Valli

“Yes, the whole thing is indeed a farce! I must be dreaming! But, then again, the weight of the bundle in my arms feels very real. It feels warm, and it squirms too. I had thought of a name for it, but I cannot remember it now. Though, I do remember the emotions that the name had evoked when I had first thought of it. Warm, ebullience had filled my bosom. Not the kind of happiness that one feels for a moment and forgets the next. This was more like the warmth that the coal retains, sustains and emits for hours.

My mother in law had seemed to be a genial and warm lady. After my marriage, as is tradition, I moved into my husband’s home. This tradition is indeed changing in India, but as with the other changes in India, it is mostly confined to the middle classes and the richer populace. Not that I am complaining. There are certain distinct advantages to the joint family system. The emotional and physical support that members extend to prop up each other during times of duress is incomparable.

Only, there isn’t anyone that I could share my feelings with right now. Maybe that’s why I don’t feel any emotions. Or maybe, like the coals of happiness, the coals of deep sorrow are gradually tending towards their ignition point, after which I cannot bear to think of the weight that would build up in my bosom, replacing the weight of the bundle in my arms.

Most stories in our media today vilify the mothers in law. But in Hindi, we call them Saas, a word that closely resembles the Hindi word Saans, meaning breath. Probably because, they are meant to be the breath of life, infusing new joy in our lives, and indulging upon their sons or daughters in law lavishly.

My Saas had indeed been a breath of fresh air. She had been ecstatic when my husband had proudly proclaimed our pregnancy. She too had begun thinking of names. Ashok, Bharat, Raja, Dharmar, Eeshan, Murgesh… The list had been long. But none of those names matched the effect that the one name that I had thought of for you had had on me. What had it been? Va… Vana… no it was Valli! Valli, a beautiful Tamil name. It somehow gave a tangible form and meaning to all my desires and aspirations that I had built up for you while you were still in my womb!

The tragedy of the our nation is not the countless wrongs and evils in society, but the nonchalance with which all of it is accepted. To an average Indian, it is normal for the powerful men to get away with rape, theft, murder, goondaism, and even genocides. We have had a few pogroms of our own, and the perpetrators are still walking freely on our streets, occupying positions of power and the people accept it nonchalantly. Aside from these age old strategies of politics, we also have a growing nexus, an evil wedlock between the government and the industrialists. Where this is going to take our society, I cannot fathom.

However, the greatest crime that our society has inflicted upon itself is probably the mass murder of the Girl child!

Yes, I shall shortly be joining the ranks of the millions who have made their little girl children disappear.

My Valli, why do you keep looking up at my face? With such a gentle smile too, resting peacefully in my apparently reassuring and secure arms, do you not sense the monstrous deed that I am about to carry out?

How things got this bad this soon I cannot understand. During the earlier stages of my pregnancy, the doctors had already indicated to us your gender. Though this is illegal, it is quite common for the medical practitioners to flout the law and add a healthy supplement to their monthly income.

Society has ganged together and has decided to rip apart the Girl Child. At every stage of Her life, she faces numerous dangers. While within the warm womb, she probably thinks she is safe from the grubby, bloody paws of the world. While in her infancy, she does not understand why she does not get the same quality of food and clothing, love and care that the family bestows upon her brothers. While in her youth, she bows her head while walking in the streets, ignoring the catcalls and the leers and fervently hopes that she gets home without being molested. While her womanhood blossoms, she is forced to cull the tiny buds of Her next generation. As a woman, she is forced into a subservient position, with none of her humanity being recognized and respected.

My situation is similar. My sweet mother in law turned into a vicious venom spewing putrid monster when I refused to abort. My father in law tried giving me “practical” advice by summoning up all his worldly wisdom. My husband at first seemed like he cared for you. With time, and with the constant stream of venom being filled into his head, he too turned against me... and you!

What am I to do dear Valli? No, I cannot look upon your face if you smile! Stop smiling! I shall pinch you and make you cry… but wait, what if the noise attracts the creatures of the dark? The river Cauvery runs deep and still at this point. We shall sit here on the shore for a while, just you and me Valli.

A woman is brought up and prepared to be inducted into the patriarchal society. Her education is compromised upon. Why would she require an education? She is to be married off to some other family, she wouldn’t need professional skills, all she needs is to know how to cook and run the household!

Well, running the household is harder than most men would realize. And we hardly get any credit for it Valli! Well, all this does not matter, for you shall swim for one last time in the cool womb of Mother Cauvery.

Look, at those puppies there Valli. What a joy it is to watch them and their mother! Ever so dedicated and selfless is She! But look now Valli! I shall give it some milk from your bottle, I hope you don’t mind, we mothers should stick up for each other, shouldn’t we.

But look now! A dog has come and driven away the mother, it is lapping up all the milk! She has meekly submitted! She is subjugated across all specie, Valli!

My dear baby, why did I ever bring you into this world? My eyes are welling up now. Before my bosom explodes, I shall drop you into the water! Oh! Don’t look at me that way! I am evil! I am a monster, do not smile at me Valli!

But look now! The dog! It is lunging towards the little pups. Surely, the way it is growling, it means to harm them! How much evil must I partake of today?

But the mother is standing her ground! The bitch is fighting back Valli! Look, she seems transformed from the meek submission of just a moment ago! Her canines are glowing and when she growls, it is as if I am growling along with her, as if, all her Mothers, since the ages past, since Her primeval beginnings are growling along with her!

She has fended him off Valli! Hurray! Mothers are not helpless after all!

Oh Valli! Let us not be hasty! I shall sit here and think of the various ways out for us. Surely I shall be able to provide for you!

Millions of women are happy and lead fulfilling lives under circumstances worse than ours. I have not completed my college degree, but at least I am educated! Human society is not as bad as the lawless world of the animals who live by their tooth and claws. India is not a jungle filled with debased animals.

Come Valli! We shall start our new life together. I hope you will forgive my momentary weakness and embark upon this new adventure along with me!

Oh! Why do you cry now! You stupid child! How can I possibly entrust you to the tempestuous Cauvery when you have not even learnt when to smile and when to cry?

I shall protect you with my life dear Valli! Fear not! We shall face life together! What is the worst that could happen? Worse than what could have happened tonight? Never! Come my love, our adventure awaits!"

A Most Unfortunate Turtle

"Please photograph the turtle with its carapace facing upwards and once with its belly upwards. Place a scale alongside it for reference. Please mail these photos to me, and release it into the sea.", said Dr Divya.

"All right madam... No its not a problem at all, I'll take care of it. Right ma'am.", said Adesh as he cut the call and stuffed the phone down his pocket.

"Is it a turtle or a tortoise? Is there a difference at all?" asked Pandey.

A quick look on wikipedia revealed to both the young civil engineers that turtles primarily habituated aquatic environs while tortoises were found in arid regions.

Adesh and Pandey had come to the worksite- situated on the shore of the Bay of Bengal, forty kilometers north of Chennai- in the morning to find their labourers and supervisors peering into a water tank. Upon closer inspection, they found that there was a turtle inside the tank. Apparently, Billu, one of the workmen had found the animal nearby and had brought it to the camp site.

"Maine road pe se uthaya sirji", said Billu in hindi. ("I lifted it off the road").

For the past couple of months, many Olive Ridley turtles' carcasses had turned up on the beach. Dr Divya, a retired professor from a Marine Fisheries Research Institute had been notified and had personally visited the site a few times to identify the species. She had advised the two engineers to take due care and report any findings of live or dead turtles or egg laying sites.

Upon finding the little turtle inside the tank, and that too alive, Adesh was ecstatic. He had been an avid watcher of documentaries featuring animals since childhood. The sight of so many dead creatures had made him call Dr Divya initially when the carcasses had been turning up. After feeling helpless for so many days, here was his chance at last to do his bit to help this ancient species. He was sure that the small turtle was an infant and had lost its way after hatching. He decided that he would release it into the sea much like the Steve Irwins on television.

Pandey on the other hand was ecstatic too, but for a different reason. His eyes came half out of their sockets, and his smile revealed most of his teeth; his canines shining brightly.

"Lets eat it!", cried Pandey.

"No!", cried Adesh and half the labourers.

"Yes!", cried the other half with glee.

"Its an endangered creature! Don't you have enough of chicken and fish as it is?", said Adesh.

"Look Adesh, I grew up working part time at a butcher's shop. When I look at goats or chickens, I only see the curry, not the animals. I've had a long unfulfilled wish to eat a tortoise, let me have this one." pleaded Pandey.

Kalu, one of the labourers, took up Pandey's case. He explained patiently to Adesh and the others opposed to eating the turtle that the best way to cook them would be to put them into a vessel containing boiling water while they are still alive. The vessel would have to be closed with a heavy lid, or a stone could be placed upon a lighter lid to prevent the turtle from escaping the vessel as it frantically rushes around inside it during its final death throes.

"Gud gud gud gud gud gud... Gud gud gud gud gud gud... Gud gud gud gud gud gud... Bhagega!", cried out Kalu while circling his arms horizontally indicating that the turtle would rush around in circles within the vessel while noises indicated by the onomatopoeic 'Gud gud gud gud gud gud...' would be generated.

Post the boiling procedure, the turtle would be relieved of its carapace and seasoned and cooked in a gravy.

"Please don't call that Divya lady! Let me have this thing!" cried out Pandey as if he were gasping for water in the heart of the Thar on a hot summer day. He had been quite inspired by Kalu's vivid description of the cooking procedure.

"DOCTOR Divya! She is a senior scientist who retired from a very high position from a national institute, at least have a little respect!" said Adesh as he fished out his phone and dialed the number.

The number turned out to be wrong, much to Pandey's amusement. But Adesh prevailed upon him to call Dr Divya.

"Fine, I'll call this Divya woman." said Pandey grumpily.

"The turtle seems to be a young one judging by its photographs. It is probably scared to venture out into the sea. After releasing it, please observe to see if it returns to the shore. Call me back if that happens, we will then have to rehabilitate it elsewhere." said Dr Divya.

Adesh and Pandey proceeded towards the shore followed by ten of their workmen.

"Fine, but if the damn thing comes back, it is mine!" cried out Pandey.

Standing a few feet from the water, Adesh freed the turtle on the sandy beach. Within seconds, it completely burrowed and buried itself into the soil.

Billu had been observing the two engineers. He intervened at this point and asked them what it was exactly that they planned to do. Adesh took it upon himself to explain the life cycle of Olive Ridleys and how the young ones needed to swim out to sea immediately upon hatching.

"Par yeh namak pani ka toh nahi hai sirji!", cried Billu. (But this isn't a sea water turtle sir)

Adesh and Pandey assured him that a highly learned person, recently retired from a premier institute had seen the photographs, and they were simply following her advice. Billu nodded his consent, although he had originally brought the turtle to the campsite with the hope of raising it.

Kalu dug the turtle out. It immediately receded into its carapace, Kalu started tapping on its shell while wearing a hungry smile on his face. "Gud gud gud gud gud gud...", cried he delightfully, making one last futile attempt to make Adesh see his point.

Pandey snatched the turtle from Kalu's hands, rushed out towards the sea and released it in waist deep water. Everyone sighed as they watched the turtle swim away in the turbulent rough sea, although half of them sighed with relief and the other half from disappointment.

"Kya fayda sirji, yeh to mar jayega!" cried a forlorn Kalu. (What's the use sir, it will surely die.)

Adesh had had enough of this rubbish and turned the full force of his ire towards Kalu and Billu who had persisted on having morbid thoughts despite being assured of Adesh's ten years of NGC watching experience and the qualifications of Dr Divya.

"The female turtles come onto the shore and dig a hole to lay their eggs. Once the hatch-ling digs itself out of the nest, it needs to move out towards the sea. This turtle must have lost its way, which is why you found it on the road behind our camp site-"

"Not the road behind out camp site sir! But the Chennai bye-pass highway near Ponneri!" cried out Billu cutting short Adesh's monologue.

"But that is 20 kilometers inland! Then this couldn't possibly be a sea turtle!" exclaimed Adesh while turning to look horror struck at the huge waves crashing onto the shore. The Bay of Bengal was not at all happy, and it showed! The swells could be seen breaking far before the inter-tidal zone, and the strong wind wasn't helping matters much.

Adesh ordered the entire group to get back to work while trying to mollify an irate Pandey.

"You brought the damn thing from twenty kilometers away and you tell us now! After its thrown into the bloody sea! Its not even endangered! I could have eaten it, if only you had opened your mouth earlier!" shouted Pandey at Billu.

A few hours later, Kalu came running towards Pandey. They could be seen whispering together much like conspirators planning a despot's demise.

"Don't stop me now, remember the deal, its mine if it returns!" said Pandey.

Adesh didn't try to stop Pandey and he tried not to get too perturbed by Kalu who was circling his arms wildly while repeatedly crying, "Gud gud gud gud gud gud..."

Dr Divya was informed about the successful release of the Olive Ridley hatchling, without too much of the details to prevent confusion.

Yesu and the Cyclone

Exhausted though he was, he was determined that he could not possibly allow Death to claim him, despite the severe cyclone attempting otherwise. Not after the pains he had gone to for the past few months.

Yesudass, or Yesu had had a fairly good and laid back life, born as he was into a fishing community in the Katupally village, north of Chennai. Long days spent out at sea with friends, and longer nights spent at the local liquor shop with even more friends had pretty much defined Yesu's life since he had started working- that too had happened early due to the advancing years of his parents who had conceived Yesu more as an afterthought quite late in life.

Most of the trouble had begun when he had gotten married to Nina, one of the most beautiful and sought after maidens in his village. His parents were almost senile, and it was his mother's wish that he marry before they were to completely lose their senses as it would facilitate a peaceful and regret free demise.

Nina, being the headman's daughter, was entitled to a grand wedding- and a grand wedding it was! The labourers from the neighbouring ship yard under construction were drawn irresistibly to witness the spectacle.

The "first night" as it is known was to take place that very night and Yesu was literally bursting with excitement and anticipation! He had seen a pornographic video once and it had vividly remained in his memory. He could barely wait to live the very dream that had consumed his nights leading up to the wedding.

Little did he know that an earthquake had occurred in Indonesia creating near panic among the local officials who immediately issued a warning against the possibility of a tsunami similar to the massive one that had claimed hundreds of thousands of lives in 2004.

Yesu gently made the beautiful and shy Nina sit on his lap, nuzzled her neck and held her tightly. Just as he was ready to kiss her tender lips, there was a loud knock on the door. Ignoring it, Yesu started disrobing Nina who protested due to the incessant knocking on the door.

A very grumpy and irritated Yesu could only frown as his friends kept asking him for intimate details of his "first night" as they sat together in the local school which had been turned into an ad hoc  shelter. The tsunami had not happened at all and Yesu was livid with the police inspector who had very dutifully evacuated the village just as Yesu had begun to live the fantasy that had consumed his mind for months.

He was a literal nervous wreck by the time the sun had set and Nina and Yesu found themselves alone in their bedroom once again. But this time, Nina fended off every attempt made by Yesu to get close to her!

"I think it is a sign from God that we aren't ready for this yet", stuttered Nina. "We should probably just go to sleep now."

Yesu's mind could very easily have been diagnosed as that of a demented and delusional person's by the end of the first week. His friends who had also got to know of the facts could not keep from guffawing in his presence. Soon the whole village got to know of Yesu and Nina's predicament and the local temple priest called on them with very sound advice.

"It had been a threat issued by the God of the ocean that had interrupted the nuptial communion. So it logically follows that you two should begin to sleep within the same room only when there is a sign from the Lord of the waves that all is well. Nina, I command you to not allow Yesu into your bedroom until he is able to capture a large fish!" said the priest gesturing with his arms nearly a meter apart.

"But that is impossible! You know what rotten luck I have at fishing! Are you doing this to take revenge for the time when I made fun of your fake predictions and astrology?" cried out a deeply perturbed Yesu.

But Nina had taken the God man's advice seriously leaving Yesu only one way out of their predicament. With a new found energy and zeal, he would awake hours before daybreak and set out in his fiber glass catamaran. He would rove the seas looking very much like the captain Ahab chasing Moby-Dick.

Day after day, he would return with the usual catch of small fish. He would silently spread his bedsheet on the pyol of his house and promptly fall asleep due to the exhausting work. Days congealed into weeks which very quickly turned into months. Yesu and Nina had not had a physical relationship as yet, and both of them were getting frustrated, Yesu more than Nina. They had bought in to the God man's story too deeply to realise that the dredging being done within the ship yard under construction next to their village had muddied all the waters and scared away the fish.

Come November, the whole village motored their boats out of their berths in the sea into the safer backwaters, as it was cyclone season. Yesu however, continued to fish in the sea with single minded determination. His friends tried pleading with him at first and then with the God man to change his definition of a "large" fish, but to no avail.

The day when the Fishing board sent a vehicle with the loudspeakers blaring out a "Cyclone Warning" was when Yesu had reached his breaking point. He was sure that if his luck were not to change soon, he would definitely lose his mind permanently.

He silently slunk away when his friends who had come to keep a watch on him had been sufficiently distracted by alcohol induced intoxication.

To say that the sea was rough would be a huge understatement, as huge an understatement as calling the sun a 100 watt bulb, or the planet Jupiter a mere pebble floating in space. Of course, scale does matter, and if you are a giant organism, many hundred times the size of humans, then the waves in the sea on that day would have seemed like ripples. As far as Yesu was concerned though, the wind and the waves were DEADLY!

But in his delusional state, Yesu was convinced that this was nothing but another taunt from the Lord of the Ocean. Barely had he launched his boat a few meters into the roiling waters when a huge wave bodily lifted him and his catamaran and flung it across at the rocks that had been piled along the breakwater of the shipyard under construction. His boat got wedged between the boulders and Yesu was lying in it in a semi-conscious state. The heavy rain poured, poured and poured until it seemed that all the air in the atmosphere had been replaced with water. The wind blew with such force and venom as if to reassert its presence. The huge droplets whipped around by the wind hit Yesu's face with lashing force.

Yesu groggily looked around at the sea as the waves broke onto the breakwater from both sides. In the distance, towards the sea side end of the breakwater, Yesu thought he had seen a boulder standing as tall as him being rolled by the huge waves. He held out a single fist and spat out an angry curse at the Sea God, only to be hit by a wave that had managed to sweep onto the high breakwater. As he tumbled and rolled along with the wave, he saw in the brown, foamy and turbulent waters a huge black shape with fins and a tail. It was as big as a motorcar and Yesu was sure that it was the hugest fish that humanity had ever laid eyes upon. He latched onto the barnacles growing on the underbelly of the large marine creature that feebly thrashed as it was deposited onto the breakwater. He lied down beside it and fell unconscious.

The storm had passed, and the following day had dawned with a brilliant and azure blue sky. The news channels were the first to arrive onto the breakwater, followed by the villagers and last but not least, the police and paramedics.

Yesu had been revived by one of the paramedics who very readily allowed the television journalists to interview the man who had captured a baby humpback whale with his bare hands! The glucose shot in his arm had managed to bring him to his senses and the saline drip gave him sufficient strength to begin to comprehend the happenings over the last twenty four hours.

The whale carcass was still lying where he had lain along with it.

"How are you feeling right now Yesu?" cried out a hyperventilating reporter who seemed obsessed about reminding the viewers that her news channel had been the first on the spot.

"I really caught a big fish didn't I?" cried out Yesu in Tamil.

"Heh heh, the humpback whale is actually a mammal, a warm blooded creature very much like you and me, it is not exactly a fish, but Yesu here, the amazing fisherman who had lain unconscious and had been protected by the carcass of the whale is fortunate enough to have survived this amazing ordeal, I don't think he would be worrying very much about the distinction between fishes and marine mammals." said the reporter into her mic in one breathless sentence. It was all said in English though, and was lost on Yesu.

That night was the beginning of an extremely satisfactory and a joyous married life for Yesudass and Nina.

The Curious Case of Pyarelal Indrajeet

Pyarelal Indrajeet sat leaning against one of the pillars of the small Vinayak temple beside NH8, a few kilometers from Vapi in Gujrat. His face had a blank expression as he stared at the elephant faced idol which seemed to be mockingly smiling back at him.

The last of the season's monsoon was drizzling outside. The headlights of the innumerable vehicles plying on the busy highway provided illumination inside the temple intermittently.

The monsoons had always boded ill for Pyarelal. He had barely been ten when a fever had gripped his tiny frame along with the onset of the monsoons. For months, he lay under the fever's deathly spell. So much so that, even his parents had given up hope, however, with the last of the season's monsoon, young Pyarelal's fever too subsided.

He had been fifteen when he found to his great dismay that he had failed his board examinations. The first rains of the season washed away his red hot tears which poured profusely after his father had administered a sound beating. His father decided to discontinue Pyarelal's education and bought an autorikshaw for him, dashing all his hopes of higher studies.

A few years later, it was during the monsoons that he got married and the very next year, it was during the monsoons that he lost his father and became one himself.

Understandably, Pyarelal had been jittery while transporting a few engineers in his autorikshaw as black clouds could be seen lining the horizon. As he took a turning off NH8 near the Vinayak temple, it began to rain. Pyarelal- who had always been an astute and keen observer of the rains due to his fortunes being inexplicably and inextricably linked to the monsoons- noticed that the rain was especially heavy and intense. His small auto bumped up and down over the ill maintained road leading to a quarry.

Pyarelal wasn't especially shocked when his auto's wheel got stuck in a puddle and refused to budge, after all, this was the least he expected. Since the quarry was well removed from the highway, no mechanic could be found nearby. Leaving his auto behind, Pyarelal braved the downpour to find a mechanic near the highway. As he trudged past the Vinayak temple, he noticed that the Bhilkadi river flowing next to the highway had flooded its banks and had formed a great lake where there had once been green pastures.

The mechanic got his scooter ready after much coaxing by Pyarelal and the two of them rode out to the place where the auto had gotten stuck in the mud only to find that it had simply disappeared. The mechanic explained to Pyarelal that either the auto could have rolled into the deep hole in the ground that had been blasted by the quarry owners, or it could have been stolen. Pyarelal thanked him for pointing out the obvious and cursed the rains, and Indira, the God of rains.

The police inspector laughed so violently that his huge belly wobbled. Pyarelal sat with hunched shoulders and looked around him with a sheepish expression. Apparently, the bribe that Pyarelal had offered for tracing his autorikshaw had been abysmally low when compared to the industrial standard prompting the jocularity on the part of the huge man in khaki.

Pyarelal's wife couldn't make ends meet and had weeks ago decided to take the kids and go to her maternal uncle's house. This was indeed a great insult to any Indian "man", and Pyarelal couldn't brook the embarrassment of not being able to provide for his family. But there was little he could do, now that his only source of income, the autorikshaw had been taken by the rain gods.

The monsoons continued to beat down mercilessly upon the Indian subcontinent, bringing great joy and vibrancy throughout the region, however, Pyarelal's situation had only worsened with each passing soggy day.

Driven to work as a casual labourer, Pyarelal joined the workforce at the very quarry where his fortunes had taken a huge dip. This however only worsened his mental and physical condition such that he decided to let the very rains take away his life.

So, Pyarelal walked through the last of the season's rain, which had turned into a gentle drizzle. As he reached the Vinayak temple on NH8, he decided to sit there to rest his aching bones and curse the unhelpful Gods before taking his final plunge into the lake that had been formed by the Bhilkadi river which had flooded its banks. However, sleep overcame his tired mind and body and it was the temple priest who woke him in the morning which had dawned sunny and bright.

Pyarelal walked around the temple preparing to jump into the lake when he noticed that the water level had considerably reduced, and visible right in the middle of the river was the top of a black submerged object. He suddenly noticed that the skies were clear blue and hope sprung in the deep dark recesses of his soul. Excitedly, he jumped into the lake and swam to the middle. He dove under the water to inspect the submerged object and found to his unbounded delight and amusement that it was indeed his lost autorikshaw!

With the help of a considerate and kind-hearted manager at the quarry, he managed to get a crane to pull out his autorikshaw. With the little money he had managed to accrue while working at the quarry, he got it repaired. The mechanic reported with great amusement that the auto's engine had started at the very first attempt to crank it after he had serviced it.

"You must be a very lucky man!" cried out the mechanic.

"Only until the next monsoons my brother, only until the next barsaat!" replied Pyarelal in a resigned manner,

Arvee's Satyagraha

The moment Arvee had boarded the train, he had received stares and frowning countenances seemed to stretch all the way to the rear of the coach. Arvee had been forced to travel in the Mixies coach after his surgery, but ever since he had heard the inspirational speech by Clive-52, he had decided not to remain silent and submissive any more.

Arvee was not born a Mixie, it was only after a hover boarding accident while racing with friends at his law school that some of his body parts had to be replaced by bio-mechanical robotic parts. It had been a very tough decision for his parents. His father had never consented to the cyborgation process, he had in fact even suggested euthanasia. However, under section 232.334 of the constitution of the Republic of Sol System of Planets, since Arvee's mother had consented to the cyborgation process, Arvee received a new lease of life.

Arvee though had not been too grateful to his mother, for though he seemed to have changed only on the exterior, with three robotic limbs and a minor base interface implant in his sub thalamus, many of his friends had suddenly turned cold towards him. Arvee had been aware of the disgust with which Mixies were treated by society at large, but he hadn't expected to be clubbed in the same category. Not with such a minor bio-mech replacement surgery. After all, he had grown up watching the controversies that Clive-52 kept getting involved in, and C-52 was no more human than the holo-vision set he used to watch the news bulletins on; or that was what Arvee believed until he himself started to receive the same treatment that C-52 had been put through right from when he had been born.

The day Arvee returned to college after his surgery, his entire universe came crashing down around him. Odd things started happening that morning at the Gravity Train station. Somehow, news of Arvee's surgery had percolated through to the masses. Arvee received many curious stares, but some of the curious stares also had an element of disgust in them. The security personnel on the platform walked up to Arvee just before the GravTrain pulled up at the station and escorted him to the separate coach meant for Mixies. Arvee felt a burning sensation at the back of his neck and his larynx failed him when he attempted to protest.

At school, not one of his previous friends seemed to want to talk to him. Soon, a crowd of some fifty odd persons collected outside the school, mostly consisting of the members of the Socialist Party of Titan (SPT). They raised slogans against the school for having retained Arvee on their rolls. The school administration had tried reasoning with the irate mob; after all, Arvee wasn't exactly a Mixie, with barely visible changes (the robotic limbs were designed to appear natural, they could even perspire), and with no quantum processor brain implants, he was almost as normal as any other kid.

At home that night, Arvee had locked himself in his room and had refused to come out for dinner. His worried mother though couldn't pay attention to him as she had been summoned to the sessions court of Crysdo (formerly known as S III Tethys- a moon of Saturn) to defend Arvee's case against the PIL filed by the SPT.

Arvee switched channels of his holo-vision, only to find his case being scrutinised on almost all the channels. Even Neuroz, one of Arvee's favorite channels which beamed their entertainment programmes directly to the cerebral cortex of the brain had changed their usual programmes and had instead put on a horror programme in which the machines/robots subjugate humanity for centuries until the “Chosen One” manages to destroy the machines and restore humanity to its past glory. On one of the news channels, a cadre of the SPT passionately spoke about how Arvee's father had been against the cyborgation.

Arvee felt like throwing up and his chest felt like it would explode. His vision blanked out and a saline sensation filled his mouth as he bit hard on his tongue. His hand seemed to move of it's own accord as it reached for the remote and soon, the Suicide Help Network's call in programme filled up half of Arvee's room.

Arvee lay slumped on his bed as he watched the programme. When it broke for a commercial, C-52's image filled up the holo-vision. Though a sympathetic government had come to power, C-52's civil rights movement was still largely marginalised, hence most of his campaign's adverts were featured only on non-mainstream channels such as the Suicide Help Network.

C-52 had been born with a debilitating and progressive motor neuron disease. His condition could have been treated with stem cell therapy. However, Lun, where his home was situated was where the pontiff, his Holiness, The Supreme Sumwump presided and stem cell therapy had been banned on Lun a century ago when one of the first colonies were being set up there.

C-52's parents had instead opted to sign him up for an experimental programme in which his brain would be fused with the quantum computing processor of a C-52, fusion fueled spacecraft.

C-52's soothing, deep voice calmed Arvee, and his passionate speech calling for the equal treatment of all humans dislodged the last bit of doubt clouding Arvee's mind. He became convinced that he too deserved to live and nobody had a right to marginalise him or demean him.

The next day, Arvee boarded the regular coach of the GravTrain. As the train freely fell down the tunnel at an acceleration of 9.8 meters per second squared, Arvee's own conviction to fight his fight to a logical and rational end swelled up within him. The stares and frowns around him didn't seem to matter anymore. Suddenly, the brakes of the GravTrain were applied and the train pulled up at a minor service station where passenger trains rarely stopped. The doors blasted open letting in a whiff of dried fish that were being loaded into a goods train docked nearby.

Two bulky security guards marched in and shouted out Arvee's name. When Arvee responded, the two of them roughly picked Arvee up and bodily threw him out of the train. His backpack came flying after him and as it landed, it spewed out it's contents all over the docking station. The doors slid shut and the train whizzed away leaving behind a trail of water vapour as the fusion engine ran at max rpm to work the train up to the required velocity.

Arvee stood up and brushed the dirt off his trousers. His face was red with rage, but he drew in two deep breaths and calmed himself. As he stood there amid the jeering of the workers at the loading bay, Arvee silently swore to never rest until he and the other cyborgs were treated with the respect and dignity that they deserved. Much like another great soul who had stood on the platform of Pietermaritzburg as he resolved to start off Satyagraha, Arvee too fisted his hands and raised it upwards and yelled out to the universe in general, “The day Clive and me and the other cyborgs are treated as humans shall be the day of enlightenment for humanity, until then, my body and mind shall know no rest!”

Hashi Bhaiya- Short Story

For all those who had had a rough night, the following day would invariably start under Hashi Bhaiya's expert stewardship. His push cart which had one day turned up under the Banyan tree near the student's activity center quickly became the one source of solace for Advaith and many of his friends who liked to enjoy the occasional wild night.

As a bleary eyed Advaith walked up to Hashi Bhaiya's corner one sunday, late in the morning, he noticed a long faced fresher sitting on the improvised bench next to the cart. Hashi Bhaiya was preparing his special Sikanjvi, so it quickly became clear to Advaith that something had badly shaken up the “kid”. Advaith had not paid much attention to the freshers that year as the university had tightened it's grip on ragging and had gone to extraordinary lengths to curb the so called social evil. So much so that, the freshers' hostel resembled a jail after sunset.

Advaith gave a nod of acknowledgement to Hashi Bhaiya who returned it with a knowing smile. He knew that the MADS (music and dramatics society) gang had been hanging out at Wadia Bros., the alcohol store/improvised pub, the previous night. Wadia Bros. was an establishment which had for years been the mainstay for all the thirsty souls. It was an alcohol store like none other. With a clinic adjacent to it, the frequent visitors to this watering hole par excellence quite often joked amongst themselves about how TIP (This Is Punjab, inspired by the movie “Blood Diamond”) the entire set-up was. There were plastic chairs and tables on the pavement in front of the store with a tiny tin shed to one side which served starters for those who preferred their drinks with something spicy.

Hashi Bhaiya served the fresher his drink and counseled him about surviving the initial bout of home sickness that most freshers go through. Advaith stopped worrying about the “kid”, he almost felt a supercilious emotion; he looked towards the fresher for one last time with a condescending smile. The “kid” nervously looked away; Advaith decided to leave him alone and instead turned his gaze upon Hashi Bhaiya who had prepared the pick me up that he knew Advaith would eventually order. Advaith accepted his Pudhina (mint) tea with deep gratitude which he somehow managed to convey to Hashi Bhaiya through his puffy, bloodshot eyes. “A plate of chole kulche will do you a lot of good, don't skip breakfast Puttar”, said Hashi Bhaiya in rich, flowing, Punjabi accented Hindi. Advaith readily accepted the offered plate, knowing that the mess in his hostel would have stopped serving breakfast this late in the morning.

A light drizzle started and Hashi Bhaiya quickly moved his push cart further into the recesses of the shade provided by the banyan tree. One of the wheels had long since rusted and the cart moved only when Hashi Bhaiya threw his considerable bulk behind it. Advaith sipped on his tea while he gently tested the waters as he attempted to slip back into the turbulent pool of consciousness.

“Why don't you get your wheels repaired Bhaiya?” asked Advaith through the slowly clearing haze clouding his mind.

“My customers and children that I love are all here, what need do I have to move my cart?”

Advaith returned to his hostel to get back to his books. He had had enough of fun and it was time he got started with his studies since campus placement season was about to begin. His resolve to cut out the distractions even led him to refuse to answer Sachi's, his girlfriend, calls. He had reasoned that he could always have fun again, all he had to do was abstain for a couple of months and he could always make up for it later.

Twenty years later, Advaith found himself returning to his campus, which apart from a few shiny buildings remained very much the same familiar home away from home. He had indeed managed to land a lucrative position with an MNC, and for twenty years since the day he had refused to answer Sachi's phone call, he had had little or none of the kind of fun that he had grown accustomed to during his four years on campus. On the day he had been promoted to the top position which put him in charge of the Indian wing of his company, he had received an email from his institutes's Training and Placement Cell requesting for an appointment.

The email sent a jolt of excitement through his body. For twenty years he had worked eighty hour weeks and never had he even contemplated a vacation until that moment. Putting all activities on hold, he called his institute to let them know that an appointment with his offices would be unnecessary as he had decided to personally visit the institute.

As the cab neared the familiar marble decorated gates, Advaith felt like a child entering a toy store. He felt like whooping and jumping in the air.

The two hours with the dean of industrial liaison turned out to be a drawn out affair, Advaith was reminded of all the red tape that he and his friends had to cut through during the many times they had had to organise tech-fests or cul-fests.

He was relieved when he finally was able to step out of the dean's office and walk out onto the campus. He walked around his erstwhile favourite haunts and spent ageless moments gazing at the many once familiar spots. Now that Advaith was taking a close look, what emerged was almost perverse. The innumerable nooks and corners of the campus which had once been an integral part of Advaith's universe had all changed in some small way or the other. There were a couple of new buildings, but what was more alarming was the smaller changes. The Gulmohar tree under which he had first met his girlfriend had grown taller and seemed somehow, older and weaker with many branches cut off. As he rounded the corner around the student's activities center, his mind flew to a moment which had occurred twenty years ago, to a moment spent in the company of Hashi Bhaiya. He dreaded what seemed to him the inevitable. It felt like all the omens and portends which had built up a sense of foreboding in Advaith were all meant to climax at this moment when he would turn the corner...

And there he was, with a lot more grays in his hair, and his push cart missing a wheel entirely. The three other wheels had developed a lot more rust. Advaith walked up to the cart with palpitations building up in his chest. Would Hashi Bhaiya recognise him, would it be just like the old times, or would this too be another perverse metamorphosis, alien to the treasured forms that he held so close to his bosom?

“Why so jittery? Sit, I'll make you some Pudhina chai- Baijao- sit.”

Advaith walked around the cart to take his usual place on the bench, wondering if Hashi Bhaiya had actually recognised him. He accepted his tea with shaking hands and drank half the contents in one go. Hashi Bhaiya had remembered how Advaith would insist on being served chai which was not too hot, but at just the right temperature. However, he was still unsure, the tea had only increased his heart beat rate and had made him even more protective of his memories. If he opened up now, it would only make him more vulnerable.

“Have you been in touch with Sachi?” asked Hashi Bhaiya.

A shocked expression was all that Advaith could muster up in terms of a reply to the question.

“Ha Ha! Drink your tea first, then we can talk.”

The laugh too had remained unchanged, Advaith's temporary lapse from sanity was remedied by the Pudhina Chai.

“It is only you children who forget us, can any father stop thinking about any of his children?” said Hashi Bhaiya with a saintly smile on his face.

Advaith's throat had developed a curious condition, no matter how hard he tried to swallow, his saliva refused to flow down his oesophagus.

“You haven't been in touch with Sachi have you? Look puttar, money, power, fame are all things that we thirst for, it is only love that can actually quench our thirst. Sachi is also here in Jhelum hostel, she is doing her post doctorate, go meet, who knows, maybe something good will happen. Ha Ha! Wipe the drool off your face puttar, you look like you have just seen a ghost!”

Advaith recovered enough to laugh along with Hashi Bhaiya. For the next two hours, he sat under the banyan tree enjoying himself like he never had over the past twenty years.

“Theek hai puttar, enough time you have spent with this old man. I have a special treat for you!” said Hashi Bhaiya as he whipped out his mobile phone.

That evening was the first of the innumerable evenings that Advaith would eventually spend in the loving company of Sachi.

A True Life Story

The frail wrinkled hand reached for the remote. Overhead the rickety ceiling fan swept the dense, humid air as it futilely attempted to comfort Rajaram.

The black and white television set had long since given up the ghost and mostly displayed faint, grainy images accompanied by barely discernible sounds.

Rajaram however attributed the low quality of his television viewing experience to his failing vision and hearing.

He lethargically browsed through the few free channels that streamed through his dish antenna and found yet another serial which had a storyline and characters similar to the five others he had already seen since the morning.

His morning had been just like the ninety five mornings he had spent in his personal room at the nursing centre. Ninety six mornings before that day however had been anything but routine.

He had had a restless and lonely night. Not exactly lonely though, for had he been just lonely, it would have been unremarkable given that he had no family. On that night, a dull pain in his chest kept him company.

Saying that he had no family would also be slightly inaccurate. No, he had an ex-wife and two children somewhere in the vast Indian sub-continent. However, ever since he had severed ties with his wife, he had become so much like the floating jetsam of a wrecked ship, floating all by himself in the ocean called life.

His two sisters had tried to mend his marriage, only to face the egotistical wrath of Rajaram.

The television set continued to weakly beam an episode of a serial that Rajaram had been a regular watcher of for the past three years. He had felt an instant connection with the protagonist's husband. The story had begun in much the same way as his life had.

The “husband” had been an IAS officer, just like Rajaram had been one. The “husband's” family too had arranged his marriage with a well educated woman who was a General Physician.

Rajaram had been amused by the similarities between his own life and that of the “husband” in the serial.

The “husband” in the serial too was an egotist and a male chauvinist. He too had believed that the right place for a woman was to be by her husband's side. Much like the “husband”, Rajaram had been irked by the fact that Susila, his wife, was a successful private medical practitioner who made much more than what his paltry “government salary” amounted to. This had led to a great deal of tension and ultimately, the protagonist left her husband's home and went elsewhere with her children.

However, this was where the similarities ended. In the serial, the “husband” realized the error of his ways and after suffering many privations of the soul and mind (which was very melodramatically portrayed by the director) he re-established contact with his wife and attempted to get back together.

Rajaram's life had however been very different. A few months after Susila had left him, his sisters had come to him with the news that she had moved to Bombay and had become the director of a prestigious medical facility.

With demented eyes, he had thrown his sisters out of his bungalow when one of them had mentioned that Susila had become immensely wealthy.

A few years after having alienated himself from his siblings, he had been discharged dishonourably from the Civil Services after a popular newspaper had exposed his “under the table” deals with many industrialists.

Rajaram felt cheated. After all, he had only been trying to right a wrong, how dare a woman earn more than her husband? Life had continued its downward spiral as Rajaram drowned his frustrations in alcohol and cigarettes. Not even his ill gotten wealth could support him as he frittered it away on booze, drugs and random sluts who he would pick off the streets.

The image in the television set flickered and became grainier than before as the final episode of the serial came to an end. It was followed by an interview of the director.

As previously stated, ninety six mornings before that day, Rajaram awoke to a lovely spring day with an ear piercing scream as the dull pain in his chest had spiked in intensity.

The ambulance ride and the three days in the ICU had been a blur. Three days later, the doctor had come up to him and told him that his death was imminent and that all that medicine could do for him had already been attempted. They had helped him find the 24x7 nursing facility where they had promised to manage his pain and make death as comfortable as possible.

The last of his savings in his Swiss Bank account had had to be withdrawn to pay for the enormous fee of the nursing centre.

The interview with the director seemed to be dragging on, so Rajaram reached for the remote but stopped in his tracks when he heard the director say that the story had been based on a true life story. He went on to reveal that he had been a ten year old when his parents had broken up and his mother had never once spoken about his father after she had moved away with the children. He went on to say that his mother had died three years ago when his serial had gone on air. Towards the end of the interview, he pleaded with tear filled eyes for any information regarding Rajaram, his father.

The fan continued to sweep the dense, humid air downwards towards a Rajaram wearing a shocked expression on his face, his hands limp on the remote as he painlessly suffered his final myocardial infraction.

The Giant's Fall

The blank white noise of terror gripped at the pit of the giant’s belly. For years had he terrorized the denizens of nearby villages, for years had he exploited his natural gift of greater size and stature to subjugate the peasants. For years had he fed off the plates of the tillers of the soil and grown old and fat, his family had grown in size and he had begotten limbless offspring, for they had adapted to a life of ease and lack of need to exercise one’s limbs to eke out a living.

With time, his sight failed, his muscles weakened, his nimble limbs grew limp. The villages at the extremity of his realm withdrew from his liege-ship. Gradually his radius of influence shrunk and the day came when it shriveled to nothing. The wronged peasants drew up their cudgels and the frenzied mob frothed towards the cave of the fallen subjugator.

Ebullient blood cascaded out the hillside, the giant putting up a last stand, a clamorous battle ensued. In a last bid, the giant, with pulsating, raging veins beat back the rebels, and then, exhausted, he fell like a huge oak tree being felled.

One fat green eyed peasant settled the others. With soothing oily words, he convinced them that he would be a good replacement for the giant. The farmers picked him up on their shoulders and declared him their new liege-lord. The oldest, frailest among them remembered the moment many decades ago when the fallen giant started out in much the same way as the scene that was playing out now.

With a frantic palpitating heart, he shouted out a warning, “Fools! Don’t you see, he is the same as your fallen foe lying before you.

The bearers smiled, “Fret not old one, young be we, but not foolish!” They hurried out of the cave and quickly ascended to the summit of the mount, and with one powerful heave, they ejected their green eyed brother over the edge.

The Queer

To the peaks, cried the voice. In a hurry, they swarmed up the slopes. The queer ran ahead, with his shiny white butt exposed to the world.
Everyone has a red butt, like a baboon, how dare he practice witchcraft of an unnatural nature to morph the pigmentation of his butt to white?

In a frenzy they bore the torches with flames flaring high, with a pungent odour of hatred did their breath flume out of their flared nostrils. Chanting their leader's limericks, they proceeded with self righteous zeal, their quarry with a white shiny butt remaining but a fraction of a yard ahead. To the summit did force the mad crowd, the white butted queer looks over the edge to find a sheer drop. Turning around, he faces the frothing mob. In his desperation, he looks upwards to find clouds with leering gazes towards his shiny white butt.

The rioting mob proceeded forth with a united blood-thirst and a loud piercing cry which awoke a pensive monk from his contemplation of the infinite. He appeared with a trail of vapour before the rabid rioters, his calm, electrifying gaze stopped them in their tracks. Through his aura of blue electric arcs, the queer could be seen with a dumbstruck expression on his brow.

What be this soul's misdeed that merits such repercussions from society queried the ascetic suspended before the mob.
He holds the magical skills of sinister potential, he is capable of alchemy which turns our proud race's red butts into disgraceful shiny white butts.

I am capable of even greater alchemy you insane fools. Of powerful energy be I possessed, now shall I smote you all with some of my purifying piety. As fools did you summit this mount, now I shall make you turn tail as enlightened, clearer minds.

The queer returned home a normal person that night and thanked the great soul who came to his timely rescue. White or red mattered not any more, peace was restored until another issue were to surface.

The Interview

Saravan was on his usual rounds, the milking grounds that he was accustomed to seemed to beckon to him with a filial love. The relentless, sticky heat of the summer had forced even the dogs off the streets, but Saravan was on a mission. With his brow shining brighter than the waxed, metallic bodies of the cars lining the street, he opened the gate of the first house on the street.

Mrs. Shanmugam opened the door and recognized Saravan immediately. She was a lady in her late fifties and was the type that had never been employed in her entire lifetime. Her purpose in life had been to marry and to care for the children and the household. A victim of her times, when it had been considered improper for a woman to aspire for a corporate life. The little of the home that one could catch a glimpse of behind Mrs. Shanmugam's girth evoked a strange emotion in Saravan, he couldn't define the emotion, though many of the readers would easily be able to identify with the emotion: the emotion that one feels when visiting one's home, where one feels secure and cared for, a safe womb where none of the evils of the world can touch us.

Saravan though had never had a home, the initial stages of his boyhood had been spent on the streets. He had no memory of his mother, only that of his older brother who had cared for him while on the streets. The latter part of his childhood had been spent in the 'Sri Sai' orphanage. The streets of Bangalore had not been kind to young Saravan, he had been brought into the orphanage by some kind, caring gent who had found Saravan lying in a garbage heap in a stupor induced by inhaling the fumes of “ErazeX”. Despite the best efforts of the staff, they couldn't coax a single word out of young Saravan for months together. However when Saravan finally started speaking, he turned out to be a fast learner...

Mrs. Shanmugam had become accustomed to Saravan's monthly visits, she threw her door as wide open as her comely smile, which again evoked an emotion in Saravan which most of us would associate with the motherly figures in our lives. Mrs. Shangmugam's children had all grown up and flown out from under her wings, so it had been just her and her husband for the past five years. Saravan had always reminded her of her own son, Raghu. After all, Saravan tended to visit her more often than Raghu and had more patience when it came to making conversation with an old lady.

On that particular day however, Mrs. Shanmugam seemed rather excited, after having offered Saravan a glass of sweet buttermilk, she told him that Raghu had arrived that morning and that she would love for them to meet.

Raghu, a strapping young man in his thirties had come to Bangalore because he had grown rather bored of his job at a KPO. He had had enough of the relentless work cycles and the madness of New York city. In search of greener pastures, he had posted his resume on a website and had been called for an interview, which was the reason for Raghu's presence in Bangalore.

Raghu and Saravan however didn't get off on the right footing...

“What is it that you exaclty do Mr. Saravan?” asked Raghu.
“I am here to collect donations for the Sri Sai orphanage, I come once every month, Mrs. S has been kind enough to donate over the past two years.”

“Don't take this the wrong way Mr. Saravan, but I have seen a lot of people like you in my life. You could have been able to run this charade to fool my mother, but I don't want you bothering us any more. If you would excuse me now, I have an interview to attend.”

Saravan chose not to react, he had come across such people before and had resigned himself to the fact that humanity is capable of widely varying behaviour, ranging from the comely charm of Mrs. Shanmugam to the ruthlessness that Raghu shares with many others.

Mrs. Shanmugam squirming with immense discomfiture could not make eye contact with Saravan, when she finally managed to look at Saravan as he was closing the gate, she was instantly put at ease by Saravan who flashed her one of his huge smiles that he was famous for; twenty eight of his thirty two fine pearly whites were flashed at Mrs. Shanmugam.

The day his brother had died of dehydration on the street corner adjacent to Manipal hospital on 'Airport Road', had been the day when a certain Ms. Indra Gandhi had ceased control of the entire nation. Saravan would have surely followed suit had it not been for the saviour. Saravan had been dipping in and out of consciousness and could hardly remember the events of that particular day, but he had created a mental image of the kind gentleman who had taken concern for the dying child on the streets. Saravan had imagined his saviour as a man with balding hair and a pot belly and a huge smile on his face, just like his own. He had imagined him as having red stained teeth as a result of having chewed on betel leaves and paan, he had imagined him as having a deep laugh which emanated from somewhere deep in his rotund belly. Saravan was almost spot on as far as the physical appearances go. What Saravan will never know is that his 'saviour' was none other than Chota Fatir, a leading don of the kidney trade in the state of Karnataka. Chota Fatir was dissapointed when he found out that Saravan's kidneys could not be harvested as they had been through too many rough days.

Saravan had then been abandoned on the roadside by his saviour and had been picked up by a constable. Though Saravan has no memory of the constable, he ought to be more thankful towards him rather than Chota Fatir, because, the constable only wished to pin a petty crime on Saravan to close a case of his, he had no evil intentions such as harvesting kidneys.

When Saravan awoke from his stupor, he found himself in a state sponsored remand home for deviant children. The care that his posterior was provided by two or three caring gentlemen at that home impacted him so deeply that he would find it hard to be able to speak for another six months during which he would be transferred to the 'Sri Sai' orphanage.

Raghu had been experiencing intense bouts of anxiety since the morning. He kept thinking about what would happen if he were to not get the job. There weren't many companies hiring outsiders into top level positions, if he were to miss this opportunity, he would be forced to join elsewhere at a much lower position. Mrs. Shanmugam had forced Raghu to go to the temple with her where she bragged to the priest about her son and managed to somehow increase the anxiety of her son by displaying utter confidence in Raghu's abilities.

After having gone through his resume the eleventh time while looking into the mirror, he decided to take a break and that was when he walked into the living room to find Saravan. After having vented his frustration, he returned to his room to check his attire one last time.

Raghu was one of the last to be called in to the interview. His nervousness had been steadily building as he sat in the foyer studying each of his competitors as they walked in to the interview room. He tried studying their emotions and expressions as they walked out of the room, but that only increased his feeling of foreboding and doom.

When the receptionist finally called out his name, he was so strung up that he literally jumped out of his seat.

As he entered the room, he remembered the self help books that had stressed on the importance of establishing a rapport with the interviewers. Raghu looked at each one in the eye while maintaining a confident gait towards them. As he looked at the third man seated on the right next to the lady in the blue dress, he received a warm smile from Saravan who welcomed him and pointed invitingly at the chair meant for him. “Hello Mr. Raghu, please meet our CEO, Mr. Saravan who wanted to be personally present during this interview, I hope you understand the important nature of the job position that we have to offer.” said the lady in the blue dress.

Raghu simply sputtered out a muted response. Saravan looked at Raghu in the eye and said, “Mr. Raghu, I am willing to forget the incident that occured this morning, I request you to be calm and composed during this interview as I believe that you are one of the frontrunners for this job based on my preliminary assessment of your CV.”

Saravan had had difficulty when he first moved into Sri Sai orphanage, but when he finally opened up, his teachers were amazed by his sharp mind. Saravan had had no difficulty obtaining a scholarship for his college education. Though he had been offered a seat in IIM Bangalore, he turned it down, prefering to start a consultancy service with a friend of his. His teachers back at the orphanage were not surprised when Saravan's start up became one of the biggest consultancy companies of India in a few short years. But they were indeed surprised when Saravan turned up one day at the orphanage and volunteered to collect donations. His friend playfully said that Saravan was such a big miser that to avoid donating cash from his own pocket, he had volunteered to do the door to door collection. However, his friend too knew about the monthly sums of money that enriched the coffers of the orphanage were from Saravan's personal bank account.

Raghu was indeed the most experienced and qualified guy for the job and Saravan made sure that Raghu was selected for the position. Saravan knew better than to perpetuate hate and irrationality. Besides, he had never mixed business with emotions. Raghu went home that night, removed the poster of Jimmi Hendrix from his wall and replaced it with a blown up photo of his new favorite rockstar, Saravan.

Alampoondi

Winter in Alampoondi signified slightly chilly nights and misty mornings. The month of December brought with it the promise of a good harvest and the Tamil month of Margazhi- the month said to correspond with the morning hour of the Gods, the month in which the fiery chariot of the Sun turns around at the tropic of Capricorn and returns back to the Northern hemisphere, the month in which all the temples open at four in the morning and loudspeakers blare out songs and bhajans.

Alampoondi is a tiny village in Tamil Nadu situated near the famous forts of Gingee where Raja Desingh had valiantly resisted the onslaught of the Mughal invaders from the North only to be treacherously betrayed by a close aide. The village is also home to an ancient temple of Shiva, the destroyer; it is said to be an ancient spot where great men had lived in penance, though in India, it is indeed hard to find a village without a temple or some sort of an association with ancient mythology.

Alampoondi also holds a close place in my heart as this village is where my ancestral home is. My great grandfather moved to this village at the age of twenty five with his wife and two children in tow. My grandfather was at the tender age of 7 when his family had made this transition from Pilasur. Pilasur happens to be nearly a 100 Km from Alampoondi, and during those times of joint families, it was uncommon for people to break away and move out of one’s village.

My grandfather had never revealed to anyone the true story of our forefathers, until one starry night when all his children and grandchildren had gathered in the home built by his father in Alampoondi, he made a suggestion which made all the children squeal with delight and caused the adults to groan. He suggested that we have dinner on the terrace under the starry gallery. The children gladly ran up the stairs carrying the pots, pans and the various other dishes that were handed out to them. The older children were put in charge of arranging the “hurricane” lamps which used kerosene and made a rushing sound which sounded very much like a strongly blowing wind. The mats were set in place and the ladies of the family got the children under control.

I feel that the most satisfying part of any good meal isn’t while it is being eaten, but after it has been completely consumed and the feaster is resting blissfully with no worries and a beeda or paan in his mouth. Hence, when we had finished dinner and the dishes had all been cleared up, we were all resting on the terrace lying on the coir mats staring at the stars through the wispy fingers of clouds. That was when my grandfather told us why his father had moved from Pilasur. It had been as a result of a family feud with his elder brother. Apparently, the elder brother had demanded a greater share of property than had been assigned to him. My great grandfather had had to listen to many harsh words which were unwarranted which led to him moving away, being the peace loving man that he had been. In short, the behavior of his brother had disgusted him and being an honourable and righteous man, he could not stand the insult to himself and his wife causing him to breakaway and set up home in Alampoondi.

My grandfather had grown up in Alampoondi but he left for the city, Madras when he turned 17 in search of employment. After many years had passed and after having retired and having married away all his children, he returned to Alampoondi to buy back his father’s home. He didn’t move back there entirely though, as he realized that his life and everything in it was now in Madras. So, every weekend, grandma and he would travel the 150 odd kilometers to live the simple village life. They thought of it as a retreat where they could enjoy a peaceful weekend with none of the hustle bustle of city life. Soon it became a trend for all of us to visit them during their stay at Alampoondi, we as children used to enjoy the two day stay.

It was during the month of December when I visited my grandparents all by myself. I am the eldest among all my cousins and I was an engineering student then, my semester breaks would never coincide with the school vacations and that was how I found myself all alone roaming the verdant fields of Alampoondi. One of my good childhood friends and a resident farmer had made me promise to come visit him during the day’s work, he had enthusiastically told me to expect something fun. Expecting the unexpected, I walked towards his fields. After all, it had been Venkatesh who had taught me to swim by pushing me into one of the gigantic wells dotting the fields.

As his field came into view, I could discern a huge hulking shape moving around, as I approached, the sound of a diesel motor whirring made its way towards me. Venkatesh, proudly showed me his “combined harvester” which was capable of harvesting fields infinitely faster than the time it took for humans to achieve it manually.

The day had been a tiring one, I had spent it helping out Venkatesh on his farm, though the machine made things easier, there had still been a considerable amount of manual labour involved which took its toll on me by the end of the day. The refreshing bath that we had taken by plunging into one of the wells did help reduce the fatigue and I found myself sitting at my doorstep at sunset. As I stared into the fields which were awash in an orange glow, I noticed a stooping figure approaching our home. A black dog ran alongside him, it seemed to be leading the way, helping the old man navigate the mud path bordering two fields. I looked away at the distant mountain of Annamalai and was totally absorbed in watching the sun’s last few rays light up the peak of the mountain when I was startled by the sound of an old man’s wheezing cough. I looked to my left to find the old man standing quite close, intently staring at my face. “Are you the vadyar’s son?” enquired the old man. (Vadyar means teacher in Tamil.)

“No, I’m his great grandson, who are you?” said I staring into his wrinkled old face.

“I need to speak to Vadyar Saar or his son, could you please go inside and fetch him for me?” said the old man with a toothless smile on his face.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are. Vadyar Saar is no more, he would have to be at least a hundred and ten to be alive now! His son though is resting inside and I can fetch him for you if you like.”

“That would be nice, tell him that I’m an old relative of his, tell him that I have seen him as a very young child, that he once pulled my beard and had playfully called me Dhaadi. I am sure that he remembers. Who are you young man?”

“I’m Shankar, Vadyar Saar’s great grandson. Nice to meet you, what is your name thatha?”

“You too can call me Dhaadi, I see that you are an intelligent young man, what are you doing with your life?”

“I’m in college now, doing an engineering course. Which village are you from thatha?”

“I… I cannot face him once again. I… Listen, do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Yes, a younger brother, but he is not here now. I came here by myself.”

“No, no, brothers must never let anything come in between them. Make sure that whatever it is, you resolve it. Go back and apologize for having quarreled!”

“We didn’t quarrel, I am…” but the old man had turned around and disappeared into the darkness, the dog’s barks could be heard echoing through the night air.

“That seems strange.” remarked my grandfather when I recanted the details of my interaction with the hermit like man.

“He asked me to call him Dhaadi, he said that that was what you used to call him while playfully tugging at his beard when you were a child.”

“Ha! Ha! No that can’t be! How do you know that? I’ve never told anyone about Jai Ram Maama except for that little story on the terrace the night we had dinner up there. You must be making these things up! Come on, tell me, you made it all up didn’t you?” yelled my grandfather.

“No thatha, he even had a black dog which ran along with a limp. He told me all this. Who is Jai Ram Maama?”

“My God! It can’t be! Jai Ram Maama died a few years before father!”

“Thatha! Please tell me who Jai Ram Maama is!” I cried out though I knew very well what answer I was to receive.

“Jai Ram was my father’s brother, the one who drove away our family from Pilasur! May Lord Shiva help him find peace soon!”

That night, I called my brother and spoke for an hour. I even called all my cousins and friends the next day, I guess silly things may sometimes build an impregnable wall between people, what I have tried in life ever after that incident has been to ensure that my human side is not corrupted by my materialistic lust.

The Second Class Coach

Rosy Kutti knew that it would be impossible to get a seat on the train at such short notice, but her daughter had called her again and as usual she had cried over the phone. Especially in the last month, the distress calls from her daughter had increased in frequency. Maybe, if Rosy had let Mary continue with her studies, probably they would all have been better off. She had hoped that her son, Ebenizer would one day grow up to be a great doctor or an engineer and would pull the family out of the hole. He grew up to be a drunkard and gambled all the money that Rosy earned by working twelve hours a day as a maid cleaning houses and washing vessels and clothes.

The train was crowded just as she had expected it to be. What with all the holidays coming up, people were going home to their families. Though she only had an open ticket, she decided to take her chances in the reserved coach. She wasn’t the only one, the aisles were choked with people and the TTE who was making his slow way across the train would have on any other occasion thrown the open ticket holders out of the coach, but today, he was in no mood to do his job right as that would entail a lot more effort than was humanly possible.

Rosy found a comfortable spot to stand at. She positioned herself next to a compartment which was predominantly occupied by families who were traveling together. She stood next to the backrest of one of the seats and leaned her tired back against it.

Rosy had decided that Mary had been through enough, she couldn’t allow her daughter to be punished for no reason by her insane drunkard of a husband. She would now be able to channelize all the anger that she failed to express towards her son in the direction of her son-in-law. Besides, she had been spending too many Christmases in the company of her drunk son, this time, she wanted her daughter by her side when they held the special mass that she loved so dearly as it meant that she could sing all her favorite songs that she had learnt at Sunday school as a child.

The seat that Rosy stood right next to had a harried young father seated on it. Shanmugan was traveling for the first time in his life in the second class compartment as the first class had been booked months ago. His wife and his two year old daughter were next to him on the inner seat.

Shanmugan was not happy with the situation at hand. He had been holding his piss for the last hour because he couldn’t imagine how he would be able to make his way through the crowded aisle. His wife pointed out that the vendors from the pantry car were doing alright. Following his wife’s advice, he followed in the wake of a ‘bhajji’ seller and managed to reach the toilets at the end of the compartment after fifteen minutes of jostling. By the time he came back, Shanmugan was not at all a happy man! He was a successful business man who made big bucks, this ought not to be the way for him to travel! He had suggested chartering a helicopter, but his wife had objected saying that he should stop frittering away his cash and probably start a savings account for their daughter’s college tuition. Shanmugan had wisecracked asking if she wanted him to save up cash to buy a college, but to no avail and there he was, in a crowded, hot and smelly compartment of the largest rail service in the world!

Rosy had taken Shanmugan’s seat when he had been gone. She had been working weekends too for the past two months and today had been an especially arduous day which had begun at three in the morning. Shanmugan though was in a dark mood and took immense offence at Rosy having taken his seat. Didn’t he have enough troubles in his life already? What sort of a twisted mind was responsible for his fate?

What irritated Shanmugan even more was that now he would have to fight his conscience and that too after a very exhausting duel with his sphincter muscles. Rosy was an elderly woman who seemed like she could really use the seat more than anyone else in the coach, but Shanmugan had always been able to silence the voice of his conscience and he did it in his own inimitable style. His father had taught him well, there can be no conscience in a business man’s life. Good advice, Shanmugan had followed it from day one and had managed to dethrone his father from the business and had taken over the empire.

“Are you crazy woman? Get out of here or I’ll call the TTE!” shouted Shanmugan. As he shouted, his daughter who had taken a special liking to Rosy and had snuggled up in her lap woke up with a start.

Rosy glared at him and silently got off the seat, she knew better than to argue with these rich snotty types, she had worked for too many of them and knew that they were self centric and it would be meaningless to try to hold a civil conversation with them, they would simply snub you.

Rosy went back to her standing position and the train moved on. Shanmugan sat down grumbling and muttering loudly about all the dregs of the society giving everyone a hard time. Rosy chose not to reply and simply stood next to Shanmugan’s seat.

Shanmugan took his daughter onto his lap and the rocking motion of the train gradually cradled the little one back to sleep. As she slept, her little head slowly came to rest upon Rosy’s hip and the tender mother in Rosy involuntarily put her hand over the girl’s head and slowly patted her, the little girl’s hand reached out in a state of drowsiness and seeked out Rosy’s hand. “Amma” cried out the girl. Shanmugan jerked in his seat and so did his wife. Their daughter had spoken for the first time and she was doing it again! There it was, she said “Amma” again! Rosy continued patting her little head and the girl looked up into Rosy’s eyes and repeated. Shanmugan in spite of himself had tears in his eyes. He didn’t know what to say, but Rosy just looked at him and smiled in her usual serene manner and all Shanmugan could do was to return the smile.
The train moved on…