, I signaled him to talk.

“Listen Roshan, the train had derailed due to the a driving mistake, destroying the last coach in which Eshwar was held captive. You were badly injured on your right shoulder, a fracture in fact. The police have declared in the news that both of us were killed and our bodies have been destroyed too, in the accident, so we are practically safe right now. I carried you on my shoulders to this village here. This Mangalagiri near Vijayawada…Man, this is such a fresh place, from what I knew these last two days. I have changed our names to avoid any kind of recognition. The people in this village don’t give a damn about the outer life and are very much confined into their own village, except the two sisters, Manisha and Monisha.”

I tried to get up to give Rajeev a tight hug, when my shoulder painfully reminded me of my fracture.

“Ouch! It hurts da!”

“Yeah… The village doc prescribed tons of fresh air along with a week’s bedrest to put you back on track. All right? And one more thing Roshan.”

“Yeah?”

“There is this stunningly beautiful girl, Monisha da. Whoa. I’m still searching for words to describe her. Did you see her?”

I smiled to myself on thinking about Manisha, Monisha’s sister(From what Rajeev said). I said,

“Never mind da, I checked out an even beautiful mini-Monisha. You go on with her man!”

Both grinned.

“So whats our next move?” I asked.

“This place seems to be filled with fun loving and hardworking chaps and extremely hospitable ladies. I don’t intend to leave this place for the next month or so. Let’s catch up with the action in Delhi from this village.”

It took another couple of personal meetings with Manisha, for Roshan to stay in her heart. Manisha, being a rarity in the village, didn’t express it to him. I also could milk the history of the village, its local practices, its villagers, and slowly about Manisha itself, but a little too much for my liking.

It was one of those days of complete bliss, with Manisha near me to give company, and me poking her mouth to know more about her life. It was then that love for her came gushing out of my mouth that it acted out of its own accord.

“I Love you Manisha”

Her first reaction was to turn around and check whether her father, the village headman, was anywhere nearby. When she turned around, I shrank back on beholding the change in her eyes. What were once paper white, were now peach red, with tears leaking out of them, giving away the sweet fact that my love towards her was no longer one sided. Even on knowing it, I wanted to get it out of her mouth. So I added,

“Hey Manisha… I am very sorry, if I might have hurt you in anyway, and for being so stupid to not understand that you might be committed to someone else.”

“No…No…No…Rohit…That’s not the problem with me. Its something else.” Quipped in she, at once.

“And whats that?”

“I love you Rohit”

My face would have brightened by a wide difference, and I started popping up and down, waiting to get hold of Manisha.
I took her slender cheeks in my hand, and came closer to her and whispered, “Being in love with me seems problematic to you Manisha?”

“Yes”

“And why is that?”

“I can’t love you… I shouldn’t”

“Eh?”

“Yes. I’m not fit to be Mrs.Rohan, dear”

“I can’t get what you are saying Manisha”

“I’m not a virgin Rohan”

The light in the room would have dimmed. My eyes would have suddenly turned to lead and started forcing exhaustion on me. Manisha’s face slowly went out of focus, as I started reeling, and moved backwards. My head met the pillow and all went black.

The cold drops of water and the clanging of the bangles from Manisha’s hand, as she sprinkled water on me, woke me up with a start. Suddenly the intensity of the news came crashing on me and stabbed me once, twice and thrice, and how much ever times, I didn’t know. But the news was there before me, for me to take it or throw it away.

“Tell me more about it.” I said with my face as grave as a stone.

“No Rohit, I don’t think I’m fit for you any longer and you can have a better…..” she started, but I cut in.

“IF you truly dearly love me, then come out with what happened in your life, and why you are not with your first partner anymore.”

“It was two years since it happened. I was home after a very long spell of studies in Massecheutus University doing Mechanics. I had applied for a job in an MNC and during the wait for the job, I came to Mangalagiri for taking some months off when I met Eshwar.”

When I heard that, I felt as though someone had kicked me by the but and threw me to the ground. Only for the sole purpose of making Manisha to complete the story, I listened.

“We had absolutely no problem falling in love immediately, given his charm, way of carrying himself, his attitude and his appeal, but it got to the peak on the 6th day of our affair. After that, I started feeling insecure about myself and started to stick around Eshwar all the time, in order to secure my fears and anxiety about some unknown fear that was within my reach.”

“I realized it soon enough, when I heard that Eshwar had packed his bags and had gone to Chennai to couple business with his father and to marry Isha, the daughter of some damn leading industrialist, I didn’t bother. The only concern was not about the chameleon dumping me, but the life he had seeded inside me that would soon kick my belly and start demanding who its father was, once it came out of me. I could have never been done with aborting my child if it hadn’t been for my sister, Monisha.”

Her words started to extract drops of tears from my eyes and then my hands towards her. Rajeev had already made his moves towards Manisha’s sister Monisha, so I decided it was about time I made mine.
Turning to her, I half cried,

“Manisha, I know it is very cowardly for a man to cry, but it’s a good thing you told me about your past with Eshwar, because that’s made me not just to love you.”

“So I guess its good bye?” asked she, tentatively.

“That’s made me to marry you Manisha. Yes. I love you.” I whispered to her ears and, bit them playfully and took her in my hands…

After a night of intimacy, Manisha came up to me and asked, “Rohan, would this be another Eshwar episode and will I have to be thinking about you once you leave?”

“Never. Because am staying here for some more time, and am taking with you when I leave.”

Everything started to come out of the labyrinths of my heart and I filled Manisha about my entire life till date, about my real name, real background, the real tragedy and the death of Eshwar.

“Eshwar’s dead Manisha, so you don’t have to worry about him blackmailing you to let your privacy out to the village.”
Something deep inside her pupils stirred, showing some sign of regret, but it disappeared as soon as it came.

That day, Manisha slammed my heart another time, to change my life in another angle.

“Come with me Roshan, come with me.”
“Where?”

“I’ll show you”

She took me to her father’s fields where a scarecrow was standing tall in the midst of green terrain of crops dappling its stick like legs. Manisha ruffled its belly to pull out a sheaf of yellowed papers. What I saw there shook me terribly.
My knees started shaking uncontrollably on seeing the company’s legal papers hidden cunningly in the scarecrow by Eshwar, during his stay at his native village.

Running my hand over the papers, I asked Manisha,

“How come you knew?”

“It was once when Eshwar managed to slip from me and went to the fields to help my father in farming. But me, unconvinced, followed him to find what that was. At that time I couldn’t understand what it all meant. Ghoshal…Roshan…..Rajeev…shares stocks and dividends, confused me and made me even more curious to discover what it all was. Now I think I've found the right person to give it to.”

She smiled.

I looked at her. It had grown dark. The jackdaws were swooping on the pumpkins to get a juicy bite out of them. The day’s harvest was being burnt in a huge bonfire in the midst of an open space.

“Eshwar would have thought this was the most unlikely location for me to come searching for my company’s legal papers, but he was wrong. Fate… It’s something that pushed me to the love of my life, who directed me to my passion, which was to be eaten up by a cheat, a betrayer and a forgerer, who met his end in the most suitable way God, could have ever decided. God…speaking of him/it/that, (I can’t find a way to describe God) This incident thrust the realization that some power exists which created the skies, Earth, Manisha, Me, brutes like Eshwar. Some call it Ram, Jesus, Mohammed, but I learnt to call him God, and learnt that everyone have a reason to call him in their own way, to appreciate the wonder of that infinite power that binds them all together in this Earth.”

“It’s now useless to expose myself to the public to claim back my company. They have declared Roshan and Rajeev dead and no one knows we are alive except for you, and Monisha. Let us keep my name and my brothers name a secret from everyone else, even from your families. I have enjoyed City Life for 27 years. It’s about time I take a dose of hard work and the fresh village air for a part of my life. After our child’s born, let us go to some place outside India, and let the world forget us. I would be grateful to you if you agreed with me, dear.

And as for my company, it’s now being run by my cousin, who is as efficient, if not more, than my brother. “

Saying this I threw the papers into the bonfire, with Manisha, fully understanding the gravity of the situation spread out in front of me. She was by my side, holding no to my hand and watching the fire, graying the yellow papers, bit by bit, until the whole sheaf was coiled into ashes.

Turning back for one last time at my city life and the past, I turned ahead to face the rest of my life with my would-be wife, Manisha, My brother Rajeev, and my ‘bhabhi’ Monisha.”

Navdeep closed the diary and turned to his father, whose eyes met his. There was an exchange of untold words, promises, news and feelings, which were oblivious to Manisha, started to the kitchen to cook food to send her son to the college and her husband to work.