25 Feb 2017

Home

This happened last weekend when my mom had come to Bangalore for a short stay. 

I was standing in front of the mirror, trying to comb my hair in spite of the knowledge that the hair strands would go dancing in their own directions once I stepped out of the flat. 
For some reason, my attention shifted to the bottom corner of the mirror and I noticed a small, circular maroon-colored bindi stuck there. 
I slowly moved my fingers over it. I was reminded of the untiring efforts I had put in as a child to stand on my toes and reach up to the bindis adorning the mirror. I was also reminded of how I had learnt about the solar system using the maroon dots. 
As memories flooded my mind, I looked at the mirror. My reflection was staring back at me from my bedroom in Chennai. He seemed at home.
And then it hit me.
Home is not the place where reminders of a family are stacked up in shelves. Home is not the place where you age along with the neighboring kid, the maidservant, the security guard and the seesaw of the apartment playground. Home is also not the place where the owner of the grocery store at the end of your street has seen your favorite drink evolve from Milo to Boost to Coffee. 
Home is just the place where your most loved ones surround you. 

Maybe, in a sense, we can all strive to be snails for a major part of our lives. 

5 Feb 2017

A theft of love

(A short story dedicated to every stolen object that longs to return to its rightful owner) 

Ganesh unlocked the front door and entered his house. The hour hand in the wall clock hung by the living room entrance struck 4. The shadows had started growing longer. 

Ganesh opened the windows in the living room and entered the kitchen. He had learnt more about cooking in the week that had passed than he had ever had in the 35 years he had been married to Geeta. Geeta's hospitalization had been an unexpected blow. 
A blow that had made Ganesh rethink if his decision with Geeta, a week after their marriage, to not have children, had been a mistake. Back then, their love for each other had been selfish enough to not let in a third person. 

As Ganesh placed the milk cooker on the stove, he remembered Geeta's anger at the hospital. 
Ganesh had informed Geeta that he had washed her favorite silk sari - the yellow colored, green bordered, a-magnificent-peacock-symbol-in-the-center silk sari - with a few of his clothes. "Do not tell me you have let that silk sari dry on our backyard clothesline!", Geeta had raised her voice. Ganesh had offered a sheepish smile. 
"In all these years, have you not noticed that I always dry that sari indoors?" she had asked, frustrated. "I notice your saris only when you wear them", Ganesh had replied with a grin.
Geeta had been unable to hide her smile after that reply and they had spent the next hour reminiscing the happenings of their first wedding anniversary - the day when Geeta had worn her favorite silk sari for the first time.

Ganesh walked out of the kitchen and towards his backyard. He unfastened the latch of the backyard door and stepped out. As he looked at the clothesline, his heart skipped a beat.
The silk sari was missing.
He hurriedly looked around to see if the wind had displaced the sari. But the wind had not been the culprit. Ganesh looked at the vast expanse of paddy fields that lay beyond the compound wall of his house. He could imagine a faceless man running across the fields with his wife's silk sari. 

Not wanting to pick up his clothes from the clothesline, Ganesh entered his house. He could not wipe off his mind the image of Geeta smiling her generous smile, adorned in the yellow colored, green bordered, a-magnificent-peacock-symbol-in-the-center silk sari. He remembered vividly her attention-seeking-cough as she had stepped out of their bedroom, wearing the sari for the first time. The sight of her, in that sari, had blew him away that an hour later, Geeta had had to dress up again. 

Ganesh entered the kitchen and emptied a cup of water down his throat. Standing there, he could recall various instances of Geeta drying the silk sari indoors. "I do not have a diary for recording my special memories with you. All of them are locked inside this", he remembered her mentioning once, as she was carefully ironing the silk sari. 
Ganesh walked to the backyard again hoping he had missed a corner. He walked in circles around the backyard, scanning every inch of it. He then told himself that the wind might have blown mightily and stepped out of his house, to search on the other side of the compound wall. Half an hour later, as he finished his second search around the compound wall, he arrived at his doorway ready to come to terms with the fact that the silk sari had been stolen. He seated himself on the ground, letting the sadness sink. He then stood up and walked to his bedroom. 
He had realized that a walking stick and a new pair of spectacles had to wait.

****

Ram stood in the backyard of Ganesh's house, his entire body mildly trembling. It had been a year since his last theft. He recalled the promise he had made to his wife on the night he had returned from prison, to never steal again, as she had lay sleeping. It had been a six-month sentence but it had felt like a six-year separation from his wife. 

Ram looked at the silk sari hung on the clothesline. He badly wanted to return to his wife without becoming a thief. But she lay in the hospital, fighting for her life. "I will not let you die", he had promised her his second promise in the two years they had been married. 
Ram had then walked around the hospital corridor wondering about the means for the required money when he had overheard Geeta asking Ganesh if he had dried her silk sari on the backyard. Ram knew where Ganesh's house was - It was the kind of small town where everyone knew everyone's house yet everyone enjoyed considerable privacy. 

Ram removed the wooden clips and pulled the silk sari from the clothesline. As his fingers ran through the silk, he remembered the times when his fingers had run through his wife's hair. He did not want to break his first promise but he had to, for the sake of his second. 
Holding the sari in his hand, he looked at the locked house. He did not want more than what he needed. Folding the sari into a small bundle, he climbed the compound wall and ran across the paddy fields.

Two hours later, Ram entered the hospital with the required money. He rushed to the ward where his wife had been admitted. As he stepped inside the ward, he noticed a nurse removing the medical equipment attached to his wife. He felt a fierce pull in his stomach. He walked closer to his wife and as he reached her, he realized that the only person who had ever loved him was no more. He wanted to cry but his sadness would not allow him to. He seated himself on the ground beside her bed. 
He realized that he had broken both his promises. He asked his wife if it was the first promise that had killed her. He knew he would not get an answer but it was a question he did not want an answer to. He then stood up and walked out of the hospital. 
He had realized that he no longer needed the money. 

****

Darkness had begun to descend as Ram ran across the paddy fields. He reached the compound wall of Ganesh's house and climbed over it. Seated over the wall, he noticed through a window that the light in the living room was switched on. But Ram had no fear of being caught. His fear had died along with his hope and his wife. 

Ram jumped down from the wall and walked towards the clothesline in the backyard. His left hand held the folded silk sari in a small bundle. Unfolding it, he spread it over the clothesline. 
As he decided to leave, something placed on the living room table caught his attention. Ram moved closer to the window. After he realized what it was, a teardrop rolled down his face. 
It was a new yellow colored, green bordered silk sari that lay atop a textile shop cover. 

1 Feb 2017

Love is not a one-man show!

(A conversation I want to record here as a constant reminder to this amateur writer who, in his real life, often contradicts the advice he offers)

My friend and I were riding to a theater on his motorbike. We were not wearing helmets and a pleasant evening breeze was kissing our faces constantly. After a 5 minute silent ride, we came to a halt at a traffic signal. 
"I am scared of what is going on between me and X", my friend said, as vehicles in the opposite lane began rushing past us.
"Is something actually going on?!", I joked.
Landing a punch with his elbow, he continued. "I feel that we are going to end up in a relationship but I am scared of it". 
I remained silent. He turned to look at me like a determined teacher who would not proceed till an answer is given. 
"Let me tell you from personal experience. We feel a lot of things inside. But only a small - a really small - portion of those feelings actually happen in real life" I told him.
It was evident from his face that he had not wanted that answer. So he proceeded with his side of the story.
"I am scared because I keep thinking about my ability to maintain a relationship. And I do not know if I will be really good in putting in the effort".
"What effort?", I asked him.
"Being there for her always. Understanding all her pleasures and problems. Being really possessive yet not too controlling. All the usual effort", he answered.
"But it is not that you are going to be the only one putting in all the effort, right?", I asked him as the traffic signal changed to green. 
My question shocked my friend. It shocked him so badly that he was unable to start the motorbike, frustrating the cars and lorries behind. Somehow, a few seconds later, he managed to start the motorbike and a few hundred meters further, he stopped the bike at a corner. 
"Repeat your question", he told me, bending forward to rest his head on the speedometer of the bike. 
"It is not that you are going to be the only one putting in all the effort, right?", I obediently repeated. 
Hearing the question, my friend let out a hearty laugh. I placed my hand on his shoulder and patted it a few times because I understood the realization that had hit him. 

The same realization had hit me only a year ago. 
I had always been worried if I had had enough love, if I had had enough time, if I had had enough talent that I had failed to think that the other person would also be contributing.
Love had always been thought of as a one-sided effort. 
And it pained me to know that a few of my friends continue to think so. 

"Did you understand that love is a two-sided game?", I asked my friend, a minute later, shaking him up from his epiphany. 
He nodded with a smile. "But even if she does not...", he started but I did not let him complete. I knew what he was about to say.
"You do not become God", I told him in a raised voice. "Trust me. You do not have to prove anyone that you can love a person unconditionally."
My friend turned to look at me and understood that I meant every word of it. 
"Anyways.." he started again but I placed my hand over his mouth.
"I care immensely about you and your love life but we have a film that is going to start in 15 minutes. And I really do not want to miss the titles" I said firmly. 
My friend gave me an angry stare and started his motorbike. 
Fifteen minutes later, I sat inside the theater a happy man - Happy that I had been able to guide my friend and happier that the titles of the film had not yet begun.