A close brush with death!

All of a sudden the pain started. It was not too bad in the beginning, but gradually it became so bad that he limped when he moved. It felt as If his hip bones were being scraped with a jagged knife. And shortly, he couldn’t move.

It was the most agonizing pain he had experienced in his life. No, he remembered. He corrected himself. He had experienced worse.

Memories came rolling, like a cinema on a screen. Two years ago, one day, he got up with a dreadful pain in his right knee. He couldn’t walk. He tried; it felt the pain would kill him. He lifted his pajama; the knee was red, tender and puffed-up. It felt so soft-similar to touching a new born baby-but it hurt as if a sharp rod had been inserted through the sides of his knee. Soon the redness, puffiness and puffed-up-ness spread to all his joints.  He could bend none of his joints. He walked, literally, like a robot.And then coughed. A dry cough.And then he coughed some more, but with stains of blood this time.

Blood tests, Liver function tests, whole body CT Scan, MRI, Colour Doppler. Finally a Thoracic Biopsy. His lymph nodes were enlarged. Spleen and liver were enlarged.ESR reading was through the ceiling- indicating high levels of infection or immune activity.

“ All results show signs of something major in your system”, Dr. Krishnan announced.

“Lets keep our fingers crossed. Only thoracic biopsy would provide clues. What I feel is, My guess is, that sarcoidosis, lymphoma, cannot be ruled out, Though its the worse case scenario I mentioned. Lets all pray, keep your hopes high.” Dr.Krishnan said, in his unsettling, matter-of-fact tone.

His first surgery. A thoracic surgery. His neck was going be gashed, and a tube would be inserted, which would travel all the way to the chest lymph nodes. Very close to heart, lungs, liver, and spleen. The surgeon explained in detail. If, in case, they weren’t able to reach the lymph nodes through the neck, then, they would try open-heart method.

“Lets all pray that that never happens. It would be a risky and lengthy surgical procedure.” Surgeon Nandakumar explained.

The day of the surgery. Admitted to the hospital in the morning. Surgery to be performed in the evening. 

“Only have a light breakfast.Try to have it before 8. And nothing after that.”Doctor Nandakumar.

No hunger. A disheartened world. A philosophical mind. Aching body.

A visit to Ganapathy kovil adjacent to the hospital in the moring. Once a skeptic, now a believer. How can he be not?

Admitted to the hospital at 8.  His parents waited beside him. He looked through the window, from his 5th floor hospital room. Cars, buses, Students, old women, Ladies on scooter, bikes, cows, cowdungs.

Will-I-see-the-world-again thoughts. Will this be the last time I see my father?

Whats of me, if the surgery becomes unsuccessful. In case they punctured my heart by mistake. Human error! Is this the last time I am seeing the world? The tree, people, cars, bikes? What about future? This is it? What about 2010 when I thought I would have a kid. What about marriage? A house! A Car! Happiness! This is it? Unlived life?

Operation theatre! Bloodcurdling! Inhuman! Monstrous, large, lights! Tubes dangling everywhere! Science fiction movie like computer monitors! Sterility! Blue cloths, masks, cloves, scissors, clippers, cutters!

Tubes connected to the body, heart rate monitor, blood pressure monitor. Anesthesia. Several painful shots of anesthesia. Finally a black out.  Transformed to Another world. Dreamy, confused, people cutting, wiping, inserting tubes.

Finally the results! The verdict!  He is to live or die!If death is what is meant for him, let him be left to die peacefully. Minus the pain, or a suicide perhaps.

“ There is a good news. It’s nothing serious. A benign tumour. As benign as a stone. Only a minor surgery. An endoscopy perhaps. Only a day at the hospital. Least invasive. Thank god. Our prayers have been answered. It could have been deadly. It could have been lymphoma( Cancer of the lymphatic system or white blood cells), it could have been sarcoidosis. A life long on steroids. An auto-immune disorder, chemotheraphy, radiation therapy,   A suppressed immunity. Chances of renal failure in days to come. Your prayers have been answered.”

I-am-a-survivor thoughts. A close brush with death. A bit of luck. Or a bit of bad luck! Or both!

The thoughts were intoxicating. And as much addictive.

”A brush with death! God, A second chance with life? Why fear! Death is as instantaneous and unpredictable as an infant’. We live to live, and not to die.”

A transformed world! New energy! A new outlook! As if a layer of opaqueness has been removed from the looking glass.Its wiped clean, to see life crystal clear.

A month or so of enriched life. With a-brush-with-death and second-chance-to-live thoughts.Very intoxicating thoughts, very addictive thoughts.He missed the similar thoughts, but life settled to its tone. Soon everything was forgotten. Back to life, as it was pre brushwithdeath thoughts. Or a secoundchancetolive thoughts.

And now this pain. Now it was different thoughts.

Iam-very-sickly thoughts. How often do I suffer!My body is very weak and how often do I get so unwell?And pain! My life is only to bear pain?I will have a short life. May be I will die soon, with this high rate of sickness,may be I will be only past middle age and dead!Like one Uncle, who had died recently of Kidney failure!

 No more enriching, intoxicating, close-brush-with-death thoughts.

He considered a doctor visit. “No!” then he changed his mind.Tests, bloody tests. Sucking blood, x-rays, scans, and most hated:The verdict time. A new disease. A new discovery. “He had this in his body, he has that” . A matter-of-fact lecture.

He hated, for being too sickly. A new disease every nowandthen.Pain, Suffering, all that is there to life!Suffering!

The next day he got up with severe pain in his legs. “No choice.A doctor visit”-he thought.

He explained to the doctor. Pain, everywhere pain. Legs felt as if the bones have been crushed.Doctor inspected. His neck, his hip, his knees.

And the doctor said, “ We would wait for a week. The pain would resolve by itself.”

Then a second thought, ”Would you like an x-ray taken? Actually I don’t see any reasons, but better be sure.”

“why not!” He thought. “what are insurance cards for? Just to remain dead in wallets?”

“Nothing to worry about. Your vertebra,spine bones are in good shape. No tear or herniated spine. Just a little sprain. Don’t strain yourself. Get some rest and massage and you would be fine. Come and see me after a week if pain persists.” The doctor said, looking at the x-ray sheet.

He took the prescription sheet, thanked the doctor and walked out of the clinic.

No more A-close-brush-with-death thoughts. No more a-second-chance-to-live thoughts.

“A life so painful that pain was the only solace.Like a snake poison for a snake bite. An anti venom!”

He walked back, obviously with a bit of disappointment.

The unnamed.

He turns and impetuously pulls the thin acrylic blanket over, till his neck. The AC hummed, spewing icy air, making the room increasingly cold. He opens his eyelids with difficulty. His body ached out of last night’s whiskey hangover.  He has had few drinks too many; a reprieve for the agony which the mind caused, which the body refused to oblige. It was as if the mind brawled with body, the mind dictated terms, body being bullied. The body struggled, it caused inclinations-headaches, body aches, heart aches, lose of appetite, lose of interest in life, life became insignificant. The body said to get up and take a shower. It said it had its basic necessities.

“Please don’t visit us anymore.” A feminine voice echoed in his head. His muscles tightened. He throws the acrylic blanket away from his body as if it was the main culprit of all his miseries.

“Us?” He frowns. “Bloody hell she said ‘Us’”.

“Never react only respond- Gautam Buddha said”.

He had reacted when he heard his wife say that to him. She provided no time for him to respond. She walked away with his little baby.

“How dare she walk away on him? Fuckin bitch” He wanted to slap her, shout at her, and Kill her. Drag her, pour petrol over her whole body and light her. He grinds his teeth. His eyes burned, having taken the weight of his fury.

“What will we name her darling?” Words echo again.

“ Diya, Ananya, Tamanna. Select one please.”

“Ananya? It sounds good. And its close to your name.”

“ She has ditto her papa’s smile. Look at her half lipped grin. As frugal as her papa to smile.”

“ She has her papa’s skin and colour. Hope she gets her papa’s intelligence too.”

    

“ The court has come to a conclusion that in the best interest of the baby, it gives the custodial rights to her mother.”

“The apex court also said that it does not permit the child to be taken away, forcefully, in the manner in which it was done by her father.”

“Forcefully?”, Fuckin bitch. “ I will see my baby when I want to see. Who the Fuck is she to tell me?”

"In lieu of the same, the father will have no visitation rights”. The echo grows stronger.

“A familiar case of male dominance-Men who ill treat women should be punished severely.” Female voices.

“ You called me a bitch? See how I make your life miserable.”

"Go fuck yourself.You Bitch"

“ She is not OUR baby. She is M-I-N-E! You have lost the right to call her yours.”

He looks at the tea poi which has his daughters photograph. He walks and lifts it and stares at it.

He weeps. He lifts the small, velvety, cloth bear. He smells it. It smelled of saliva.

“Oh, cant you see that?Don’t let her chew that bear. She has almost eaten it.”

He smells the bear again. He inhales deeply. He walks to the cupboard. He looks at the top shelf. A tiny pink skirt. He smells it. Tears roll his eyes.

“ Ohhh, She has wetted the knickers again. Can you please change her?”

“ Anu, Please give papa a kiss!”

“Muaaah.”

He lifts the pink skirt again. He smells it- smell of his daughter. His hands tremble. Tears roll.

He walks to the dining room. He opens the cabinet. Pours a large whiskey and gulps it at once.

“ We will send her to the best school in the country. I want my daughter to do what she wants in her life . Not like my father who never appreciated anything in me.”

“ She will live her life as she wants.”

“ Anu, do you want to be a doctor?”

“ Doctor? Hell no. She wants to be a singer.”

“ How will we survive once she goes away after marriage?”

“What’s wrong with you? She is not even a year old and you are into her marriage?”

He walks to the bedroom and pulls a denim shirt from the dresser. He looks at himself in the mirror. He hadn’t shaved in days. He has never looked so worn-out. It doesn’t matter much.

He locks the apartment and walks towards the garage. He can see his car parked in between other cars. He inserts the key and pulls the door of his car. He sits and inserts the ignition key. He adjusts the mirror. He could see the pram placed on the back seat. He feels light after that drink he had in empty stomach.

“I would have had another.” He licks his lips thistly.

The car speeds through the busy street.

Somewhere in another town an old lady lifts her grandchild. She kisses her on her cheeks; she smells of baby saliva.

Her daughter waves her good bye and speeds in her small car.

The baby looks at the old lady, utterly impervious of the world, totally unconcerned with relationships, and then it starts to cry.

Love aaj Kal

The rose was eight years old. Desiccated, shriveled, devoid of a scent; a mere shadow of itself. Like memories-faded with time. The rose had appeared when he was searching his old diary.

Flow of Memories-As if formed like steam from a pot of boiling water. Produced at once, unconsciously lifting up, and then spreading into the thin air, into the invisible...

The possessor of the rose had held the most important place in his life. That was eight years ago.

“I love you.” He had told her. He was blushing and frightened. His palm was sweating. His heart was palpitating.

Long moments of silence.

“What da?” She looked into his eyes and asked, as if she knew the outcome of this lunch together.As if she expected every man to propose her after few lunches together.

“ I love you Mini. You are the most beautiful woman I have seen in my life.”

She giggled. Her cheeks rosy now out of blushing.

“Sure? How about Aishwarya Rai?” She asked.

“ Ohhh, Common. I haven’t seen her.And she will just pale before you. I swear.”

He was visibly embarrassed now.

“I wish I could enlarge your photograph and post it in my room. Will you give me a photo of yours?”

“I will not give you.” She replied bluntly, though teasingly to reduce the bluntness.

“ Mini. Do you love me?”

Long moments of silence. He was staring at her. She was looking down at the ground.

He left the question unanswered, as if he never expected an answer from her.

The Next six months of life passed, though separated for weeks together and then to see each other on weekends. Daily telephone calls, hours of conversations on mundane of all topics.-Birthdays, childhood, loneliness, future.

He waited for her calls all day, though she called only in the evenings. Everything else was irrelevant in life, except for her smile. Life became a struggle for possession, though all possessions became immaterial. Songs, Music, words, food, phrases had its association with her. The car her family owned became the best car, her favorite food became the tastiest, her cloths became the trendiest,  colour of her skin became the prettiest, her hairstyle the most stylish. He searched the dictionary for the words she used- “how conversant she was”.

“Do I deserve her?” Once he asked himself. The serpent called “self doubt” emerged out of him, for the first time.

He understood new connotations of the word ‘love’-Frustration, resentment.  He loved her like himself, in fact more than himself, because he was not sure if he loved himself so much. He demonstrated his love as a measurable, quantified essence.  He devalued the expectations of reciprocation. Yet he was frustrated. He was too human to understand that true-love was above an expectation of reciprocation. True-love? Was there also an un-true love ?

“You didn’t reply, Mini.” He asked her during a phone conversation.

“What da?”

“I love you so much, I have told you that. I mean it Mini. I love you so much.”He replied, with a tinge of frustration.

“ How much?” She asked giggling.

“Cut that”, He was furious now.

“I don’t know Manoj.” She replied.

“ I need more time.” She replied after a brief silence.

“ How much more Mini. I have waited for so long.What makes you doubt me so much?” He asked.

“ No Manoj. I don’t doubt you.”

“Then? Whats the problem with you?”

“ I don’t deserve you.Manoj.”She replied.

“ WHAT? What makes you say that?”

“You are good. You would get someone really good.”

“ You are the best. I want you. There is noone good enough for me. Its you, Mini. I love you. You are the best,Mini” He spoke with calmness, with a saintly composure..

Long silence.

“ Can I trust you Manoj?” She asked.

“ Yes, Mini. Please. All I want in this world is you. Nothing more.Trust me!” He replied.

She opened her heart to him.

“ I can never imagine getting married to anyone else Manoj. I love him.”

“ But he used you. He used you and dumped you for someone else Mini.Still?” He asked.

She smiled. He could hear her chuckle. He wondered why? Do women smile overly when they are hurt-“ Tum Itna kyon Muskurarahe ho, Kya gam hein jisko chupa rahe ho?”  “How true?”

“ We made it twelve times a day once.” She told him once, after a few weeks, during a lighthearted conversation.

He pretended indifference. His heart was on fire.

“ He used me Manoj.All he wanted was my body. And all those words and promises had no value.”

“ I love you Mini. All men are not the same. I respect women. I hate men who look at women as an object of desire. I seriously hate such men.” He replied.

He knew he meant every word he had spoken. In fact, he had spoken only half of what he had meant; only if words had the power to expose hearts. Bloody words!

She smiled.

“  I don’t know Manoj. You will get a good girl. Much better than me. And then you would think of all this as a joke. A big joke.”She giggled.

“ Stop It, Mini. I love you. I can never love anyone the way I love you. I will only love you. Only once in my life.” He replied, distraught now for being made to repeat.

Frustrations mounted with the passage of time. His heart bled bloodlessly. It ached unsettlingly. World stopped to amuse him. Nothing else mattered but her.  Her attention was everything. He was starved of her. The woman dumped by another man; used as his object of desire. A woman who had no place in that man’s heart. And he was starved of her love. How strange is this world? Someone else’s trash is another mans aspiration.

“ Keep this rose. This is to remind you of me. Otherwise you will forget me in no time.” She said chuckling, her last words to him.

Climbing the train, he turned to look at her once again, knowing that this would be the last time he would see her. “A lifetime of not seeing her. Forever of not seeing her. Will never see her again in my life.”  Very Heavy words filled with sadness.

“What are you staring at?” A feminine voice stirred him back to present.

“ Nothing. A Rose. I was wondering how it came here?”He turned to look at his wife.  

“Must have been given by some girl. Isn’t it? The way you were staring at it.” She said teasingly.

He smiled at her. She smiled back. He could never lie to his wife. He was plain incapable of doing it. If she would have probed into his past he would have revealed everything. But she never bothered herself.

He looked at his wife; that beautiful smile of her. Brown eyes, lovely poise. “Could he live a day without her?”.

A woman who presented herself to him. A woman who gave him innumerable joy of a life time; in just a few years. A woman who gave him a beautiful daughter whom he could call his. A new dimension to life. A new rationale to life.  A life with a direction and speed limit.

“ Keep that flower back inside the diary or throw it. The pollen could cause allergy to her.” His wife said, directing towards his sleeping one year old daughter.

He crushed the rose in his palm and threw into the thrash bin. He walked to his wife and hugged her-she struggling to come out of his embrace.

“ Go away, the baby would awake.” She said teasingly.

He looked once again at the thrash bin.

“And then you would think of all this as a joke. A big joke.” He grinned as if realizing the essence of a joke.

                                                                                           

                                                                                                              

The neighborhood woman

He sat on a fiber chair in the Veranda reading newspaper. His wife was somewhere in the house, perhaps in the kitchen, and his one year old daughter slept on the floor next to him. In ten minutes he was through with the newspaper.

He was four days into his ten day vacation. His eyes panned the houses in front of him. The freshly painted house on the right  caught his attention. He remembered the conversation his mother had with him the previous night.

“Ohh, You should have been here last year.”

His mother was explaining the events which took place six months ago.

“ God always snatches people he loves the most.” She had said.

“Babu wouldn’t be more than thirty. Only two months into the marriage and this tragedy. You should see his wife Reena: how young and beautiful.”

Mother's description of beauty didn’t register in him, he was used to her exaggerations. The magnitude of the tragedy was enormous no doubt. “Just two months into marriage”. He repeated his mother’s dialogue in his mind.

“Lucky they didn’t have babies.Two months is enough to have a baby.” He thought.

He remembered, his cousin sister had delivered nine months into her marriage. “Perhaps she conceived the very first night of the marriage.They would have hooked-up the very night.” He had thought when he heard the news, though with guilt of having thought like that about his sister.

He could hear some movements in the house. May be it was Reena. Now he wanted to have a glimpse of her, just to confirm his mother: Or perhaps sadistic wish of examining the victim of such a grave tragedy.

He thought if she would remarry. “ How young and beautiful” His mother recurred in his mind. “A young and beautiful woman would have no problems  finding a mate. She would have her bodily desires too.” He couldn’t control his monologues.

“ Would she have experienced the bodily pleasures of mating?”.

“Two months into marriage!”

“Their's was love marriage. Inter-religious marriage. She is a Christian. God knows why most such marriages end in tragedy?” His mother had said, with visible signs of distress.

He wondered if mother secretly supported god’s decision of breaking such marriages.

“ They were on his motor cycle. Reena was behind. A fast bus was approaching on the opposite and there, they are hit.” He remembered his mother.

“ He died on the spot.” Mother had explained, as if it was a big feat to die like that.

“ She too was almost dead. We thought she too had. They took her to TMH and from there to the medical college. She came out of the coma after three weeks.four weeks in the ICU.”

“Poor girl. She couldn’t even witness the funeral of her husband.” His mother said. His mind made classifications of death. Not-conscious-to-witness-the-funeral-of-husband could be the worst degree of loss.

"We couldn't control her after she got her consciousness. " Mother had narrated. "She wanted to die. She was saying she has no reasons to live. Her reason for living way no more."

"We stopped her somehow. It was very difficult. I told her that she can consider her her mother and live with her. Like my daughter. " "Poor Girl".

He wanted to see her. His curiosity was mounting. “ Beautiful woman and a widow of two months of marriage. Not seen funeral too. How tragic.” He wasn’t sadistic, but he felt like one.He wondered if it was natural to have such thoughts. Was he turning into a psycho?

He walked towards the house.

A young woman greeted him on the doorsteps. He smiled at her. She returned his smile with a half lipped grin.

“Reena?” He asked.

She smiled in reply.

“ Please be seated.” She said courteously.

He sat on a cane chair.

“ I am Lakshmi Chechi’s Son.Manoj” He introduced himself.

“I know. Heard about you from Chechi.”

“ I will make tea.”

Before he could stop her she had left. He was stunned by her beauty, a real beautiful woman by any standards-Fair, Tall, Slim and graceful.

“Sexy”, if he could call her. He wanted to call her. A woman he would be proud to have as wife. A woman his friends would be envy of.  A woman who could provide all sorts of pleasures to a man. A man could never ask for more than a woman like her. He imagined her sleeping on a bed. He could spend hours staring at her. He wanted to look at her, for long moments, secretly, without her finding out.

She walked in with a tea cup.

“How is Divya chechi?” She asked.

“ She is doing good.”

“ How long is the vacation.”

“ We would travel next week”.

“ So chechi is traveling with you?”

He nodded. He was shy. He couldn’t look into her eyes. He felt awkward and uncomfortable.

He wanted to getup and walk back.

He passed the teacup to her.

“Potte.” He said( in Malayalam for “ Let me go”)

She smiled.

“ We will come later.Do come there. Divya said Hi.”

She smiled again.

Walking back he imagined her with her husband on a motorcycle. Her hands had clutched him from behind. She was whispering something into his ears and he was chuckling, very much in Love-Like Some condom advertisement on the TV.

He felt a desire for her. He wanted to be her man; he wanted her touches, her soft caresses on the motorcycle, she biting his ears out of love and bodily lure. Like the condom advertisement.

He felt envious of Babu. “Lucky man.A beautiful wife. A desirable woman. Enough to pass envy to any man.”
He was in love with her, whatever the word meant.

That night, sleep couldn’t get to him easily. He looked at his daughter sleeping next to him and his wife, sleeping further next to his daughter. His daughter formed a void space between them. He admired the innocence and the beauty of his daughter. A smile formed naturally.

He touched his wife’s hip. She turned as if to avoid his sudden incursion.

“You Slept?” He asked.

“ Hummm”. She replied.

“No you haven’t slept.”

“What do you want? If baby awakes you will have to make her sleep.” She fired at him annoyingly.

“ Do you Love me?” He asked.

“ Yea” She replied apathetically.

“ How much?”

“Uff, What happened to you? Gone mad?” She turned towards him to express her irritation.

“ What if I die, will you remarry?” he asked.

She got up and looked at him. She pinched hard on his thigh.

“ If I die will you cry for me? Refuse to eat and drink? Like the neighborhood lady Reena?” He asked her.

She looked at him hard. She got up and came close to him. She pushed him, making him roll to make space for her to lie next to him. She lazed next to him.

She hugged him hard. She rubbed her head on his hairy chest, gesture to show her affection.

She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. Her red eyes had drops of tears waiting to roll down.

“Never say things like this at night after supper. Where will your daughter and I go if you are not in this world? I too would die.”

                                                              

She kissed him on his cheek.

He felt proud of himself. He felt manly; he had a woman who would prefer death than being his widow. He turned to hug her. She hugged him tight and he could feel her warm breath on his body, and drops of tears wetting his chest and flowing through the hairs, faintly tickling him.

delirium

Buddhadev rubbed his chest. He stared at the  alarm clock. He had woken ten minutes before the time. It was 6. 20. He vaguely remembered the events of the previous night. It was a sleeplike delirium. He had tried to getup from the bed. It was too difficult.  For a brief moment he doubted if he was getting an attack. But the pain had vanished. His left hand had become somewhat numb. He slept on the right side. The pain had completely cured.  Stomach acidity. A doctor’s visit was coming, again a deficit in the month’s budget.

He got up from the bed to impede the further assault of morbid thoughts. He went to the bathroom, noiselessly, to avoid his wife from awakening.

After brushing and washing face, he put his only track pants and headed to the main door. Habitually he searched for the morning newspaper, aware that he had stopped it last month. The sacrifice for the internet connection without which his daughter had refused to eat.

He latched the door soundlessly and started his daily morning walk. For few minutes it was hard, but later the walk was effortless. Few men waved as they passed him. Soon the world around shrunk; nothing else but subconscious, cataleptic thoughts.

  “ 1^st of June is a Sunday. Pay would be delayed. Bindu’s Tuition fees Rs.250. would be getting overtime next month. Howmuch? Rs.600? Total Salary be 6000. Rent has to be paid. 2000. Left 4000. Milk Rs. 150. Can squeeze in Newspaper? Will see next month. Will repay Sudheers Loan. If he asks otherwise pay him later. Grocery bill. Will stop taking credit.How much? calculate today. May be Rs.1000. LIC premium. Bloody premium. Big mistake. Wouldn’t taken it. He cheated. In 20 years 4 lakhs. 5 years 20thousand. What is 20thousand. A new fridge and washing machine. Bindu’s marriage. 4 lakhs? Gold at 12thousand. May be provident fund. Chief engineer coming next month. One more shirt. Meter Rs.50. Diwali coming soon. Need Rs.5000. Promised a fridge.Retirement. just 10 more years. Bindus marriage. After retirement. Provident fund loan. How much balance. 1 lakh may be. How much land. May be some gold. Wife’s gold. If she pass exam? Stupid girl.not bothered. Sankar’s cycle. tyres. Gas. Rs.350. Minus left 3650. savings? Will try 2000. balance in bank 40thousand."

He was almost home. An hour had passed. Only possible if one doesn’t look at the watch often. He was not tired. He was fresher than he had started. There was a crowd before his house. "what happened?”. He hurried. Few men were standing in the veranda. He rushed inside with curiosity. His wife and daughter were howling, squatted on the floor beside a covered body.  His daughter was calling for her father. His wife was beating her chest, wailing angrily, asking, why did he do this to them? Why didn’t he take them with him?

P.S: This is to clarify that there is no SUICIDE in the story, as mentioned in the comments. Perhaps the story wasnt read properly.

Not yet named story- Please suggest a name...

She walked towards her home, with a hungry stomach and a tired mind. Holding her fake leather hand bag, she walked in her own leisurely pace, in a red sari and matching black blouse, her mind several miles away. Walking past a halwai shop she looked pensively at the display of assorted sweets, ignoring it, she increased her pace.

Children played cricket, quite a few layers of brick formed their wicket, numerous beggars lined up, lifting their aluminium begging vessel, some of them without a full hand or legs mutilated and some blind. She dropped few coins on to few beggars; received god blesses in return, and then walked past them, crossing a junction and towards a slim lane. She felt a sea of humanity, as if parading with her, all in coherent motion but different worlds.

Sarita entered her neighbourhood and smiled deliberately at many old aunties and uncles she came across, some even staring at her from behind once she crossed them, looking at her well curved silhouette and lusting at her dancing butt. Many around her neighbourhood found her attractive, some even said, “She is a real good maal . Look at her when she moved. From the front and also from the back.Ha!..”

The oldest were the one she reviled the most. Some of them would stare at her plainly, without shame and that stare extended from her face to her breasts, she would impulsively move her sari pallu covering them. Most men made her feel self-conscious.

She walked through the slim lane and reached her house. The most copious in that slum and between several scruffy houses, her house stood out. Theirs was the only house painted recently, that was one year back during her sister’s marriage. Most houses saw paint during someone’s marriage or more often, once in its life time.

Several cows wandered in the street, often coming in the way of hurried cyclists and unconcerned, dumping their stomachs content onto the busy road. Gau maa: they were often called and most had a vermillion marking on their forehead. Sacred they were, but creating mayhem for the passengers. Cow dung also gave a distinctive local odour to the surroundings. Some villagers who migrated to cities often missed the smell of their villages and would say, “ my village has that aroma and fresh air which is never there in these cities and how I miss it”, not realizing what they smelled..

Opening the makeshift gate she entered her slum and found the bicycle of her father. She placed her sandals outside, washed her feet with the water placed outside for that purpose in a metallic bucket and entered her house, placing her right foot first.

Her old man sat on a plastic chair, sipping tea from a steel tumbler. Without giving a glance, she walked straight and entered the only other room in the house. Placing her handbag on the table, she removed her sari and wore her long nightie.

“ aah, you have come?” mother greeted her.

Without concern, she lifted the glass jug and poured several mouthful of water into her wide open mouth.

Sudhakar had his tea. The tea was not the same he used to have, he preferred a stronger brew. His wife had cut-short on the tea powder. “Tea have become very expensive, what to do?” he had had a conversation with his wife few weeks ago. These type of conversation happened quite frequently these days, he realized.

“Its increasingly difficult for a common man to survive.” He had said despondently.

The barber, Muraad, had told him about a potential groom for Sarita and ever since, he was seen with a perpetual thinking state of mind. The last he was in such state was before Kusum’s marriage. He didn’t want to think much about those times, he felt his muscles stiffen.

Clinching a steel tumbler of tea, Sarita came to the room where Sudhakar was sitting. She switched on the TV: a colour TV which the Govt had given to the poor people like them, just before the election and waited for the screen to come alive. Her favourite serial was about to start and nothing mattered to her during those hours. Her only worry was the power cut which frequented and more so during the serial time. Soon, the rest of the ladies joined her.

Sudhakar puts on his third shirt out of four, a cream colored he had stitched for his daughter Kusum’s marriage, sniffing first and frowning at the disgusting odour. He applies talcum powder over his armpits and sniffs again and then walks towards the crowded street.

He goes straight to Muraad’s shop, sits on the wooden bench and opens the leaf of the news paper. Muraad was occupied with a thick haired boy and in between, he glanced at Sudhakar.

“Muraad bhai, did they call you?” .

“Yes SudhakarBhai. They asked me if they can come this Sunday”

Sudhakar looked into the eyes of Muraad, the date didn’t matter to him much.

“No Problem Bhai, Did they inform their demand?”

“Boy looks forward thinking, I don’t know much details, but I feel it’s a good match” he looked at Sudhakar through the top of his glasses and continued with the boy, now not so thick haired.

Sudhakar looked engrossed in the news paper, but he was thinking ahead about coming Sunday. He would buy some biscuits and Pakode from Sundar’s Shop and Rasna. That would be enough, even for Kusum’s girl seeing he had offered the same. And it had worked. He had to arrange some money; he got up and walked towards his home.

He reached home and saw his wife waiting outside on the door steps. Sarita sat alongside and they gossiped. He knew they would be talking about their entire neighbourhood and the events of the entire day;  who went where;  who had  guests. “These women have nothing else to do”, he mumbled to himself and entered the house. They stood up to greet him. Sudhakar went straight to his room, hanged his shirt and went to the bathroom for a shower.

 After bath he walked to his room, sprinkled some talcum powder on to his armpits, looked into the mirror and combed his greying hair. He looked at his stubble and bulged his cheeks with his tongue. He noticed that he had not shaved for days.

He came back to the main room and saw that his wife had placed a plate on the table. He adjusted the chair and sat for the diner to be served. Aloo gobi, dal, and roties were served and Sudhakar had his diner, even though not hungry.

The family slept very late, like one big herd of cattle in a shed. Sudhakar slept on the cot, his daughters and wife slept adjacent on the floor. Few minutes of turning and all looked still, but Sudhakar looked up on the ceiling in the dark. He thought about his elder daughter Kusum’s wedding. Now again he has to go through the ordeal. Even after Sarita’s marriage he would have to start again for his youngest daughter Ekta.

“ Bhagvaan, these daughters’, he mumbled again to himself and his mind meandered through various thoughts. Being dark and wrinkled, no one noticed the dark circles around his eyes. When did he last sleep? He couldn’t remember.

Sudhakar was the first to take bath in the morning, followed by his wife Indira, then Sunitha and the last-Sarita.  After Sarita’s bath, everyone joined at the prayer room and Sudhakar performed pooja before the framed photos of several gods and goddesses. Sarita closed her eyes and felt the image of her favourite god, the elephant headed Ganesh form before her closed eyes and smiling at her. That was an indication that things would work out. She thanked the god several times and while doing so, closed her eyelids forcefully, forming several horizontal wrangles across her closed eye lids. The fragrance of Agarbathi spread the house.

Muraad came with the boy at eleven in the morning. Sunitha and Indira spread the biscuits and pakodes in steel plates and while placing them on the table, took turns to gape at the boy. Sunitha managed a giggle and the boy smiled in return and then took out his kerchief to wipe his lips.

The boy hesitated and slowly sipped Rasna, the Rasna tasted overly sweet and he had an urge to guzzle down at once. He looked around at people and followed the pace with the snacks served. Sudhakar and his wife stared at the boy, his wife even walked few times around to have a complete picture of the boy. Every time the boy looked at Sudhakar’s wife he caught her gaping at him, but without any uneasiness she continued her gaze.

“Pakodes are very nice”, the boy commented this to Sudhakar and Sudhakar gave him his tired smile in return. Sudhakar’s wife, Indira, called him with a gesture, which only Sudhakar understood and he went inside for the titter-biter.

“Boy is good, ask him the matter fast. Doesn’t He wants to see the girl?”, Indira asked her husband insistently. These were few occasions when she demanded things from Sudhakar and he nodded his approval.

He came back to his seat and Asked Moorad, “boy wants to meet the girl?’ and looked at the boy. The boy gave Sudhakar a retiring smile and looked at Moorad for confirmation. The boy was guided towards the other room and he entered the room where Sarita stood waiting. The door was slightly slammed. 



to be continued........ very long, so thought of writing in parts....

Sigh of relief

Arun kissed on her forehead. He could see her eyes roll upward. She was sweating. Tiny drops of sweat lined above her thin lips. She wiped it with her kerchief. He kissed her lips. She pushed him away.

‘w-h-a-t?’ he asked, frowning.

‘ No, you gone mad?’ She said, smiling.

‘W-H-Y?’ he asked, visibly upset.

‘No, Not today Arun. I am not prepared.’ She said.

‘Please, w-h-y?’ .
‘ Its dangerous today.Not today Arun.’ She said, smiling, trying to sound persuasive.

He caught her hair and pulled towards him. He kissed again on her lips. His hands circled her. There was no stopping him, passion had masked him. He was already aroused. She tried to push him away, but he was much stronger. She had to give in. He was kissing her neck. She felt his hands on her back, massaging her gently. She too felt passion sweep inside her. Her grasp on his shirt got weaker by the minute.

He was unbuttoning her shirt. She resisted, but there was no way he could be stopped. He slid his hands and caressed her breasts. He pulled her shirt. He kissed on her navel.

The rotating fan looked down at the two naked bodies; it could see passion disgorge into the air like steam from a cooker. It continued to look down at the two naked bodies with yearn. Skin rubbed against skin, curves took the place of starkness, and hands felt and stroked the curves.

He stopped abruptly. He lifted himself and walked towards the chair on which hung his blue Jeans. He pulled his wallet and searched. A blue sachet of Condom emerged. The neck of the sachet was slit, which revealed a pink, rubbery, moist and lubricated condom. It took a silhouette.

The fan continued to look down at the bed below with longing. The couple looked like one conjugated corpse, bunged in between by sudden jerks. Arun stopped in between, as if exhausted. After a while he continued. A sudden roar followed, muscles tightened, hand-clasps stiffened.

The bodies separated, the oneness stopped, separateness creaked. Two naked mortals lied close to each other; devoid of passion; ceased with lust.

Two weeks passed since the Fan last saw Shalini in his room. It disapproved the ways of the humanity; the adulterated relationships, the lust for flesh, the shortness of human remembrance. It remembered how Arun had vowed his fiancé few days back, and how Shalini had spoken about her boyfriend who lived in Bangalore. The fan had seen many couples, some in love, some were just couples, and some were married. Yet it was confused about Arun and Shalini. “What were they? None of it that I knew, Just that they worked in an office together. They were just colleagues. And yet they behaved for a short time, as if they were married, as if they were in love” It said to itself.

It remembered the short conversation in between the lovemaking.

“I love you Shalini.” Arun had whispered.

“What? What did you just say?” She had asked.

“ No, I just meant that in case you get pregnant, don’t worry, I will marry you. Only if your boyfriend rejects, that is.” He had said.

“Stop-It . In your dream will I marry you. Have you looked into a mirror?” She had screamed.

It was a Sunday morning and he was awakened by the ringing of his mobile phone. He sluggishly picked his phone. It was as if a bombshell had exploded that Arun mounted from his bed and shouted.

“w-h-a-t?”

‘”I think I am Pregnant. I missed my....”, She repeated, sounding more distressed and dramatic.

“No, I mean, It can’t be possible. I used condoms.” He was rubbing his eyes as an obscurity had enveloped his vision.

“ What do you mean? “ She sounded annoyed.
“ No. amm, I mean, check once again. It may be a delayed thing.” He said.

All hell froze when she told him that she had confirmed using a pregnancy detector. The two lines were very obvious and clear.

There was no mistake. She was pregnant. He couldn’t think of an answer. He remembered how he had pulled the condom out in between. It was his mistake.

“I am an Idiot, I am a bloody fool”, He cursed.

“What do we do now? Abortion?” he asked in his most composed voice. She was furious to hear about abortion. She sounded greatly upset. She cut the line.

He couldn’t think; his head was spinning. His eyes turned red and he could feel his heart palpitate.

He thought of several options. “What do I do now?” he asked himself, loud enough for the fan to hear.

He imagined breaking the news to his parents. He wasn’t sure how his father would react. He was engaged, he was to marry in few months time. It would be utter chaos.

He had no other way. He had no escape. He knew Shalini would never agree for an abortion.

He would have to marry her. He would have to break his engagement. Otherwise the news would spread like wild fire. He would never be able to walk into his office. He could never face his relatives. He could never face his colleagues. He felt blood rush into his head. He could feel his head spin. He felt tired and restless.

He looked upwards, towards the fan and fell onto the bed. He will have to speak to Shalini and solve the matter.

He tried calling her. Her phone was switched off. He was restless.

He walked aimlessly.

He sat on the bed. He dialed her number again. It was switched off. He messaged her. The message went undelivered. He resent the message and again it failed.

He walked restlessly in his room, the soft breeze from the fan gently brushing his hair.

He sat on the chair and switched-on the laptop. He tied his hands around his head and looked contemplatively at the fan.

He opened his Gmail account and started composing a mail.

My Dear Shalini, 

I am very sorry for what has happened, more so for the reason that I am responsible for it. I know I have done a mistake and I take the responsibility. I would certainly be with you every minute, every moment, and would like to accept you. I would like to marry you, if you agree for it. Please call me as soon as you read this mail. We shouldn't delay it any further and risk the consequences of it, on our relationship, on our future child.

Thanks dear, I love you. 

Yours, 

Arun 

He was about to click on the send option when he noticed the date. It was first of the month. There was something strange about the date. It was fourth month of the year. It took another few seconds for him to realize that he may have been terribly fooled.

He noticed his phone ring and jumped to collect it. He could hear her faint groans of laughter and he knew he could take a deep sigh of relief.