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 run a shop that was once 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 sarcasm, but I never allowed its shadow to fall on my business, some rules I followed. 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 make it a memoir and keep it in one of their showcases at home. Then this happened with me, 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 I was as usual 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 don’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 my products as ‘Saturn Rings’. I did 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.’

On my way to the rooftop

I am an old man in my sixties. 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 much 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 and 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.

My new friend

Prelude: This post is specifically meant for a person. And the person is you or not, you know that very well. It contains special coded language, woofs and meows, which only that person is capable of comprehending. So if you are not the one, I would 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 that 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 would 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 its droplets in the dark rainy night has 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.

I wonder how ants find traces of sweet from nowhere

"That's why I wonder how ants find traces of sweet from nowhere", Professor Raman said as he finished his 10 minute speech and the hall roared into claps from every corner, which till then had been hearing him like never before. That was the last day for Professor Raman in the university where he had been teaching for the past 25 years.

He was turning sixty. He knew what his wife would be cooking for him when he would go back to his home. He had been a good husband, more good a father, as people said, both his sons were well settled in the States. Professor Raman, as people called him, his students, his neighbors and everybody else, sometimes his wife and sons too were heard calling him by that name.

Recently Professor Raman made history when he made an invention which scientists across the world are yet to understand. He was called at a conference at Geneva and then at NASA, but people are hardly understanding his theory yet, as what he says. Even his students in the college, many a times were heard talking about the infeasibility of his invention. Well, this clearly makes sense that any invention is never paid the credit in the same generation.

But there’s one person who had been assisting him all through, a student of the university, his favourite as people said, and maybe the only one who apart from Professor Raman is heard saying that he believes in the invention. But that day he didn't come for the farewell ceremony. Nobody had seen him either.

After the parting-off tea party, Professor Raman made his way to his chamber, where maybe the last time he was entering. He pushed the door and stepped inside. For a moment he stood silently and gazed around, the clock on the wall which was just like him, always awake, the desk over which some hundred papers were scattered, the dozen book shelf with all the titles of astrophysics and the half-open window, through which he had seen the rain clatter on the concrete, the early morning sun rays, the cold winds in long winter nights, day after day, year after year.

His chair, which was more than a chair for him, he knew. A part of his life was spent on it, for those nights when it served as a bed and the days when he just waited there thinking for the idea, which however finally did arrive. And then he saw the chair on the other side of the table. It reminded him of Raghav, the student who had been more like a shadow to him, working day and night behind his project till it could be finalized as an invention.

Raghav hadn't turned up for his farewell ceremony and Professor Raman's eyes had been continuously searching him when he stood there before the rest of the college, speaking for an hour. Raghav had been more than a student, a friend, who forsake'd his call from an US university just to work on Professor Raman’s project.

Professor Raman opened the drawer of his table. His drawer was almost empty because things which he used to take out once never found their way back inside and this very much told the story behind his table’s disheveled look. Inside he saw a half-crumpled paper with something scribbled on it. He took it out. It was Raghav’s handwriting. He had a very bad handwriting but Professor Raman could read it even with his eyes closed. Professor Raman hurried for his spectacles while trying to flatten the paper so as to read what Raghav’s has written for his dear Professor.

Dear Raman Sir,

I know it’s very awkward for me to call you dear, maybe for the first time I am calling you so, but I don't remember writing to you before, so thought it would make you something but happy. You must be thinking on my absence today but after you have finished reading this letter you will come to know.

Sir, before I tell you about anything, let me clear a few things, which came up to my mouth several times before, but I never spoke.

There were times when it was very difficult for me to even sit before you and stop my tears from rolling out. Times when you scolded me like a dog for my silly mistakes, especially the one I made in that differential equation, or when you didn't even see me for the whole day when I came 15 minutes late, or when I wanted to leave for my hometown but you didn’t allow.

And there were times also, like when you consoled me after my parents accidental death and how you promised to pay my fees in the college, how only you in this world remembered my every birthday and how we two in the middle of the night celebrated my birthdays, how you kept patting me for hours when I proposed that perception concept which till date I think was very obvious.

Sir, there has been numerous moments when I had hated you like anything but many more when I had loved you more than anybody else. The day you forgot your son’s birthday and sat with me to hear my childhood stories, I realized that we have come far and it’s something more than a teacher student relationship between us. Although you spoke less, but by now I was dexterous in reading your eyes and so were you, I guess.

But it all changed the day we arrived on the conclusion of our project. The project that was more than anything for us, for which we toiled hard day and night till that eventful dawn when suddenly we both realized how near we are towards an invention.

You went to Geneva and then to NASA, all over I heard people talking about you, but did you ever in the midst of all those think about me? I sacrificed my Oxford’s call just to stay with you and complete the project. But when it got completed, you simply forgot me? But guess what, I took that as well, as your love.

Then I heard about your retirement and that you wouldn't be coming here anymore. Did you ever think what would this student of yours do without you? And then the day before yesterday when you called me in your chamber for the final time, you told me to look for some other Professor for my doctorate. Now I ask you this, was it all a doctorate degree that I have stayed with you?

I can sacrifice my name for the project but can never accept the fact that I wouldn't be seeing you around. Because the only home I know is your chamber and maybe the only person I know in this world, it’s you. This unexplained feeling, through which I am going now, nobody else but only you, can understand.

Sir, do you remember, you always said, “I wonder how ants find traces of sweet from nowhere”, that was your favorite pastime quote, which then I never understood. But today, let me tell you this today that I have found the answer.

Sweet for me today, is Death. Maybe the only answer left for me. And I am sure by the time you will be reading this letter, I would have found it.

Professor Raman was motionless. The letter slipped down from his hands. A drop of tear trickled down on his cold face behind his thick glasses. His face was still and his hands trembled. The silence was broken by a phone call.

With trembling voice he picked up the receiver and said, “Yes”.

“Raman Sir, this is the Principal. Sir, some good news for you…the retirement gift you wanted? It has arrived. Yes just now I got a call from the Patents office. They have agreed to name the invention as Raghav’s effect. Also the patent would be copyrighted against his name. Isn’t this wonderful? It was difficult but it was only because of you that it happened. Okay, now I guess you would like to share this with Raghav. So I won’t take any more time of yours. I just wish he should have been there when you spoke only about him for those 40 minutes, and even about your favorite quote on how you used to puzzle Raghav with that.”

That was all meaningless now, Professor Raman knew. He kept the phone and slowly picked up the letter. There was something more written in the footnote. He read aloud, “Tell me Sir, how's the afternoon, how it looks from your favourite window? Is the sun shining over the green leaves?”

Sitting by the canal side

Kanai-da was somewhere in his eighties when the last time I had seen him. He was older than my grandfather but that was what everybody in my village called him. People said he had lost his family in a flood. I remembered him sitting most of the times beside a canal under a banyan tree. My summer vacations brought me a trip to village, for which I eagerly waited for the rest of the year. Running around paddy fields, plucking wild berries and fishing in the river, with my friend Budo, the days were full of adventures, which later I brought to share with my school friends.

It was that first time, I had come back from village and unlike other times, I had nothing to tell. Friends asked, to which I shoved away, and to surprises and strange replies, I made a somber face. Maybe I was growing up and no more it made sense to rant stories of my village adventures to my city friends, who maybe, could least, have understood the emotions which I tried to convey. But that time it was something else. Something happened and to which till date, I question myself and try giving different answers at different times.

Kanai-da spoke very less. Most of the times I had seen him sit on the bank of that canal, gazing through his deep buried eyes towards the oblivion. His presence was so much taken for granted that many a times people didn’t even know that he was around. He was unmoved to teases of children and comments of elders. It was only in the night that he went inside his hut and the next morning when I was out, plucking berries or riding the bullock cart, I saw him sitting in that same place. Once I was inquisitive and asked Budo about him. That was when I came to know a bit about him.

That wasn't a different afternoon and after gulping down my lunch I came out to play again. Budo had promised to meet me after lunch to finish a game of marbles. But he wasn’t there yet. I waited under the shadow of bamboo shrubs when I saw Kanai-da coming from a distance on the aisles of a paddy-field. He came up to me and stopped.

“Are you the grandson of Bhola?” he asked. His deep throat voice made me believe one thing, that he wasn’t what some called him, mad.

“Yes” I replied.

He smiled and for the first time I saw him closely. His face was all covered with beard and wrinkles, but his eyes, very gentle eyes they were, like blessing the whole world through them. He turned back and started to go away.

“Why do you sit by that canal?” I asked hurriedly.

He turned back and came close to me. I moved a couple of steps back.

“Why do you ask kid?” he said.

“Because I see you there, all the time, and no one knows, not even Budo” I stammered a bit.

“Budo! That rascal” he smirked.

“He is my friend”, I replied firmly.

“Yes, I see you both, all day, aiming pebbles at the berries” he said, his smile got wider.

“At-least we get to eat them. What do you get sitting idle for the whole day near that canal?” I asked in a bit agitated way.

“You are not that age to understand”, he replied and suddenly his smile vanished.

There was silence, except the bamboo squeaks and dry leaves rambling over inanimate corners.

Days later I was returning back to the city with my father. A two hour bus ride to reach Bishnupur from where we will get a train to reach Ranchi in 6 hours. Last night it had rained heavily. The narrow concrete over roads had vanished under brown mud. Whenever some other bus came from the front the driver had a tough time keeping the vehicle on the road. It went on about one hour till that horrible moment came.

I was almost asleep when there was a sudden and massive jerk, something stroked the bus from beneath and when I opened my eyes I saw it had tilted, almost to an angle of 45 degrees. Screams filled the air. I looked around. People had already started clinching onto their seats. My father tightly held my hand and with the other he tried clasping the seat. Seconds continued with screams getting louder till it went all blank for me. And when I regained, I found myself hanging by the window outside the bus. I saw from the corner of my eyes, there was a sharp trench over which the bus was dangling and can topple over any time. My ears were back and so did the screams. I didn’t know where my father was but I thought, amidst those screams I heard my father also, calling my name. He was still inside the bus and because of my size I had slipped outside the window. I felt my hands were trembling; sweat covered my forehead and mind was all blocked. Strength wasn’t ample to climb myself upwards inside the bus.

Some moments later I felt to let it go and then I heard my father again. I saw his hand coming out but still there was a distance to reach.  I recovered my leftover strength and tried to climb but failed. I tried again and failed again. My hands were terribly shaking and I knew the time was near when I was going to leave the fight. And just then, I clearly remember just then, someone whispered in my ears.

“I sit by the canal because I wait for it, to come and take me to my family”.

And then someone pushed me, which enabled me to get inside the window and finally reach my father’s hand. I clinched on to my father and closed my eyes. I heard people were gathering outside. They had roped the bus. We waited motionless till they rescued us.

Hours later, when I was sitting close to my father on a hospital bench, and motionless, a thought was continuously squirming inside me. I recognized the voice and also knew who pushed me.

“How did you climb that?” my father asked his voice was shaky.

I was silent and then I spoke, “Kanai-da pushed me”.

“What!” he exclaimed and then said, “Okay” as if he understood.

But I was yet to understand something.

In the evening Father called up the village panchayat-house where my grandfather was already waiting for the call.

“Your grandfather wanted to come, but I said we will be leaving in an hour”, my father said, after the phone call was over. “And the thing you said about Kanai-da…” he continued.

I looked up and saw disbelief and comfort in his eyes, both at the same time.

And then he said, “Kanai-da passed away this morning. Today morning farmers found him lying dead on that canal bank”.

Many years have passed, but till today, whenever I remember that incident and try to judge it by my educated reasoning, somehow I tend to believe against what many have said was nothing but my hallucination, my delusion. And I know Kanai-da was there and that now, when I write about him, he is still here.