A rainy season
She looks up at me with a neutral look that has me worried. Maybe she is going to turn it into a frown soon and I would most surely walk away – she might tell her room-mate that a creepy guy was stalking her while she was waiting for the rain to relent but that was better than letting her remember me for a long time after by saying something stupid to her. Suddenly, my resolve drain and my legs start to feel heavy. Wait, is this how a face going to face his execution noose walks? Wait, what??! What an absurd analogy – sometimes, I ought to be killed for things like these. But I compose myself, look down and start to change my path ever-so-slightly to meet the platform a few feet beyond her when she gave the faintest bit of smile. Her eyes seemed not to frown as well – umm.. I don’t think that its a good explanation but its the best I can come up with. Her neutral expression still remained but her lips had the slightest notion of a smile, the lips curve ever so slightly and that makes up for a lot of difference. I moved closer.
A few more strides and I will be close. Suddenly, I am aware of her expression becoming ..umm.. concern/worry? OMG, what did I do? I cannot change paths back again now. At the very instant I realize that a horn, too loud that it is probably very near me, is bleating. I move frantically aside and try to sway but the auto splahes in a lot of muddy water onto my pants and streaks at high speed. I look at my muddy pants – it has not been completely drenched but the spots showed. I look back at her – she shows concern but there was something about her eyes that make me go forward anyway.
“I was standing here and thinking about what I will say to you. I ran through a variety of options but I just could not get anything solid to start. I was worried that you might even walk past me without noticing me”. Wait.. this is what I am supposed to say. Why is she saying this to me? My face must have had a bewildered look but I scarcely think about how I would look like. I break into a smile and say: “You know, my first option was to comment on the rain”. She laughs out aloud and says “Umm.. Hope you came up with a better one later”. I smile at her. She smiles at me and I feel as though I have been to the edge of the world and I see the start of a new day as the sun rises amongst in the distance. I feel happy.
<end>
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Accursed – II
October 23 2005, 09:30 AM; Hyderabad home
I was running in what looked like the top floor of an abandoned building. It was a large one, probably a mult-storeyed office. I was certainly being chased by someone or something, for I was breathing heavily already but still running as fast as I could to the edge of the building. I pass concrete blocks broken down by time, a piece of metal scrap that might have been part of an antenna and patches of dried grass. I finally reach the edge and to my major dismay, I find that the railings are broken down. I slow down gingerly to not overrun the railings (for some reason, I thought that I might) and I look over. There is a metal-casing ladder at the edge of the building that takes would take me down but its hanging periliously. Somehow, its my only way out. I take the ladder and took two steps before I realize that there is someone standing right above me. I do not turn, I did not want to turn. The someone suddenly starts singing the Copa Cobana music with all the instruments. I slowly turn back and find an empty space. But somehow, the emptiness wears down quickly as the images blur and I realize that I am falling. Or going up. After a moment of complete bewilderment, I pull open my eyes with an effort. The Copa Cobana music had been my ringtone. I get up myself and dutily pick up my phone. I was never one to curse people without knowing the reason for the call. I say a sleepy “hello”. “Sleeping, huh”. “Yes, I work in night-shift remember?”. “Yeah, what time did you go to bed”. “8, whats the time now”. “I don’t know”. “…”. “…”. “…”. “Well, why did you call?”. “Just, chumma. Can’t I call?”. “….”. “Hey, I am talking to you dork, dont even think hanging up on me”. “…”. “Ok, Vikas wants me to join him for lunch. Should I go?”. “….huh. Is this a date?”. “No, atleast thats what he said when I asked if it was”. “Ok. So, what else is it?”. “I don’t know. He just wants to hang-out. He has been asking me out for a ‘friendly lunch’ for a while now”. “Ok”. “What OK? YOU MORON, tell me if I should go or not”. “How would I know?”. “TELL ME”. “You go”. “No, I won’t”. “Ok, fine”. “But its not a date. Why should I refuse?”. “Umm.. valid point”. “Lazy dork, you just want to sleep”. “Well, considering that I am not involved in any way and you have already made up my mind, I find this call a waste of my precious sleeping time”. “GET LOST”. “…”. Disconnect
I was asleep for a while. I usually sleep early when I am in home for a vacation. When the call came, I was wide awake though. I knew who was calling – I put on my bed lamp and take my phone. I pick it up, answer “Yes” and say the most innocuous of all greetings. “I was not sleeping”. “Yes, you were”. “Why are you not s..”. I stop my question inbetween for I know that she has been crying. “What’s the issue moron?” “Is it that obvious?”. “Well, yes”. “Its all over da. We are done. We have split up. I cannot stand it anymore. I could not just wait for him until he clears all his family issues. I have broken up with him”. “…”. “I don’t know what I should do? my parents are obviously worried about my marriage. They do not know of this yet and they want to find a suitable groom. Should I say ‘yes’ to their choice?”. “No, you don’t have to. You can always wait”. “I am tired of all the waiting. I just want to get it over with. I cannot take it anymore”. “Ok, but you are a strong character moron. You have stood strong against worser perils. You will come back strong”.
Two hours of more crying and more lies from me: “You know, you are the coolest guy I know”. “I know”. “You are incorrigible”. “You know, you use that word a lot. I really dont think that it means what you think it means. The word you are looking for is ‘chivalrous’”. “GET LOST”.
March 24, 2007 04:30 AM; Hyderabad home
“Hey, Hi”. “….”. “Moron, speak”. “… uh, what time is it?”. “Um. One sec… Its 4:30. Guess where I am”. “…”. “I am in the Airport. The Hyderabad Airport”. “Didn’t know you had come”. “Well, yeah, thats why I called. Raghav’s family were in town and he wanted me to come down. I spent time with their family over here”. “Uh-huh”. “What uh-huh?”. “Well, what the hell do you expect me to say?”. “Ummm.. I am sorry. This was a last minute plan and you know, its my fiance’s family. I could not just come and meet you just like that”. “…”. “Dont do this. I called you atleast”. “Yeah, THANKS A LOT”. “Dont be mad da. I am sorry. I tried to call you on Saturday but you were not reachable. I forgot after”. “Oh, really?”. “Dont get too sarcastic. I am sorry”. “Whatever”. “Hey, I am supposed to use it”.” Really?”. “Forgive me dork. I could not have come and met you anyway. I was too much occupied. Raghav’s family seems to like me. I guess we will be discussing the dates now”. “Yeah, whatever. Try calling me before your marriage”. “What the hell?? is that your way of saying congrats. You were supposed to be my best man”. “Find out a new flower girl. I quit”. “Now, dont slam the phone”. SLAM!
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Accursed – I
I awake at 2:30 AM in the complete darkness of my bedroom. I know that the time is close to 2:30 AM even before I stretch to pick up my mobile phone. It usually glows with a helpful brightness when I turn it on, and I try to shield it with my body so that Varsha does not wake up. I see that the time is 2:39. I get up slowly and push the quilt aside. I think of going to the kitchen to get some water when Varsha’s voice whispers something that I had realized but not acknowledged yet. “They will call you, you know..”. I say nothing. I get up and go to the kitchen through my living room. One good thing about getting moonlight LEDs for my fishtank was that I could navigate my messy living room easily at night. And I have been getting up at night a lot these days. More or less at the same time.
I open the windows in my study room and sit down on the futon. I take another sip of water from the frosted glass that I had filled up. People find it odd that I have to use glass for drinking water in my own home but I have not found a compelling argument not to, yet. I look at the frosted glass and the weird design. I cannot recall when I bought this glass, but the design is kind of funny. Who would have thought that the glass engravings at the top of the glass would have some weird looking animals. I place it on the table and get up to power-on my laptop. As I do, I hit the table with my toe and the glass stumbles near the edge until it stop a few inches from the point where it would have fallen down. I sit on the futon again with a slight thump. Varsha would be worried, she has no reason to but she still does. I start to remember all the phone calls..
September 2002, 11:40 PM; Coimbatore Home
My mom wakes me up in a mood that does not mean well. She points me to the living room to say that there is a call, her tone a slight challenge. I knew that something was amiss – did I slept through my alarm and my mom is making up this reason to wake me up. I check the dials of my wrist watch and they say that it is 11:40 in the night. I instantly get up and walk to the phone. I now understood why my mom was in a bad mood. I had an exam tomorrow and it was my sleepy time. And she does not appreciate late-night calls. I pickup and say hello. It was Buttercup. It was not her name but I was used to calling her Buttercup. She never understood PowerPuff girls and vaguely smiles when I tell her the name was one of the protagonists, but I am sure that she secretly loathes this name that she cannot comprehend yet. Ofcourse, I rarely call her by that name in front of others but it still does annoy her.
“Hey, hi.. Did I disturb you?”. “Well, that’s fine”. “So, I did”. “I was sleeping”. “Oh, sorry. Now I understand why your mom was cold to me. I am so sorry”. “Tell me”. “I am trying to read DES for tomorrow and I cannot understand a word of it. You know how important this exam is to me”. I did not know really, but I half-nodded which I am sure she pictured far apart from her home holding the receiver. “Yeah… so I wanted to know if you can help me with it tomorrow morning. I just need you to tell me the ‘story’ of chapters 9 and 11″. “Ok. Let me see. Raghu has asked me to do it as well”. “Ok. We can join him”. “We?”. “Yeah, Vidya also needs your help”. “Ok, fine. 8 AM tomorrow? That’s the time I fixed with Raghu”. “Ok. Sure. Y-block verandah?”. “Yes”. “Great. Thanks da. I cannot understand how you can sleep so peacefully with all this pressure. I don’t think that I will sleep for more than 4 hours today. I envy you, you already have decent marks in the first two internals and now you are full-prepared”. “I am not, I need to get up at 4 tomorrow to study chapters 9, 10 and 11″. “What? You haven’t studied yet?”. “Yes, that’s what I said. I tried to but I was tired so I slept. I will get up and prepare tomorrow. I am not taking the second exam anyway”. I had an average of 28.5 out of 30 in the BES paper that followed DES and I was planning to skip the exam. “Oh.. you are sure that you can complete all? I can study Chapter 11 and give you the ‘story’. I mean..”. “No, thats fine. I will cover it all. I study fast”. “Ok”. The last Ok was a uncertain one that meant that she was not completely confident of my abilities to study 3 chapters in under 2 hours in the morning. I smiled a little inside – I kind of liked people underestimating me. I went to sleep 2 mins later, careful to set my alarm at 3:30 AM in the morning – I could not fail.
August 2003, 12:30 AM; Coimbatore Home
My phone was ringing for a while before I could pick it up. I got up from what I believe to be a tug by my brother who was sleeping on the bed next to me. My mobile phone (which was actually my Dad’s but I had been using it to aid in my Placement activities) was ringing with a unknown number. A landline call at this time of the night. Dad does not gets call this late. I pick it up and I immediately hear her voice. “Hey, I got the job. They have selected me”. “Oh. Ok. Hmmm.. Congrats, I suppose”. “What Ok? Is this your enthusiasm? I got placed dammit. Atleast be happy that I would not be cribbing any longer”. “Yes, I suppose”. “Dammit, you are my friend. Be happy that I got placed”. “I am, in my own way”. “Get lost”. The connection dropped. I kept my phone close to my ear to hear the metallic sound that played when a landline disconnects. I slept with a sigh soon after.
February 15 2004, 2:30 AM; Chennai Room
I wake up in the hot and humid room in Chromepet. I had been living here for my final year project and I hate Chennai. I would never ever settle in this humid place. Unknown number. Bloody prank call – one more reason to hate Chennai. “uh-huh, hello”. “Hello”. It was her. Why is she calling me now? Her voice was slightly annoyed as she continued: “You had called me?” “Ummm.. no”. “Yes, you did”. “Oh, two days ago..” I did remember my call in a spite of desperation. I had been missing her since our fight in college but I had not been expecting a callback at this hour. “Yes”. Her voice was defiant and she wanted to hear more. I returned silence. “Well, if you have nothing to say…”. “uh-huh”. “Ok. Bye”. Line disconnects. My roommate Jagan who also happened to be doing the final year project with me, gave me weird looks when I said that the call was a prank call. Stupid me.
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Kashmir, April 2011 – Travelogue
Day 1: Reached Srinagar via Delhi. Transport to Houseboat. One Shikara ride. Dinner was a greedy assembly of Kashmiri dishes that were a tad raw for our tastes.
Day 2: Trip to Sonamarg. Lunch and then sledging. Reached a view point around 1-1.5 kms from the start and saw the Thajiwas glacier from there. Then sledged down. A fun trip. Return was delayed due to the road being blocked by a avalanche. Still made it in time for a good dinner
Day 3: Checked-out of houseboat. On to Pahalgam. A neat trip. Took a local cab to Betaab valley. Beautiful place. Lots of pics.
Day 4: Trip to Baisaran, Dabian and Kashmir valley view point on a pony. Pony ride was more treachorous than we all anticipated. Dirty looks from Maheswari and co, who were convinced that I was aware of the difficult terrain all along. Little did they know. Lunch was grand and went on some shopping spree in Pahalgam after.
Day 5: Trip to Gulmarg. After some discussion, we decided to start early and reach Gulmarg early. Gulmarg was more or less completely covered in snow. After lunch and check-in, we went out for a walk in the snow. It was tiring and by the time were three-fourths of our way, there was a slight drizzle and we returned back. A nice place but the hotel was a bit crampy.
Day 6: Gondola ride. The highlight of the trip to Gulmarg. After having had a relatively hassle-free trip to Kongdori (phase 1 of Gondola), we played in the snow for a while and went skiing. 20 mins of it gave way to comprehension that none of us are natural skiiers. A couple of us were good at falling down ever so often. We all quit sooner than anticipated. We pushed ourselves to the top of Mt. Apherwat and it was worth every penny, paisa and time that we spent. A glorious snow-filled mountain with excellent views all around. The albedo from the snow was so high that none of us could keep our eyes open for a long time. Smart Smita carried her shades. After a lot of pictures and general playing around, we came back to Gulmarg for lunch. I had to get back to the hotel for I was not feeling well.
Day 7: Trip back to Srinagar. We started early and reached Srinagar early afternoon. Trip to Tulip garden (which somehow disappointed the ladies who were eagerly waiting for it) was followed by a atrocious lunch (Mughal Darbar) and then visits to the Gardens. We visited both Nishat and Shalimar. Both were decent (atleast I enjoyed it). Tried shopping a bit but did not work out. Went to Nathus for dinner. A decent place.
Day 8: Last day of the trip. I went for a walk with Ayesha in the morning. We covered the whole Dal lake front in about an hour. Then we had our breakfast with Ajaz, went to his uncle’s place for shopping wherein we took most of the needed stuff. I bought a Sari (mom), a pashmina shawl (dad ) and a carpet (home) for myself. Had to go early to Airport for security. After arriving there, we paid Mukhtiyar (our driver/guide) a thankful tribute (fully deserved). Took on the flight and reached Hyderabad by 10:30 PM
Overall, the trip was a blast. Good folks in company and a paradise to visit. Also, the hospitality of the Kashmiris in general was warming. Would go again given the oppurtunity.
We got the package from the following person and the whole experience was good.
Mr. Ajaz Khar
Chicago Group of houseboats
http://www.chicagohouseboats.com/
http://www.tripadvisor.com/Hotel_Review-g297623-d639890-Reviews-Chicago_Group_of_Houseboats-Srinagar_Kashmir_Jammu_and_Kashmir.html
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Khedar Deluxe III
Old memories seldom rest – not when you have rekindled them after years of careful suppression.
I let my hand stay on her cheek a moment longer and then withdrew my hand back to my own side. She had stopped running her fingers over the grass-shoots. A silence prevailed that was offset by the sound of distant calls of a rogue bird. I remembered the time we tried to imitate bird calls, but I was not sure if we were in the same Park. I asked this aloud and instead of a bashing, I received a quiet response. Not a whisper but quiet enough nevertheless: “It was in Shalimar. You were pathetic at it that day”. I wanted to stop with a small smirk but I actually laughed out aloud. She started sobbing now. I considered putting my arms around her, but for a guy who had touched her for the time less than a minute ago, it seemed like a huge step. So I kept my arms secure at my sides. A little boy was running down the valley a little far from us and I tried to find out if there was someone who was looking after him. Not that I cared but you care for the smallest of things when you desperately not want to think. A whole minute passed, the boy had started to crouch down and inspect something and I decided not to worry about him for now. I turned and asked with a voice that trembled despite my best attempts: “Should I ask sorry?”. The answer was deterministic: “Yes. You should learn the guitar”. We had discussed this before, she was crazy about guitars and I wasn’t. “I don’t…”. “You are going to. And you are going to learn to play ‘Hey Jude’ for me”. “Ok. Will you forgive me then?”. “I will try to. You are a stupid guy”. “For telling you something that we both knew? You..”. “You should have taken me to Shalimar. And brought some flowers. And learned to play the guitar by then”. I softly said: “Sorry”. “Do you know why I love you?”. “I did not know that you did until a minute ago. I need some time to think”. “You are a fool but you are always honest. And you can joke with a straight face. Do you know how long I have been waiting for you to say this?”. “No idea. I guess it might have been a few days now”. “The time we imitated the bird calls in Shalimar. I never thought that I would have such a beautiful day in my life. I was looking at the sky every few minutes to see if there was someone seeing and registering what we were doing. We were doing nothing but I wanted it to be known that we were there. I needed some proof that we were there that day. Do you get what I mean?”. “Yes, I do”. “And you were wearing that green cardigan with a multi-colored collar. I could have traded anything to have it with me forever, to remember you, forever from that day”. “I could have used your transistor”. “I etched our names in the Chinar tree”. She rested her face on my shoulders. My earlier frayed understanding of what she meant when she described that day in the Gardens gave away to clear understanding. It was like feeling so much in another person’s shoes that I could not look at us as two different souls. I understand what she meant by having the need to register all the moments of it all. I kissed her head and told her in a whisper: “‘Hey Jude’ it is. And I will remember it forever. I will write more pages in my diary today”. I stopped diary-writing the day before.
I look through the window as midnight grows thick around my old home. I had no idea what day of the moon it was – the night seemed dark enough but it could have been the clouds as well. I could hear the distance sounds of the lake, an oar, something falling into the water and distant ramblings. My room, which I had not paid much attention till now, crawled with childhood memories. Most of them were pleasant and I took my time touching the old memories to feel secure within myself. Here was the place I had grown up as a kid, the place I shared with my mother, long deceased but still evoking the same pleasantness as she used to. For a while in my teens I was worried that I could not remember her face, her only picture was lost somewhere by my father (though I doubt it) but I have got used to it. Rummaging through my old drawers, I came across some old books, memories of a college-life past. I was half-ready to turn back to bed when I found the red leather-bound diary. Diaries are a funny thing – they are better at memories, good and bad. I turned to the last page – it was a happy entry with the only noteworthy detail being that I had received a notification from Delhi University regarding my higher education. I did not mention her name, I seldom do, not for the fear of losing her memory with a diary, but for the off-chance that someone might read it.
Her head seemed so light that I barely felt it on my shoulders. Her hair, tousling in the wind was brushing my cheeks but I barely moved. The moment had perfect harmony and everything seemed at peace. This was strange to both of us, enjoying each other in silence but it had to be done. After a long time, she raised her head and we moved away from the park in silence. That was the last time I saw that park.
I was in my home having dinner in quiet satisfaction and looking forward to etch that day in my diary, when the news reached me, or rather my house. Hashim, a neighbourhood boy who walked with a limp, came to my home and was talking animatedly to my dad. I was not listening but after a moment, I stepped into our living room to find my father donning his Parka. This itself was not strange, but his face had a mild shock, something that I was not used to. He turned to me and said: “Maheshji’s daughter has tried to take her own life. She has been taken to the hospital. But people say.. they say she is dead”. Thinking back, it was at that moment, seeing my reaction to her death that my dad must have understood that his boy was in love. I do not recollect most of what happened that night or the next few days as I desperately tried to let myself know that she was no more. I could not cry yet, I could not feel anything for myself or for others. Dad left me alone, in his own quiet way, either in full understanding or a quiet resignation. It happened a week after her death, I was on the Shikara to college when I realized that I could not go on doing things as if she did not matter. The immense sadness which had engulfed me after her death needed a desperate outlet. I took the train to Jammu that day. I wandered along in Jammu for a night and slept in the railway station. The next day, I took a train to Delhi and my journey began. I went to multiple places, not all of which I remember. I slept in the public places mostly, the parks and the stations – and ate whatever little I could earn. I remember being to Lucknow and Calcutta and a host of other cities all of which had one thing in common – people who did not know me, people who cared nothing for me. I could not yet cry.
After a month of traveling, I was sitting in a road-side dhaba eating a pitiable piece of roti when I realized that I had a responsibility. I was supposed to learn ‘Hey Jude’ but I had not yet started. And at the rate I was marching towards death, I was sure not to do it anymore as well. I looked at myself. I had filthy clothes which I bought at a pawn-shop 10 days ago which had not yet been washed. My arms and legs had deep tans and shows glimpses of the bone underneath. The last time I had seen my own face in the mirror, my eyes were bloodshot and had deep hollows within. On a whim, I ate my roti in silence and went to sleep in a nearby field. I had been traveling in a long-distance lorry as a cleaner for the last 5 days but I did not bother telling my boss. I awoke the next day feeling every bit as sad and tired as the day before. But I had been crying, my face was smeared with tears and I could feel the pain teaand anguish of raw tears. It took me 4 more days to reach Srinagar. I went to my home, washed myself, told my dad what I intended to do. I bid him farewell aboard “Darling, Darling, Darling”.
Memories are a funny thing. Its close to dawn now and I still have my diary open, looking at the page that ends on a happy note. As with everything deceptive about the diary entry, I try to see if I can sleep. I hear small footsteps moving away from the door, my dad must have been a worried man.
“I made some Tsaman for you. Do you get Kahwah and Tsaman in the USA?”. My dad was trying to make small-talk over the breakfast table. I try to keep up with his spirits and am fairly successful. I tell him that I worry whether I can stomach any grand lunch he would prepare, since I am used to cheeseburgers. He tells me not to worry. “Your aunt is coming to see you. She is taking the evening train from Jammu. You have any plans for tomorrow?”. I tell him that I have no plans for tomorrow, but I need to go out today. He silently nods.
I procure a old guitar from a second-hand shop in Lal chowk. My own guitar had been under-utilized and in fair repair, hence I chose to leave it back in my two-room apartment. I had some difficultly finding a florist in the market, in hindsight, I should have bought it in the lake. I finally find one who sells me a bunch of yellow and red tulips for what I would assume to be a good profit. I carry both of them and try to get a auto that would take me to the old cemetery. I needed to go visit a Park later but one journey at a time.
THE END
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Khedar Deluxe – II
Khedar Deluxe – I
She restarted her talk on Chinar trees when I realized, not for the first time, that I did not deserve her. I had stopped asking her the question of “why me” a while back, when not for the first time, she put on her annoyed face and spoke, not unlike a mother’s rant at a troubling child: “It happens Zoh. It just happens. I liked you from the start. From the day you gave me that dry space in the crowded Shikara. From the day I learned that you speak the way you speak. From the day you gave me the tiny wooden box that you made for me for my birthday. I just like to spend time with you. You don’t select friends, time selects them for you”. I knew then that I had to stop asking that question to her. But it still remained in my mind, now constantly blurring between friendship and love.
She had stopped whatever she was saying a moment before I realized it and I knew that I had to pay for it. She looked at me with a face of mock sternness: “You do this often these days – not listening to me. Its like you are listening to me all the time, but yet I know that I am not getting none of my point across. I don’t think that you would remember a word of what I said just now”. “Do you think that I should? Maybe, I am not interested in this history”. “You are”. “How do you know?”. “You told me some of the most interesting stories from Mughal history – the search for glory, motivation for arts and their love”. I smiled. She smiled back. “What? You thought that I would not be remembering those stories, right?”. I had to laugh “I thought that you were barely interested in them”. “I was not, initially. But later, I wanted to hear them all because you were so much interested in it. And you never got tired of repeating them. Remember the time we walked back from our schools for the first time together? You told me that Mughal history was all that is needed to be known to understand man’s lust for glory, love and power and how they bring even the mightiest empires down. I thought about what you said for a long time after that. You know, you were right about man’s lust for glory and power bringing him down”. “You think that their quest for love had nothing to do with their demise”. “No, its not like that. I am just more intrigued by their love. I still do not understand it”. I smiled at her then, understanding what she meant.
She put her stern mask on and continued “So, tell me, why did you have to come with me today? My college was off. And yours wasn’t. If it was the other way around, I wouldn’t have come”. “You would have”. “Maybe, and only if you had told me that were going to Shalimar”. “And I did because you told me that you were coming here”. “This Park is so.. so, dull compared to the Gardens”. “Yes, I know”. “And still you love this old park and this rotten bench. Have you ever told me why…”. “I love you”. “Wha? What do you mean? Thats not what I asked”. “I know. And I am not answering your question. Atleast not now. I love you. Have always loved you”. “What do you mean by love? And when does this ‘always’ start”. “You know, the kind of love that wants to sit a lifetime in this park and watch you as long as the sun glistens through your frayed hair like it does now. And ‘always’ perhaps starts from about the fourth time I saw you”. “You mean the time when you came to my home to give me the stupid book about a girl who dreams of fairies all the time?”. “No, that was after we met. I loved you long before I gave you the dry seat in the Shikara”.
People had started disembarking from the Shikara. Its strange that I could recall so much of the conversation so clearly today. The memories had become increasingly difficult for the last couple of years to recollect, much like frayed shadows during twilight. I have grown accustomed to the constant fear of losing memory of what happened in the Park that day sometime in my life. I am yet to make up my mind if I should be grateful for that day or still dread it as I do now. But today, riding on the Shikara back to the womb I came from, I sense that the memories were always there, but hidden in the shadow of my own fear. And today… today feels like coming home.
“You mean, you knew me before we actually met”. “Yes, I thought that it was obvious”. “It was not”. She cast a suspicious glance at me. “I am telling you the truth”. “Everything?”. “Everything”. “But why do you love this stupid park?”. “It has nothing to do with you. I loved it because this is where my mom used to bring me when I was a kid. They had another rotten bench, believe me that the bench we are leaning against is a new one. We used to sit on the bench, I mean not like us, and she used to tell me that I was the best thing that happened to her. And I think that she was telling the truth”. “I like sitting in the grass”. “Yes, you look lovely in this skirt”. “Is this why you came with me today? to tell me that you… you ‘love’ me”. “I don’t think so. I don’t think that this was the right time. I was stupid”. “Yes, you were”. For the first time since we came to the Park, the smile left my face as I looked at her. She was now looking at the grass intently and her graceful fingers were running through the grass shoots.I knew that this was perhaps time to hold her hands and look into her to tell her that I meant everything I had just said. And more – I wanted to tell her in a thousand different ways what she meant to me and pour them out to her. I had made the whole thing so stupid already by being so straight-forward. I raised my arm from my side and moved it close to her face. I touched her cheeks and she remained silent. I tried to make her look up when my fingers registered the faintest of trembles in her cheek. She was crying.
The Shikara was close to my place and my memory brought back the familiar things. Time had changed all things, yet nothing was different. The old Kaka’s pier where I used to wait for my daily Shikara had been replaced with a newer one. The old community boiler where they used to make and share hot water is not replaced with a gigantic boiler that looked like it was running from electricity. The weeds, flowers we all the same and yet none of the old remained. I took my rucksack and got down at my place. I took the old grassy path to my home. The home had changed. My dad had changed. He was happy to see me and I was told that he knew that I would come home one day. I told him that I was sorry for everything. He shut off the light and asked me to get some rest. Old memories seldom rest – not when you have rekindled them after years of careful suppression.
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Khedar Deluxe – I
Memory is a funny thing. I remember the Shikara that took me from my home that day all those years ago was called “Darling Darling Darling” – funny name that. But yet, I cannot recall most of the other important details that I should. I think that my father might have been crying a little – perhaps the only time I saw him with tears in his eyes, but I am not sure. I think that aunt Benazir was there by his side but I am not sure of it as well – I have seen her so many times at his side that I was maybe assuming it.
The Shikara that stood before me was called “Khedar Deluxe”, a much simpler name but I was amused anyway. No one had come to pick me up at the airport. After 22 years, I did not expect anyone to. But it also meant that dad was perhaps worse than what was mentioned in the mail. I was supposed to expect it from him. I knew that he would be happy to see me though I am not sure how sad he would be as well. Would he see his own failed reflection in me after all these years? Its funny that I found a unlikeliest quote in a book that I bought in JFK Airport before my flight – the quote was something about how sons are the cruel hand of fate dealt to Fathers to prove that their worst remains long after they are gone. How true would it be. My father had the bad luck of having a son who fell in love.
Memories are a funny thing. I remember the grass, tall and swaying, the white primroses that blossomed in spring and the old wooden park bench that we were leaning against but yet I cannot recall her face immediately. I am supposed to, but yet I cannot recall her features. It comes in bits and pieces – her big blue eyes are always the first. And for some reason, hair on her brow. I do not exactly recollect anything especially fond of that hair but yet, it seemed to be the one that I recollect easily these days. Yes, I have spent most of my last 22 years reliving that day in the sun-adulterated but otherwise pure spring day in the “Norman” park.
I entered into the Shikara with all the guile and subtlety of a guy who used NY Subway for most of his adult life.
The park bench was warm that day – an unusual thing in itself. She was lying next to me on the grass, her legs bent at the knees but otherwise carefree on where her skirts were flaying. She wore a bright green long-skirt that day, the ends smeared with the tiniest bit of grass leaves. She had a bright red shirt as well – slightly frayed near the wrists but otherwise being a stunning compliment to her exquisite face. Later on in my life, I would learn how high cheek bones would make girls look classy but a 19 year old looking at her face on that day did not need to know science to know that she was beautiful. In every way. I came back to reality to instinctively know that someone had smiled at me from the opposite end. I smiled back, just a warm twist of my lips towards the two men sitting opposite to me in the Shikara – both were looking at me with friendly eyes and I did not know who had smiled at me. It put them at ease. I turned away from them to prevent a conversation and stretched my hands to reach the water. The late April water was still freezing but it did not sting me. I recollected the moment I touched her for the first time.
She was explaining something about how the Chinar tree on the far end of the Park would have to be old enough to have seen the Mughals below them. I wasn’t listening to her or rather I was listening to her so closely that I could not comprehend what she was saying. She stopped speaking and looked into my eyes, I realized for the first time that her eyes seemed endless. Much like the bhooth-well my Granny used to scare me with when I was a kid. Granny would have a twinkle in her eyes when she would calmly tell her gathered brats the terrifying story of a boy who fell in the bottomless well while wandering too far by himself after play-time and how he is still falling down. It used to send shivers down me (not that it mattered to my Granny – she was cruel in a way). But it seemed to me that the feeling of being lost in her eyes would never be terrifying. My eyes must have been trembling for she smiled. There was so much warmth in that smile that I wanted to tell her that I would be blessed to live with her my whole life. I did not know why she ever chose to be with me at all. She was from a merchant family in my neighbourhood – she was easily the most beautiful girl in our part of the town and was also the smartest. She went to a private school in Srinagar while me, the son of a postman, was trying not to fall behind in my plan to save enough to buy a kite for the summer. The first time I saw her, I felt the twinge of jealous and unreasonable anger that you instinctively feel being poor all along. It did not help that she was in her own Shikara, all dressed up for school while I was waiting drenched in rain on the pier. She was wearing a bright orange scarf and seemed to be smiling at my direction, miserable as I must have looked clutching my tiny school bag close to me so that it does not get wet. She looked past me like I did not exist and continued ride on her own Shikara while I stood there waiting for my ride to arrive which would invariably be full and damp in the rains. I was 15 at that time. But things changed over the years and now she was sitting at my side, staring at me with those bright blue eyes, her posture was so endearing that I felt guilt at the thoughts of our first meeting. Her eyes had a faint sense of humour and she smiled benevolently. I was falling into her deep eyes, much like the boy from my granny tales. She spoke the words that still ring in my ears as clearly as they once did. Its surprising that I still remember her voice – a slightly high-pitched voice that had all the alluring qualities of a child’s yet very mature in a way: “I love it when you look at me like that”. I must have stopped smiling because she laughed and used a finger to point at my face. I said:”I love the way your eyes look. I cannot help but look into them”. She stopped smiling – I would have assumed that she was surprised at this but her eyes still had the humour, I understood that she clearly understood my feelings for her. And she perhaps did not resent it. A youthful heart knew only that much.
Despite my best attempts, someone did manage to ask me a question. I heard one word out of the whole question “..tourist”. I shook my head with a slight smile and looked into the distant mountains deliberately. The summer clouds hung over it but not too close, not yet. I drifted back to the spring day at the park.
She restarted her discussion on Chinar trees when I realized, not for the first time, that I did not deserve her. I had stopped asking her the question of “why me” a while back, when not for the first time, she put on her mild anger face and spoke, not unlike a mother’s rant at a troubling child: “It happens Zoh. It just happens. I liked you from the start. From the day, you gave me that dry space in the crowded Shikara. From the day I learned that you speak the way you speak. From the day you gave me the tiny wooden box that you made for me for my birthday. I just like to spend time with you. You don’t select friends, time selects them for you”. I knew then that I had to shut up asking that question to her. But it still remained in my mind, now constantly blurring between friendship and love.
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Andaman – 2010 – Travelogue
Day 1:
Totally wasted because of a flight reschedule. Our flight got canceled due to operational reasons and I had to stay in Chennai
Day 2:
After a agonizing wait and another reschedules, our flight landed in Port Blair shortly after 4 PM. Huge cheers from all passengers – I couldn’t even join them as I was petrified with all the turbulence during the trip (I have always been afraid of flights 
). After we landed, we could not plan anything much useful (sunset in Andaman is around 5-5:30 PM). So, ignoring our itinerary, we went to Cellular jail for light and sounds show (which was strictly OK) and the water sports complex. The water sports complex was a nice sight/sound at night. A short row of benches along the rails overlooking the water made it a ideal place to relax.
Day 3:
We were supposed to have a quick dash to Corbyn’s Cove beach and a long trip to Havelock island. But due to unavailability of seats in the private cruise, we had a longer stay at Corbyn’s cove beach and a looonngg agonizing trip to Havelock in govt ferry. Corbyn’s Cove beach was good, if not spectacular. I was wondering why we were the only people at the beach in such a nice sunny day, but I got answered in the next few days. After this, we went to Lighthouse Residency for lunch. The place was highly recommended – I found their “choose your fish” plan wonderful but thats about it – the food was not that spectacular. The ferry to Havelock was mostly vomit inducing and almost 70% of the passengers emptied their stomachs in the first one hour. Ayesha had multiple trips to the restroom as well. I felt sick but thats about it. The resort in Havelock was chosen for the location (right next to Beach no. 5) rather than comfort and it showed. We spent a long time in the beach just sitting there in the relaxing wind. The waves were gentle but picked up later due to high tide
Day 4:
Radhanagar beach. This beach is spectacular – a wonderful long beach with blue shallow waters, white sand and an evergreen forest in the background. This place is why everyone should visit Andaman for – it was high tide when I visited the place but it was still nice to get into the water. Absolutely wonderful – the pics and videos I took does no justice to the place and I would highly recommend it to any beach lovers. Lunch was at Barefoot resort near Radhanagar beach – the place was highly recommended and I found the food (Pasta) tasty.
Day 5:
A day of snorkeling at Elephant bay in Havelock. It was a rainy day and it dampened our moods to see the corals. We set off early and once in Elephant bay (it was a 40 min trip to Havelock Harbour to this bay), we rented a glass boat to see the corals. They were wonderful – we could see a lot of fishes and I was surprised at how close the corals were to the beach. After this, we waited a while for the water to settle down before snorkeling. Ayesha refused to come and but i went in twice. The corals were visible but I saw very few fishes – it was because of the rain, my instructor told me. The experience was very good – you practically do nothing as the guide takes you in for a swim in a ring and all you have to do is look into the water. After this, we came back to Havelock for lunch. I had it at B3 (another restaurant from Barefoot group) and it was very good. They had good continental food (I tried Hummus plate and a fish steak) – I would highly recommend it. After this, we took the cruise back to Port blair. According to Ayesha, the cruise ship was very good but I still felt sick
Day 6:
A day of three island trip. I was supposed to stagger this into two days (Day 2 and Day 6) in my original itenary but thanks to my flight delay, I had to squeeze it into one. Took a ferry (though they call it cruise) from Port blair to Ross Island (5 minute) and from there to Viper island (50 mins) and finally to North Bay island (20 mins). Ross island was the original capital of Andaman during British rule – you see a lot of old dilapidated buildings and some nice scenery. The abandoned church made for some good photography (me thinks!). We went to Viper island next where the only attraction was the gallows during British rule. After this, we came to North Bay island where we again went in for some beach swim. Later, we went for Snorkeling together. Ayesha and me were put in two rings tied through a rope and an instructor took us inside the waters. It was fun – we could see a lot more fishes this time since the water was clearer but the Corals were not as impressive as in Elephant Bay. After this, we returned back to Port Blair
Day 7:
At the end of Day 6 when we felt truly exhausted by the sheer beauty of the place, our tour guide Ajay informed us that they had saved the best for the last and Jolly Buoy was the best place in Andaman. I was mildly surprised and it increased my anxiety as well. The day started with a trip to Wandoor beach (30 min drive from Port Blair) and we took a ferry to reach Jolly Buoy. While the scenes were wonderful, the trip was a tad long (1 hr 15 mins). When we neared Jolly Buoy, I could see why Ajay claimed so – it was such a beautiful place. Wonderful beach with nice green water all around. We took a glass boat trip and could see a lot of corals (but few fishes). We played in the beach for a while (as in I tried my drowning-swimming routine). There was the option of Snorkeling but they did not have two rings together and hence we went for another glass boat trip. Overall, the place was wonderful but considering that the trip is long (it started at 9:30 and ended at 4 PM but we only had about 2 hours in the beach). After this, we had plans to go to Chidiya Tapu for sunset viewing (southern tip of Andaman islands) but we opted for a nice lunch. Lunch was Ananda was disappointing.
Day 8:
Pack and leave. Simple as that.
Places visited:
Cellular jail
Water sports complex
Corbyn’s Cove Beach
Havelock Beach no. 5
Havelock Radhanagar beach
Havelock Elephant Bay (snorkeling)
Ross Island/Viper Island
North Bay island (snorkeling)
Jolly Buoy (snorkeling)
Food:
The sea food items are obviously good but I have to say that I was disappointed by a lack of variety. I could not find a good Continental place in all of Port Blair (though my search was restricted to asking around people and my tour guide). Local fish like Surma and Kokuri are very good. I also tasted Barracude, White Snapper, Sear fish and Tuna. All are equally good. My recommendations are: Lighthouse residency in Port Blair (6.5/10), Barefoot restaurant in Havelock (7/10) and B3 in Havelock (8/10)
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Life and a Flash kit
Today, I spoke to the guy who lives the life I wanted to have…
College life earned me few meaningful friends, and he was not one of them. We knew each other, being in the same class and all, but it was nothing more than that. I became an above average Flash programmer one summer and then peered down the path of 3D modeling and game development. It was at that time that I learned that he was interested in game development and animation as well. We discussed a few common interests and though we did not sit together for any work together, I gradually began to like him. He was quite passionate about it and for once, I had someone I can talk to about something that really interested me. Being the dreamer that I was, I planned to start my career in game development and see where it went. I was one of the brighter students in the class (shows the sheer indifference other brilliant minds showed to their grades, nothing else) and I thought that one of my dream companies would give me wings when the time came.
A short time before the time came, I was informed that there was no one who could give me wings. The companies that came to pluck freshmen from my college were never really in Game development. It dawned brightly on my dreams and soon I packed up my Flash development kit for more a mundane C++ editor. I got into a more than obscure Consulting firm (more due to my grades than my interview performance) and I never looked back. He never looked forward.
He struggled – atleast thats what I heard. In the final year, after my placements, I sulked off from my dream completely but he carried on. I knew that he was still down the same path but even by then, he had surpassed my knowledge in so many levels that I did not speak to him much. Later, I moved to my job and began the process of liking it. It was not that hard, I learned that my basic love for gaming stemmed from the very fact that makes all programmers happy – to see your creation do some process. It was not all that bad. I lost contact with him.
Its been six years since college. I heard bits and pieces of news about him – he was struggling, he managed to find employment, he is somewhere doing so-and-so etc., All the while I could never get to contact him. Till today. He is working in my same city (a fact that I learned a while back), following his dreams… and perhaps mine.
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A definition
“A Life, do you know what it is? Its the shit that happens in between moments that never come…”
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