To Infinity 2

Living all alone had taken a toll on her. She left for work at 9am and reached home at 6pm. Her parents were in Vizag. She came to Pune to achieve her dream of working in a media company. She wasn’t alone 6 months back. She had a boyfriend. He died. Mukfiya still believed that his spirit lived in the house. She went into depression but music brought her back. She had witnessed his death right in front of her eyes. The image of him looking at her and crossing the road and hit by a speeding truck is one of the dumbest climaxes for a love story.

He died on the spot. She fainted, which was pretty obvious. She didn’t go to work for 2 months. The sheer fact that the landlord would throw her out if she delays paying the rent forced her to join back. She just dragged herself and always stopped when an Ashok Leyland crossed. She couldn’t believe the fact that she was doing such things considering the practical girl she was. She was 24. He died 22. Her life had become too boring. She never lived such a lonely life. music was the only drug for her but she couldn’t speak with it. She sometimes went into a dual personality mode and indulge in a conversation.

Exactly after 6 months she went into CCD. She sat at the same place they used to sit. She found someone new there. She couldn’t recognise who he was but he had a certain charm to his face. She didn’t want to approach him. She had a Kappi Nirvana and left. She went back to CCD the next weekend. She again found him. She went and sat opposite him and kept looking at him. She didn’t know what to speak. She had absolutely no idea what she was doing.

Life was back on track for Mukfiya. Her job was going great guns, music befriended her in the solitary life she had and the recurring visits to CCD to meet him completed her life nowadays. She knew Roy was seeing everything.

She kept staring at her new man in CCD. She knew the only person who could see him was her. He was God. God had come down to love Mukfiya. He knew that she still loved in the company of Roy’s spirits and had a pure heart.  Mukfiya started receiving God’s love. She stared at the invisible spirit everytime she was in CCD. 

She started loving the immortal. Unlike Roy she knew that God would never die. God would always be there till she dies and probably even after that.  Mukfiya fell in love all over again. This time with someone who would last a lifetime. For her love is immortal.

Well she fell in love with someone who is immortal.

Raped

“Every 54 minutes a girl is raped in India.” Tuffy was taken aback by that piece of information run on a news channel. It was 08/03/2010. International Women’s Day and this is what a national news channel was discussing. Thoughts flashed through Tuffy’s mind. He thought about Kiran Mazumdar Shaw, Indra Nooyi and the various other Indian females who have made their mark in the international circuits.

And the first thing discussed is Rapes & The Indian Women. Tuffy wasn’t a flirt. He respected the Indian women. He has a group of friends who refers to a female as an item or a chick or a bitch and the likes. He warns them and ensures that they don’t use such words in the future. It’s not just Tuffy’s friends but those are the words which come out of a guy’s mouth. Reciprocate. He has a mother, a sister, a female friend and he wouldn’t mind knocking down someone if they were ill treated or bad mouthed.

When it comes to rapes no one is spared. Right from a 6 month old girl to a 60 year old woman. There is no partiality or self control. That’s just one thing which happens. Well the person going out of control should realize the fact that his mother or sister or daughter belong to the same gender. Probably that might be one time he detaches himself from all personal relations.

Probably that’s why Tuffy couldn’t complete reading Child Sex Abuse in India. A book solely based on child molestation and rapes. Every word in the book comes as a pictorial warning. Tuffy wondered if a girl is raped every 54 minutes in India, where are all these cases buried or probably not even one of them is actually reported or again probably the news hungry channels feel it isn’t a TRP topper.

To make this post a little more bloodier, remember the Godhra riots. When people from a specific category raped women from a specific category. Here comes the rest. The pregnant women were raped as well and then their stomachs were slit open, the foetus removed and destroyed. Those men still live a happy life with their wives. So this is the country which banishes an artiste after he paints a Hindu Goddess naked while nothing happens after the real Indian women is raped and killed on the streets.

Often family dignity and honour refrains a girl from reporting the incident to the police. This is where Mukhtar Mai needs to be remembered. The illiterate Pakistani women who got legally gang raped under the rules of a backward Pakistani village. Her brother eloped with a girl from an upper caste hence the village decided that the men from the upper caste would rape his sister, Mukhtar. She was raped. She had the guts to complain against them. Those people are behind bars.

So if an illiterate woman can do the impossible, it’s time for the women in a democratic and a secular country to wake up and report such things. And moreover the police to change their outlook. And more importantly for the males to have some kind of self control. If you have a sister, a mother, a daughter then respect the Indian Women. If you worship her on Dassera, on Mother Mary’s Birthday then let’s give them the respect they need.

She is a doctor, an engineer, a DJ, a bartender, a pilot, an astronaut, a cricketer, etc. She is snatching away all of your jobs. Instead of just watching lets go and compete with her.

The Ancestral Damage

Disclaimer: The surnames mentioned do not fall into ‘a’ specific category. Read. Reciprocate.

“I mean who cares. Fuck the world! Bring it on dude, I just want to get sloshed. Dude I studied like Einstein and sacrificed my seat for some reserved category idiot just because one of my ancestors tortured one of his ancestors.” Roy missed the first list by a whisker. He passed out his B.E. with a distinction. He gave the CET to get into an A Grade Management Institute but misses it. He scored a 187/200 and surprisingly a Tuffy Singh gets through the first list after scoring a ravishing 102/200.

Komal does a mistake by mentioning the great Arjun Singh’s name, “Don’t you mention his name. God made a mistake, He created Arjun Singh. The Indian system made a mistake, made him the HRD Minister. Is that Tuffy related to that dead old man by any chance?” Komal didn’t really care. She got through the first list but she felt bad for her friend.

 “You’ll get through the next list dude. Stop over acting”

“Sorry. Do you think I’m overacting? It’s a matter of pride to see your name in the first list and some snob gets through and I am kept waiting for some stupid second list.”

Komal turned towards the dude Roy was referring to. It was Tuffy. They were best friends. The reservation system syndrome had never hit Roy so hard that he started abusing Tuffy. Tuffy came from a well to do family. 

He never studied hard enough to get through the entrance. He always knew that he had to just put in 50% of the efforts which Roy put in. It had been a joy ride for Tuffy during his engineering admissions and now the management procedure as well. He had the Caste Certificate. The short cut ticket which cut his hard work into half. Roy realized this only after he went through the first list and had the shock of his life. Caste never disrupted their friendship.

Caste might not have disrupted the friendship but did disrupt Roy’s meritorious career. He cared a damn about a friend who considered swiping an ‘ancestral blackmail’ to become an MBA. Tuffy felt sad for Roy but never knew he would react in such a way.

The reservation system in India has been a joke. It has existed in a similar fashion just like the Gandhi family existed and kept sprouting obnoxious weeds like Varun Gandhi and Rahul Gandhi. Merit is a joke. Every educational institute has half of its seats reserved. OBC’s, SC’s, ST’s, NT’s and every year a new category gets reserved. 50%. Imagine those numbers. Even after 60 years of independence we still haven’t managed to do anything for these so called categories.  People like Roy are victims when vote bank politics ventures into the education system.

Surprisingly the late Arjun Singh had 3 different caste certificates under his name. So admission via one of the reserved category is assured for his grand children.

Reservations will exist till Mayavati and her BSP, Congress and its Racial Politics, BJP and its juvenile suggestions thrive in our country. Let’s hope the obnoxious weeds grow into ecologically friendly trees and bring some sense into the Indian System.

Meanwhile all the 60 seats were filled. There wasn't a second list. Roy was jailed for a week for writing a hate post against a dead man. He got through a different management institute and now earns more than Tuffy. 

Merit finally won.

The Smoky Couple

HELP SOMEONE QUIT SMOKING

He didn’t budge. It was for his own good. I tried to convince him by stating the fact that he has a girlfriend whom he loves endlessly. The sad part is that even she smokes. Tuffy Singh used to smoke up two boxes of cigarettes every day. 40 cigarettes. I wondered. His partner Kinjal stuffed up five of those.

Together they were called the Smoky couple.  They surely loved that name. Smoking was a style statement for him. Tuffy was 24 while Kinjal was 23. He started smoking when he was 17 and she started when he fell in love with him. Poetic isn’t it? We’ve heard people quitting alcohol, pubbing or even smoking when they finally fall in love with someone. Here, it was the other way round. I really didn’t know who Kinjal was but I really cared about Tuffy.

Look at the impact. 280 cigarettes a week and 2100 of those in a month. He is sure to have a long life. Tuffy always wanted to quit but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to go into rehab. He showed a genuine interest to quit smoking. I knew the damage was already done but if possible both of us can cease the extent of the damage.

I told him, “Kinjal is your destiny, you guys rise and set in smokes, don’t you guys want to see yourselves clearly, don’t you want to wake up to see tomorrow’s sunshine.” He nodded. “Dude you’ll die and seeing you die she’ll quit smoking and settle down with a person who doesn’t have such habits. Well atleast your death will help someone quit nicotine. And don’t worry I’ll cry for you and will surely be happy for Kinjal.” He stayed still. I knew he was going through the mode of self-realization. “Look Roy, it ain’t  so simple. It’s something I’m used to.” I had the answer for that.

“Then why did you leave Patna. You were used to staying with your parents right. You wanted a better life, hence came to Pune. Do you want to sacrifice that better life of yours by smoking up and stunting the remainder of your life? Tuffy just think, why has God placed your head right on the top and not anywhere else in the body. Think and try to make some sense.”

“I quit.”

How simple was that? I never thought it would be so simple. Although it involved a lot of homework, going through a lot of websites, emotional blackmail and the likes.

Kinjal was the happiest. She never tried to help Tuffy but she quit smoking too.

Just like Roy you can make an impact on your friend’s life. Speak. Share. Make sense. Tuffy never smoked again. He is now living life the way it should be lived. Smoke free.

They are still called the Smoky Couple. Now it’s just because of the smoke emitted out from Tuffy’s vintage Yamaha.

To Infinity

“His touch had the mesmerizing feel of a million feathers. I always thought if it hadn’t been for him my life would have been empty. He added a colour to my life. A colour no one could erase. The way he seduced me by his touch made me live life in a cocoon of dreams. I just didn’t want to come out of that cocoon. When he lay on me, I just wish I had glue to keep him attached to me always.

We had our own set of differences. At times when he touched me it felt like he would rip me off but then he would return with his seductive feather touch. The one thing I always admire about him is the knowledge which keeps flowing out. I sometimes wonder how lucky I am to have a lover like him.

There have been days when we haven’t met. The understanding person he is, communication gap never affects our relationship. My friends keep warning me that he will dump me for someone else. I never see that happening because I’m sure he is not that kind of a person.

Although we don’t speak much, the fact that he is dumb, doesn’t deter us from expressing our feelings. The touch is more than enough for me and the response to his touch is enough for him.

But then people keep saying it would never work out considering the fact that I’m a paper and he’s a pen. 

They say once he changes the ink he changes his attitude. I’m pretty sure my Parker won’t do something like that. I might be one amongst the 500 pages in the book he writes on but he makes sure that he would touch me and pour on some words and make me happy before he visits the other pages.

He may not be possessive about me but I am very much. I just ruffle myself in anger when I see him touching the other pages after turning on me. Those were the biggest fights we had but he still comes back to me with a convincing look. Innocent the page I am, I get convinced.”

Once Parker used all the other pages and there was nothing left to write on, the book goes into the store room.  There ends a love story. Love stories are short lived if you just run through the pages without knowing what it is. Keep it open. Enjoy being loved and loving someone and create a page for yourself in the chapter called love.

You are the pen. The paper goes into infinity. Keep writing (read loving) till you can define infinity.

The Missed Lullaby

And that was a quick turn he took. He had just jumped a signal. He was too happy to go home as it he had a new story on mind and wanted to jot it as soon as possible on his laptop. Roy was speeding home. He knew how much ever he accelerated his 125cc superbike won’t go past 70kmph. He shut the glass of his helmet as the breeze hitting his face might actually put him off to sleep. The wind was the perfect lullaby for him.

Roy was also kind of superstitious. He didn’t want his thoughts to venture out of his head by keeping the glass of his helmet open. Roy started writing the book in January 2011 and wanted a perfect climax for the book. The thoughts he had, wasn’t for the climax but instead was for a story which would have a solid connection with the climax. He finally was almost done with the book. The road just seemed to lengthen on its own the moment he accelerated. Home still seemed far away.

He slowed down. He tried editing the story he had in his mind to better. Roy prepared an edited version and started comparing. He accelerated to take his bike past the flyover. And now came the slope. It was 1 am and the road was empty. He closed his eyes and rode down the slope. He could see himself typing away his mind on the laptop. Roy had a smile on his face. He slowly opened his eyes and quickly tucked up the glass as the cars going past the opposite direction were flashing through his helmet and blurring his view.

He pulled the glass down.

The speeding cars blinding his view weren’t a big deal for him. He was used to it.

BANG..

The ear phones he pierced into his ears started ringing. Probably his mom. His ringtone was a vintage heavy metal song. He never listened to music while travelling because the only thing he loved while riding was thinking. He loved the way thoughts would enter his mind. He loved playing with them.
A pass light flashed across from the opposite direction. This one was the very dangerous neon flashlight. It just bolted through the glass and into his eyes. He lost control. He went and rammed into a tree and fell down. The bike was zooming on 65kmph. The speed had done the damage. Roy died.

The car sensed the damage. It took a U-turn. The car pulled near the spot. Gilbert stepped out. He was shocked. His best friend Roy lay on the road. He didn’t cry. He sat. Just sat and looked at his friend. No tears. He stood on his knees and immersed his hand into the pool of blood. He killed his friend. He went near Roy. He removed his helmet. The glasses were closed. Roy’s head split wide open because the helmet had rammed into the tree. Gilbert gave the perfect farewell for his friend.

Just a while ago all the thoughts were safely locked inside the helmet. He sent the thoughts with Roy’s soul.

Gilbert started crying probably realizing the fact that he had taken Roy to purchase the neon flashlights for the car.

Roy missed the lullaby. He missed nature’s farewell. But his thoughts had the power to split open his head and travel with him, up above the sky.

The Sleepless Mornings

After a tiring day at work, Roy reclined, as if it were a couch, in his cab which would drop him home. He closed his eyes with a sense of relief that he doesn’t have to work for the next 12 hours. He was immensely satisfied with work but the fact that the weekend was 5 days away made him sad.

The driver, after having a chat with his colleagues came inside and greeted him. The whistle blew and we were past the company gate. Still 23 kms to go and that equals a good 30 minutes drive home. Roy didn’t want to doze off as that may affect the driver as well. It was around 11:35pm. He tried to have a conversation with the driver. He knew that the driver didn’t understand Hindi and the best way was to start speaking in Marathi.
Roy never saw the driver pick him up during the daytime. It was just the nights. “Do you have drops after this?” The driver replied,”Well I have drops until 5 in the morning.” That didn’t surprise him. He further asked,” That’s fine, you can do pickups the next week right.”

“No Sir, I never do pick-ups as I cannot read.”

For pick-ups the driver is given a printed paper with the address of the employee and a contact number. It doesn’t matter during a drop as the employee is already there in the cab.

The driver was in his late fifties, probably with his spectacles, Roy doubted it must be the eye-sight. How does he drive then? Roy asked himself. Roy had the answer for his own question. Further questioning, the driver informed that he never went to school. His mother was widowed when he was just 4 years old. Well let’s not go into that bit because it’s the cliché old story of illiteracy.

He has his own family. A daughter and a son. The daughter is married and his son is busy wasting his dad’s money on alcohol. He further says that he has been doing these night jobs just because the only thing he knows is driving and the one thing he curses himself of not knowing is reading. He has been doing this since 12 years. He has the option of going for a different driving job but that won’t pay him well.

This is just one amongst the many cases of a person working during the night just because he is illiterate. Now we realise the fact that sleepless nights are way better than sleepless mornings. If we have a sleepless night, we have the rest of the day to get that lost sleep.

If he has a sleepless morning he cannot compromise by sleeping through the night as that would steal some money from his wages to support the lavish lifestyle of his son.