One of those days

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Love, Adventure and Miracle; The happening of any one of these three leaves us with a catchy story to narrate. Most of the times we aren't that fortunate to be blessed by the simultaneous occurrence of these three but sometimes, maybe once in a lifetime, lady luck smiles. And afterwards we just wonder for some time, and later take it as a never to forget lifetime incident. I too have one.

I was young then. My eyes shined more frequently on nuances, my heart made its presence felt everyday and every night I dreamed and remembered it the next morning. It was the month of June and I was leaving my home for the first time, for a stay in a hostel. I had bagged a seat in an engineering college. Sitting on the window seat of the train and seeing my Dad purchase mineral water bottles from the station vendors, I glanced on my watch. 15 minutes more to go and then I'll leave my hometown for straight six months, I thought. Who knows how I will return after those six months. Not the same, that was for sure. Was that the place from where I’d go on to become someone else? From a son to a friend, from a boy to a man, from a dreamer to an achiever? With a lot buzzing inside my head I heard my Dad's voice. I leaned a bit to see him chat with Pathak Uncle of our locality. He was there with his daughter. And before I could think anymore I saw them approaching.

'Yes same college. She got that last minute wait-listed call. So we had to hurry through our proceedings’ Pathak Uncle expressed his last minute comments before bidding goodbye to her beautiful daughter. I had secretly wanted a friendship with her when I was in class 8. And then in class 9 I heard about her affair with a boy from her school only. I was the vagabond of a Government Boys high school, so I always scored less in these matters compared with the co-eds. My father always wanted me to crack the engineering entrance exams and as such continuous monitoring of my deeds was done.  When my name had flashed on the computer screen as ‘selected’ I thought I had seen some tear drops in the corner of his eyes. And that had made me cry too while I was taking a bath that afternoon.

‘Not a problem. I’ll talk to the TTE and make their seats together’ Pathak Uncle said. The next five minutes went in accommodating us together, shuffling around other passengers and finally when both of them were convinced that we won’t be facing any more hiccups in the journey, the train whistled. I saw both the middle-aged man stand side by side and suddenly from where I don’t know an uncanny thought whizzed inside my head. They looked better as in-laws than just neighbours. I smiled at this weirdness and tried to wipe off the thought. But that was enough for her to notice.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘Nothing’ I replied.

‘Something’

‘Nothing’

‘Okay’

Moments of silence and then she spoke again, ‘so which branch have you opted’.

‘Mechanical. And you?’

‘Electronics’

‘Great’

The train passed through small and big stations, hills and valleys, fields and rivers with equal moderation. There was nothing extraordinary in the whole juxtaposition. Somewhere I was happy that now I would get to see her more frequently but at the same time I knew she was with someone else. The mere thought of it made the whole feeling bland. Conversations went on and around studies mostly, and whenever her mobile pinged for a sms I doubted it to be from her boyfriend. She was carrying a normal gps handset of Motorola, but its farce and recurrent ringtone outreached my nimble and very less frequent ringing Nokia-C5. She got busy in her smses and I played with the navigation map application on my mobile.  She listened to her Apple i-pod and I gazed through the window. And times when we both didn’t do anything we chatted, but as I said, only on studies.

Evening 4.30 we reached our destination station and I helped her with her numerous baggage. We had to travel a couple of hours more on road to finally reach our college. We decided to hire a cab against my father’s strict advice to go by bus. I needed to soften the atmosphere around her; bus would have been a rough one after a day long journey in train. Boys like me think in these lines but the sad part is girls like her hardly have an eye for this compassion. They look for adventure.

We hired a cab. The driver was a ruffian. Just didn’t settle for anything less which he quoted. I agreed. Although I knew I was getting harsh on my pocket money. But that was a long desired togetherness. To smooth my inside turbulences I consoled myself with the thought that she may be with someone else, but then and there she was with me. This feeling of living completely in the present brought me back to the frequency where I could have started behaving in a way that would have pleased her. And who knew then what was in store for the future?

The road journey was definitely better, because after sometime it started to rain, accompanied with lightning. I had seen several movies where the heroine draws closer to the hero on the strike of a lightning and then for the rest of the movie they keep singing romantic duets. That was the age where such thoughts meant nothing less than reality. The bad weather added to my bliss as she wasn’t receiving the mobile signal and the constant ringing stopped. Fortunately I was still receiving the signal.

‘Are you sure he is taking us in the right direction?’ she questioned after sometime, sheepishly, so that the arrogant driver shouldn’t listen.

‘Yes, I guess so. But not sure.’

‘I doubt this guy’

‘Wait I’ll check in navigator application on my mobile that is he taking us the right way or not’

I started the gprs navigation on my Nokia C5 and could figure out the source and destination. It took some time to connect but then I was taken aback. The driver had routed us to a completely different direction. And we had already covered some 30 kms in the wrong direction.

‘Where are you taking us?’ I asked strongly.

‘What happened?’ he stamped back firmly.

‘See I know you are diverting us to the wrong way. Don’t think we are newcomers. We know the route’

To this he got so much terribly annoyed that he stopped the car in a jerk.

‘What happened?’ she asked in a frenzied way.

‘Get out’ the ruffian exclaimed.

‘What?’ I stammered back.

‘Get out of my car. I am not going any further.’

There was a brief altercation after that. Brief because he just didn’t listen to any word of ours and because we paid him also. The moment our last bag dropped out of the car on the watery road he turned his car and speeded away. That was a sort of jungle. Sort of would be a very gentle way of putting it. That was a jungle. And it was raining cats and dogs. Moments earlier I was enjoying that same rain and then it had became just the opposite. We dragged our bags and ourselves under the shade of a tree, totally drenched from top to bottom and with no clue what to do next. It was almost getting dark and till then we both were just silent. Maybe waiting for a miracle!

She spoke first.

‘Wow! This is so thrilling’

I looked at her, stared in-fact, for quite some time and then disgustingly turned away my face. Now you must know why I said that girls-loving-adventure thing.

It was almost an hour and when it was completely dark, the rain too had subsided and there was no sign of any vehicle, I spoke.

‘What should we do now?’

‘How would I know? Why did you speak to him in that way? Maybe he was taking us through a short-cut.’

‘It’s not a short-cut. Wait, I’ll show you’

I took out my mobile to show her our present location, how much diverted we were and to share the trouble that till then I was holding on my 17 year old shoulders and to drive out some of her adventure love.

The navigator started and within seconds the mobile beeped and went off.

‘What happened?’ she asked.

‘Low battery’ I said and kept the mobile back.

‘Now what should we do?’ she asked and for the first time her voice sounded perturbed.

‘How will I know?’ I replied dejectedly.

‘Wait, I’ll call my dad and figure it out’

‘How would you? Your mobile has no signal’

She took out the mobile and turned it on. Amazingly a couple of tower heads flashed. ‘See it’s there’

‘ohh!’ I sighed, ‘so now again your smses will start.’

‘cmmon! That I was playing with my friend Shikha’

‘Shikha? Who Shikha? I mean okay…wasn’t it Rahul, I was thinking….’ I said in a breath.

‘Rahul? Who Rahul? Are you talking about my batch mate in school?’

‘Yes, yes. Him only, you both are into something right?’

‘Are you nuts? With Rahul? Oh c’mmon, my dad would kill me if he finds something like that’

‘So what was that I heard about you guys?’

‘That was just a rumor. And isn’t that a very old rumor. Why are you still holding on to it?’

‘So this means you are single?’

‘Of-course I am. I am yet to establish my career. How could I? And to be frank I haven’t given a thought about this aspect till now. But why are you asking?’

‘Nothing. Just like that.’

I turned my face to the other side and high-fived myself in imagination. My answer also made her silent, which I noticed a bit later. But then I didn’t know why she went silent. Today I know.

And just then her mobile pinged. It was a sms from the college authorities regarding contact numbers of admission committee. The sms was a miracle. As the first thing we did on its arrival was place a call to the number and inform them about our debacle. They promised to send a cab within 30 minutes and the promise was kept.

In a couple of hours we were inside the campus and while unloading her bags in-front of her hostel, she said, ‘Take care.’

The words felt like melted honey in my ears and I smiled back.

And just when I was about to leave, she said again, ‘Pick me up tomorrow morning while going for the induction’

‘I will. For sure’ I replied.

My shop called 'sarcastic counter'

I once ran a shop called ‘sarcastic counter’. The shop was reasonably famous. It got people from every corner of the world. I held myself considerably gentle to them. Even though the shop’s name contained the word sarcasm, but I never allowed its shadow to fall on the business, some rules I did follow. I treated my customers as God, prayed for them that when they use my product, they shouldn’t get sarcastic. Instead, I wished them to laugh, to think, to delve and if nothing then just to make it a memoir and keep it in one of their showcases at home.

Then something happened, a very interesting story, I shall tell you now.

The lane was called Bhutwa-Gali, at the end of which I ran my quiet little shop. A famous astrologer once had said that my shop had a demi-Godly presence, he called it ROS. I asked about it, but he said only time would tell. I guess he was right.

That was a Saturday night, and as usual I was making my sarcastic ‘philvotica’ for the Sunday,  the day when customers came to shop in large numbers. I would clean my show-table and arrange all my sarcastic ‘philvotica’, of all shades and textures, which they could touch and feel and if satisfied then only buy. I am still open-minded in these manners. I didn’t ditch my customers.

It was quarter past ten in the night when I heard him approach my shop. He was in his late thirties, wore dark colored jeans and white shirt, his neat shave and well trimmed hair posed elegance, his proximity told he must have used a very costly perfume. He told his name as Blogspot and that he was a close relative of Google. The name was familiar and so I gazed on my memory lane a bit to accustom myself more. Google those days was called the businessman of the century. His sharp eyes could search it all. He had this habit cultured since he was a kid. Well, by then he was the master of all.

Blogspot had a proposition for me. I would have to hand over all my sarcastic ‘philvotica’ to him and in return he would guarantee me a good showcase and even better customer base. The deal sounded attractive and I signed the agreement.

Just some days back, I heard about him. He was found dead on one of the servers. There was a huge hue and cry from all whose products he had taken. I too got anxious. So I went to see his office. There I saw a mess. People were fighting over products, some were even abusing and hitting others. In the midst of all I saw one of my ‘philvotica’ lying on the floor. I picked it up with care and started to move out. Just while I was coming out from the office, I thought of finally visiting his personal cabin. I went there and saw his photograph framed and poised on the wall. I neared it with an injunction I didn’t know. And then suddenly I saw him wink! Yes, the photograph winked at me. I stared onto those eyes for a moment and again, he winked again. This time he giggled too! My head was going all awry and I thought of leaving the place. I turned back and just when I was about the keep the first step, he spoke. Yes, I heard him very clearly. I didn’t had the courage to turn back, but I heard it all. He said, ‘I am not dead. I am hiding; because of the fear of WordPress. He is searching me everywhere with a naked sword. He is even killing my apps mercilessly. His faster and slimmer page loads a lot faster than mine and that’s how he has been erasing my presence from the market. Things have worsened to the extent that now he can directly hunt and finish me. Even my relative Google didn’t help. And I will tell you one more thing. It is all because of Google only. How? Well, these are the inherent relationship drabs that slowly forces one to break out. He took the first step. One more fact that I have never shared with anybody else, Google is spying! Think over it. Okay I have to leave now. And yes, your ‘Philvotica’ were really amazing.’

The whole return journey I kept thinking about what he said. Finally, when I reached home I made up my mind. I took all my ‘Philvoticas’ and burned them. The ashes I flowed in the dirty drain in my backyard. I was reviving. ‘Philvoticas’ were no longer genuine. They were mashed and blended with Google’s spices. They were not my products anymore. I was sad but at the same time happy as well as motivated to do something else, something more genuine. I re-painted the shop’s name as ‘ROS Store’, and renamed my products as ‘Saturn Rings’. I manufactured it the same way, but I was happy being alone, not being societal. I created better ‘Saturn Rings’ than any ‘Philvotica’. In the night I had a sound sleep, satisfied and calm. Of course the day was yet to come, but I was prepared.

In my dreams, that astrologer came and said, ‘I told you. Your shop has an ROS. And all this happening has got a meaning, which you could have never understood in the flashiness of Life’s bizarre games. You have to play, you don’t have a choice, but you have to do it your way. You aren’t made to collate. You will have to move alone. You will always search for happiness, something that stays with you only, much inside you, in your aloofness. You can rise in freedom; rise in satisfaction, but not in fame, neither in popularity. You will make what your heart wants to, not what the world demands. And someday you will be known for this. That would be fame, but not something that you have been running after.’

Musing...

Sarcasm has ruined me inside. The better I try to feel, to write, but alas! The words come out as vengeful fleet of serendipitous apathy. And as a person altogether, I am now susceptible to traps of fairy tales, of dreamy bliss and of relentless love that which I know doesn’t exist in this world. Also at the same time I am amazed on how these two extreme poles, of being sarcastic and being mushy, are thriving at the same time inside me. More than sometimes, I think about writing humor, people like it a lot. More so ever they can comprehend it. But for ramblings like these there’s no place other than rotting in some unknown blog address. Well, sometimes I think this too, that I will change my writing style. But has that been possible? Only time and tide, okay not tide, can bring about some renovations in my mental chemistry. But even that hasn’t been possible till now. But I am still hoping.

God! I yelled out last night when I woke up from a dream. The rest of the night was dark and silent, till I heard a bird’s tweet and I knew it was morning. Life’s darkness and tweety morning are smiling alike on me; yes I named them as darky-tweety-mornings. So let me ask this back to the world. Why should I be pleasant in my writings when the thoughts I have inherited, the experiences I have gained and the beliefs that I have grown are this world’s blessing only.

The way I see you, my Life.

It’s been heaven and hell, it’s been years, and it’s been you and me, how can all of it surpass, and that so easily. I say I have changed, just like the rainbow that today looked more of blue than it looked some years ago, I thought it was more of red then. But actually a rainbow has all the seven colors right? Same is for you, my Life. But I tended to ignore, and saw only one of your color at a time. The way I am seeing you now, my life, I know you have been telling me this, to allow myself to understand the way you are, accept all your terms and agree to all your conditions, welcome you with open arms. And you won't add a ‘but’ after this, nor would I ask.

Questions that have no answers are often answered. With a new question; so would an oath work here? Something like, "I won't question!" ...sounds like quite a situation. My funny bone is tickling me now with a hell lot of misnomers, but let the clouds wander. The better part of every such situation is you always remember the situation, but you forget the resolution you promised to self. So this time I am blogging this. Will be in records;

People are the next concern. What about them? So let's apply a similar logic to solve the reasoning. People are the colors. So let's allow them to form the rainbow. Their perspectives matter. Their presence matters. What it doesn't is their color. Not their skin color of-course. Again, quite a situation; Anyway, you get it right? Yes I get it. Now step up. And move on! 

On my way to the rooftop

I am an old man in the territory of mundane yet troubling thoughts. Not that old, but yeah....

These details are never counted in my memories, when the sea shells are maculated, when the morning wind is tiresome, when the rain is gusty yet lull, and when you are gone. A dream is best if it eludes the pain, as for a man there aren't many options to handle the ball. He will try and then fail, or try and then succeed and then forget. But for a woman, it all ends in one thing, and that is stained patches. Yeah by that way it never ends for her. Opening a bibliography to understand women would be the silliest thing to do in the world because words that cannot fit, cannot withstand or cannot sprout are the words that matter. But then, words matter a lot. For men, it's mostly unsaid.

For me, a day is when I would again begin the story. Perhaps the morning is bad, maybe the afternoon too, evening is lost and the night, oh yet to come. I will keep scratching the floor like a mad cat, so can that improve my writing by an iota? It will emaciate, just like my health, with every new day helping me to discover one more bone of my skeletal system. I am this complex skeleton, I never knew. Especially when I was young, I thought I was all muscular, just like my masculine smell which she thought was me. And I thought she was madly in love with me. Gosh, was I nuts?

So tonight, I will climb the rooftop, see the moon, well, if I am lucky, and then jump into the flowing river that flows turbulently in the night. The water would be so cold. I would fill my lungs with it and feel just like the river. I would try to flow with it, with its current for the whole night, and wait for the morning. I would hit the bank then and climb out. She will be there. And then she will say, 'Oh you look young, so young!' But I wouldn't smile because then I will be faking it, wasting time actually. Instead, I will tell her how the moon looked when I was at the rooftop.

Making the meaning out of it

Writing is not about stopping, neither is it about moving. So what it is about, much more than a Pearl Jam song, or something less, or lesser than a single pill of orbit (chewing pill)?  Inspiration, which we talk about lot, means all of it, most of it and even the less of it. So can it not be reborn, redeemed, time and again, artificially? It can. Wondering how? Just look it this way. 

Nobody is going to see what you write. Nobody is going to think about it even if they accidentally drop in. And lastly even if they think, they are not going to make an iota of what it means. Funny isn't it? Actually not; ask the hapless one. Yes, the writer. Terrible and Stressed, he waits for the tides to change, eyes deranged and dangling over puny dots of thought, trying to make out meanings, when there is none and trying to avoid the guilt of not being able to make up for a single cause to deliver something that can bring him satisfaction. Long sentence, huh? Tired, huh? 

So what else? The song plays on. The faces smile. People, all over there, on roads, in thoughts, crowded and all speaking at a time. And then suddenly some mad intentions and sprouting ideas crash on the barren desert of heart, something not worth explaining, but something to act upon, very quickly. Well, that's called an inspiration. 

What if, I have lost it? But then, as I said, artificially recuperating and re-originating it from the mother ship is possible. The outcome is doubtful. But who cares? Let it travel the Milky Way first. Black hole may also be waiting, who knows.

So, the 'meaning' is a word. That's what I can say now. Unfolding time will change the sense of my words. But becoming a better-man isn't possible. Finding the one isn’t possible, anymore. Especially after hurricanes! But as I say, I am fine, always fine.

Tattooed world

My better self asks me this, what is that you want, you fool? And so I blog this, to find an answer.

Missing rhythm in life is somewhat like the curious case of Benjamin Button. As he too missed what was needed at the right time in his life. Twisted thoughts spared me and that was when I found this cottage, very beautiful and well protected midst heavy woods, all cropped up long and high, of my mind, hiding in utter peace and substantially making a point out of nothing. The point was and is, why it is there? So much so that even if you try to peep and hear inside, you may hear voices.

Definitely peace hasn't survived long for me to delve more over the matter. It’s my demon who was next seen jumping over the roofs and shattering the glass windows to pieces. I stood there numb. Blinded by visions and folded by intentions, I was getting taught. How to and why to break?  Breaking and breaking, of everything that was so interesting, and a fear of losing the enchanting, that enchanted and mattered the most.

Now this is funny, quite something. The demon comes to me and asks what next. And what do I say. Explicitly point him towards my heart. He laughs and in stammering words says, for that you are the one. You have to color it black, you have to wash it black, you have to tattoo it.

p.s: dark days aren't darker than dark nights, but in the tattooed world it’s all BLACK... :D

Life in Technicolor

Yes I know that's a Coldplay song. But this has no relevance to that actually. What I am going to write here is very much far and unrelated to Coldplay, yeah it can be about cold play.

The night was special, owing to a hundred things, I can't even remember, but I would have counted gleefully. So what's next? Right! Counting crows, I mean, Counting days.For nothing actually. More than nothing is nothing itself. So for that.

This is my habit. A more of passion. Don't ask me the meaning though. I may get it correct by a fluke. You say, when will you write more? They say, when will you write something comprehensible? I say, writing this is easy? Maybe or maybe not. But why write at all? Why not speak and speak? So that's a why.

I am looking at your direction. The way I look, remember? And you have been smiling. Not again, is you say. And so do I in my thoughts. But does that stop there? We have been seeing, if we can, for once to make it possible. So that's a wait.

I changed the song some years back. Dropped it on the cemented floor from the height of my multi-storeyed thoughts. I heard it crash, nastily and vengefully. I laughed endlessly and fractionally undecipherable for my ears to make out what and on whom I was laughing. But then it changed that night. I stopped, as if destination is sweet, as if it was meaningless before this, and as if I was made for it. So that's a life.

There it goes, posted, one more incomprehensible shit. I am incorrigible, I know. So that's me.

Some spilled madness

Understanding the virtue of a man takes a lifetime. Questions and Answers just don't stop. And different answers to the same question, with passing age and time, with changing perceptions and beliefs, and even with changing climate. So what’s there and what’s not becomes a matter of non-importance and nonchalant challenge that remains exaggerated and stark but still being called the mellower by nature. I have been living this life and hence these experiences now stand on the back of my mind with all different faces, jaded and dark. Gravity has been resting in peace till the time you again start questioning Newton's law. And yes, so I have been, time and again.

Now when I have thought and decided on the fate of my thoughts and believed for a substantial period for not to be proven the fool, then why, is the question. Wise men say fools rush in. I know, but that hardly makes a meaning when you are falling abysmally without moving infinitesimally. Writings like these make me tick and just like the cock-a-doodle-do watch, I wait for the hour glass to make that big dong, then maybe I’d know its time. So till then I can focus on the seconds hand and see it moving round and round the same center of attraction.

Music entices me to the extent of madness. It makes me dwell and jabber about the chewing gum forever like, and what more, I could see it disgusting me, in vain and hopelessness. I pray sometimes, for them to understand and forget, and for me to sublime and seize. I read this story of Tonko and ShaTonko written by a friend, and believe that I too once was a part of it. I travel in buses and see the pedestrians in narrow lanes, how they manage without cuddling each other, making way for self and for others. I forget and witness the ongoing so that I can forget it again. And yes, I talk to you too.

My new friend

Prelude: This post is specifically meant for a person. And if the person isn't you, don't bother. It contains special coded language, woofs and meows, which only that person is capable of comprehending. So if you are not the one, I'd request you not to break your head over this piece of writing and do other good things in life like scrolling the mouse button. There are other curious posts waiting for your attention. You may ask now, if this post is not meant to be read by all then why the heck have I posted it here. Well, then I would say, it’s my blog. :D

So, it all had culminated with a decision; a realization that I’d never be able to maybe live, yes that's the word, my inner self. But I guess life is still like the jumping frog. The rain has arrived and the droplets in the dark rainy night had waked me up. God knows why? And 'seriously' I don't want to know. Because I am happy;

'Seriously' I used to wonder, many a times, that maybe nobody thinks the way I think. Yes we all are different. And that's why with great apprehension and pre-testing I used to open up. Very few persons in this world actually know the person I am. And amazingly in the past few days, I discovered one more.

And she will ask, were you always like this. To which I would answer, no, but now I know I always was.

Small moments of joy and cherishing them time and again, with different creative inputs, and then again laughing like never before, I had never met someone like you. I had started to believe that 'seriously' there's more of 'seriousness' in life, till you came that day to meet my boss. I don't know why I am really goofing this up, writing this something out of everything, maybe because of that moment when for the first time I found that I wasn't sad after sharing a secret with you. I named it as 'I got over'. 

Or whatever, but having seen relationships fade, today I would like to share this piece of writing with you with a promise that if ever things go wrong between us, which we both don't want, come back and read this, and remember all those times of our June'2011.

The world isn't a better place. Or is it?

Those days I was in the 2nd year of my engineering and I was always hungry. Why? Ask any student who eats in a hostel mess. Well, hungry I still am, for food for thoughts, but those days were different. So it came up with an opportunity that we just couldn’t miss. Blood donation! The only reason enough to convince us was the fruits, the pancakes, the shakes, the sweets and all that we would be getting after squeezing 300 ml of blood from our veins. Maybe the Rotaract club president knew what it needed to be told to us. They had organized a blood donation camp and we were going for it.

It was a Sunday and just like a picnic, the dozen comprising our gang, boarded the institute bus for the hospital. We reached in a half hour and were greeted by the hospital authorities. Greeting means, if you don’t know, serving us unlimited amount of fruit juice which we gulped down till our bellies bloated enough to be seen beneath our shirts and then we realized that we haven’t kept any place for the rest of the stuff.

We were called for the donation in groups of three and the process went pretty fast than I expected. We came out and heard one of us had fainted after giving blood. Who’s the one? We ran on our top speed to ward number 14 where he was taken. We reached there to find that the rest had already accumulated in there. Saurabh was laid on a bed and a doctor stood besides examining him.

“He is just fine now. Sometimes it happens after a blood donation”, the doctor remarked after the check up was over and walked outside.

We all huddled across his bed on which he royally laid with his legs spread with a quirk but remarkable smile on his face.

“What the hell happened?” Abhishek asked pushing him aside and making a place for himself on the bed.

Saurabh didn’t answer but his smile got wider.

“What?” I asked.

“Actually the ward boy was saying that they give double the food packets when you faint”, Saurabh replied.

Seconds of silence and then we all roared to laughter.

“Hey, I think I love her”, Sandy said with our laughs still on.

“Who?” Abhishek asked.

“That one with those big eyes and a beautiful smile”, Sandy replied as if dreaming her in his arms.

“Who? Who?” Abhishek continued impatiently as if he had missed something really important.

“The one who was in my ward. Didn’t you all see her?” Sandy said.

“The doctor? But isn't she a bit older than you?” I asked.

“Not the doctor. The other one” Sandy replied.

“I got it guys. I got it. Sandy cannot tell who she is” Kunal exclaimed.

“Why? Who is she?” I asked.

“The sister. And Sandy cannot call her by that name” Kunal declared.

We all roared to laughter again.

“Excuse me boys” the doctor said and we all turned back.

“Someone wants to meet you all. Please come”

We all followed him to the reception where we saw a turban clad dark man. Along with him a woman in orange stripped cheap cotton saree and a kid who was busy sneezing-in his running nose.

“This is Biluwa and his woman Ranjo and this is Aru, their son. Both Biluwa and Ranjo works at a construction site where they together make some 100 rupees a day, most of which goes for the medicines of Dinu, their elder son who is admitted here for an anemia'ic disease. Blood which you guys have given will go a long way in curing Dinu. So when I told him, he wanted to meet you all”

We all turned to face Biluwa. He stood speechless with his arms folded and tears welled up in his eyes. His eyes said it all. Little Aru, completely unaware of what was going on, shy’d away from us hiding behind his mother.

Everything had suddenly changed. I kept watching Aru and suddenly it felt that the packet I was holding got too heavy to carry. I stretched it to him. He peeped inside first and then looked towards his mother and then slowly took the packet from my hand. His eyes shined while he carefully wrapped the packet inside his shirt.

“Go on. Have it” I said.

He smiled and shy’d away and whispered something to his mother.

“He is telling that he will share it with his brother when he gets well”, Ranjo said.

Years passed and a few days back, amidst a client meeting along with my bosses and colleagues I got a phone-call. It was from an unknown number. I didn’t take it. It was followed by an sms. It read, “Sir, I Lakshman. Your office sweeper. My son got accident. Need blood. Please help. Ramachand Hospital.”

And then I heard all the other mobiles ringing, the same sms. Who is this Lakshman? I could rarely figure him out. I started to get up but then my boss said me to wait. I waited till the meeting ended.

“Sir did you get the sms from Lakshman?” I asked.

“Yeah. He is that temporary fellow, very lazy in his work. Anyway what are doing for the weekend?” he asked with a flat baritone voice.

“Weekend? Sir, I think we should go to Lakshman” I said.

“Don’t be an emotional fool Chakraborty. People will rope you like that. You see there are risks. Blood donation is no child’s play”. He walked away.

I turned to the others.

“What guys? Anyone coming?” I asked.

“Hey Chakraborty, you heard what Boss said. There are risks my friend. You are still a child, huh?” one of them answered. They rest nodded their heads in support.

“Go and enjoy the weekend. It’s been a long week” another one said.

And all of them drifted away from the room in herds of similitude.

Maybe they are right. Maybe I shouldn’t risk it.

I took the bus and headed for my home.

I read the sms again and again but just couldn’t decide what to do. Why do we grow up? Just to realize that this world isn’t a better place.

The bus stopped near a construction site. Workers had built tents and outside which kids played in the dust. I gazed them and little Aru floated before my eyes. I took out the mobile and placed a call at that unknown number.

“Hello. Lakshman? Ok, I am coming”

I reached the hospital and found Lakshman standing outside.

“Saheb-jee, Blood arranged”

“How?” I asked.

“Sir, when no reply from anyone, I think no one will come. So I approach this nearby college. And you know what happen. The whole college comes to help. But the hospital accept limited units blood. So only some donate”

“How’s your son?”

“He fine. You want to meet? Come.”

He took me through the corridor where I heard a roar of laughter. And suddenly it felt that I recognize it. We were passing by the room where those college boys waited.

“Sir, These boys donate blood”

I slowed down and peeped inside the room. A dozen of them had huddled around a bed on which one of them laid and they all laughed and laughed endlessly.