Would my Heart

 At a time of day, like what it is now -

My love asked me, 'Would you come with me?

To bow your head along with mine

To a shrine of a deity different than thine?'

I looked at her eyes

That were curious and wide

I said 'I would accompany you

To where ever you may go,

But I cannot promise, that along with thine

My head shall bow'

It is because my bow comes from my Heart

And my heart has a mind of its own

I imagine I would bow - 

At at majestic columns or a dome

At marble arches or spires of stone

But only if my heart is overflown

My head could also bow - I imagine -

At a small silent temple,

Or a tranquil durgah

Or a solemn chapel

Or perhaps in a shaman's hut

If my heart encounters divine peace

I feel I would surrender still,

To a mere rock or a shady brook

To the cool, still waters of a pond or a lake,

Or some shore or cliff or a daybreak

If it thrusts into my heart

A million murmurs of content

Even if from afar, I see a place

Where the hungry are fed

Or the weary find respite,

The lonely are taken into company

Or where the shunned are welcomed

Where childish clamour becomes music

Where humanity partakes the sacred dance of life without shame,

You'd see my heart overwhelmed with holy tears

And my soul already prostrate

There are times however, when I imagine I could not bow -

Places where deep, dark, dogma rots and a stench runs afoul

Where unity is separated and love becomes exiled

If force and might are mistaken for justice and righteousness

Where life is caged in the terror of violence

My heart. I imagine, would revolt at places like these

Because it is not beholden to pamphlets or tablets

Of any size or age - for it has a mind of its own.

I imagine my heart would become defiant

If truths were rejected

And lies installed in the seats of beliefs

If the innocent are persecuted

Or if ignorance is taught as virtue

I think if ambrosia even, were fed by force

My heart would reject it

If any parchment or word spoken

Teaches me to hate and fear

It would only teach me to hate itself

I believe my heart would reject

Light that twinkles of illusion and fails to illuminate

Or turn away in an instant from

The deafening noise of smug blabbering idiots

Throw away anything that propagates the tar

That poisons my heart and misdirects my actions

I would strike with great force

To shatter the symbols of false perceptions

That propagate serpents which constrict the breath of life

Which produce horrendous laments

Or generate a maddening lust of destruction

Because I am but a mere man

And as a mere man I would continue to be

My Heart I respect and observe -

With fresh streams of experience do I water it

Feed it with the dense honey of knowledge

While the company of greater hearts provides it shade

And from time to time,

Cull the weed and pest that may have grown near it

Suddenly I forget - I remember

My love and her curious wide eyes

And I say 'I shall go

To your shrine, with you'

Catharsis

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Reading time – 3 days

Explosion! And my thoughts race outwards towards infinity as I try to salvage as much as I can, shortly after I’ve read this book. Don Gabriel conjures a mystifying world of virgin territory, enterprising adventurers, kaleidoscopic gypsies, phantasmal miracles, impossible situations, civil war at point-blank, transient alien landscapes and real, down to the flesh people. Now I know what the gringo narrator of Narcos was talking about when he mentions ‘Magic Realism’.

The writing is so incredibly descriptive that the reader is bound to lose his way amongst the life-size portrayals of scenes from another world yet much our own. The tone of narration is so pensive that it becomes mysterious and we’re hooked by its subtle but incessant seduction that never gets old. Finally the timbre of the feeling is so dense that one gets absorbed into the story instead of the other way round.

The book is basically a 400+ pages of a portal that transmigrates our consciousness with that of the incredible Don Gabriel and irrefutably transmutes our most prehistoric consciousness in an indescribable manner. As we pass through the vague, winding spiral of plain fact, utter shock and blurry premonitions, we find ourselves ‘in’ the scene watching and yet at the same time unravelling it, comparing it with our own memories and outlooks. It is inevitable.

Don Gabriel invents a new language through the translator to English Mr Gregory Rabassa, whose unparalleled authority over the language makes it look easy. If not for him I would have needed to learn Spanish in order to partake this journey but we (English Readers) are so lucky to have him.

You might find this review somewhat scattered and disoriented, of which I assure you it is merely because I’m writing too soon, before the book’s effects have dissipated. Now, for my future conquest, I’ve set my eyes on Ulysses by His Highness James Joyce. I’ll speak soon and only after I’ve finished reading and only about Ulysses.

Thanking You.

ZS

Thinking in Marathi

This is a collection of my Marathi writings.
Until next time!

तिचा गंध माझ्या केसात भिनलेला ,
मी तिच्या केसात विणलेला .
रात्र सारून गेल्यावरही ,
मी स्वतः पासूनच हरवलेला .
---
काही न बोलता , तुझ्या ओठातलं मला कळतं .
जसं एका कळीला अंधारात फुलायला जमतं .
---
होऊन होऊन होतं काय ?
तो तिला पाहतो , तीही लाजते
आणि एक रात्र वेडी होते .
---
या पाकळ्यांना भान नसतं
वाऱ्यात वाहून जाताना.
हे अश्रूही वेडे आहेत,
मला न सांगता ओझरताना .
---
मनातल्या गोष्टी मनातच राहतात
प्रत्येक श्वासात हरवून जातात.
दुपारच्या उन्हात वळून जातात.
आणि संध्याकाळी, रात्रीबरोबर ...
पुन्हा जाग्या होतात.
मनातल्या गोष्टी मनातच राहतात.
---
ज्या वेलीवर मी राहतो तेथे पुष्प असे ना काही .
तेथे पाखरू ना कधी येई.
ती वेल एकटाच मी सजावी
आठवणीत तिला मी गुंफी .
आणि मावळत्या सूर्यात
काही अश्रूईंचे दव साचे .
---
एकदा आपण वेडं होऊन पाहावं
त्यातही एक मजा असते
दररोजचं तेच पाहणं
दररोजचं तेच खाणं
दररोजचं तेच जगणं
प्रत्येक दिवस पुरून उरतो
पण आपण संपून जातो
जगता जगता असेच मारून जातो
म्हणून , एकदा वेडं व्हा
तुम्ही मारतानाही जागून जाल
रडत रडत हसून जाल
प्रेम करायला विचार करायला लागणार नाही
का अश्रूंना वाट पहावी लागणार नाही
फक्त एकदाच वेडे व्हा
---

Romance

When he arrived at his destination it was almost noon. Rain had given way to sunshine and it created a rather unpleasant mood in one, combined with narrow, muddy streets of a small town in India and the irritating damp heat. The driver had done his job and he had done his job well. He settled his bill for the journey, thanked him and topped it off with a handsome tip, the driver went away for a meal, smiling.

The hospital building was dingy, in fact anyone in his right mind would have never considered the structure to be a hospital but yet it was the best in town. As he entered the premises he was met by his father, mother, brother and the remainder of his father’s closer friends, uncle S—was not the first one to be at the stairway to heaven. Amongst the clamour he was also met by the grim and gloom of the ICU ward. The smell of stale acetone mixed with pathetically fragrant "phenyl" had rigged the atmosphere of the building. His close informants, his father and mother, filled in him the sore patches, an answer to his inquires. It was all a haze.

“…terminal stage cancer…” “not much time” “cannot shift” “ second opinion” “any day now” “just wait and watch” “asking for You”

“Thank god you came”

Although he was well rested, he was disoriented, he could never have estimated the full scope of the reality bearing down on him. He was free falling, spiralling downwards towards absolute despair. The listless heat caught him off guard and in an outburst he caught himself. Breathing, calming down he took off his tuxedo and sat down. He wanted a drink a real hard drink but he asked for some sweet tea instead.

Drinking his tea he could have been contemplating how to handle his meeting with his first mentor, his godfather, the man who propelled him to be what he today is, or one could say he was not thinking at all, either way  it was a silent moment with all his comrades nearby.

Finally, around midday, he conjured himself and led by his father, approached the curtained bed where uncle S—lay. The sight was appalling, tubes and wires came in and out of his shrivelled body, there was no flesh and there was no hair, what lay in front of him seemed to be a ghoulish afterimage of uncle S—and yet it was him in all his material form. His father touched his dearest friend and he slowly opened his eyes, the eyes were there, alive and ready to reach out and in an instant they did and a skeleton hand was raised, crudely pointing at the subject.

‘You came.’

At this cue, he moved closer to his godfather and held his hand, struggling all the while not to but without any notice he broke down and cried like a child that he had now become. No dam was ever built to hold back the true tears.

‘Play for me.’

Upon hearing this he looked at his mentor’s face – it was smiling delicately. At once he wiped off his tears and went away towards his guitar case. Then he turned and went to see the doctor and the administration. He was in his senses now, life has its course and it is our lot to traverse it without doubt and with sincerity.

He was tuning his guitar after the doctor had given him his reluctant consent to a guitar recital in his ICU ward. He was also deliberating on the piece that was to be played. Uncle S—liked or rather loved all the canonical pieces written or arranged for the guitar, so the question was what should he play? The critical circumstances had decreed that the selection had to be most deliberate and prefect. So, as he tuned, he went over his choices - uncle’s favourites.

Recuerdos de la Alahambra by Tarrega?  – No, the season and the setting are not proper.

Asturias by Albeniz? - Not quite.

La Cathedral? Barrios? - No. something is missing.

Yes! Romanza! This is it!

As he finished tuning he recalled how at any time of the day and year, uncle S—would stare out from his balcony, smoking, sitting in his favourite wooden, cushioned chair with this song filling the air.

A-minor ... strum … perfect … tuning done.

Now to start the performance, Anonymous Romance in the key of E. First minor, then major and again minor. He took his stance. He knew all about the piece, all the nuances and dynamics, but he never really got hold of it entirely. Falling in love helped, falling out of love – even more, but he never felt it the way uncle S—did.

The concerto began, a beautiful sad melody placed upon an arpeggio-tremolo, simple and earthy. The pace is relaxed, deliberate and yet in a way surrendering to the flow of the notes that came before.

Romance, a song for the romantics, lovers. Then finally it dawned – pining at first, the feelings rush slowly towards a distant future. Then gaining momentum a beautiful romance ensues, a study in E, a study in life and life has its course, we lose our romance to the past and then we long for it in the future. The final longing is eternal, for it too is a romance – caressing an idea that was something, something that now is only an idea. A beautiful sad romance and with the distance past ends the piece.

He had closed his eyes without realizing and now opens them to a blurry image – tears, the recital is over. Uncle S—is in tears, he opens his mouth to say something but instead of words only "hhhhh –" breathes out. He places his ear near his uncle’s mouth, at first he hears nothing but then he feels his hand on his head and finally, a frail

‘Thank you.’

Beeep---

In a most disgusting and rude manner the machine announces the mentor’s departure, he kisses the lifeless forehead –

‘He waited for me.’

All the other comrades rush to the bed and he silently makes his exit as he follows the corridors outside, mechanically, he has no thoughts. But once he steps out into the sunshine it seeps in. The godfather had delivered a final lesson, not Europe but This was his life’s true debut. Calmly he pulls out a cigarette and lights it. He smokes with a satisfied sadness, acceptance of an unfulfilling longing, its beauty and as he smokes he can hear the Romance – with him romancing an anonymous feeling.

Prologue.

- What do you know! Today I met a friend from school!

                - Who R-- ?

- No. You wouldn’t believe it, I stumbled upon S-- . By god I had thought I won’t see him again!

                - So there you were! I thought you went drinking with one of you colleagues.

- Ha! Those no-good-bastards, but S-- , a gem I tell you…

                - Alright, alright, now don’t just sit there, go and get fresh, I’ll warm up the food. You must be jolly drunk and all but I’m starving.

- Yes ma’am, away I go. The kid’s sleeping?

                - Slept hours ago. Don’t you go waking him up.

   But I was not sleeping, I was awake, eavesdropping on their secret world of memories that I’d like to have.

   A few days later,  I met uncle S--, when there was a big get-to-gether at our home. All of father’s friends who knew uncle S—had gathered with their families except uncle S—himself. I think he didn’t marry. There I heard my father’s music for the first time! He played a second-hand keyboard he had bought for the get-to-gether, which he kept. Uncle P—had come with his tabla and uncle S—with his guitar.

   For the most of us it was a surprise – discovery – it completely changed the way I saw my father. As I saw them play music and laugh and joke together, I felt somehow they didn’t need us anymore. All three of them had a huge smiles on their faces, like I imagine I must have, when father finally buys me the game I have wanted for months.

   I was with the rest of the families and kids. I never had so many guests over at the same time! All my building friends met my father’s friends’ kids and we played outside till it was dark. When we came home we couldn’t find our fathers so we gathered around my video games and we had a fun time. After a while the aunties and the kids and mother and I ate dinner and waited for father to come home. I slept easily on my mother’s lap listening to her talking.

   I was eight or ten years old when I asked Father if I could learn to play the guitar from uncle S--.

                - Why, don’t you like the way I play the keyboard?

- No ... I mean yes ... but I like uncle’s guitar more and A—already plays peti (harmonium), so I thought I’d play something different.

                - Hmm… I’ll think. I’ll tell you tomorrow.

- Why? Tell me now!

                - No. Think of this as your first lesson, wait till tomorrow.

- But…

                - No. No. Ask me one more time and I won’t talk to uncle S—about you.

   I somehow forgot all about it for the rest of the day, but the next day I remembered and was pestering father about it. Then he said that I could go and visit uncle every saturday and sunday and that I’d go alone and he would come to pick me up. And uncle lived near our home also! But mummy didn’t like it one bit because she first fought with father. They fought while eating and whispering loudly, they tried not to wake me up, but I was already awake. I listened and I dreamed how it will be, playing the guitar like that! I thought all kinds of thoughts about playing music, all day and all night.

   Saturday arrived, I got up early and woke both of them. I did not want to be late on my first day! By ten o’clock I had left my home and was walking towards my school. I walked really fast. I knew where his house was, Father had taken me once. It was a small building of five floors - if you count the ground floor too - and his home had a balcony from where I could see the government colony ground behind my school.

   He lived on the second floor, which had a long passage for playing cricket but I guess there were no kids on the second floor. My heart was beating so fast when I got there I could hear it in my head but I stood at the door and looked at it because it was a magic door and inside I would play beautiful music! I rang the bell – it was like the one in my father’s office – buzz buzz. I waited but he didn’t open the door. Buzz buzz buzz – again, I waited. I put my ear to the door to listen, it was cool and sounded large and round but I could only hear me swallowing my spit. Then I decided to wait but soon enough father came and told me that uncle was not home, he had called to tell and that is why he had come to get me and that I can come back tomorrow.

   On Sunday I went a little late, because mummy was angry about yesterday. I liked it when she scolded father and me at the same time. I was her favourite. When I reached there, I found him waiting for me with the front door open. I must have smiled very hard because he laughed and took me inside.

   It was a very old place but it was big and there were very few things and there was no TV! It had a very different smell than any of my friends’ homes. I think it smelled like the library in school where the old books are, so I thought it must be very old to smell like that. I sat in a small old chair, fidgeting. He asked me to drink some orange juice he gave me and I asked where the guitar was.

                - First we’ll learn to listen.

- Er…O..K

                - Alright, let’s set you up for your first song!

   He then dragged the chair with me in it (I almost fell out!), to the balcony from where I could see the whole colony and the back of my school and the ground where kids played cricket. There was a half-shade in the balcony because the coconut tree moved in the wind and also made a very nice sound.

                - Now I’m going to start the song, ok?

- OK.

                - Close your eyes and don’t open them till I tell you to, ok?

- OK. (I closed my eyes.)

                - And try not to think, ask all questions later. Just listen to the song and what I say. Got it?

- OK.

   It started slowly and softly – lala la la lala – lala la la lala – lalala la la la – and then it became fast and uncle told me to imagine –

                 'It is one o’clock in the afternoon, in the summer – a clear hot day.

                 'There is a small town and all the people have slept except you

                 'and you are sitting under a tree from where you can see the whole town.

                 'Everything is still and sleepy, only the wind is dancing for you on this song.'

   I tried to imagine it all but I couldn’t imagine the dancing wind, the song became slow again, very slow.

                - Now open your eyes slowly and try to mix your imagination with what you saw, don’t move your head till the song ends.

   I opened my eyes and for a while everything was blue and then I realized how silent and still it all was! – just like I imagined it, the houses of the colony had become my small town, the children had stopped playing and were sitting in the gulmohor tree’s shade like they were sleeping. And again the song was again playing the tune of beginning, starting slowly and becoming faster and faster – lala la lala Drang! – and in the gulmohor tree’s moving I could see the wind dancing to the song! Then a strong breeze came and made the sound of falling rain that mixed with the sound of the song. I heard for the first time a strange sound like a kid’s rattle, all the sounds mixed with the song and the sound of the song mixed with everything else. I felt a weird warm sensation all over my body that felt like a shiver, my hair on my body was standing straight. Then the song got slower and slower and then stopped altogether.

   I got up, my hands were shivering slowly, I came to where uncle was sitting. He asked me to wash my face and come. I felt better after I washed my face, I felt like I had just woken up from sleep, everything I saw was new, even the old smell of the house felt new! When I got back, uncle had cut four mangoes.

                - I heard you love these.

   I nodded and sat down on the floor in front of him and asked him all my questions, he laughed and answered them all and we ate the most delicious mangoes in the world ever!

Tip: The song used in this story is ‘Asturias’ by Issac Albeniz arranged for classical guitar, I suggest listening to renditions by Andres Segovia (Esp.) or John Williams (Aus.)

Ideas.

This is a collection of ideas that have stemmed from a central one and these ideas will enable you to form your own version of the central Idea.

1.

In darkness,

See no shadows.

2.

They read scriptures,

As I weep beside her

- Mercy.

3.

Creating lies

To say the Truth.

4.

The Demon,

Most primitive God.

5.

Remembering

- To forget.

6.

I sleep securely,

At daybreak.

7.

Stand on the ground,

As if to fall.

8.

Revolts are necessary,

To preserve Order.

9.

Trying to be that,

Which does not exist.

10.

A blink of the eyes

And all thought is lost.

11.

The King,

-  Wanderer in the Kingdom.

12.

Walking,

I stop.

- I have to be somewhere.

13.

Victory is the need of Cowards,

Retreat – a gesture of the Brave.

14.

The entangled chimes in wind.

The melodies of Life.

15.

The naked priest,

Scorns, the dogs in heat,

In winter.

16.

The summers are always far.

Says the Monk,

In the mountain cave.

A Prelude

When I woke up, it was raining over Bombay. I knew I had arrived for I could recognize the wraiths that the twinkling nightlights of the metropolis and the rhythmic waves of rainwater were creating on my window. I had left in a hurry from Geneva, I just could not wait – I knew he did not have the time.

It was an after-concert party for all those who were someone in the classical music backdrop of Geneva and of course, me. I had played a good set; they said that I "had captured the essence of Satie’s ‘After The Rain’ between my quivering strings." I was entertaining the members of the Conservatoire at the time – we were talking about the peculiar artistic quality that surrounds the conservatory grounds during winter. The messenger came in silently behind me like a ghost in a harmony and lightly tugged at my elbow. Abruptly, I found my way, hiding from the guests, to the telephone receiver, which said

-         - I’m at the hospital U--

-          - What happened? Where is R--? (my brother)

-         - I’m alright, it is about uncle S--.

-           - What?

-          - He’s critical

-           - Huh? Come again

-          - I said S-- is in critical condition, he’s in ICU right now in P---

-           - He speaking?

-          - In fact, yes, I mean, he said he wanted to see you and all, but I told him you are studying in Switzerland and he…

I returned the receiver to the receptionist and walked back into the party – ‘It snows here as it rains in India – monsoon or snowfall – they temper art and life alike.’ The department head of Piano had lit up delightfully at that comment, I wonder what he found so assuring about it. The seasons run their course and so do men, each must face his own lot of consequence. I must face mine.

Later that night, I spoke to my department head, briefly, to inform him that I was to leave Switzerland as soon as possible and come, to pay my respects to a dying uncle, to India.

-          - That is most unfortunate, I must say. To hear such news on the eve of your proper debut in Europe

-           - It is indeed a pity, but I won’t be long.

-          - Long enough to cool down the buzz anyway, are you sure you can’t wait another day or two? I mean if it can be helped…

-           - No. It will be much less of a racket if I reach in time, the earliest. Then I can return immediately. I know it is a risk but I can’t irk the family.

-          - Ah.. I guess I know what you mean. I’ll do you a favour and keep things tight with the press. Be quick and don’t disappoint me.

-           - I won’t sir. I must... leave now. I will be back by Thursday regardless and…, thank you.

His grey eyes approved with a glint of excitement in them, the excitement of youth in an old man. I took only my guitar case that I already carried and made for the airport for my late night flight to Mumbai. I would have left even if he had not permitted to. The moment he asked for me after all these years, I was bound to oblige.

By the time I made it out of the airport, my head was hurting from a hangover and a lag – as if a needle was stuck in a loop of the horrible noise of the jet in some track of my brain. The trip from here to the city of W-- would be some 400 kilometres on a highway and another 70 kilometres to the small town of P--, over bad roads. I had some eggs and juice and a huge helping of rice to qualm my hunger and hired the first decent looking transport guy I could find. A wiry fellow - him, but looks nimble and alert. Good driver I thought anyway, a bit expensive but also I haggled just once – we have to be there quick Nick! Father dear calls as I wait for my coffee to be had on the go

-          - What’s going on son? I called at the dorm and they said you had left! I was telling you earlier it is OK, I mean he said it was OK if you couldn’t make it.

-           - Well, I’m on my way now. Who else is there?

-          - Your uncle A-- made it here just now. Get down here as fast as you can. They say he doesn’t have much time – he’s getting worse.

Beep.

I grabbed my coffee and sat in the car, signalled the driver and we sped off, trailing the nearest exit to the highways. As we pulled out, under the malevolent yellow light of the insomniac city I lighted a smoke and drank my coffee. While I also instructed the driver that we are not to stop till we reach our destination. ‘It’ll cost you extra sir’ – he looks at me in the rear view. The yellow light lighting up the band of his eyes. I agree – come on Nick – go as swift as the wind.

The motion of the car and the inertia of my battered brain lulled me to a deep sleep. Darkness, then light and again, I could feel them – I could hear still, the silent hum of the revving engine and with it the tapping of raindrops trying to break into the bubble. This was my lullaby – The Song of the Highway. 

8:08AM

The alarm went off. Its menacing, periodic, notes impregnated a dark amorphous shell and rudely described its boundary and in an animated terror a beast awoke and as if bound by an invisible net comically reached for the clock. Almost instantly the alarm was silenced and Rajeev was awake. 7:00 AM. He lay there, silent and still, blindfolded by a comfortable cool darkness to listen to the late early morning. At first he did not notice or perhaps he only noticed the heavy impounding silence of his room, trying to enter his skull and awareness. Breathe out. Then slowly he could make out the birdsong, an orchestra –almost – of known and unseen birds. A rhythmic squeaking of the milkman’s peddling (the one who parks at the C wing of the ShantiNiketan Soc.) comes next, after which the far away rattling of the idle chain of another milkman’s bicycle slowly grows as he parks right under the curtained window and goes to work. A brass bell rings shrill and the mist disappears; the sedated awareness of Rajeev shudders back to the reality. This is not his bed; these are cream colored sheets that smell strange. Of course, this is Her place. And he springs up on his elbows and frantically looks for Her, when he hears the clicking of the lighter coming from the kitchen.

She is already up. It is actually around 6:15 AM. A warm feeling of relief floods his body and he feels his heart beating. Smirking, he does a mental inventory of where he might find his things. The shirt is on the chair where he placed it (while She freed her locks), except the business cards and other bookmarks of his routine have fallen onto floor, with only his pen hanging precariously to  hem of his breastpocket. Searching for his vest his gaze is directed to the other side of the bed – at the floor and finds it missing; which was thrown there by Her, after She pulled it off of him and he felt Her cool upper bosom and the warm fabric of Her bra contact his blazing chest (which interrupted him as he was kissing Her and undoing the brassiere). Puzzled, his eyes traced along the lines of the wardrobe to find the garment neatly hanging over a slightly open door and farther away on hanger, were his black mixed-fabric pants which he recalled, as She pushed them down along his legs and clutched his upper thigh in the firm, hot grasp of Her crazed, soft, inner thighs (while he vigorously pecked at Her neck, right under Her ear). He falls back on his pillow and smiles, scans with his legs for his undies, under the sheets and after a bit of straining and stretching finds them and after another little round of uncomfortable postures he pulls them up over his pelvis; now he feels a little secure and comfortable to become active.

The sound of approaching footsteps catches his attention and instinctively, he reaches for his shirt. She springs the bedroom door wide open and

“You have to get out now! Hurry!”

“Wha…”

“Mom and Dad will be here any minute! Run! Fast!”

“Ok! Ok!”

Rajeev scrambles for all his belongings at once and before he realizes anything She hurls his hung clothes at his face, pants first. As he wildly gets a hold of himself as he kicks off the sheets. He then straps on the pants, slides inside the vest and flings his shirt over like a robe. He gets off the bed and promptly gathers the contents of his breastpocket that were piled on the floor, these get stuffed in by one hand as the other checks for the purse in the pants.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!!”

He hastily buttons his shirt as he follows her to the living, then near the main door

“Shit, the mobile!”

And he starts to turn.

“Wait here I’ll get it.”

He watches as Her dim figure return to the dark interior, with just a sweater over her lingerie and Her open hair over her bust. The morning air is cold, anxiously he checks the time

“Get the watch too!”

Jittery and jumpy he waits a bit longer, putting his shirt inside his pants. She returns and thrusts his property into his clumsy hands.

“Now leave. Quick!”

“But when will we meet again?”

“Oh! I’ll wait at the stop. OK? Now go!”

“Uh…Alright.”

She opens the latched doors for him in a moment and in a moment shuts them before he could

“At least…”

*****

The day is dry and hot and even if he had not left his bike at the mechanic’s he would’ve hated to ride in all the dust and smoke on such a day. Another hour and the sunlight starts to slant, then it’ll get better but by that time I’ll be back home, he thinks. Its 3:30 PM. There’s not much crowd at the bus stop either, just some young girls and boys. There’s a middle-aged man with bundles of electrical wires, big heap too, hard work- he thinks. There’s a trio of old ladies dressed like house-helps carrying plastic bags of their own, not heavy – they are chatting away – with worn down faces. There’s just one smartly dressed guy, about his own age, fair, clean shaved, perfect cut hair, clean hand that just holds a cell phone to his ear as he assures the person on the other end that his schedule is crammed and something about a party. Well paying job he must have – a thought crosses his mind as he looks on and catches him stealing a glance at the noisy heard of girls. He smiles and he too resumes caressing with is sight, the contours of a young girl’s clothes as she is animated in a lustful context in his mind. He watches the road especially, the rickshaws, to see if any is vacant. He readjusts to align his eyes and head in the shadow and tidies his shirt and creases. Fifteen minutes, what a bore! He mutters in his head and to move around, turns. There he sees Janvi, at first he not certain. Something about her doesn’t add up it seems but then she lights up a smile. It is her!

Both of them are awestruck and suddenly forget about the heat, listlessness and the time of the day. He points at her

“Janvi?!”

She point at him and exclaims

“Rajeev?!”

“O lord you’ve changed, a lot!”

“And look at you!”

“I know, I know. What are you doing here?”

“Going home, what about you? Where do you work?”

“Well I do insurance work at many agencies.”

“Don’t you use a bike? I could really use a lift today!”

“Tell me about it! I decided to do a half day today and left it for servicing.”

“So you’re free now?”

“Alright, it’s my treat.”

“Umm…OK I know a good ice cream parlor near my place.”

“Sure! You definitely look young for our age”

“That’s rude! I have my secrets.”

“So everybody’s still here?”

“No, I live at a new place with PGs, mom and dad moved back to Indore.”

“And what about Ritu?”

“Well she’s gone abroad for her degree.”

“Wow! Meh…she was always bright.”

“Ha ha, ya right.”

They exchanged pleasantries while a feeling of nostalgia descended over Rajeev. Janvi was his childhood darling. He spent almost all the time of the five years his family was in the Government colony, with her, playing, laughing, crying. She was the sweetest thing in his life, even today and now this accident had created a raging storm of emotions, memories and hopes inside him. He was awake again, giggling like the young girls, alive after a very long time. Janvi was his soulmate, his better half! Even when little they always shared a silent understanding, he remembered that if he had her, there was nothing else he needed – just her company. Many times he recalled, they would sit around for hours just sitting there, sometimes talking but mostly just sitting, doing nothing. He remembered how feverish he’d been when Janvi’s spent the summer in Indore and how Janvi spent her holidays with his family. Everyone around then had branded them Man and Wife because of the way they fought among themselves and for one another. Everybody teased and called names that time but secretly they both accepted it too. He often dreams of a future with Janvi, of their offspring, scenes with relatives, with friends. He loved her with all his being and now it was all coming back, that flooded all his senses. He had lost her once, now he has the perfect opportunity, now he’ll never let her go.

The bus arrives and they board, he lets her go first, trying to act like a gentleman and also to get close to her. She had really changed over the years, she is completely new. Her demeanor, the way she walked, dressed, she never wore tank tops and jeans, her hairstyle, it was always a bit short and open and the way she talked, she was very conservative and spoke softly and never laughed loud. They sat and as always she took the window seat while he bought the tickets. He sat cautiously, like her, maintaining fair space between their bodies, although she didn’t grow up like he imagined her in his fantasies, he was aroused by her. Her face had gotten a bit sharper but still delicate in features, her physique he found most exquisite and though she was always a bit taller than him, now he could look down towards her. She wore a light green shirt, dark blue pants and short heel shoes, shining black, office girl she had become. She commented on the hot weather and adjusted her collar, which opened an already loose button. Her hands on the contrary were not as elegant and her eyes, her eyes were brown? As casually as she could she placed her hands on the handles of the next seat in front of her and let her breasts squeeze a bit. He unknowingly leered at her soft, ample bosom and in space between their bodies he could feel the rising sexual tension.

The mounting pressure of the circumstance receded when their stop arrived, where they alighted and made their way through the crowd to the designated parlor. She led him to a cushioned corner where they sat. He ordered strawberry for her and butterscotch for himself.

“You always liked chocolate; I guess you too have changed.”

“Yes, but you didn’t mind the strawberry, so I guess you still the same old Janvi on the inside.”

“Umm…I say you should see for yourself.”

Where she was getting at he couldn’t say. Focus, he thought and gathered his wits and directed the conversation to the most important issue.

“You remember the terrace of the B wing?”

“Oh how I loved it…watching the skyline.”

The ice-cream arrived. She avoided his gaze and single-mindedly ate her ice-cream while he savored the cold, creamy sweetness as slowly as he could as he watched her timid response. None spoke. Janvi finished her ice-cream and was getting a bit awkward of looking into his eyes.

“You have tasted this flavor, butterscotch I mean”

“Uh…ya sure…what kind of a question is that?”

“I mean this here is the best I’ve ever tasted. Here try some.”

And he took a spoonful to her lips, which quivered at first, the parted slightly and delicately pecked the sample. She blushed. He smiled.

“And do you remember how furious you had been when Sandy had pushed me and I hurt my elbow?”

She looked at him and averting her eyes

“…Y..Yes…”

He looked at her for a while and then

“I’m bored; you said you’re free this evening, so let’s get out of here. What say about dinner?”

It was about 6:00 PM when they left the parlor. He took her around some regular haunts till the evening got along and then they headed to a nice restaurant he knew that had mellow lights and sparse service, which gave them ample privacy. He ordered the dinner.

“So tell me, is there someone special in your life?”

 “Uh…well…well about that, there actually is someone.”

His heart froze and his stomach sank into its cavity and all the time she stared right into his eyes, unblinking. He drank some water to calm his nerves and after a few seconds to break the ice

“Well…uff…who’s…uh…the lucky guy?”

“I…I…guess I’ll tell you later.”

That moment he fell back to his chair and sighed

“Oh…alright…whenever you’re comfortable. I mean we’ll be in touch right?”

“Yes, yes, that’s right.”

“So…How’s everything at home again?”

And the tension was relived almost as if nothing had happened, almost. The dinner was served. They ate silently, paid the bill and stepped outside.

“So how are you going home?”

“Yes, about that, I was thinking maybe you could take me to my place…”

“Umm…”

“It’s late and it’s kind of a lonely way there and…”

“Oh…why not…sure…”

“…my roommates are at their parents’.”

“…don’t worry. Come on, we should find a rickshaw.”

“OK”

They couldn’t find a rickshaw, so they decided to hire a taxi. The road was long and passed a lonely patch of land illuminated only by the yellow street lights. It was dark and silent in the back seat. He was getting restless again, the pressure had started to build again, the dark still air was tense with anticipation, when he tried to look at her from the corner of his eye, he couldn’t see. Then the pulsating yellow light and dark spoke, into the low humming of the vehicle.

“About, the special person…”

His heart pounded as he listened, a million thoughts assailed his stunned mind only to be brought to the brink of an explosion when she slid close, laid her head upon his shoulder and breathed upon his neck

“It is You.”

For a few seconds he did not dare to stir but as he slowly calmed down, he looked at her and his shaking hand embraced her and said

“It was always you”

They confessed their love as they caressed each other and in their passion, they did not notice that the taxi had passed into the suburbs and the light and the traffic was heavy. He caught the gloating eyes of the driver in the rear-view and slowly pushed her away, brought back to reality. He opened the window and asked the driver to turn off the AC. They stopped near a pharmacy. There was no need to talk; it was like the old days again.

They reached her apartment and as soon as they were inside, he slammed her against the wall and smothered her with kisses smearing her lipstick. She sunk her nails in his back and clutched his hair as she gasped. In the bedroom he was groping her and pinching her through her clothes, finally he threw her on the bed and began to slowly remove his shirt while she was undoing her hair.

*****

Rajeev looked like a bum who had just stolen a watch and a cell phone as he stood perplexed in front of her door around 6:25 AM as shown by his mobile. He sighed and summoned the lift, he got in it lazily and pressed the G. He calmly wore his watch and readjusted his shirt and tried to look as presentable as he could. He smiled as he got out of the lift and made it out of the housing society compound and on the way he double checked to make sure he had everything and kept smiling. He tried not to think, as was his habit while he coolly waited for the first bus to arrive. He was just feeling. Everything was lit up as if it were paradise, the chirping of the birds, the school children, the newspaper vendors, stray dogs and even the filthy beggars seemed joyous to him; he was floating on air and intermittently focused not to think. After a while the bus arrived, it was quite empty since it was a stop or two from the Depot, he got on whistling some easy tune, paid the conductor when he too smiled and joked. It was a new beginning and sunshine was piercing through the cold, chilly air of early morning.

As the bus raced along its career, it stopped for a long time at a crowded stop, all kinds of children and teenagers were getting on which filled the air with commotion. Rajeev there saw, on the opposite side of the road, a hand-cart puller in all his glory starting the day with a slight smile, his eyes followed the laborer’s march when they picked up a rickshaw coming towards the bus on the other side. As it neared the bus it slowed and stopped completely exactly diagonal to Rajeev’s position, a woman got off, paid the driver and started to cross the road to Rajeev’s side, while he looked on. The bus was overcrowded, people spoke in loud voices, the bus’ gear got stuck but Rajeev could not hear a thing! All he could hear was his heartbeat slowing down, feel his chest caving in and as the bus slowly moved on he stared right into the eyes of Janvi! He saw her as clear as he could see the day, she was just like he imagined – tall, slightly oval face, long, slender, ladylike fingers and wearing a traditional salwaar-kameez. And as the bus pulled away-as if to say something, she too stood in the middle of the road, paralyzed and staring with her deep, dark back eyes!

A Declaration

The tube delivers its share of images and words, facts and figures; and in the process I get the news that Anna Hazare has been arrested. It does not have the slightest effect on me, this is India I say, shit happens. So, mechanically almost out of habit I try to make sense of all thats going on, seperate the colors, name the patterns and suddenly it dawns to me. The singlemost utility of the whole IAC movement is that, we now seem to care. We, the people now realize the full extent of democracy, the spirit of Athens. The members of the society who have the Right to Vote do not merely vote, moreover the levy of this right carries with it a burden. It is the duty too of these same People towards the future and themselves to be a vanguard of the Nation against her own people.

As I sat at my window watching the rain, trying to capture the beauty of the falling droplets in the flourecent light, I am reminded of a purticular text; of which I may quote not from the liberty of memory but the binds of pages:

"...We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, That whenever any form of government becomes dstructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation in such principles and organising its powers in such form, as to them most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shown, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security..."

The text is called the "The Declatation of Independence" signed, more than two centuries ago and even today it stirs the most stagnant of waters. Its not in the knowledge of the lone droplet, the Idea of rain but in its nature only does water descends to our aid. Such is the analogy in a Man, we are oblivious of the Idea of a revolution for we are Individuals. But if we lie to ourselves and shirk, our duties and responsibilities for the alternatives of Ignorance and Indifference, bewarned its cost is the steepest. Governments fail only beacuse the People have failed; when the people fail to be vigilant, to demand justice, to care for the fellow being; only then do the Govenments breed Pestilence, Injustice and Indifference. Our true criminal is not the Parliament, it is yourself. Let this realization be the core of our awakenings and amends.

It is my sincere hope that after reading this prose, you may stir from your sleep and shed the sloth that lays heavily over your intelligence. It is truly never too late to be sorry and effect repair. Choose your sides. Choose wisely.

Amen.