It was pitch black all around her. She instinctively closed her eyes and opened them again, making sure she hadn’t gone blind. She hadn’t. That was a relief. She felt disoriented even in her haven. She was surprised how her own home felt so alien when the lights were out. I have to tell Ani to get that inverter no matter how expensive, she decided. The dark still unnerved her, like it had when she was a child.
She put the lid back on the box she was opening and turned around, hands outstretched, to go back to the hall and get the emergency lamp. She took two tentative steps forward, hands waving around to make sure she didn’t collide with anything in the room. She had an idea how far the door would be from where she was standing. She tried feeling out for the familiar contours of her microwave oven. Two steps to the right of that was the door. She now felt the rough wood and stopped for a moment to get a bearing on which way she has to move next.
There was a faint light outside the curtained windows. Feeling emboldened, her next few steps were more confident around the dining hall. There were no obstructions on the path to the hall, she knew. They had left it like that so Chinnu could play around in her small tricycle. Her heart skipped a beat, ‘Chinnu!’. She realized a moment later that her baby was out with her father. She smiled to herself, it was one of those things about being a mother. She wondered if her own mother was this protective of her when she was a child. No, she decided, no one would be as protective as her.
The showcase glass glinted in the feeble light from the window. Reminding herself to be careful not to knock over the trinkets kept in the glass shelves, she felt around for the edge of the showcase and moved further. She would hit the recliner any time now. And she did. She bent down a little and felt her way towards the table in the corner. Why the heck did I keep the emergency lamp in such an inaccessible place, she chided herself.
She stepped on Chinnu’s Pooh, left on the carpet – it gave a feeble ‘peeep’, as if in protest at being walked over. Their life had changed so much after Chinnu was born. And Ani wanted another child. Her stomach turned over when she thought about that. Ani would want to talk about it tonight and she was still not ready to tell him. She was running out of excuses to not talk about it just yet. He would not understand why she did it. No one would.
Lamp forgotten, she sank down on the couch. She had always wanted to be a mother. But the doctor had said Ani would not be able to give her that joy. Tears were now streaming down her face. She loved him too much to let him know the truth. And Chinnu! He wouldn’t love Chinnu the same if he knew. Or would he? He wouldn’t, said a little voice in her heart. Remember, he didn’t want to go for adoption. He wanted the child to be his own. But Chinnu wasn’t his own. How would he ever understand? She didn’t love Hari, she never did. But she always wanted to be a mother.
The lights came on, momentarily blinding her. She would not tell Ani the truth, he didn’t have to know. She walked over to the table and absent-mindedly switched on the emergency lamp.
It's difficult to write for children. Trust me, it is. I don't know what hit me this morning but I just thought of writing a bedtime-story-for-tiny-tots kind of story - and for the world of me, I couldn't! You know the ones with animals and far away kingdoms, with a moral at the end of each story - no siree, not me. We've gotten so entrenched in our everyday life and it's reality that it takes a huge effort from our side to imagine a completely different life and time (where animals talk, carpets fly and Gods have a weird sense of humor), and make an interesting story out of it without our sarcasms, without any judgemental lines, just pure entertainment and a lesson-learnt message at the end. (And that was a really long sentence I just wrote! What's wrong with me?!!)
Nevertheless, I'm going to try -
Let's do it one at a time then - first my characters: I need - at least one monkey to act all goofy - the fun part. He might also become my hero in the last chapter - a prince and a princess for all the mushiness - two peacocks 'coz they're so beautiful to hang around with - a herd of elephants, so the princess and the **cough** prince won't feel she's fat - one donkey to make fun of...er..fool of, too - some doves to denote love and peace and all that crap - a flying carpet (I love 'em!) - an elf who makes shoes at night (sounds familiar? just keep quiet will ya?) - one nasty villian who keeps saying 'Mogambo khush hua' everytime something happens. The good part is, his name won't be Mogambo. Muahahahaaa! - an old witch with straggly white hair, no teeth and sitting at a spinning wheel. (Yeah yeah, I've read Sleeping Beauty, so?)
Now for the story line: I dont want a love story. I dont want a villain-kills-parents-so-take-hero-takes-revenge story. I want something fun. **thinking**
Ok..thought enough..here goes...
Once upon a time in a far off land, there lived a monkey. He was a happy monkey, doing monkey things, eating monkey food and living with other monkeys. He lived in a forest near a big kingdom ruled by a young prince. He cannot be called king yet 'coz 'king' doesn't quite sound as romantic as 'prince'. So he was a prince. And he was handsome. And unmarried. And in a nearby kingdom lived a beautiful princess who was conveniently ruling over her kingdom in the absence of her parents who had died 10 years ago. (Author's note: I don't need to parents and parents-in-law - too much complication, keep it simple.)
The prince used to correspond with the princess regularly using her doves and his peacocks. The peacocks couldn't fly very well, but they helped by bribing the donkey to carry the message to the princess. In return, the peacocks used to hang out with the donkey thereby making him look cool among other donkeys. All was well with the two little kingdoms with their love stories, animals and other people.
But one day, there came a man at the door of the prince. He was shabbily dressed, hair unkempt and looked emaciated. (Author's note: Kids should learn new words). He had a curved stick in his hand, much like what Moses was carrying in the animated 'Prince of Egypt' movie and a rolled up bundle under his arm. The rule at the prince's palace was to welcome any guest and treat them well. So the ministers and the others took the man inside, cleaned him, clothed him and gave him food to eat. But all the while, the man never let go of his stick and bundle. This made the Prime Minister get very suspicious about the contents of the bundle. So before leaving for the night, the PM kept a window open in the room given to the man. He would come a bit later in the night and see for himself.
The royal clock struck 12. Actually, the tiny guard moving the gong struck 12. All was quiet and silent at the royal palace. The Prime Minister, dressed as a common man, came to the window of the man's room and peeped in. It was dark inside, the candles were not lit. Once his eyes got adjusted to the darkness, the PM saw a very strange scene. He stood rooted to the ground and watched the macabre unfold in front of his eyes.
And thereby hangs my tale... will get back to it in my next post.
He had always hated his name. Such a commonplace, old fashioned name. He sometimes felt his parents did that to him on purpose. Why would they want to name their only son that?! He cringed when someone called him by his name - he so preferred his nickname, Sonny. He wished he could change the name in the attendance register at school. He was tired of all the jokes.
He hated the day his parents named him Hari.
More than that, he hated the day Naukri.com released the advertisement with Hari Sadu.
She didn't understand why there were so many people milling around outside her house. Was something wrong? Oh God, was there a robbery? She rushed inside. They had broken open the door and she could see the tools still lying about. Did that mean they caught the thieves red-handed? There wasn't much of jewellery or cash in the house, she knew that. Since her husband was flying abroad, they had kept it in the bank locker a week back. What remained at home were the electronic items. Strangely, the items in the hall were untouched. The DVD player was right there, so was her cellphone, the cordless phone, some silver curios in the huge glass showcase - surely, these would have been stolen first! Something didn't feel right.
She saw the police officers standing inside the master bedroom. She went inside and found them discussing about something in the bathroom - the tub, specifically. There was no light inside and they were using torchlights. She felt movements behind her and turned - 2 orderlies were carrying a stretcher into the room. They took the stretcher inside the bathroom. Now wait just one minute!, thought she. Why would they need a stretcher if it was a case of theft? Unless...unless someone was hurt! But the lack of urgency on the orderlies' part didn't attest to that. Which can only mean one thing - someone had been hurt. Fatally.
They brought the stretcher out after a few minutes. A figure, draped in a white bedsheet. No, it cannot be! It cannot be! Her screams were caught in her throat. She felt faint and swooned. She held on to the wall for support and tried to erase the memory of what she had just witnessed. She sank to her feet and the tears started running. She closed her eyes and sobbed.
She remembered then, how it had happened. She'd just taken a relaxing bath and stepped out of the tub. Since the floor was wet, she had slipped and had caught on to the first thing near her to steady herself. It wasn't enough. She couldn't control her skid and fell - her head hit the tub. She remembered seeing blood on her fingers where she had touched her head. And then, blackness.
And then she remembered standing outside her house, wondering why there were so many people around.
He looked at the sheaf of papers on his table. His accomplishment, he felt. It was his baby. It was the one big thing he had always wanted to do. His own book. He closed his eyes to savor the moment - he had just written the last chapter. The most exciting, most unexpected of all the chapters. He was sure he had a bestseller in his hands. "Mr.M, what was your inspiration to write this masterpiece?" "Sir, how many other offers have you got, now that your first book is a huge hit?" He could hear the reporters, jostling for space with their mikes and notepads. He could feel the heat of the camera flashes.
With a satisfied smile, he started to arrange the papers - he had done that umpteen times in the last 30 minutes, but somehow, he kept doing it again. Perfection, he called it.
He placed the papers inside a folder and almost reverently, kept it inside the cupboard.
He then turned to the assortment of open books on his table. All his favorite authors. His inspiration. Would they notice the similarities? He shrugged off the thought - you're just being paranoid, he chided himself. They wouldn't know. No one would. It was an art, plagiarizing. And he was the master artist.
It didn't hurt anymore. She'd gotten used to it. The screams just died in her throat these days. All that remained was this constant ache in the heart. And a sense of betrayal that refused to die down no matter how much her mind thought otherwise. He had loved her. She was conscious of the past tense every time that sentence came up. Had loved her. She doubted if there was any left now. She had always believed that a heart that loved cannot hate. If hate comes in, love tiptoes away. Unheard, unseen, but felt by the heart. But she stayed on because she still loved him. Inspite of everything, she did. And she was not going to give up. She also believed that love conquers all. She was also conscious of the foreboding in her heart that something was to go wrong. Very wrong.
He hated himself. Not her, but himself. He hated his dependence on alcohol. He hated himself everytime he hurt her. Physically or otherwise. He longed for those wonderful times they had spent with each other when he was not the monster he was now. The laughs, the long never ending sweet nothings...her smile! He could not remember the last time he had seen her smile. He had loved that smile above all. Now all he found were tears. And fear. There was always a fear in her eyes. He sometimes wished she wouldn't take all that he did and just leave. But she never let go. He loved her more for that. But somehow, that could never stop him from having that one last drink.
They found their bodies the next morning. She lay crumpled at the foot of the bed, the bedstead streaked crimson - crimson like the floor beneath her. His body was hanging from a rope tied to the fan - looking down at her, asking for her forgiveness and loving her more than ever.
The morning seemed more beautiful than usual. She noticed the flowers this time. And the chirping birds flying hither and thither. She realized she'd been smiling too broadly and stopped - what will people think! She smiled again. The wait for the bus didn't seem long, even though it was a good 20 minutes before it came. She got a window seat, again, something that rarely happens.
What's with today, she thought. He had called last night and said he wanted to talk to her about something very important. That's what was different about today. His call. And what it could mean. He had asked her to come to the icecream parlor where they'd gone on the first day of college. Why there, she wondered. Why not the college itself? She smiled again. Maybe because it was special.
She wasn't his only friend, neither was he her's. But she'd always felt there was something more between them. An unknown chemistry, if you could call it that. He never flirted with her like he did with the other girls. There was this unsaid silence between them when their other friends were around. And she could never look into his eyes. He hadn't got her anything for Valentine's Day last week. He hadn't got anyone else anything either. And he had smiled at her near the flower stall - he had looked at the roses, turned to her and smiled. She closed her eyes and saw that smile over and over again. She missed him.
The day seemed the longest ever. She couldn't wait to get out of class soon enough. When the last bell rang, she had to stop herself from running out. She took an auto to the icecream parlor. She reached the parlor 15 minutes ahead. He was not there yet. She went in and took the table in a corner next to the bay window. She adjusted the flower vase on the table and smoothed down the tablecloth. The girl in her. She heard the sound of a bike and looked out - it was him. But then...he'd come with another friend of their's. A girl.
Mahi didn't know how that day had turned out to be so special. It started the way most days do - a lazy morning, followed by a hurried getting-ready-to-work routine and a rushed breakfast. Then began the short, but seemingly unending, ride to the railway station - on a TVS moped that once belonged to Appachan when he was a peon at the local registrar office. It was always in the family, so when it came to a two-wheeler to use for commuting, it was a natural choice! "This is the safest thing you can use when you park it in the railway station da kutta", said Pappa when the moped was handed down to Mahi.
The ride to the station would have been eventless if it werent for the tiny nail on the small by-lane that Mahi generally used, to avoid traffic. Two hours earlier, the nail had felt it was time for it's act of glory - all these days it had remained the only thing between an old man on a rickety old stool and the hard brown floor. The strain on the poor nail was so much that it decided to give way. Down fell the rickety old stool, taking the old man with it, to the hard brown floor. The impact of this fall sent the tiny nail flying on to the street - where it lay waiting for Mahi's moped.
As usual, Mahi stopped the moped for 2 minutes in front of the small Vinayaka temple and did the usual praying. It was more of a mechanical ritual than an expression of devotion. The moped knew, more than Mahi, to stop at the temple - come rain or shine. Mahi took the sharp turn into the by-lane and tried hard not to accelerate - the road was non-existent, but the potholes were very much there. The moped was in a good condition, but there was no escaping the fact that it was old! Mahi had thought of messing up the moped in the hopes of getting a new one, but that thought was driven out by Pappa's casual remark - "Mahikutta, it's just a matter of another 8 months. Then you're not going to be here after that. If this moped doesn't last, you could always take the bus for a while." So, this moped, no matter how old, was still Mahi's preferred mode of commute.
The nail was lying on the road, its head stuck between two pieces of stone and its pointed tip looking up to the skies. Call it fate or the laws of flying-objects, the nail was positioned to cause maximum damage to any made of rubber that passes over it. The moped, with Mahi on it, oblivious to the waiting nail, was coming down the very road.
When disaster struck in our case of the nail and the moped's tyre, the sonic effects were minimal, to the extent of being virtually undetectable. The moped didn't feel a thing but the nail on the other hand, had met the purpose of it's Creator. Barely 100 metres from ground zero, the moped realized what had happened. Mahi did too, although Mahi's realization was punctuated with 4 letter words that would have made Ammachchi do a somersault in her grave.
Mahi got down to assess the damage. It was bad. The only thing to be done now was to get the moped to a mechanic and find a way to get to work. All this in the next 15 minutes before Mr.Nair, the manager, could realize Mahi was late. The road, for all practical purposes, was uninhabited. Except for the old man on the erstwhile rickety stool outside a shabby tent, there was no other living soul. If one didn't count the stray dog lying in the corner near the lamp-post that is.
It was a while before Mahi realized that the only way out was to leave the moped and walk to the nearest junction and get an auto. Just then, there came a Maruti 800 car on the very same road. A savior in a shining white automobile, perhaps, thought Mahi. The car seemed to understand the moped's predicament and stopped. Sanju was not the kind of guy to just drive past when someone was in distress. Especially, if it was a young and lovely damsel like Mahi.
Mahi heard the door bell chime - it seemed to reflect the happy chimes in her own heart. Sanju was home.
The sea was far from calm. There seemed to be a strange turmoil in its depths. God knows what those deep blue depths hid. But for Majid, the waves were the loving arms of his mother, the sea. Majid did not know any other mother. From the time he could remember, he was always in her lap - playing running & catching with the waves, building sand castles, even venturing into the open sea with the other fishermen in the village. It was in his blood, the sea and its salt.
But today the sea scared him. For the first time, he felt her rage. He was worried for his friends who had gone out for fishing that morning. Majid was just recovering from a bout of viral fever and had not gone. He still felt the taste of the antibiotics in his mouth - thanks to the missionary hospital near his village, he hadn't suffered with the fever. Dr.Ramesh had told him he'll be fine in a week. That was 4 days ago. Majid felt fine, just a lingering tiredness in his limbs due to the dehydration and lack of nutrition.
He stood at the shore, the waves lapping at his feet. The air was laden with rain - he could have sworn he felt electricity in the air. The sky was an angry grey and a rumble ripped it every now and then, with the occasional flash of lightening. Storms were not new to Majid, but this would not be an ordinary storm. He could feel it in his bones.
The evening breeze had turned into a forceful wind. He found himself shivering inspite of his blanket. He turned to go back to his hut when he thought he saw something bob up and down in the water just ahead. He couldn't be sure what it was, till a flash of lightening appeared. His heart leapt to his throat when he realized it was a human. Someone was drowning!!
It was more of a reflex that Majid rushed into the waters to save the poor fellow. The waves were not in a mind to let him save anyone - the harder he tried, the harder they pushed him back. Majid let out a groan of anger and surged ahead. He caught a hand and pulled with all his might. Only after reaching the shore did Majid realize that it was a girl. But wait..it couldn't be a girl. It couldn't even be a human being!
She was beautiful - strangely, angelic. But her body, how could it be, thought Majid. Where legs should have been, Majid found a tail fin! She was half fish! Majid stood rooted on the spot, unable to move or take his eyes off her. He didn't know if she understood his language. Hell, he didnt know if she could be dangerous! He went nearer, cautiously though.
She sensed him and looked up. Majid felt his heart skip a beat, she was beautiful! She extended her hand towards him, calling him to come closer. As if in a trance, Majid moved closer and touched her hand.
It was instantaneous - there was a loud clap of thunder and Majid woke up in a sweat. He was in his hut, his blanket twisted around him. The broken watch on his hand showed 6:30. It was just evening. He rushed out of his hut, expecting to be met by the half-fish girl. He found no one outside. He wrapped his blanket around and walked to the sea and stood there, feeling the waves on his feet. The evening breeze had turned into a forceful wind. He found himself shivering inspite of his blanket. He turned to go back to his hut when he thought he saw something bob up and down in the water just ahead.
It was at that moment she decided enough is enough. She was tired of longing for it...tired of waiting and watching..she had to do something about it now. When was the last time she ever did it? She couldn't remember. It seemed like it was in another lifetime when things were so much simpler. She took a deep breath and got up - and felt a shiver run down her spine. Strangely, she felt exhilarated - that surprised her, wasn't she supposed to feel scared? or alteast guilty? She didn't feel guilty - she'd come beyond all that now.
Her first 2 steps were tentative - but then she remembered the pain and she wanted to end it - she walked out of the room. She opened the door and steeled herself for the first onslaught of the cold air. It almost knocked the wind out of her - she could feel her mind giving up and wanting to go back. But going back was not an option. She'd had enough and this was her revenge.
Half in doubt, she slowly extended her hand. She could hear her heart beat in her throat. Her hand got there before her mind did, she could feel the cold veneer of her long lost love - the love was lost, what remained was bitterness. She couldn't defeat the lure of it and now she was giving in. Giving in? It hit her like a blast of a ship's foghorn - giving in? She wasn't going to give in. It just wasn't in her nature to give in. She took her hand back as if she'd been stung. She shut the door hard and ran back into the room. It took her all of 10 minutes to calm down..she could feel her heart beat normally..she was sweating and her hands were shivering.
She heard the car in the driveway. Her husband was home - after what seemed like an eternity. She ran to the door and yanked it open even before he got out of the car. She felt so relieved to see him - he would understand why she tried to do it. He knew something was wrong when he saw her. He came running to her, 'Honey, are you ok? Is something wrong? Why are you looking so pale?'
And she told him. She told him how she tried to give up on her diet and eat the chocolates in the refrigerator after all.
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