A Moment’s fortune

I was standing near the platform when I happened to look up. Something made me to look around, though I knew not what. The day was sultry and I had no energy to keep myself perpendicular. Occasional comments on the government’s careless policies added to my impatience. I gazed at the watch. My brother had given it to me on my birthday.‘Had’….. the word cut an incision. I was asleep till 8 that day, quite unusual for an early riser like me. A knock on the door had woke me up. As I rubbed my eyes, I saw my brother holding a gift. I stood wondering when he hugged me with a ‘Happy Birthday’. I had already forgotten that the day was wearing a pleasant smile on its face only for me. He opened the wrapper and presently hold a box. A watch. A crystal watch with a pinkish tinge. Quartz!! I was longing to get, for long. God had answered my prayers. But little had I realized that He had made a bargain that day, for my brother passed away by some unknown disease two years after that.I felt hot. Terribly hot. ‘Why can’t something happen? Just now, here’. I desperately wanted to release myself of this painful thought. ‘The bus driver must have done something …..’ a voice said. ‘What if there is a strike? These politicians!!’ Someone murmered.I was almost going to turn around when I breathed in a familiar smell.‘Meghna’……I turned around. A child had gone far enough on the road and the mother called her out, oblivious of the fact that she had triggered off a chill down my spine.Meghna and I were in college when I fell in love with her. We had attended a party of a common friend. I was talking to someone, when she entered. Clad in a turquoise blue saree she climbed up the stairs. So divine did she look, that I could hardly take my eyes off from her.Destiny must have designed to try a tryst for me that day. I was on my way to college, when a young gentleman came up to me and said that he was engaged to Meghna. Obviously he must have been following me for sometime. Meghna had stopped talking to me after I failed to meet her near the Marina Beach. I took it lightheartedly but the appearance of this man aroused a sense of insecurity, uncertainty, fear, apprehension or….. How could she……………‘Excuse me, can you…………… my thoughts were interrupted by a voice, distant yet familiar. I turned round. Almost as an answer to my thoughts and prayer there she was.Meghna. She looked worn-out, fatigued, emaciated. I looked for the other lady. Se was gone.I controlled my surprise and said ‘Yes’. ‘You may be going to the same place as I am’ she said. Before I could ask anything, she asked ‘Are you from Lucknow?’ I said , ‘Yes’. And I did not make an attempt to further her with her questions. I just wanted to know whether she was the same woman I had loved …. And still love, or was it someone else.She had dark circles round her eyes, an impression left by either disease or ill-treatment.Suddenly I grew conscious. She was looking at me with the same intent. I smiled. She returned it. Then she said she knew someone from Lucknow and I resembled him.Now there I go. She was studying my features as well. I attempted to ask her about the person when I felt, I should leave it at that. ‘How different she looked! She was glamorous as defines a typical Indian beauty. Her characteristic smile and knit between her eyebrows used to be my main source of entertainment. I never interrupted her for she used to be so immersed in her talk that she completely lost herself in her world. I don’t know how a man like me could ever happen to gain her attention.Call it my pride for I was never looked up by my friends. I was always shy and timid and repelled at the very sight of girls.‘Rakesh’, I heard my name and turned around immediately. There she stood now with that familiar smile. I don’t know how and when I had distanced myself from her. Was it the feeling that she was somebody’s wife that created the distance, I don’t know. ‘Is it Meghna?’ And she blinked.The bus arrived. God had a seat reserved for both of us and I could sense the touch ,the smell the feelings rush back all at once with the same intensity ………………and the same fright. ‘Why ? Why? Why the devil am I afraid?’ Was it a feeling of losing her or was it the sense of deliberately leaving her to someone else? But I had every reason. I was not rich nor had I a job to take care of both of us. Love dwells on the spirit of sacrifice and understanding. I had two sisters to feed and I by all means tried to be practical……..‘How are you?’ I felt stupid. There was this lady enquiring about me and I was thinking of………….’Well, I am fine’ I managed. So how long have you been here? Are you working or something? I asked both the questions in one breath.She looked outside. The wind and her touch energized me and no longer did I feel sultry.‘I have been here for two months’, she presently said without looking at me, ‘in search of a job……..‘Well, I don’t mind taking up a job’,she had said. ‘But then who would take care of the baby?’ I had asked . ‘Silly…..so silly, we had already embarked upon the point on having a baby even without knowing whether we’ll be married or not. It was 8 that day and we had just come out of the cinema hall. ‘Chalte Chalte’ was a very good movie and has always been a must see for all those young lovers waiting to tie the marital knot at the very first opportunity given to them.‘You have changed, Rakesh’. Her voice alarmed me. I handed over the money to the conductor and turned to her. A strand of hair had fallen on her face and I was tempted to remove it. ‘What kind of job?’ I found my voice.‘Anything that suits me, you know my tastes, my qualifications isn’t it? She was excited and I heard it ring. Meghna had done her M.A. in English from the Indira Gandhi National Open University and moved on to do her Ph.D. from the prestigious Central Institute of English as a Foreign Language. The galaxy of stars could not give that joy that Meghna gave me that day. An hour’s plight was taken away in a whisker and her presence made it all. Love in its profundity gave me the courage to recover the former confidence that I found in myself in her presence. Was she a soulmate or something or was it my weakness that strove to find completeness in her being?. Whatever it is I felt that it should rain and we get stuck up somewhere.‘I have a friend who’s looking for an analysist for his farm’ I said. I felt the desperate urge to pull her to me and yet that required courage. ‘He was looking for someone who could proofread the documents of the farm so that he could find a better market to start a business in cosmetics. Are you interested?’ She remained quiet for a moment. I think she felt me, my urge, my desperation. Then she took my hand in hers. They were cold. I felt the pain come back. We had in the meantime taken the pavement. She seemed to be in no hurry and I too fully participated in her longing. A crowd had gathered at the corner of the park opposite us obviously for the cause of some political party. Suddenly I felt that I should thank the government for being instrumental in taking care of my ardent needs. The bus driver did have a very important role to play in giving me that source of rejuvenation which otherwise was lost at some bottomless pit of what we call unconsciousness.The sky showed no clouds and to my surprise I did not regret in the least. What mattered to me was her.‘Are you listening?’ she broke the train of feelings, feelings and thoughts, thoughts and feelings. I stammered ‘But why don’t you just give a try?’ I fought my instincts to remain calm at this moment. ‘I have been through many a rough phase and I don’t have anything to regret now’ she said. It’s only for Kruti that……….’she stopped to fight her tears. Life has in its fullness given me a glimpse of how it was designed for me. Cutting across all limitations of sophistication and despondency I stand here at this point and this place only to know, is there any release for this fractured soul?’The last few words stung me to the core and I for the first time felt weak….weak at the prospect of not having the knowledge to measure her with her own magnanimity. The rustic and the rusted mentality of possessing her that had gathered roots fell down in shreds mocking at the vulnerability of my disposition. I might have looked like a destitute in front of her, a child crouching and crying for shelter.The road came to a turn and Meghna stopped. ‘Why don’t you just come over to my place?’I was suddenly gripped with a feeling of jealousy and tried to laugh at my own weakness. Nevertheless, I accepted the offer. The house was an old one begging to be recognized, a different version of me I thought. Inside it was dark and I could only locate a few pieces of furniture waiting to be thrown away.My mobile buzzed. I was relieved. I looked carefully. It was a wrong number. I decided to switch it off but left it at that. Meghna came up with a candle. A rusted chair was forwarded and I felt, I must help her, somehow, maybe financially.‘Where’s your husband?’ I asked. ‘He no longer stays with us. Kruti was small when he left us. I know not why but a shiver cut across my being. Was it fear or anger? I tried to figure out.‘So what are you doing ? Are you settled?’ she asked . I looked at her and nodded. I didn’t have the energy to talk. A strong feeling of killing that bastard had gained hold over me. As if she had read my thoughts she whispered, ‘there’s nothing that can be done now. Everything is over.’I looked at her quizzically. Presently an apparition near the door drew my attention. A small girl, with bright eyes, disheveled hair and a dirty dress had long been listening to our conversation. I beckoned her to come to me almost forgetting what we were talking about. She came but a few steps near me. ‘Are you my father?’ I looked up. The question came like a slap on my face.Meghna, I looked up. Meghna! I raised my voice.Where are you? I rushed to the adjacent room.. Meghna!, the urgency of my voice was felt through my veins. The darkness, the cobwebs and a pungent smell was all that I could perceive. There was something missing. An answer…….. a voice…..A hand took mine and I almost jumped out of my skin. The girl was looking at me with all her being. She was searching my soul and her tears spoke it all.‘My mother left me this morning’, and she burst into tears.

I was impatiently waiting for a comment on the topic I had written, when my dear sister comes up with another topic without even reading it. The world, I think, needs a Global Reminder System that can, in the very first click, bring my blog to my dearie sister's monitor. She had asked me to write on the lack of team spirit of The Indian Cricket Team.The Indian Cricket Team is surely not going to appreciate the fact that they are constantly being pointed out by their own Indian comrades for their display of lack of the fighting spirit. The whole world of office-holders, business magnets,teachers, students, parents, filmstars, writers...etc..etc is getting crushed under the critics Grinder.But there is a difference. There are two categories of people who come under the Grinder. People who love to be criticised and those who don't. The rest of the world is ready to press the button at the very first opportunity they get. My sister, I don't know comes under which category. For she chooses not to criticise at all. She is one of the most important critics whom I can happily depend on but something in her must have prompted her to take a different step. I have come here to give a bit of myself. And I surely am not the God of all Perfection. In this episode i choose to give that part of me which speaks volumes of the original particles of the HomoSapiens that I've been carrying through the ages..........Desire.......expectation........agitation........... particles of expectations. Is my sister aware of my fervent appeals? Well,He is there listening anyway.

reflections

Many a times I've heard that life turns sour because of the attitude that we take towards it. I feel that it is in our upbringing, in our environment, in our dealings with others and in our fervent effort to have God look upon us that our attitudes get shaped. I really appreciate your comment because I feel that it is God's own way of communicating to me. Do you share a similar line of thought?

Damaging visions

No this has not come from me. This has come from a 17 year old genius who is diligent, smart, brilliant, in short, a whiz kid. The other day when I was reading his post in a popular social networking site, I came across the idea behind the words he has mentioned. After the WWIII, he is gonna play PS3. Can u imagine that? Surely it's an outburst of a seething volcano within, courtesy-- parental treatment, tutorial treatment, management treatment or so as the world goes with so much of curry bashing.
The child failed to look at the positive side of globalisation. The iniative taken by people to invent car running on groundnut oil, a village woman planting trees to experience motherhood in a different way, a project like Litera Octave coming up to redeem poor students from their pathetic state of ignorance.
If students of such callibre go in for such ignominous thoughts then the pollution level would reach its zenith and influenza A will pale into oblivion.
There is another Barcelona Fan who has set his dreams in the land of Canada. Canada ranks fourth with 6,937 students a year making it for the higher studies. With Australia ranking as the capital of Swine Flu these days, so as with racist atrocitities, days are not far when Indian students will meet with a similar treatment in America. With Barack Obama as the President of course, things might turn out differently.
News say that frequent volcanic erruptions might enhance global warming and threaten human extinction. Needless to say about the corruption and the Osama trail and tactics.
Is this the fear of death that has enabled the 17 year old to wait for and watch the Third World War? The increasing number of Mafia War Fans also alarm us. For is this what was meant to be? And if we want something to happen in a consistent manner, to yeh saari Qaynaat use pura karne mein jag jaati hai.The whole Universe prepares itself to help us achieve our dreams......
For me, however as the dialogue from a popular movie goes-- kahaani abhi baaki hai.

A jug full of understanding

Just another day, I thought.No different from the others that have gone.Finished off some pending work in a jiffy and concentrated on my stomach's call. Samosa and omlette.... not bad. The cuckooey inuendoes with the rising sun, the ecstatic refrains of a wicket caught,television news channels flashing issus within and without the country,... vagera vagera.
I closed my eyes. Gave myself time. Let go off the day, do something different.......ohhh... That's what comes to you when you are getting bored. A phase, a period of waiting... That's where I am in.
Saw off my sister to school, sat browsing the net searching for some entertainment, Facebook Gmail, Yahoo.... chuckling all the time at my own demeanour. The ewspaper came at last. No jhanjhat of power cuts, no power consumption, no hike in the monthly bill ....lol....I am comparing with the Internet.My drooping spirit came alive. UPA all set to empower women, Barrack Obama with hiis peace morcha,racial hatred still at a boiling point..... marring Australian culture, anthrax dovetailing H1N1, pesticides found in mobthers breast milk.....ad then my attention shifts to Jug Surya. Written about a flower --amaltas--- the article makes my day.It's a flower totally ignorant of its beauty. No price tag does it covet and lives its gift. We, at least some of us who know to appreciate too are like the flower. The writer berates mankind when he bcomes judgemental with certain acts of inhumanity. But I take it differently. The flower, through the article, whispers something in my ear. It comes to me pronounced and candid. In being whatever I am, in living whatever way I choose, I am the best and it is this knowing that matters.
Time , we rose up to this knowledge that God has given us merit to acknowledge ourselves human and we are capable of saving this world from all that which pose as a threat. Time we rose up from our earthly standards and escalate ourselves to Godhood. The Amaltas and all that is Nature says it all.

Television goes bALLE.... bALLE....

Television has, of late, turned into a platform for marriage negotiations.Look at the hosts of 'Vivaah'. They steal the show with their body gestures and language
The other day I was watching 'Rannaghor', where I gather new rrecipes from to try my hand during weekends and holidys.There was this guuy, ready with Dahi Khatta Paneer Tikiya.The host was in no mood to lose the opportunity of projecting him as a prospective bridegroom. In the midst of the making of the dough made with dahi maida and suji with a pinch of salt (swadanusar) he articulated his genuine love for cooking, his talent in writing poems, his propensity to further the NGOs(where he works) working process.He also came out candid with his dsire to interact with the bride-would-be, personally. Emails or print media according to him are a hoax.He expected his wife to be understanding, fun loving and someone interested in taking up social service activities.
His thoughts and exprssions were at par with his meticulous hand movements. A poem he read out was of his own written for the aged. The host did not miss the opportunity to extricate his interest in romance or in writing romantic poems. Clearly it was a move to help out an average householder.
Internet is ruling the roost. But television will continue to carry on its sway with the upbeat of the issus which occasionally drag a 55 year old, out of the house.

LOVE

I cloud myself with the shadow of dreams---
My voice no longer heard.
The night sky resolves to break my trance
I long to free my bird.
My bird is caged within my self---
That hears none but truth,
I forgive my past and live th NOW
And grow myself anew.
The bird within, flaps its wings
With vigour, more than once
I cuddle my Self in my bosom's crest
For fear that I might chance---
So long a breath I draw to me
My future's long drawn drone
I bedeck myself with solitude's crown
My love in me forlorn.
To seek Thy Blessings from far above
I rise myself anew,
Gifted am I, my birt sweet chance
My love is breath and dew.
I nestle my being in Thy cradled arms
For this moment lest I pride
I pine for songs in my trying times
In me Thy lyrics hide.
Oh! 'Sweet One' my torment steam
Like this and times to come
My mellowed ecstasy in Thy sweet Form
Fill my soul's sojourn.
I love Thee now as I loved Thee then
My bird lone and firm
I gladden myself with the dew I have
In washing Thy Feet's realm.

On Suchitra's poem

I was going through a poem of Suchitra Krishnamoorthy, - a bold one indeed. The words have been a natural outpour consecrated by a viagra of experinces that she was destined to live. But do the same feeling occur to us laymen? All the time? How often can we segragate ourselves from thinking that this is a world where no human being is perfect and accept the other just as he or she is in a moment of heat or frustration?
I’ve learnt that their lies were merely a reflectionOf what lay within, my innner confusion
In reminiscence can these words hold to us a lot of meaning. But a demonstration of these words through thought, word and deed is practically impossible without assimilating them in our being. Pain is the best teacher. It holds mirror to life's catastrophes to show us what we really are. The question is -- How much of it do we suffer ourslves to believe? How much of willingness do we show to accept these facts? We forget when we win, we refuse to accept when we lose, we sink when brain and brawn get entangled in the mire of our friends and relatives overrated exaggerations to our incompetencies.All because, we think, that we are the doers. When we get to read things which we do secretly believe but fear to open up for something or the other that life takes a different way to help us get back to ourselves. Fantasies, prophecies, unfulfilled dreams, efforts, expectations....... all are but
Its ashes to ashes, dust to dust
We talk about them, write about them, think about them but in an uncertain moment fail to practise them. However, the writing of some people(writers) do touch our hearts and then it means that the writer has truly lived them and have learnt from them. This leaves the writer and us in turn with the Choice.... Should we still shy from things which genuinely shapes us, or confront them with the attitude of trust? That, my folks will surely happen when we start loving ourselves wholly and completely despite all warnings, complaints, failures etc etc...