Living, Loving Maid

November the 15^th, 1965.

Descending down the stairs of the fort, I sat staring at the sun. A big orange ball of fire, it was already kissing the sea at the horizon. The gold of its reflection in the sea moved up and down with the waves. A flock of birds took off from among the trees to the far right and flew its way to a distant island where it would rest for the night.

Situated on the outskirts of the town, the fort was old and devoid of any human element. For someone coming from the sea its worn down façade gave an impression of a long abandoned palace. Waves came and broke down at the wall of the fort below me. The boisterous sea could not dampen the commotion my head was filled with.

A long wait ended as I heard her footsteps up the stairs. I did not turn to look. She came down and sat by my side. When her shoulder touched mine, a familiar sense of warmth ran down me. When we were in school this touch of shoulders was a necessary ritual between us. It did away with a “Hi” or some other verbal greetings, for words were insufficient and evanescent whereas it remained.  A melancholy smile appeared on her face as we looked at each other. I smiled too. She tucked a fold of hair falling on her face to her ear and letting out a sigh rested her head on my shoulder. “Yes?” she inquired.

“They say it’s pretty hot there at this time of the year.”

“Hmm.”

“Somehow I had always known it would all come to this, but I had not thought it would be so soon” she said softly. The crimson of sun washed her beautiful face.

“Nor did I. It will be very hard on them. But I can’t think of an alternative.”

When two months ago, after assimilating a lot of courage, I told my parents about our relationship they said it was ridiculous. “What will all the relatives say when they come to know about it?” my mother asked. “Relatives? Think about how I will be mocked at in my office.” My father said angrily. “Don’t even think about it once more. I have led my life with my head held high and I want it to remain like that.”

How I tried to make them understand that what society thought about it did not matter, but to no avail. My mother, on the verge of tears, started murmuring to herself how, through the years of my growing up, she had taken utmost care to raise me in the best possible way she could and that this was not what she deserved to receive in return. Father did not even listen to me. It was all ridiculous to him.

Things were not pretty different at her side too.

We lived in a small town populated with people who through generations of easy and peaceful life had learnt to be content and to take life as it came. A languor pervaded the lives of townsfolk. I wonder if anyone, save two or three, from our town had any considerable business with whatever happened in the world outside. Life was monotonous and time trotted in our town. Nevertheless, we had always loved it. We had grown up there and had spent the best time with our friends and families. In school we were best friends and remained so through the college years too. It was only after college that we realized how deeply in love we were with each other.

The sun had sunken down into the sea completely by now and a dark blanket covered the sky. She lifted up her head from my shoulder and gently touched her lips to mine. I kissed her.

"Don’t be late. I will pick you up at 5. Sharp,” I said.

“Yes.” Her eyes welled up with tears.

I knew I could not shed my tears. One of us had to be strong.

Before the break of dawn next morning, we boarded our train to a new life, leaving behind everything we loved except each other. We knew a tougher world waited for us out there and that life would not be easy for us two single girls.

Inspiration, look... see

Admiration is what A has for P and inspiration is what P is to A (and for that matter to all of us). Ever since A came into this world he closely followed the footsteps of his older brother P. A decided to open his eyes for the first time on the same day as P did, only two years later. He was christened P without the initial letter P (if you put a P before A's name it becomes P's name). He followed his brother to college and to the same branch. And if science dictates that only identical twins look same, I would rather believe in miracles.

It was during a casual discourse with KA that this subject came up and my thoughts wandered. We realized that P has had a tremendous effect on our lives. So I decided to pen down some thoughts. This post is about my friend P, owner of the most charming personality I have ever seen and a smile that reminds one of good old days.

It was four years ago when I first saw him. First day of our JEE coaching class and there he was - a short, dark, bespectacled guy who entered into the class with a poise and studious air about him. He looked like a perfect example of what toppers are made of. Every day, he would walk straight to the second bench and occupy third seat from right. Heavily oiled hair added to his geek quotient. As the year progressed and everybody immersed themselves in studying, I became more and more convinced that he would surely crack the exam. And he did. It was no surprise. What took me by surprise was that he and I were going to the same college.

P and I became friends instantly. I don’t remember when we spoke to each other for the first time but I can vividly recall the countless bakar sessions we used to have at KA’s room. KA, KS(KA’s roomie), GS, JS, P and I would sit for hours on end engrossed in desultory conversations. Gradually, JS and P became our objects of light-hearted mockery. KA and I were the first ones to observe, by chance, JS’s faint Charlie Chaplin moustache, and then nothing could deter us from using that fact to regularly invent new jokes about him. With time we realized that P had a tendency to provide every one with frequent paternal advices on trivialities of life. The upside was that they weren’t irritating, unlike the ones that come from teachers and other adults. In fact the way he spoke made them sound funny. We would observe his solemn expression every time he would start to dish out a piece of advice, his whole body language assisting him in his noble efforts and a trembling mouth jerking out Ratlami accent, only to give in to loud outbursts of laughter after he had finished. As a reaction an incredulous sigh was all he could manage. Many a time he would unintentionally utter something double entendre and KA would grab the chance. We grew fond of P. He had a solution to every problem. Eventually he found himself being called P Baba.

A special part of our daily evening fun consisted of shooting videos of P Baba. In one of them, which I might still have in some deep recess of my C:\, he is having a hard time putting on a rain coat with his bag underneath it. The memory of it still conjures up in my mind a comic image of P with a hunched back. In another one he is throwing expletives at us, irritated by the simple fact that we were recording him for some time, without his knowledge, while he had been deeply involved in some serious conversation over the phone (again, blessing someone with his advice). Funniest situations were the ones where P Baba would start lecturing JS, never realizing that JS was the last person on earth one would want to waste time talking some sense into. During all this time, I realized I had a lot of misconceptions about P Baba when I had first seem him at the coaching class. He was not very studious. He was an affable, fun loving and cheerful guy, very convivial and congenial. Moreover he would always give his sincere opinion on any matter.

Train journeys would provide excellent settings for fun. Since we hailed from same hometown, we would always go home together during vacations. Our loud conversations and fits of laughter late into night would incense fellow passengers. JS, KA and I would fight for upper births and P would come to mediate.

Three years have passed since. We still keep in regular contact with each other, though we live in different hostels now. Whenever we meet, we fondly remember all the fun we had during first year.

Flee from me Keepers of the Gloom…

We come from the land of the ice and snow,
From the midnight sun where the hot springs flow.

Robert Plant’s words and John Bonham’s thunderous drum beats echoed in my head as we spiraled our way higher and higher on the mighty Himalayas. Though there was not any midnight sun, there was ice, there was snow and somewhere little far away there were hot springs. On a rented Bullet Electra, we negotiated the sharp curves that punctuated our journey every few metres.  Crisp, cold breeze brushing against our ears whispered tales of lands unseen. On our one side stood the giant mass of rocks and soil covered with whitest of snow. On the other side, a vast vacuum that fell down to the bottomless depths lined by the road that had led us up. Cars at the bottom looked inconsequential from those heights. KK and I had rented a bike from Manali and were on our way to Rohtang.

Right now, as I look through the window of my home at the drizzle outside, the fragrance of the soil fills my heart and livens up memories of my stay in Himachal.

Barmana, a small town surrounded by small mountain hills was where we spent our three weeks this summer doing an internship at ACC Cement. The time I spent there was perfect example of a harmonious life away from the hustle and bustle of a city and though it presented its share of problems, in retrospect it seems like a distant dream. A dream that one wakes up every morning to see broken and then comes back to the reality of his life.

Every morning the sun appeared from behind the mountains and shone brightly through the window to wake us up. After a day spent at the plant (the details of which would require another post) we would return to the guest house only to change clothes and go to the dhaba situated nearby on the highway. After having tea and munching on some biscuits from the nearby bakery we would go on a round along the highway. Picturesque outdoors would fill our minds with peace that is often pursued and seldom found. On every electricity pole we would see monkeys who seemed to be enjoying their lives and lamenting those of their brothers in the cities.

Ah, what’s better than a cup of tea at a time like this? Sipping at my tea, I go back in time.

We had covered nearly half the distance up when a very long row of cars appeared out of the recesses of the mountains and blocked our way ahead. It reminded us that it was the peak tourist season. Overlooking the fact that our journey was being mired by an irritating traffic jam, we parked our bike and clicked some pictures. After some time, we realized that our bike could wend its way through the jam which was otherwise a full stop for cars and buses and so it did.

It’s almost 4:30 and if I continue to write I would miss ladies’ Wimbledon quarterfinals, er…, what to do? It’s been a long time since my last post and perhaps men’s singles are what I really care for.

The sky seemed nearer in those lands and appeared as if kissing the hills. On some evenings clouds would gather and obscure the azure with their mighty black and then shower down as hails. The soil would smell of its virility and some long beaked birds would perch on the trees that confronted the view from our verandah.

It has started to rain cats and dogs outside.  Some children are having a nice time bathing on the rooftop of a house across the street.

After covering some more distance through the traffic jam that now packed the road more tightly, our bike had to come to a final halt. Parking the bike by a side, we took to our feet. Having walked up the road for a few metres we observed that we could directly climb our way through rocks that had somehow avoided snow. It had started to drizzle and we realized that we had been shivering from cold. Everything was cold -the trees, the rocks, the soil, the occasional waterfalls we had encountered on our way, the air and the sky.  But the cold had its own quality there. It was not stagnant, but serene. Not devoid of excitement but filled with exuberance. It invited. It was independence from worldly shackles. It was peace of mind.

Right now I can feel the way I felt there. It is as if the cold air brushes against my knuckles and the needle-like drops of water pierce my skin.  It was the best feeling. Nothing before and after it was as memorable and as exciting. Often, I long to feel this way and fail miserably. But today I would not fail.

A semful of events

Finally, giving in to an insurmountable urge to write down something and an unexplained for sense of joie de vivre, I write this post. And even as I write, I am listening to these (this, this and this) songs on a toggled playlist.

This sem, until now, has turned out be quite a memorable one.

I don’t want to fiddle with the chronology of events and therefore find it necessary to go as back in time as possible.

It was in the early hours of a cold February day at Alpahar when we decided to finally give shape to our long unfulfilled wish of a Goa trip. I didn’t know then what this trip had in store for me and for my friends. Tickets were booked without wasting time. Forthcoming days were spent planning and daydreaming about the trip. Just then, mid-term exams struck and we were shaken out of our fantasies. In spite of my good preparations, I flunked Heat and Mass Transfer (thanks to my mistaking the diameter for radius in one of the questions and forgetting to multiply cross sectional area in another). Two hours post mid-terms, mid-term blues gave way to a hope for happy times ahead. When my parents came to know I was going to Goa in Holi break, they inquired when, if not in Holi break, I would come home. And the next thing I remember is - I was home. At home my driving license was confiscated and I was advised that we hire a cab in Goa instead of riding five bikes. When I returned to college, I told my friends I loved being a pillion rider but only when traffic police was around. Just when we were looking for an economical place to stay in Goa, three guys backed out. This was the first shock to our plans. However we went on with the plan, seven guys were still in. We booked three rooms in a hotel.

Meanwhile Blogomania was going great. My apprehensions that the number of entries would be nothing comparable to last year's vanished when posts count crossed 500 and participants count crossed 120.

A couple of days later our Goa plan took its second setback (and quite a sad one, this) when my dad informed me over the phone about mom’s ailment. Her left hand had swollen due to Spondylitis. I couldn’t picture myself enjoying in Goa while mom suffered from excruciating pain back home. I told my friends I couldn’t go to Goa. Now since the soul of the party had backed out ( :P), my friends cancelled the whole trip. It took all of us at least a couple of days to realize we were finally NOT going to Goa.

On 9^th of March, we celebrated Govind Bhawan Day that witnessed some superb anchoring by P and S and some lame skits and music performances by Matkas.

Amidst the disappointment of not going to Goa and my constant worries about mom’s condition, there came an evanescently joyous occasion of a cousin’s wedding day. I closed Blogomania on 10^th of March at 10:00 p.m. Next day, while students from various colleges flooded ours to attend Cognizance, I left for Haridwar to attend the wedding. It felt nice meeting so many close and ‘not so close’ relatives at the same place on the same day. Although not a very chatty and candid person myself, I do enjoy listening to others and as a result myriad questions about my mom’s howabouts and my whereabouts were thrown at me whole day by everyone I met. I answered them as least laconically as I could so as to not make anyone feel I was being rude (which I really wasn’t). As the evening tick-tocked into night, after a whole plethora of poojas and mantras, time came for vidaai. While thousands of miles away Poseidon demonstrated that he held power over not only the Greeks but the Japanese too, a tremor of emotions led to a tsunami of tears in Haridwar. When I returned to college next morning, I was exhausted and drowsy and slept till 1:00 pm. I woke up only to find not a sign of moving souls in the hostel as everyone was busy in the techfest. I attended a pretty boring lecture by some guy from Adobe who kept going on about how to form problems. Next and the last day of the techfest was also spent killing time by attending workshops and other events.

The Ides of March which brought death to Caesar around 2054 years ago brought good news to me. While going to the mess I bumped into M who informed me in his quintessential weirdly pitched and loud voice that I have been selected for internship at ACC.

Fast forward two days and here I am inclined on my bed and typing this post on my laptop. I have just sent e-mails to the winners of Blogomania this morning and have been writing this post since then.

But wait - a loud banging on the door “Mr K, are you in there?”

“ Yeah” I reply and open the door. I find some Civil guys in not so civil a mood. They don’t look like humans. They are yellow, red, blue and green, even silver too. And the next moment, I am one of them. (I should have seen this coming. It’s Holi time.) Now I can’t write until I take bath. I hit the showers, return and pick my laptop up again and complete the post.

P.S. The post was published two days after its completion. So don't go by the date of posting.