Catalyst !!

***

He closed his eyes and all the white turned black. Bright yellow light above his face slowly turned blackness into shade of crimson. His eyelids lit. He had been here so many times that just by sound of it he could know what was happening around. Slow movement of wheeled table, sticking sound of rubber gloves, clicking sound of cuffs and locking sound door knob, all indicated that it was time. He heard the sound of the switch and concentrated on the hum of electricity. He could hear tiny mechanical parts coming to life. A hand touched his temple and left with cold sticky wax. A smooth but hard metal plate was fixed on the wax. It was like wearing a headphone but with no music playing. And then with another switch his body jerked. He could hear screams but was not sure that it was his own. It felt like a wave passing through his brain, pulsing high and low at the same time. He could feel his body dissolve in liquid and just the brain floating in air and he started counting the pulses…1…2…3…and again…1…2…3…

***

The two were left alone. It was 7 minutes after midnight. Balloons, filled and burst, were scattered all over the place. Disposable plates and glasses left here and there. Half eaten cake and open soda cans visible around spaces. Small pieces of glitters and sparkles scattered throughout the floor like it had rained from the fan. Smell of cheese filled the air. Little, one year old, Avantika was sleeping peacefully in her small hanging bed in room. Neha turned to her side on the sofa facing Manoj. He was still facing the ceiling, his eyes closed. ‘It was exhausting’ she said. ‘We don’t know these people.’ Manoj said without moving. ‘It was your idea anyway’ He added. ‘We need friends’ she said and placed her head on his shoulders.

Manoj have never liked parties. He thought parties were only for people who like to show off. It’s been few months Manoj and Neha moved to Pune with their newborn. Manoj’s job at bank had not given him much opportunity to settle down at one place. But now with a child to take care, this moving business has become a burden. Apart from few from the bank, they didn’t know anyone and their daughter’s birthday gave them a chance to invite few neighbors. To their surprise they all turned up. ‘Isn’t it weird?’ Manoj said opening his eyes. ‘I mean, someone turns up to your door and invites for a party and you without knowing them, attend it like a relative’s marriage’

‘They all need friends I guess’ Neha doubted her own statement. ‘Let’s open the gifts’ she stood up in excitement and started towards the table which was full of boxes wrapped with glittering paper. Before she could reach, Manoj shouted, ‘No… We can’t just open them inside the house’

His words echoed into silence of the night. Neha turned to him, surprised, ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Don’t you know the story about gifts?’ Manoj threw a look towards the pile of gift boxes and turned his gaze back to his wife. She turned back to look at the table and walked back towards the sofa.

‘It was few years back when I heard about this. In another party, when they started opening the gifts, one of the gifts appeared which they were not sure was from a person who was invited. They started opening it. In the box there was nice dress. But as soon as they opened the dress further their eyes went wide. The box felt from their hand. All they could see was a lemon poked with iron nails, a black handmade doll, few pieces of bones, and a white flower garland all covered in red color. And few days after his wife died of unknown reasons and his son was admitted in hospital. Doctors couldn’t even identify his illness’

Manoj looked back to Neha. His eyes still terrified. Neha couldn’t understand whether to get scared or to laugh. She was not one who believes in ghosts and black magic superstitions. ‘Stop all this nonsense Manoj’ She said. ‘You said you heard it right? That can be a lie too’ 

Who was telling the story? And whose story was it anyway? 
The words fluttered and flew in the wind.

Neha was not in the mood to ask these questions anyway. Leaving Manoj in the hall, Neha went to the bedroom. She was tired. Manoj sat there staring the gift boxes.

***

Two decades back…Kamal sat on black metal chair facing pale white wall of the hospital. ‘Who could have done this?’ Kamal asked mostly to himself, clearly devastated on the turn of events. A shopkeeper from profession, Kamal could not think of anyone who could have hated him so much to hurt him. As a shopkeeper, his business depended on the relations whom he maintained and in any case he could not have compromised with his business. Dr. Bijlani, also his closest friend could not answer. What he could do was, keep his hands on Kamal’s shoulder and say, ‘everything will be alright. World is full of psychopaths’

Kamal drove home. His son Minku sat in the back seat of the car holding the pot of ash. His mother was dead. The priest of the cremation ground had asked them to perform few rituals at home before taking it to Kshipra River. In the mirror he looked at his son sitting at the back seat of the car and a drop of tear appeared into his eyes which he brushed off.

***

Few days back his was a happy family. It was tenth anniversary of Kamal and his wife Sudha, when it all started. When all the guests had left, behind them they left hall room full of flowers and gifts for the couple. As soon as they were alone Minku started galloping around the gift boxes, pleading with his cat like eyes to open them. Amused with their son’s enthusiasm they started opening the gift boxes, starting from prettiest wrapper. Sudha picked up the box which didn’t have any name on it. Secret admirer or forgetful fool? She started opening the small but elegant looking box wrapped in golden paper. A red band beautifully turned into some unknown flower. She took away the lid and her eyes widened by the sight of what was inside it. A hand written note appeared on top of it. Sudha took out the note, while both Kamal and Minku looked at her in disbelieving expression. It said, ‘I have returned’. Just by reading it Sudha had a shock. She was unconscious for hours before Dr. Bijlani had asked Kamal to admit her in hospital. Dr. Bijlani knew about the abortion which Sudha had gone under. It was immediately after their marriage and both Kamal and Sudha were not ready for a child yet. Though Sudha was reluctant at first but she herself was not sure that she was ready for motherhood. Dr. Bijlani had told them it was a normal procedure and since she was in just 6 weeks of pregnancy, there was no danger of any kind at all.

The guilt remained till their son was born after 3 years and soon they all forgot about it until this very event. Other things with the note were enough for Sudha to believe. The small handmade doll, in the box, covered in vermillion, became her dead daughter. Kamal was devastated. He had always thought something of this kind can never happen to him. He would have laughed if Sudha had not reacted the way she did. He had thrown away the lemon, bones and garland into Kshipra River but he was not able to throw the black doll, which Sudha thought was her dead daughter.

Sudha was not responding to any treatment. Dr. Bijlani soon realized that the guilt of killing her own child was so strong that it was almost impossible for her to fully recover. He advised Kamal to take her home and bring her to hospital only for the sessions which were prescribed by the psychiatrist.       

Soon the house turned into a nightmare. Kamal’s seven year old son, unknowingly, became part of it. Sudha started preparing breakfasts and lunches for 4 instead of 3. On dining table there would always be an extra plate with food and the doll would be kept on the chair. Kamal had tried stopping her but the screams and wailing of Sudha was unbearable. He started playing along and made his son play along too. He was OK as long as everything was normal. But soon he started seeing changes in his son.

And then one day, he saw his son talk to himself. ‘I am talking to my sister’ Minku explained and his mother smiled. Kamal lost it all. He took the black doll and threw it away. Sudha kept screaming whole night. His son kept crying for his mother and his sister. ‘I want to go to her’ Sudha kept shouting the whole way while they took her to hospital in the morning.

After two days Dr. Bijlani walked to Kamal with the news. ‘Her heart had stopped working. We have kept her on ventilator but biologically she is dead’ Dr. Bijlani said with sympathy. Kamal knew that this was coming. He cursed himself for celebrating his anniversary and cursed the person who did this to his family. He will never be happy.

***

Back home, he took the pot of ash from his son and put it on the dining table. ‘Are you hungry?’ He asked his son and he nodded in yes. Kamal took out a plate and gave him the leftovers from the night before. His son looked into the plate for few seconds and said, ‘for mom and sister?’ Kamal losing his mind, slapped him as hard as he could. A heart trembling wail broke out of his throat and all became silent.

‘He is in shock’ Dr. Bijlani told Kamal in the hospital while Minku slept in the ward. ‘I am afraid, in his innocence he had believed that both his mother and sister are not dead’ He continued, ‘We need to make him believe otherwise and make him understand the facts. This might be a long process and may require multiple psychiatric sessions. For now just play along’ Kamal wept on himself. ‘What is my fault? What have I done to anyone to go through this pain?’ he cried while all Dr. Bijlani could say was, ‘everything will be ok’.

Nothing turned back to OK. On the outer side it all looked normal but Kamal could hear his son talking behind the closed room. He had stopped asking for extra plates but he also started leaving his food uneaten. Kamal doubted that the leftovers were for his sister or his mother. Seeing no improvement at all, Dr. Bijlani suggested Kamal to take him to Mumbai for better opinion and better treatment, though he had already consulted with bests he had known. Kamal liked the idea, also because Sudha’s parents were living in Mumbai and this would be an opportunity for both of them to get some change from this terrible situation.

Doctors in Shivaji Memorial were not so friendly and the dean of the medical institute immediately suggest for shock treatment before it gets too late. Kamal shivered just by the thought of his little kid going under the shock treatment. He tried to pursue them. Called Dr. Bijlani back in Ujjain but it turned he was too reluctant to suggest the same and that might be the best way forward.

That night when Kamal heard his son talking to his mother, saying ‘I want to be with you’ he decided there was no other way. With support from his in-laws he signed the application form, approving the best treatment suggested by the doctors.

Kamal left for Ujjain. Medical expenses nearly broke him and he could not afford to sit home any longer. Shop must not be closed for long. Sudha’s parents, Sudha being their only child, were more than happy to keep their grandson with them.

Days started passing. With improvements, number of sessions decreased from week to month and then eventually to none. Kamal visited Mumbai every month and saw his son doing better not just in personal front but in studies and sports. ‘Bringing away from Ujjain must be best thing I might have done to him’ Kamal thought.

Soon it all became a distant memory. There were no more treatments and no more sessions. By the time he graduated, he was no different than any other student. In fact his brilliance in academic and sports made him better than most of the students.  When he joined a reputed bank as an assistant manager after completing his MBA, his grandparents were dead, only one remained to share the news was his father. After few months his father died of cardiac arrest. Dr. Bijlani said he didn’t suffer much. Minku remembered the last talk he had had with him before his father died, ‘I am very proud of you, Manoj’ He had said.

***

Neha woke up to the ringing phone and found front door of the house to be open. She could not find Manoj anywhere. As she picked up the phone, she realized there were no gift boxes on the table. ‘Hello’ she said on the phone.

‘Neha, look outside’ said a neighbor’s voice from other side of the receiver.

Neha walked out of the front door and phone fell from her hand. Manoj was sitting across the road opening gift boxes desperately. Shining wrappers were scattered all over street and torn boxes and the gifts inside them, were thrown here and there. A chill ran through her nerves and she ran towards Manoj. He looked up as if he didn’t recognize her. ‘Did you see my Sister?’ he asked her in his innocence and started removing wrapper from another box.

Few neighbors came to help Neha. They took Manoj back to the house while he kept asking for her sister. Neha took him to the room and locked it from outside. Manoj kept screaming and shouting to let him out to search for his sister.

‘Hello…Dr. Bijlani?’ Neha spoke on the phone. She knew, only person left who was related to Manoj’s family, was Dr. Bijlani in Ujjain.

Dr. Bijlani and Neha stood outside operating room of Shivaji Memorial hospital, watching from the glass window. A team of doctors were busy preparing electric machine, calibrating its intensity, while Manoj lay on the stretcher, lights burning just above his face. They put the electric cord across his temple and with a jerk his whole body started shaking. She could not hear his screams but could see the rubber log stuck between his teeth shudder like a railway track when the train passes through it. Thick viscous saliva drenched his face and neck. Hands were tightly clenched in fists and legs were stroking the cuffs around it in a rhythm as if counting…1…2…3…and again…1…2…3… 

***

wonder what was the story behind !!

it was an usual morning. over crowded airoli-borivali bus number 123. smell of ocean's rotten water mixed with smell of sweat of people occupying the minimum space required for their shapes. bus conductor very comfortably making space for himself in between nearly impossible gaps. all these were so incredible yet so ordinary in a person's life who is a regular commuter of BEST buses in the city of Mumbai. 

headphones stuck almost touching my eardrums, D K Bose song playing in loop to the maximum capacity in cellphone, i was on my way to the office. every now and then throwing a glance on my cheapest fast-track watch, not to see the time but to think of a new excuse to give on the question 'why are you late today? again!' i myself was pissed on the same old truth of traffic conditions, day by day worsening to the limits.

lady beside me stood up and three of them standing on the aisle blocked the way not to stop her but to occupy the seat. somehow she walked out and disappeared in the crowd, i was forced to slide towards the window so that people struggling to find the seat could sit, at least one of them.
seat was not empty, there was a book. title 'what the hell'. i myself was a reader but never had heard of this book, well no one could possibly know all the books, specially if they are published to compete with the growth of mushrooms. i picked it up and unplugged my earphones to concentrate more on the book.
first page:

it was handwritten. 'To the only person who is the inspiration behind this book, its not a book, its our story'
quite clear the book was a gift from the author himself. There was a line, again hand written in a different handwriting.

'leaving this in a crowded bus, no one will ever know that the book was written on me, for me. I am sorry'
i realized that the lady was in fact not reading but writing on the first page of the book. bus was already moving, she was already gone. last stop which crossed was kandivali. i was still there, holding the book in my hand, wondering what might be the story behind it...!!   

Make History....

Walking briskly in his room, he was worried about the outcome. Lines on his forehead were not allowing him to think. He walked to the window where his men were trying to calm the beast. ‘How is he now?’ Rana asked, concerned.  One of them, who was also chief medical officer looked up to the window and said, ‘I am afraid sire, he is not responding to the medicines.’

Without replying to the officer Rana went back inside and started gearing himself for the battle. There was no time left. He saw his army commander Jhala, in corridor, coming to him. Before Jhala could even greet him, he said, ‘Nathak is not well’. ‘I know my lord. This is why I have come here. Now when your best horse is out, we have no other option but to go with the second. I have asked men to bring him here. You can see it and then we can decide’

He thought for a moment and said, ‘prepare the army for battle, I will ride the one you chose for me, my friend’ without a delay Jhala left the room and Rana was left alone on the window, geared with battle cloths, watching his best horse struggle to stand.

They say, soil of the battle ground turned red with blood of thousands. Rana was trying to stop the blood drift from the cut on his shoulder when Jhala came rushing on his horse. ‘My lord, we won’t last longer, their army is fierce and unending. We are no longer…’ he left the sentence incomplete and waited for Rana to reply.

‘I will kill their chief commander’ he replied tying the knot of cloth on his cut. Jhala smiled, he knew Rana very well, he was not the one who will take defeat so easily. Before he could say anther word, Rana was already on his way, like a hurricane cutting the flesh all along, making way towards enemy commander. ‘Who could say this horse of him is the second best’ he thought watching the beast at his best.

It was a fierce jump; the horse drifted itself so high that for an instance Rana was face to face with enemy commander who was sitting on an elephant. That was the moment. Rana shot his sword to him, right on target. Cutting the head of the elephant driver and wounding the commander on his neck, unfortunately the wound on his neck did not prove to be fatal and the elephant swung his trunk and hit Rana’s horse, the sword tied to its trunk had cut a chunk of flesh from horse’s leg.

Jhala came running to Rana and snatched the royal insignia and wore himself. Rana heard him shouting, ‘if we want our land back, you must be alive’    

It was running like a wind, carefree of the stream of blood from his leg. How can he think about his wounds when his master’s life is in menace. It had a task of taking his master away from enemy and he was doing it with all his dignity.  Just crossing the canal will insure the safety he knew and it crossed, a jump even Nathak would have hesitated to take, but it did. Rana was across the canal, safe.

As the horse fell on the ground, Rana knew the horse had made history. He wiped the tears from the eyes of the horse as it died. Took his knife and scratched name of the horse on a stone, ‘Maha Rana Pratap's Chetak’.

Nobody remembers ‘Nathak’, though he was the best always. So if you are the one who has not been number one always, well it doesn’t matter. What matters is how you perform when you get a chance to do it. ‘Chetak’ has become a part of history in spite of being number two, because he performed when it was needed the most. Life is full of chances and opportunities, what matters is how one performs, you never know when the number one gets sick and it is you facing the race. So to make history, give your best shot, no matter you are number one or number two.

You stay back...

‘Hi’

‘Hi’ she said. She was sitting on white marble square rock and gave some space beside her to sit. I just walked to her and occupied the place. It was cold.

‘How are you?’

‘I am good, how about you?’

‘I am fine too.’

There was a weird silence for few minutes. I saw few more people sitting here and there. Place looked weird but people around made it happening. Then I asked again,

‘So how’s life in here?’

‘Life?’ she laughed. I realized my mistake.

‘I mean how’s everything going?’

‘Quite good, in fact you will realize that its far more better here, peace of mind you know. And for all this, thanks to you, if I had not loved you so much, then this would have never came to me. Sometimes you miss those days but then it’s all for your own good. ‘I could see the wise side of her.

‘But I am surprised to see you here; I thought you would be living a happy life with her. After all you loved her so much, like I loved you. What’s the story?’ she asked with curious eyes.

‘its no different than yours. Just after you left the place, I got the news. She was going to get married. Although she loved me, but then you know how it works over there, family, society and culture. Just like you, I was not able to handle it. At first I thought that I am weak. But now after coming here, I feel good and after meeting you I feel better.

She smiled but never said anything. I kept looking to others around there. Some of them in deep thoughts, some smiling, they all seems to be in peace. She saw my eyes and said,

‘They all are likewise, common place for all of them who does what we did.’

‘I can see that’ I replied. There was nothing to talk more. We just sat there quietly. Time passed. She suddenly turned to me and said, ‘sun is rising. Time to go back’

I stood up. I saw everyone else going back. She asked, ‘do you still love her?’

I said, ‘she is happily married now’ and started walking towards my grave. As I was about to close the lid of it, I looked towards her, her grave was already closed, she was gone. We all sleep whole day. I know this is going to be a routine as I was told, if you suicide, you stay back.

Its not the end...

Darkness was at its extreme, his eyes got open with a strange sound. The sound of leather shoes, which his master used to wear and roam in this big house. The sound was turning louder and louder, that means his master is coming in his direction. His throat felt a drought and he found a drop of sweat running down behind his right ear.

It has been nine years working in this house, for this fourteen year boy. He knew that his master has bought him from his father for two hundred and eighty rupees, when he was five, so that his father could pay to the land lord and save his mother from being a keep of him. He doesn’t know what has happened after that to his family, his master never told him anything else, now all he knows is washing clothes, utensils, floor and polishing shoes, making drinks, cleaning tables and to add he knows the beatings, be it from a belt, a stick or legs covered with same leather shoes.

Next moment his master was in front of him. Carrying the same leather belt in his hand which he used to beat him. He started crying, but that made no difference, his master started beating him with the belt, when his hand were tired, he kicked him, when his legs got tired, again the belt made his way. Whole house was filled with loud cries of pain, but he knew no one is listening, not even his master. He could feel his skin getting torn, his abdomen bleed, his eyes swollen, and his legs numb. Once his master was done, he shouted, ‘you son of a bitch, how dare you tried to kill me, take it as a lesson you mother f***r, next time I will kill you bastard’

He left, leaving him in intense pain, but his mind was not worried about the wounds, it was worried about the words his master said ‘how dare you tried to kill me’ he was struggling to recall. It was not that he has not thought about killing his master for beating him like animals but never let this thought convert in an act. He tried hard and was again back to last night.

His master just came in and asked him to prepare drinks. He did. It was the fifth time he was pouring the whisky in the glass, his master put his legs on the table and with the jerk he trembled and bottle smashed on the ground with an intense sound, sharp smell of whisky all over. Next moment he found himself on the ground, two big hands pressing hard on his throat, he was not able to breath, lungs dying in lack of air, heart slowing down, eye bulging out, mouth opened to its extreme to find some air, legs started pounding the ground, hands moving all over the glass pieces and grabbing a big one tightly…Next moment there was no sound, not even sound of breathing, everything went silent.    

He felt present was more painful than the last night; he just closed his eyes and kept waiting for the morning, when he heard few people walking and someone saying, ‘they both killed each other it seems, send the bodies for postmortem’

He came out dragging his left leg, wiping blood from his eyes and saw few policemen taking out his and his master’s body out, his master sitting on the chair, with the belt still in his hand, drinking, smiling.


He understood the meaning of his smile, 'Its not the end...'

Once upon a time !!

I have heard lot of stories from my grandmother. She had so many varieties of them and the way she narrated those stints that somehow I started feeling those were not stories but incidents. Thought of sharing one of them, ignoring the fact that some of you might already know it. And yes like all Grandma Stories it also starts with…

‘Once upon a time… Husband and wife started their journey for their native which was across few villages. They took the only donkey which they had and loaded the luggage on its back. There was enough space for both of them to sit on it. The donkey was old but kind of royal treatment it got from its owner, he was still fit enough to carry both of them.

Journey started, but it was not long that they found people around; staring at them as if the luggage loaded on the donkey was theirs. ‘But I was sure that I loaded my own stuff’ he thought. He saw a bunch of people standing in a group ahead and murmuring something. He wanted to hear but old age has shown enough harm on his ears, but his wife’s ears were sharp like hare, she always hears the cuss words which are not even out of my mouth. So he said to his wife, ‘why don’t you try and listen what those staring people are talking about?’ and with no much wait she replied, ‘the poor old donkey is dying beneath two cruel ugly looking people that is us’ she replied. ‘What did you say you hippo?’ the man got angry more by the word ugly rather than the tone of his wife.

‘That’s what those people are saying not me’ she added immediately. Now there was a silence for a while and the next moment he was on the ground walking beside the donkey, his wife enjoying the ride alone.

It was not long that his wife started asking him to stop; but his weak ears and the people on the way who were still staring and smiling on him, made him walk few steps more before stopping. As soon as he stopped his wife got down and asked him to sit on the donkey. The man got impressed by her wife’s courtesy which was a rare occurrence and only happens when all the planets in the solar system are aligned in a straight line. He looked up to the sky, smiled and almost jumped on the back of the donkey.

‘Thank You’ he said but she was not even looking at him but staring at couple of people going the other direction. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘These buggers were saying that I am a horrible wife making my husband walk on the ground while I was comfortable on the donkey’ she said and the man unsuccessfully tried to control his laugh.

But all his contentment was lost when an old lady threw a pebble on him cursing, ‘don’t you have any shame? Letting your wife walk while you ride…disgusting ‘. Next moment both of them were walking beside the donkey, two of them smiling, I meant his wife and the donkey.   

They found many people laughing at them in further journey. Eventually they heard someone saying, ‘look at those fools, they are having a donkey with them still walking, as if the donkey is their ancestor’

They both looked at each other and smiled. And when they reached to their destination, both were sitting on the donkey…’

Moral of the story??? There are many, one of it is the first line of the song from movie Amar Prem, sung By Mr. Kishore Kumar and featuring Mr. Rajesh Khanna…. Hope you guessed it right...