The Early Morning Bus

"Hold On!" said the conductor of the bus, half asleep, his voice so low that it was almost lost in the chirping of the crickets, but, was sufficiently high enough for the driver to hear, as the bus came to a screeching halt. The dust from the muddy road rose up and mixed with the misty early morning air and even as the glaring headlights of the bus cut through it, the road ahead was barely visible.

Most of the passengers in the bus were asleep, not necessarily in their seats, with some having dozed off clinging to the overhead rod, while some had dropped their heads and let it swing away as they sat in the aisle and on the foot board. A couple squeezed their way out, trying to cut loose of the passengers in the bus, almost tip toeing, ensuring they do not disturb the people in their slumber. As soon as they got down, the man hurriedly climbed up a small ladder behind the bus and dropped down a couple of moderately heavy sacks which fell with a thud. He then, with the help of his wife, carefully brought down two heavy suitcases, one made of iron and the other of wood, both of which looked like a property that had passed down from generation to generation and had currently landed up in their realm. He got down as quickly as he had climbed and glanced around the luggage. After ensuring that they had everything they carried, he hit the cold, half-rusted metallic body of the bus twice with his bare palm; lightly at first and heavily for the second time, signalling the bus to leave.

Seconds later, the bus had disappeared and except for a mix of morning birds singing  in symphony, invisibly nested in the tall and dense trees that had engulfed the area, there was not a single soul around. Tenka and his wife Amali had arrived in the village of Bharani, a tiny place nestled away at the foothills of the vast expanse of Sahyadri mountains. It was mid December and the air was too cold to tolerate. Tenka lifted both the suitcases and Amali, who had started to shiver, wrapped herself with her saree as she lifted the sacks, and slowly, they began to walk towards their new home in what was going to be their village, for not sure how long.

HOW BLUE IS MY SAPPHIRE

The lush green grass full of life and laden with the tiny drops of dew, shining like pearls in the golden rays of the sun on a lazy morning, tickled my feet as I stepped on it. The cool breeze that caressed my face brought with it a lovely fragrance so familiar that I could instantly and unmistakably recognize as hers. I took a deep breath and closing my eyes, I let the fragrance guide my feet as I dreamily glided towards her. A few steps later, I opened my eyes and there she was, smiling at me, sitting on a swing gently moving back and forth, a sight so endearing. With one hand she bade me to sit beside her while absently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with the other. I followed, like a person hypnotised by a great magician, with my eyes seeing nothing but her. Such was her elegance that it made me believe that angels are for real. I took her hands in mine and kissed her baby bump. Whole of the world came to a halt as I rested my head in her lap, feeling like a baby myself. I closed my eyes, again, as she ran her fingers through my hair. If heaven ever existed, it was this...

I was not sure when I had fallen asleep. Amidst a life lynching darkness, I woke up. It was the onset of monsoon and the rain was pattering on the window pane like a seasoned dancer performing a salsa. I did not get up; it was too fantastic a dream to let go off. Dreams! Funny that everybody craves to have a dream life but I was living my life only in dreams; the world that I had created in my mind was far better than this tangible world. In it I had carved a niche for myself and held everything that was pleasurable and close to my heart. It was so beautiful that I never felt like coming out of it. Although it used to suck me along a downward spiral from this obnoxious real world, I did not want to escape it. I was desperate to go back in there. I moved my hands around in search of syringes or a pack of brown sugar. Everything was empty. My eyes turned red. I badly needed it but I did not have even a miniscule of strength to lift myself. I gave out a shrilling cry, which echoed back to my ears. Bounded and submissive, there was very little difference between me and the four walls of the room that stood testifying my horrible state. I wanted to punch myself in anguish, but my nerves had become too weak to even lift my hand, let alone punching. Lying helplessly on the bed, I felt as if I were a breathing corpse. I kept staring blankly at the roof with eyes wide open, when my aggrieved mind, which functioned involuntarily these days, decided to slide into retrospection. Five years ago, I felt like I was the happiest man in the world; leading a life of content, having chased a dream and being labelled as an achiever, a son of proud parents, a loving husband of a beautiful wife and a well-established man in the society. Today, all of it was swept away, just like a dream that ends when you wake up, as if it had never happened, and I was left reeling for my karma.

Although most of the past was obscure to me, a few moments had left an everlasting footprint. Moments like- when I had proposed my love and she had readily agreed, the pride and happiness on my father’s face when I had got a well paying job, the happiness when I had heard that I was becoming a father; all of which formed the good part of my memory. That is one side of the story. On the other are the much darker and horrendous ones; the numerous times I had failed rehab and had eventually relapsed, the promises that I had made to my family turning out to be a prevarication, my father’s despairing face when he said he no longer considered me as a son and that I was culpable for  besmirching the name of the family, when I was tested positive for the deadly HIV, when my dear wife said she felt betrayed and cursed me for putting her through hell, when she declared that she no longer wanted to carry our baby and the list goes on..

It was around 10 in the morning when I finally managed to get off the bed. The rain had stopped and the sun had lazily broken out behind the clouds. I dressed myself in my naturally shabby way and started off to ‘score’ some ‘maal’. Lethargically keeping a step forward and losing energy with every step, I walked, on a journey of about a mile which seemed infinitely long, with a tarnished black cap sitting loosely on my bald head and a stick in hand to support myself. You are mistaken if you think I am an old man. I was only 30, or was it 32? My body had become a haven to all kinds of diseases; you name it and I had it! Everybody had given up on me and it had already been 2 months since the doctor having told that I had at max an year to live. What fear can a person sitting on a time bomb waiting for it to explode possibly have?  I had only two options in front of me – Live in sobriety in a hospital, spending the last moments of my life lying in a room having an overdose of white colour and a strong odour of disinfectant, vegetating watching others die and wait until one gracious day they shift me from a general ward to a mortuary.  Or, I could live in a world of ecstasy, floating around in a free space that belonged to me alone, enjoying the bliss and dying a happy, silent and an unknown death. Who would want to lead a dull and boring life when you know you are dying? I had nothing else to lose; only after you lose everything, you are free to do anything! Unanimously, my choice had been the latter one.

I reached the now well-known spot to me and began dilly dallying in anticipation of the dealer. Two hours went by; no sign of him. It was one of the darkest areas of the city and was the brewing ground for all kinds of illicit activities. Prostitutes who were dressed to excite all your senses at once walked around waving their hands, showing a glimpse of their body, smiling and winking at you as if to kindle your manhood. There were men who pocketed a commission by keeping a hawk’s eye on urchins, picking them up and supplying them as cheap labour. Guns, weapons and drugs were sold as openly as vegetables in the market. In here, everyone was a shadow of what they were, walking the streets like ghosts with no identity of theirs, but known to the outer world only by their tags, be it the price or the names. I waited another hour, loitering around. Strangely, he was nowhere to be seen today. I cursed my fate; the question of how I was going to spend the rest of the day without it loomed large. Feeling all dejected and angry, I began a slow march of retreat.

As I neared the railway crossing, I felt my heart skip a beat as my eyes caught sight of the most beautiful woman of my life walking towards me; my wife! All the years of not being with her found me wanting to hug her and kiss her and strangely for a brief moment, I fancied making love to her, although I soon dismissed that thought. What can a man wearing diapers and had no control on his nerves possibly do? Our eyes met, she smiled at me, rather dryly. “You are dying bit by bit with each day” she said coming close to me. I wasn’t sure if there was concern or contempt in her tone or was it only sympathetic. “I know, I can’t really help it” said I, unsure of what else to say. She stood looking at me in silence, her eyes doing the interrogation. I knew she hadn’t forgiven me. She had loved me more than I did and had left no stone unturned in trying to help me quit my habits. But, bad habits are not the sins that can be washed off by taking a dip in a holy river. I hung my head in shame, the guilt overpowering the joy of seeing her. “I am not sure if you will see me again, I am sorry” I said. “I have to go”, she mumbled with a sigh as she turned her back on me. “I love you”, I said, my voice failing me. There was no reply. She had disappeared as quickly as she had come. Contrition, every inch of my body was being pricked by it. What had happened to me was not because I chose to be so. One imperceptible mistake, one burning desire to try everything that is indulging, starting from one small thing leading to another, and too quickly, before I could realize had aggravated and engulfed me. I did not realise back then where I would end up in the future. But I know now for sure as to what went wrong. How I wish I could go back in time and set it right! I wish those time machines from the movies and books were for real. I wonder, what if...

Suddenly, I felt a sharp pang in my chest. Emotional moments did no good for my already weak heart. I needed to rest. The shade on a slope under the bridge appeared to be a perfect spot to sprawl. I descended as slowly as I could and lied down on my back. There was nobody around and I tried to calm myself by staring at the white and black clouds playing a hide-and-seek in a blue sky. I think about fifteen minutes had elapsed, when I heard a monkey chattering. To my right at a fair distance was a small boy meddling with a white jar and the monkey whose neck was ornamented by a chain the other end of which was in the boy’s hands was jumping on its hind legs, sometimes trying to hit the boy with its fore legs and sometimes trying to fold it as if it were pleading. The boy sunk his head into the jar which had a big enough opening for it and each time he did so, the monkey screeched. It did not take me much time to realize what the boy was doing. I got up and inched closer towards him. He did not see me coming as he was occupied with sniffing the jar, a glue jar. “Aye, stop doing that!” I said, trying to sound as commanding as possible. He lifted his head and looked at me in bewilderment. Having suffered enough from addiction and sacrificed all of my life for it, I could not stand the sight of a young boy going along the same path. “What is wrong with it? This is so much ‘fun’ ” he said, oblivious of its aftermath. How do I make a kid understand the ill effects of addiction? I wondered. “Do you want to die?” I asked. He flashed his brown teeth at me and said “Of course not. I came here to make money.” After persistently questioning, he told me that he had left his village in dream of making it big in the city. He had tamed a monkey and used it to perform on the streets. Initially it was his only companion but now he had a lot of friends who were like him and all of them did different things to earn their living but lived together and ate together. Devoid of anyone to look after them, they had got sucked into the vicious circle of addiction. “We smoke beedis, drink cough syrups, eat pain balms and inhale the smell of glues. Some of my friends do much more than that. I feel very relaxed and it makes me forget the entire world. Life couldn’t have been any better than this!” he said, his face beaming, unaware of the tangle they were getting into. I felt uneasy and disgusted. Kids who were supposed to be going to school and learning a lot of things were entering a lion’s den. A feeling gripped me  that I too was in a way responsible for their current state. May be if I had a child and if it had followed the footsteps of its father, I would have known this pain much earlier and may be I would have forced myself to quit my habits. But these kids, who have they got? Their path had digressed and nobody bothered for them. Should I?

I did not focus on trying to convince him to let go of his habits, as something stronger and deeper thought had started running through my mind. Life now was offering a third option to me. That very moment I decided to spend the rest of my life, however little time I had, in trying to educate others about the ill effects of drugs. A very queer thought, I felt, as I myself was still unable to come out of it. Where all the effects in rehabilitating had failed, where love had also given up, I saw a noble cause pulling me out of my past. Will I be able to make it? For the first time in so many years, I felt confident that I will be able to do something with a strong motive and a firm determination, something which had long disappeared in me. All of us live with our past. All of us allow it to shape our future. But some of us know how to shrug the past. I think that is who I am. I clenched my fist and punched the air with a big grin. I had finally found the purpose of my life. I will collaborate with some NGO and do my best, right from tomorrow and of course I will no more be a victim of addiction anymore. “I will see you soon” I said to the boy, like a man of confidence. The boy got up and started sprinting from the place, yelling “Bye Uncle!”, and the obedient monkey raced with him. There is always someone who loves us and tries to help us out. If only we care to listen to them; my thoughts went back to my wife. I tried to get on my legs. For the first time, future excited me. But I guess the poor heart didn’t stand my excitement, again. Another pain shot through my chest, as if I was struck by a lightning. I clenched my fist on my heart and tried to breathe through my mouth. My vision became blurry. My legs gave up and I collapsed.

From Bangalore to Bengaluru - A journey of my city

“Chutta nahi hein”, said a man who was standing beside me, clinging to the overhead rod with one hand, which was also gripping his fat purse, as he held out a 500 rupees note to the conductor with the other. It was late evening and the conductor’s patience was running thin. He did not make an attempt to complain about the unavailability of change but simply scribbled 470 at the back of the ticket which he had just tore from an electronic ticketing machine that had been dangling to his neck all day and handed it over to the man. The driver had the digital music system of the bus turned on and a local FM station which was busy doing justice to its show sponsors and the advertisers finally found time to play a famous Kannada song. While some of the passengers started crooning along, a few complained of high volume causing a sense of irritation, oblivious of the fact that the volume was the same when more irritating advertisements were being blurted out with a funky background music. Someone even called the conductor and told him in English – “Can you change to any Hindi station?” I was curiously trying to catch a glimpse of the conductor’s face to see how he would react. He simply called out loud to the driver and asked him to change the station. I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. No, not because of the way the conductor had reacted; there was nothing new in that, but because the person sitting in the seat against which I was resting my back got up as he prepared to squeeze his way out of the bus. I got a seat! 15 minutes later, I realized the bus had only inched closer towards the signal at the junction for which it had long been waiting to cross. Sensing that it is going to be yet another long evening before I reach home, I decided to relax myself a little more. This wasn’t anything new. As my mind began wandering, the scene that had just played out in the bus a while ago struck me. The over-crowded sophisticated AC bus, the behaviour of the conductor and the passengers, the music inside the bus and the honking outside, the glaring headlights, the crowd; it looked a different place altogether! This lovely place where I have spent all my life had morphed itself with every single day and had grown out to be a beast. The change has been a voluminous one and whether it is for good or bad is left for you to perceive. I began wondering how did it transform drastically. My mind began to go back to those good old days... Hold on! let me pause a little at this moment and make you a part of my long journey before I take a trip down the memory lane. Come, let us stroll together for a while...

The first of the memories about the city that come to me is that of a red coloured ‘BTS’ bus which was as narrow as it could be and what more, like a duplex house, it had a staircase leading to the upper deck. They called it a double-decker. Although few in number, there was no happier a moment than travelling in it on Sundays; by getting a front seat one level above the driver. The view from the top-front was fantastic; with dark roads below and lush green trees above, it felt like as if I was flying in the air. As a kid, it was as though I was driving the bus and my joy knew no bounds! (I am sure most of you guys would have, at certain time in your childhood, dreamt of becoming a bus driver!). I would pester my father to take only the double-deckers while waiting for a bus as travelling in it itself was like a picnic to me.

I remember the days when I had studied about thermometer in school and it was only then I understood what the papers meant when the temperature of the city was reported to be usually around 21 degrees. I used to keenly follow it almost every day and the max it used to touch was 29-30 degrees during summer; which I felt was ‘very hot’. And except for those 2 months of summer, the weather was too pleasant over the rest of the year and it is no wonder that Bangalore is known for its climate, I thought. It was then I remembered my parents telling me that Bangalore is also called as ‘Pensioner’s paradise’, and that it was so named because of the cheaper land rates and easy availability of land for people to lead a happy retired lives in this heaven on earth.

And oh! How can I forget the green cover of the city! Almost in front of every house by the road side stood an old tree. There were trees along the sidewalks and the rectangular stone slabs which served as footpaths back then was laid out in such fashion that the tree was left intact. The Lalbagh and Cubbon Park stood as two famous eco spots of the city. I would even call Lalbagh a forest where you could easily get lost, with not many people to help you around. Remember the toy train in Cubbon Park? One round in it, screaming and clapping, would make my day and I would find myself greedily asking my parents to give me money for another round. Not just the green, but Bangalore was also well known for its lakes, with some lakes being so huge that there were mini check dams constructed to control the flow of water in and out of the lakes. I am sure you would have gone boating atleast once in Sankey tank. No? Oh how wonderful an experience you have missed!

Watching a movie in the theatre or ‘talkies’ was another enthralling experience, to say the least. The young, the old, the kids, the couples and everyone alike would come together under one roof. The theatres looked like an infinite dark hollow which could cramp in a 1000 people at once, with huge fans fixed on the wooden side walls rotating in vain. Do you remember the interval snacks? That consisted of locally made potato chips packets of various sizes and very few theatres had popcorns, which would cost 10 rupees. You would be considered lucky if you got an unworn leather covered seat with a little push-back to it! Not to forget the victorious feeling you get after standing in a long queue for over an hour before the start of the movie and coming out with tickets in hand. And, remember the bargain you used to make while buying tickets in black?

Ever rode on a bear? Yes, you read it right! Rode a bear? That was one of the best parts of my childhood days. In the days where I used to be at granny’s place after school, a man used to come with a tamed bear and offer a short ride for kids in the area for just 5 rupees! I am sure you would have heard of circus and one name that is synonym for it is ‘Gemini Circus’. Although most of the acts there would leave the audience awe struck, I felt elated and brimmed with a sense of achievement when I saw a man bring a bear in there to play with!  That and the magic shows in the Town hall had become an integral part of every Bangalorean; so much that often I would hear people mention that they are waiting for the next circus or a ‘Jaadugar’ to camp here.

Although these formed the major pastime for the weekends, there were other events like exhibitions and fairs that were well attended by a large population of the city. Speaking of weekends, how can I forget the grand event of shopping and eating out? Shopping meant going to areas like Gandhi Bazaar, Jayanagar, Majestic (does Alankaar Plaza sound familiar?), Malleshwaram and Commercial street. Going to MG road, Brigade road or Residency road was considered really cool and hi-fi. Not to forget the evening walks on the promenade of the MG road with a ‘Churmuri’ packet in hand. When it comes to eateries, hotels were few but of the best quality and cafes were countable. A lot of hotels were known for their ‘Dose’ varieties. That and the most notorious ‘filter coffee’ served in a steel glass kept in a small steel cup gave anyone a blissful feeling with the cool weather of the city supplementing it. Chaats? What is that?

As years rolled on, though people did not change much, the things around us started to change. The government, realising the potential the city can offer due its multitude of advantages, had started to push for making it a metropolitan city. A lot of IT sector industries were invited to invest in the city with the promise of a best-in-class infrastructure. There was a CM who dreamt of making Bangalore look like Singapore. Slowly the influx of industries and the business ecosystem began improving, which gave Bangalore its new identity – ‘The Silicon City’.

In a city where the tallest building was that of a 21-storey building in MG road, it was a beautiful sight to see a high rise apartment; it used to feel like ‘our Bangalore’ is very soon going to be like Mumbai and may be as time progresses it may become one of those foreign locations shown in the movies. The infrastructure development too began gathering momentum as more and more fly-over construction was taken up. It looked promising and new hopes emerged. In the process, the government decided to go a step further and asked to use the Kannada name ‘Bengaluru’ as the official name of the city. Although not sure of what was the significance behind renaming it, for many it was a new identity to the old city that was all set to make its mark on the world map.

Proclaiming ‘I am a Bangalorean’ became a thing of pride for many of the locals. It was the time when development and culture had struck a perfect balance and was harmonious with the people and the nature around. With a massive influx of companies shifting their base to Bangalore, people belonging to different parts of the country moved  to the city to build their dreams. With it came the diversity of the city. Not just the Indian nationals, but also many expats moved to Bangalore and felt at home. The city was now becoming ‘cosmopolitan’, inching closer towards being a ‘metropolitan’.

Unfortunately, the population of the city began reaching staggering numbers as a plethora of people came in to cater the existing diverse crowd and also to realise their dreams of making it big in the city. The result? There was not enough space to accommodate and the builders started adding more floors to the apartment while also increasing its size. This now meant large lands were required for its construction. In the greed for money and in the name of development, a lot of lakes had to forego their existence. The trees on footpaths were cut as the roads had to be expanded to cater the increasing traffic density. The destruction of the ecosystem of the city had begun with a bang and sadly, it hasn’t looked back ever since.

Today, the air conditioned BMTC buses have replaced the older BTS buses. The temperatures in the city are soaring every summer breaking its previous records. Trees by the roadside are no more a reality and small ill  maintained artificial parks have come up amidst a concrete jungle. Theatres are making way for apartments and shopping complexes which house an air-conditioned, hi-fi digital multiplex. Shopping now means going to a mall wearing a fancy dress in order to buy a fancier one. The option for food has increased many folds. From the paani puri bhaiyyas and the chaat-walas in every corner of the streets to Italian, Mexican, American, Thai and Chinese restaurants; name it and you have it! Cafes and Pubs, many of which are of foreign origin have sprung up in every area with many young people considering it cool. Development is good and necessity and the change is inevitable. But for how long can it sustain at this massive scale? Is there no end to it? I think I should rephrase the question; is there no ‘plan’ for it? What once looked promising has totally reversed its direction. Reports are emerging claiming the city to be dead in 5 years. I must say, I consider it already dead. The hatred amongst the same people who had welcomed everyone and who had made the city their second home is on rise and the amount of illicit and illegal activities being carried out are alarmingly high.

What once looked like a vision for development of the city now seems like a curse to doom it. Thanks to the government and the money-hungry people for all the unprecedented development! Bangalore is not just a name, it is an emotion for most of us and thanks, for playing with it...

The list can go on and on. But hope I have conveyed my point to you. My stop is nearing and I should alight here and catch yet another bus. Thank you for bearing with me on this journey. Ironically the road I just travelled, it was once used only while going to another city and soon, I am sure, there shall be many such roads bearing witness to an exodus of people moving out of this what was once a beautiful city. As I bid you farewell with a heavy heart for the rest of your endeavour, I swallow a lump in my throat and I wish... I wish that in all these years, all that had changed about this city we love was only its name; from Bangalore to Bengaluru!

WHEN THE LEAVES WITHERED

The half rusted iron handle of the door gleamed in the sunlight as Rashmi placed her hands on it. Despite all the years, the house had stood undisturbed, well almost, except for few portions of the wall that had worn out and some parts of the metal that had turned brown. She looked around. It was quite dusty and the garden looked ill maintained. “Wonder how often does Ramappa clean the place”, she thought, as he was paid to come in twice a week and clean the surroundings and water the plants. She used to clean it every day and used to ensure that the plants were well nurtured, whilst she lived here. It was a part of her daily life and she thoroughly enjoyed doing it along with the man of the house, her father. She used to have a big grin when someone who came to the house noticed and appreciated how well they had kept the garden. All that enthusiasm had died down, 10 years ago, when she was forced to leave the place which had filled almost every page of her memoirs. Relenting for its current state and blaming herself for it, she shook her head and slowly, as if recovering from a trance, began to turn towards the door again. For a moment, her gaze caught the old bicycle, embracing the dust, resting against the window sill. It was one of her father’s favourite; he always preferred to go about on a cycle rather than in a car or on a motorbike. Not that he couldn’t afford it, but he never yearned for a life of luxury, being the simple man that he was. It was probably the last time she would set her foot in this place and that very thought made her feel dizzy. With a heavy heart, she opened the door and went in, for one last time, to the house that was so beloved to her.   

Rashmi had lost her mother at a very young age and so her father was her world. Despite being a single parent, he never felt it difficult to bring her up. This was because even as a young girl, Rashmi was very quick in understanding the subtlety of matters and never really made fuss of things. Being a humble, self-confident, quiet, caring and intelligent girl, she considered her father as a best friend and a guru. Be it cooking or cleaning or gardening or doing yoga, they bonded over little things and led a life of content and happiness. She had got married 10 years ago, to the guy she loved. Such was the support of her father that he had readily agreed for the marriage and wanted to do his best for the beginning of a new life for his ‘little princess’. It was an extravagant event and he had ensured that he had left no stone unturned. It was a moment of pride and happiness for him. But for Rashmi, it was a mixed bag. On one hand her joy found no bounds as she was marrying a man she chose to spend the rest of her life with. But on the other, it meant it was time to leave her father. The marriage had taken place in their house and it bore an eternal witness to all the glorious time that had gone by, but ironically and soon, it too was about to disappear into the past.

She entered her father’s room and sprawled on the wooden cot. A feeling of void filled her. It had been little over two years since her father had passed away. Although she used to come to this place once every month, it felt different this time. May be because, there was no ‘next month’ for her to come again. She blankly stared at the ceiling which was devoid of a fan. A train of thoughts began to run through her mind. After the demise of her father, the property had belonged to her. Despite her husband’s continued efforts in convincing her to sell it, she had turned a deaf ear towards him. She couldn’t even imagine selling the house. What else can you expect, when attached to it was so many memories. Sometimes, certain ‘things’ become an integral part of our lives that we can’t even think of parting ways with it. Such can be the emotional nature of us humans. But this time there was a strong reason for her to believe that she had no other way but to sell the house.

A month ago, her husband was diagnosed with cancer. She had cried bitterly when she had got to know of it. What if she lost him in the battle against it? Already having lost both her parents, it was a horrible feeling. There was no way she would let go of the man she loved. No matter what it took, she decided to fight it through. Her immediate requirement was obviously the money for treatment. Since financially they weren’t in a great position, Rashmi thought of various options she had for arranging the money. The first thing to flash to her was her father’s house. She felt it was perhaps the right time to sell it and use the money from it for her husband’s treatment. But did she really have the courage to do away with it? She wasn’t sure of it herself. She pondered over it. True that it brought her memories of her father, who was her first love. But does that mean the present has no value? Her father was no more with her and her husband had ensured she never missed him; such was his affection towards her. This was one ‘opportunity’ life had provided her to do something for her husband. The very next moment she decided to sell the house. But only this time, he protested against her decision. With time, he had very well understood the attachment she had towards the house and the fact that going there often would make her ‘feel’ the presence of her father in every object that occupied the house and would bring solace to her, was something he did not want to snatch from her. He cared for his wife and understood her thoroughly, just like her father used to. He suggested that he will talk with some of his friends and see if he can arrange for the money. Rashmi at once said no to that; she felt she was capable enough to handle this and was reluctant to ask for help from anyone. They argued over it and eventually she won; it was impossible for her husband to convince her to do otherwise. He was happy for having her in his life; she was the best thing that had happened for him. At the same time he felt sad for her, as she would now have to let go of something which is very dear to her. Isn’t that the way life functions sometimes? You need to let go of something to get something else that you desire, sometimes it being better, sometimes not. She took the initiative for selling the house. She did not for a second reflect on what she was doing because she was totally positive that she was doing the right thing. Of what use is a house whose inanimate objects always reminded of only the time that had gone by, was her thought. She was bemused with this thought of hers, because a month ago, it was the exact same thing that used to bring her a feeling of happiness; reminiscence of the past. But now time had changed and so had her thoughts. Isn’t this the same power of time that numerous philosophers talk about?

Rashmi had arranged for a broker to see to it that the house gets the price it deserves. The wait wasn’t too long as the charm of the house was such that a person had readily agreed to pay the sum asked for. The deal was successful and she had to hand over the keys to the new owner the next day. For old times’ sake, she had decided to spend the rest of the day in that house, for one last time and so here she was. No matter how strong her decision was, at the moment all she could think of was about the place where she had grown up, about the dolls that sat wrapped up on a shelf in the room, the cycle that she had seen while entering the house, the stick and the glasses her father had used and every object, big or small that remained untouched, which told a story about itself. Unable to control, she broke down and started to weep. She wished her husband was here with her now. All she wanted was to hold his hand and lay her head on his shoulders. The thought of her husband brought her back to the present, for a moment, only to remind her of the mountain that lies ahead of them. She was confident that together they can come over any obstacle and like the rest of the time in her life, this too shall pass. Her head began to crib about the excess thinking that she had been doing. She felt weak and mental exhaustion creped in. Unable to bear, she closed her eyes and started breathing as slowly as she could.

She was running amidst a paddy field and her father was running right behind her to catch her. She had worn a blue skirt which he had recently bought her for her birthday and the tiny pink shoes had almost turned brown with mud all over it. He almost slipped into the field but was able to get back the balance. She laughed heartily seeing her father almost fall and he smiled back, seeing his daughter happy. She began running further and the chase continued. It was her turn now to slip, but this time, she actually fell down. Her father ran towards her frantically, without keeping a foot wrong. He took her in his arms and started searching where she had got wounded, only to realize ten minutes later that she was perfectly fine. He heaved a sigh of relief and kissed her on her forehead. She smiled. And suddenly, she woke up from the reverie and called out to her father. Dead silence. She then realized how immature she had been. It was the first thought that came to her as she woke up. He was gone. And, soon, this bedroom, the house in whose eastern corner it sat, and the tiny garden outside with its gnarled old red hibiscus and the half-grown mango tree they had planted together, all those would be gone as well. It was the strangest feeling ever. She realized that no matter where she is, her father will always stay in her heart, in her memories and that the house which was a symbol of everything that he was was a mere object. There was no coming back to this place and she embraced the fact that it was paving way for a happier and better tomorrow. She had to save her husband and this was the way she had chosen. She came out of the house, determined. She looked around the garden yet again. It wasn’t the dirt or filth that caught her eyes now. It was the lush green leaves of that mango tree at whose feet lay the brown leaves withered from it. It was the transformation from autumn to spring. For her, it was a change from despair to hope. Smiling at the role that the house had played in her life even at its last moments, she locked the house and all the memories with it.

MY CITY, MY PEOPLE

            January 30th is the day I stepped into this world, and as every year on this date, I turn a year wiser. Ever since we are kids, 'Birthdays' have always been made a special day, first by parents and family and in the later stages of life, by friends. It becomes so much a stereotypical celebration at times that even the 'surprises' are known a priori. A day which is meant to be very special is given away to other people's hands so much that your happiness depends on which cake you cut and on what gifts you get (and of course, it doesn't apply for everyone, just a common thought). This year, I wanted to try out something different from the same monotonous birthday ritual. And so, I decided that this year, I will find my happiness in photography and in talking to people, people who are total strangers and people whom I would probably be meeting the first and the last time in my life. Most of our day to day life is so busy that we hardly get time for family and friends, let alone the fellow people of the city. But how nice would it be to spend time walking around and just talking to people! I set out with this intention and what followed was something overwhelming and pleasantly surprising. And that’s also precisely why I felt the urge to write this today.

            With the plan drawn for the day, I started off with my camera for a walk-click-talk in Avenue road. I carried few chocolates as well. I was roaming around listlessly in the gullies of Avenue road and was observing the people and their day to day activities. For nearly 20 minutes I did not take the camera out of the bag; had to soak in the environment. And then, the best moments and stories ensued in those narrow by lanes. All along this blog, I have written stories that are purely imaginary. However, all the characters in this post are real and every conversation is reproduced just the way it had happened.

            By nature, I am quite reserved in talking to a stranger on street. So naturally, the first conversation I had did not turn out to be as easy as I would have wanted. I stopped at a cobbler who had just started his daily work. Although my shoe needed no repair, there was a small chance that I would get to talk to him if not for engaging him in his work. I took out my shoe and asked him to fix a small tear that had occurred on the rear side. He gave a puzzled look at me (yes, I would have looked stupid enough) and said “It will cost 10 rupees”. I nodded and he got busy in stitching it. A moment later, I asked him if I could click his picture. He wore a perplexed look and asked “what for?” Expected, but I did not know the answer. I said for my own use. He wasn’t convinced, “A photo must always have a reason, always!” OK, this man was too stubborn for a newbie like me. Just when I was about to leave, his wife who was sitting near him, watching my struggle, told his husband “Be quiet. Let him take” She then turned to me and said “You go ahead and click”. I politely thanked her after taking a couple of snaps. She then looked at me and said “is that all?” I smiled back. “Do you sit here all day with your husband?” I asked. She nodded and said “There’s nobody at home and I have nothing else to do.  So I assist him here”. I paid the cobbler and left the place, thanking him for letting me take his photo and trying to convince myself that it wasn’t such a futile first attempt.

             After 15 minutes of observation and making some rapid turns into various gullies, I came to a lane fully occupied by goldsmiths. I was lazily strolling by, watching the utter concentration with which the smiths worked. Something on the street caught my attention. From far, it looked like a collection of old coins. I moved closer and I still didnot understand what it was. I asked the man selling it, “What are these?” “Metal casts for making gold pendants” he replied. I had never seen it before! “What is it made of?” I questioned out of curiosity. “Brass. Liquid gold is poured into these and on solidification, you get the pendants”. There were various designs, from God to indigenous ones. “At what price do you sell these?” I asked. “It ranges between 60 rupees to 6000!” he said. When I asked if I can take a picture of it, he immediately said yes. I got busy in clicking and after a short while, he asked “From which place are you?” I said I am a Bangalorean and also got to know that he is from Kolkata and has been in Bangalore for past 2 years. I saw that he had placed only incense sticks and there was no photo of God or any idol there. “Do you believe in God?” I asked, to which he replied with a smile “These are my Gods”, pointing to his casts. “What work do you do?” he asked. To simplify things, I just said I work in a company that makes computers. “Ah! So you must be getting some good salary then” he remarked.  I just smiled, opened my bag and gave a chocolate to him. “Can I get another one? I have two children at home”, he said.

            I then came across an ancient temple in a yet another busy lane. There were quite a few stalls around, selling all kinds of pooja items. But what caught my eye was an old woman sitting right under the ‘gopuram’ of the temple. She wasn’t selling any normal things that you would find around a temple; she was selling fresh green horse gram seeds. I casually went across to her, bent and asked “How much do you sell these for, Ajji?” She looked up and said, “100 rupees per Kg.” She was too old to sit in hot sun and sell. “From where do you get these?” I asked. “I donot go anywhere son. These come from Mandya, Mysore and other surrounding areas. People will get it for me and I just sit here and sell”. “Do you live nearby?” I asked. “I stay here in temple only. Have been here for nearly 30 years”, the old woman replied. 30 years is really long time! With a puzzled mind I asked, “Dont you have anybody who can take care of you?” to which she said, “I have two sons and two daughters. But neither of them wanted me at their homes. I just came away. This temple provides me everything. They let me sleep here and provide me food. Everything is as per His wish” she said, pointing to the sky, her eyes fixed on ground. I stood still for nearly a minute, and I know you will understand why. Gaining my composure again, I asked “Ajji, do you eat chocolate?” She looked surprised and happy at the same time, “Give me”, she replied. I placed it in her hand and said, “Today is my birthday”. She flashed her one tooth broad smile at me and placed a bunch of seeds that she was selling, in my hands and touched my head and said “God bless!”

            I had been walking for nearly 2 hours and it was mid noon. My stomach started to growl and I decided to call it a day. I had to walk back a long way to my vehicle and decided to do so by moving along the gullies again. A big colourful basket, laden with assorted nuts caught my attention. I took one variety of it. It was too colourful and so I decided to take a pic, as always by asking his permission. I saw that the man had only one eye. “What happened?” I asked. “I used to get severe headaches and went to NIMHANS for treatment. They said they need to perform an operation. Few days after the operation I again had unbearable pain above my eye brows and the doctor said I will have to let go of one eye, for me to survive. That’s how I lost it.” “Wasn’t it difficult for you? And even now, don’t you find it tough to stand all day in this bright sun here with just one eye?”. “For almost 5 years after the operation, I did not work, I couldn’t. It was very difficult and my wife used to take care of the house by working everywhere she could. I have two daughters and I wanted to send them to school. So, I started this. Standing here is not a problem, I can do it” he said, spiritedly. I gave him two chocolates and said “These are for your daughters”.

            I went back to my vehicle, satisfied and blessed and joyous, with life showing me a full circle in the by lanes of a busy market. Birthday now had a different meaning altogether. 

SOCIAL NETWORKING AND GENERATIONS

     We are now in a world where 'Facebook' is more trusted than the face of a person. Gradually and dangerously, people are beginning to live a parallel life, in a virtual world. Anything that is on the social networking sites is being believed blindly, without even minimal reasoning of its genuineness. Although this is the trend amongst people of our generation, the older generation donot feel happy to be left behind and they are catching up with these evolutions of the internet as well. 

     Madhav was a college-going teenager. Naturally, like most of us, he was a regular Facebook user. Everything was happy and perfect in his life. He was a good student in the class and was a hobby artist; used to do a lot of drawing and painting, but never considered himself to be good at it. No, he didn't have any online page or web or blog to showcase his 'amateur' skills. His father was a school teacher and his mother, a homemaker. They were really proud of him. No matter how big or small are their son's/daughter's 'achievements', every parent will definitely feel proud about it; something for them to boast about in front of family and friends.
    Madhav was not the quite sorts, he was an extrovert and had many friends. He wasnt behind in social networking and had developed a good stature amongst his 'friends'. Although his father was a school teacher, he never understood the nuiances of 'Facebook'. "I already have a good set of friends and there is no need for me to share what I am doing or pictures of me at places and with friends. Because, its nothing like chatting over a cup of coffee and sharing it all face to face", he used to say, whenever his son asked him to join Facebook. True ain't it? People of our generation may term it a generation gap, but in their perspective, they are right. But not everybody are like that. Madhav's aunt was a big time Facebook user and she couldnt stop herself from exaggerating everything she used to do on it. Recently, she had even added Madhav to her friends list. 

       Madhav didnot realize that he had opened the Pandora's box. People have a tendency to keep a keen eye on a young guy or girl in their family, and more so when it comes to the things that they share on social media; there's always fear and jealousy at work. It so happened that Madhav's aunt came across a photo posted by a girl in which Madhav was tagged. The pic was captioned " Love of my life!" and obviously, the first thing that crossed her mind was to call his father and tell about it. Without wasting a minute, she called him up and said, "Seems like your son is having an affair in college", trying to humiliate him. Aghast with what he had just heard, he asked "What makes you say so?" She then narrated a spiced up version of what she had seen and concluded saying, "This is the problem of giving too much freedom! You need to monitor him more often before it goes out of your reach". She heard the phone slammed with a bang at the other end and a wicked unseen smile crossed her lips.
      "How could this be? Is what she is saying true? What if she starts telling this to others? I will be answerable to people around. I will have to curtail these things as a father and see to it that it doesnot repeat", his thoughts raced. In the evening, as soon as Madhav arrived, he was confronted by his father, who asked him if what he had heard was indeed true. "Its not what you are thinking" replied Madhav. "So, it is true then! I had never expected this from you! You have let me down and put me in shame!" yelled his father. There is no way he can make his father understand, he thought and said, "You are unnecessarily jumping into conclusions and creating scenes. She is a very dear friend of mine. Moreover, I would never have often asked you to join Facebook if I ever had any fear of my doings, because I know I am doing nothing wrong! And now here you are blindly believing something that 'others' tell you, instead of having faith in your own son!" His father's temper shot up on hearing this. "How disrespectful of you to say that!" he said and raised his arm, almost about to hit him. Madhav stood still and gasped at what the way his father was reacting. A thousand things passed through his mind, but sometimes silence is the most powerful weapon one can wield. He just turned his back on his father and went away.
      Three days had passed since the incident and neither Madhav nor his father had spoken a word. Although it was easy for Madhav to let it pass, his father had a tough time in not talking with his son. He began to retrospect on what wrong he had done, or was it his fault at all? A small thing had blown out of proportion and the silence in  home was unbearable. He realized he had made a mistake in trusting his sister more than his son. What does love really mean? Cant friends love each other and have the freedom of expressing it? Did I make a mistake? Slowly, it dawned upon him that everything that he was made to believe was narrow minded and felt sad at the way he had treated his loving son. He decided to make it up for him. But how? Thinking a little harder, he did something which would be an out of the blue experience for his son.
       The next day around afternoon, Madhav got a FB notification. Fifteen minutes later, there was another and was followed by quite a few within the next hour. By the time his classes end, there were about 17 notifications. A perplexed Madhav couldnot believe what he was seeing. There were numerous likes and comments for photos that were posted on his wall. The photos were of his art work. He was overjoyed, for he never thought anybody would even bother seeing his paintings, let alone appreciating it. And yet, here they were getting lots of appreciation from his friends. Yes, it was his dad who had posted those photos on his timeline. He had also left a message. "I am sorry son. I failed to understand you and trust you. I promise that will never happen again. And oh, I am finally on Facebook :) hope you dont get angry on me for posting your paintings!" Madhav's face was beaming with happiness, and he looked away from his screen, trying to avoid that small drops of tear that filled his eyes.