With every passing day I feel I am becoming less expressive. If it is true then I think I am standing on the ledge of existential crisis and waiting for the dust to rotten me up if it has to. There’s an invisible cluster I feel above this head of mine. Cluster full of life and warmth. It grows an inch every passing minute and I stand anticipating when shall I climb it and can stoop down into the treasure for it will have quite a few precious memories in a row and one fortunate enough will be chosen and burnt. I wish they die a natural death or atleast called to be one. And later I wish the cluster becomes the ash tray for all the memories clearly distinct as well as sepic faded. I no longer intrude into every human I’ve known. I don’t feel talking rather I am trying to settle my scores with language. Writing and Filming though seems to be the only given way out. And again I don’t think I’m making even a fraction of sense here.
Pardon me.
I Wonder.
It’s been a while that I have written something out of sheer consciousness. He says, ‘Why do you feel the need to do so?’ I say as I wonder I DON’T KNOW. Maybe everything surrounded me is itching me towards the spot which is nowhere. This is that spot, the point where I am absolutely unaware of what am I doing and where is it leading me to. Is this the same me who had a lot of desires, willness to make something out of me at one time or maybe I am sounding bit depressive, may be oldster but ‘I DON’T KNOW’. Or may be it’s the cinema shaking up my mind diminishing the real me and tricking my subconscious? Ironically, the conscious me made me write that line. I used to think why is it quintessential to express, to communicate as I am making a constant attempt here. Why was the language formed at the first place? What might had incited the Cavemen to draw or to utter? I think it’s the same thing that a famous poet is in quest of. “Bhayiya should I switch off the fan?” Maids’ve got an interesting intervenience to pull the chain of your train of thought. She daily asks to get few household things to be able to keep my place in order. I will bring it sooner than never. Well, there is struggle of getting stuff in order which I think should be confined to that domain of struggle only. Otherwise who wants the world to be Perfect. Atleast I don’t. ‘Who are you Mr. Entity?’, he asks. I say as I wonder, ‘I DON’T KNOW’. By the way that poet too wonders-
Koi khyaal/ Aur koi bhi jazbaa/ Koi bhi shaya ho/ Jaane usko/ Pehle Pehel awaaz mili thi/ Ya uski Tasveer bani thi/ Soch rha hu.
I don’t reason as per the theory of modernity neither I believe as tradition asks me to. I simply wonder how to be identified in this celestial space. ‘Why do you want to?’, he intruded. I wondered, to confront you every morning before the veil of mirror as I get ready to step out in your world but I said ‘I DON’T KNOW’.
Miss Lovely
June 24, I was travelling back home from Delhi. The time was of summer vacations all over the country’s colleges and I had taken the AC bus going from Delhi to Ludhiana at ten in the morning. Last night’s sleep was still pending in my eyes. I wasted no extra time on settling up my luggage and went into a deep nap. This chain of events occurred during the whole journey until bus stopped on some nice restaurant for the lunch. I was hungry till the time, so I missed no chance to fill up my stomach up to the epiglottis. Through the filling process I totally forgot about the bus which was waiting for me outside. I completed my meal and after paying the bill, proceeded towards the bus. The bus was not at its place. For a moment I thought everything happened around me is a sort of some nightmare but soon I came back to my conscious and heard the horns of a bus stopped at the edge of the highway. Most probably those horns were for me. I rushed and got into the bus and continued my journey. After moving few kilometers bus came to halt at the bus stop of the area. My gaze was stuck at the beautiful small town when a woman in her early thirties wearing black shades and west dress stepped into the bus and took one seat before mine. I saw her tiger patterned bag which she kept aside on her seat. That woman was an above average looking but still I was so into her. The main thing which grabbed my attention was that she was wearing earring in only one ear. She at first seemed like one of those playgirls to me who always attempt their ways to hunt gentlemen everywhere. And when bus conductor arrived, she took a ticket to the destination city and intentionally dropped the ticket and passed a smile to him which clearly was a sign of her tricks. The conductor too felt attracted by her smile and picked the ticket from the floor and handed her. The doubt turned into sure till then and I realized that I was travelling with a prostitute- Miss Lovely as a movie with a same name and theme was released in that month. And I started carving the further story in my mind which probably seemed to relate with all the practicalities I was about to experience during the journey. The stop from where she came into the bus was nearby to a famous brothel and often normal people are confused with those types of people. She was wearing a single earring which looked like she had accidentally forgot to wear it in rush to catch the bus coming outside the brothel to a bus stop. Well I had never seen any call girl before. I was continuously shifting my gaze from her ear ring to her shabby hair. Whenever she turned to look outside the window I avoided direct eye contact and pretended as if I was listening songs in my earphones. Till then she had comforted herself into her seat and I into her. It bothered no difference among the rest of travelers what Miss Lovely was doing. But why she was concerning me the most? We were travelling through a rough and rugged road. It’s more fun to watch other people jumping from their seats and laughing upon their reactions rather than just getting irritated. Within this hopping and jumping I managed to look onto her from back. She took out her mobile phone and checked out the text messages. The bus was trembling beyond its limit and I however succeeded in noticing the last text which she was typing. The text conveyed- “darling I’m on my way….pick me up from g.d. road”. These people have their business opened 24 by 7. I was wondering if she had been married, she might not have to do such odd jobs. But soon my thoughts were intervened by a sensual yet beautiful voice. Miss Lovely in a sudden turned back and it was the first time during that whole journey I witnessed her pretty face and eyes as she revealed her face from her curly hairs which were coming before her face due to heavy wind flowing from the open window. She asked my permission to close that window and I simply replied in affirmative. She again put that smile on her face and thanked me. It made me feel great but at the end it was their regular job to make others feel pleasured.
The further 2-3 hours were passed and my journey came to end in the evening. The bus reached to its destination covering seven hours of journey and I started collecting my bags from the luggage shelf. Miss Lovely was already standing on the door looking for her darling. As soon the bus stopped at its junction in Inter-state Bus terminal, I saw a man standing in the formals met Miss Lovely and hugged her. She was gone and I waited for another bus which I had to change up for my hometown. Well after some time the bus going to my hometown came to the terminal. While the bus was about to initiate the engine, I was thinking of that tale of Miss Lovely and her darling when far away I saw a bus leaving from the terminal and one girl stepped onto that bus waving her mother a goodbye. It felt like déjà vu. Suddenly I recalled the series of events happened with me since that woman-Miss Lovely came into the bus. I recalled that she also entered the doorway of the bus waving a hand to somebody on the bus stop. The old lady I misinterpreted for a newspaper hawker since the cart was there at the corner might be her mother. The ticket might have accidentally fallen down from her hand and because she was carrying a lot of luggage with her, she might have found inconvenient to pick it up and the man who came to receive her was none other than her husband. When I deeply gave a thought about it, I remembered having a lightest of the glance on her fingers while typing that text in the bus. She was wearing a wedding ring in her ring finger. It was me who was pretending before her. She was as honest as the mirror. Sometimes misconceptions and misinterpretations leave us into such regretful and guiltily manner that we are ashamed of our own personality. Meanwhile the sun was at the horizon and was about to set down for the clear dark sky ahead.
That Old Man in White Suit
Anwar was snoring loudly sleeping on the floor when his eyes slowly opened up hearing the fights on the water filling queue at ghetto. He got up and straightly went into his bathroom, came out with bucket in one hand and a twig in other and headed towards the queue. Anwar was a fun loving boy of nineteen, extreme slim as toothpick, dark skinned and enough long as required by everybody living there for cleaning the rooftops of houses during Diwali days. He was no less than donkey that worked for hours and yet didn’t complain. Like every day, he stood in the long queue waiting for his turn to get water chewing his twig. While he was returning back through the corridor, he saw down an old man in his seventy’s getting out from an auto rickshaw, giving fare to the driver and trying to pull his suitcase upstairs. Anwar as obvious went downstairs for the old man’s assistance and introduced himself and went on talking till he reached to room allotted to the old man but the man spoke nothing more than thank you. Anwar picked up his bucket and left to his room which was exactly opposite to the old man’s room. The old man had a rare habit of closing his main door therefore every day whenever he used to sit in his room, Anwar had a full view of his activities. He came across an unusual thing about the old man. Firstly he noticed that the man always remained in a pair of black salwaar kameez and wore no other cloth. Then each person of that ghetto observed this and assumed the man a lunatic. But old man had got nothing to care about. He was a person with peaceful and quite nature who never created any nuisance to the people living there except his habit of gargling in the balcony. He used to sit ideal for hours giving a thought to something far from Anwar’s thoughts. Anwar had sensed it so earlier that the old man had buried a deep sorrow in his eyes. Even when he used to visit him, he spoke very less. Anwar also bade him good night looking around his grungy room with one chair and folding bed and a white kurta pajama hanging on one of the drastic walls which seemed like the sign of peace after some kind of destruction had happened in the past. One day he ridiculed the old man for his clothes and the way he gargled that everybody got disturbed but the old man shared a sense of laugh with him telling him that he’ll get to know very soon.
Months passed by and Anwar became very fond of the old man. He used to do his all works and on one such evening when he came back from the market, he saw the old man with tears falling from his eyes in a corner. He showed pity to him, gave him a glass of water and made him sit on the bed. “What happened?”, asked Anwar. Old man as in mood of revealing his all the secrets told him that he was twelve years old when he saw his father dying in his lap. “My father had no home to live and…” his voice became heavier as one drop of tears flowed to his cheek. “…to die. He was thrown away in the garbage dump after he was finished and I was defeated and suppressed at every point since then. This white suit hanging on the wall is of that man only who was never found. Today I have earned mine as well as my father’s lost dignity. I lived the life wandering here and there but now I’ve got a place… to die.” Anwar was listening to him with the wet eyes and at last when he got up to leave, old man called him and wished him good bye and good night as it was the last time he was meeting him. Anwar too came back to the room, closed the door burdened with a thought that why the old man told all that to him. Somehow he managed to sleep and in the midnight’s hour woke up at the call of nature. As he came out of the toilet with his eyes half opened saw the old man changing his clothes. He wore his father’s white kurta pajama. But Anwar more concentrated on the sleep.
Sun was already peeping inside the room when Anwar woke up and went into the toilet. He was sitting inside giving a thought to the last night when the images of the old man flashed before him. He rushed towards the old man’s room and as soon as he opened the door, he found him lying dead on the bed wearing that white suit. An image of the old man changing his clothes remained stiff in his mind while he was standing still there in the room.
Smile Please
It was a warm clear Sunday afternoon when I was lying on my bed disorderly. I had my bed tea a little late that day. While I was enjoying the sip, I demanded for the newspaper. The love for reading the happenings in surroundings with the morning tea had developed in me over many years. Newspaper was on my lap in no time. The best thing of being the youngest in a family is that you are listened and pampered by your mother. At least I feel the same. I was in no mood to do anything but to open the sports page. While I was at the edge of completion of my tea, my sight got struck to the words written in bold ‘Smile Please- a Photography Competition’. I thought to take part in it. It had never happened with me although I was having a camera since so many years but that day unknowingly I decided to try for something I hadn’t done before. I immediately got out of my bed, prepared my Canon kit and went out with no specific place in my mind. I was passing through the hustle bustle of the city, seeking a face for my submission in the competition, but nothing infatuated me. The intense dark pollution had created the drastic effects on the people of my city. That could be seen on their dull faces. But I was capturing them to see how a photograph could make people look good. Then I continued the road which led me to the outskirts of the metropolis. The day was becoming darker while I was in search of some smiling face which could illumine that situation. Banyan trees in lane were guiding me to the never finishing road on which I had been driving since two hours. Finally I stopped my bike under one of those Banyan trees. The place seemed to be a kind of village. There I saw a group of women carrying the earthen pots on their heads. They in their colorful Punjabi suits were passing through the fields. I asked them to simply smile looking in the camera. The smile was quite pretty with the fraction of fakeness in it. That I sooner realized after observing the shots for some while. Only hope was dependent on the wait, the wait for the beautiful face with extraordinary smile. The vehicles were coming and going in no time making me feel the air produced by their speedy movements. It made me feel thrived as if I had been there to sense that magical touch of air. But in actual people came and went, I captured their cheesy smiles. None of my photographs were in condition to be the part of the national competition. I was disappointed and felt that those competitions were not my thing. It might be due to the pressure of winning but I forgot that competition and turned my way back to the city. I was driving smoothly when I saw a herd, a group of buffaloes entering into a cropland. The dust particles propagating in the air creating a translucent view all over attracted me the most to put my ride on halt. I immediately got down from my bike and went running close to those grey buffaloes. I took some shots from the back, then from the front, composing the best of the frame. While I was taking pictures from the side, I was stepping backwards. Suddenly someone ran into me. As I turned my head back, I saw a brown boy in his early teen, dressed in a long black shabby kurta and violet dhoti, holding a stick on his shoulder. I had never seen such young herdsman before. He was wearing a broken pair of slippers. It’s color was showing that he used to work in a mud. At the time when I was observing the every bit of his appearance, he was standing still with the smile. I placed my eye before the viewfinder of my camera to capture that sudden beauty of the scene. It was the most beautiful smile I had ever seen on somebody’s face with whom I hadn’t exchanged a single word. A few hours before I was helping people in living out their fake smiles while dying mine at the same time, one broad smile brought another broad one to my face. It was the best smile. It was the only one which was not followed by the common jargon of somebody like me telling others to, “Smile Please”.
Sweety Aunty
The grandeur arrangement for that wedding seemed to be of a great charm in itself. It happened to be the most expensive wedding of the city. The invited guests were adding an extra splendor to it. Guests were coming, dancing, sitting and gossiping in the large vibrant wedding hall smelled with the jasmine flowers. Indian weddings are more interpreted as to show off the economy level of the families, than the things which are actually required for the ceremony. All men were suited up in their Van Heusen tuxedos while the ladies preferred to go with different styles. Some were wearing traditional sarees while some were in the colorful heavy weighed lehngas, making them walk with difficulty. The DJ boy had then played a romantic song and whole atmosphere was made lovesome. It was the time of the introduction of the bride and groom – the centre of attraction for that evening. Meanwhile Sweety Aunty, being simple and sober, holding an envelope full of money as a gift to newly wedded couple compassed into the place where mandap (kind of booth) and the stage for the wedding couple were situated. Sweety Aunty was self obsessed not so good looking lady. With every single hair colored with black dye, her facial skin had started experience the agedness of her life. She hated when being in a group, some other lady got appreciation for her looks and beauty. She realized that such situation might arise there, so she decided not to stay there for long. She went to meet the bride’s mother who also was a very good friend of hers. She congratulated her with a smile on her face and offered the envelope to the couple. She was about to leave the stage when she was pulled by her friend to have a group photo clicked with her family members. There and then somebody among the groom’s friend admired the fair bride’s beauty and delight. Everyone began fleeting their glances on her though no one felt the presence of the camera for a moment. Sweety Aunty felt so depressed that she had never felt before. She felt very jealous of the bride and escaped from there.
She was in anger, walking back to the car parking when she heard pandit ji (the priest) reciting the Sanskrit hymns. She went back at the mandap and stood behind the other people watching the ceremony. She was dissatisfied with the thought of her looking old. She had grown a feeling of detest for the bride in herself to such a great extent that she wanted her beauty to be vanished forever. That thing was still moving in her head when she heard pandit ji screaming loudly. Suddenly Sweety Aunty stood on her forefeet to had a look and saw that bride’s silk lehnga had caught dreadful fire while having vows around fire. The entire scene before her eyes got brightened in a few seconds. Everyone rushed to help her but the moment when some help came to stifle the burning, till then she was burnt all over. Nothing was identifiable. Her beauty, her charm, her delight everything got burnt in the fire of Sweety Aunty’s anger but Aunty stood quiet and smiled slyly among the shocked guests.
Loki got enlightened !
There was all dark when Loki entered into his room. It looked like the sun had set earlier that day than any other winter evening. He switched on the lights and kept his suitcase on the floor. The room was empty. After having a look to his new place, he took out the newspaper from his bag and opened the Shine Jobs page. Loki came to the city in search of a job and was living as a paying guest in a city where he knew no one and so had nobody knew him. His eyes caught a sight of a Job Vacancy column at corner of the page and as soon as he began to read it, the power turned down and everything turned silent and dark like a wormhole where all his thoughts were destroyed, unable to make an exit from his mind. He somehow managed to read every column for which he was suitably educated but was unable to decide which to select. He was confident enough that with first position in university exams marked to his records, he would get a good job. That night he kept thinking about his settlement in that new city. Next day he went to the private schools in the city to apply for a post of chemistry teacher but returned dissatisfied with the low pay scale. That evening when he came to his room he found the power was still off since the last night. He felt very strange and tensed but decided to search for some other job in the paper. At last he found one in the printing press and went to the factory for a week but left it after he found that they were secretly related with the supply of duplicate currency. And this chain of events remained till he got the other job. Because of his honest and authentic personality, he did not stick to any of the jobs. Every time when he entered his room at the evening after leaving a fresh job, he felt disappointed and surprised that no bulb, no CFL would light up that whole night. Most of his time then was spent in the darkness and he gradually felt depressed. On one such day, he realized that being well educated and well disciplined, he was nothing. Nothing great had been achieved not it would be achieved. The world was taking him for granted. He was lagging in the human race. Nothing good happened and so he lost all the hopes.
Loki was a man of his words, his virtues, his traditions but the bright city lights had caused no illumination to his fortune. The darkness was perfectly spread all over the sky. He came outside to his balcony and decided to leave next morning back to his village. Suddenly the room was illuminated with the lights. Loki was amazed. He smiled looking towards the bulb and CFL. He clearly came to know that those city lights will never accept him. Next morning, he packed up his suitcase and left that city forever. The room was again empty with a bulb and a CFL also missing from their walls.
The Untold Sorry
He was in a great anger after he had a fight with his mother that morning. No child is born with a right to abuse his mother, the one who once confronted that precious life in her womb. His wife was standing behind him when he lifted his hand before his mother in an effort to slap her. A drop of tear went on slipping on the cheeks from mother’s wet eyes as she closed her eyelids. His face was deep red as that of blood. He took his bag, put on his shades and headed towards his office aggressively. He didn’t make his way to office that day, switching off his phone and made his mind to leave his house and live in a small flat with his wife and son. He spent that day finding a perfect BHK flat for a family of three. When he reached his home at evening, he found his place to be solace. Nobody was at home. Later he came to know after inquiring in the neighborhood that his mother got her right side paralyzed since he left for office in the morning. That thing was unexpected, he rushed to the hospital. As soon as he reached there, he ran towards the operation theatre where his mother was lying on a bed covered with a white cloth. Her condition was very critical. She was in an emergency ward fighting with her death consistently.
He was very moved, finding his mother in such situation. He turned back to the corridor with tears about to flow from his eyes. He was the one who was responsible for the situation present there. He was very low even to regret for what her mother was going through. He was in a state of being miserable. His wife showed compassion to him. He realized his mistake and decided to apologize for it to his mother. But he couldn’t say a single word. He started writing a short SORRY note addressing her with a pray on his lips for the betterment of her health. He was actually begging the life to get the time rewind back so that he could have changed the entire arisen situation. He was writing when the doctor came out from the OT and told him that she had lost her memory completely and would not be able to walk. He sensed the feeling of emotional shock caused by the news. His eyes kept looking at the doctor, his hands frozen, the writing stopped and the pen remained straight in his fingers. His grief was seen in his hands with the rough and dry texture of his fingers, a grief that his note of “Sorry” remained untold.
Frozen Narratives 