Friday, September 19, 2014

Silvattein

Silvattein hain fikr-e-chashm-e-nam ki bisaat ki.

Bayabaan ki sarghoshi ko khabar na thi jab raqs-e-tanhaai ki.

Sadaaon ka mizaaj bhi hai ajab,
ki cheekhti hai nazar,
khamosh hai magar,
nigaah-e-yaar ki.

Thursday, September 18, 2014

2 Trains


12:30 PM. Rewa started packing her suitcase. She was supposed to go to her mother’s place for her first delivery. All because of Rewa’s progressive-minded brother. Such a fuss he made! Shameless. What would the elders think? What will people say? The other day he barged in and said shamelessly to her mother-in-law that the child should be born in a hospital under medical attention and not a daai. Just what was this proper medical care supposed to mean anyway? Didn’t women have children during earlier days? Earlier, women used to have 7-8 children and no proper medical care. All these were big city ideas that her brother had got while working in a big city. But what could Rewa say? Her mother-in-law told her to go with her brother somewhere around the ninth month. So she packed her suitcase with clothes and some sugar and rotis for the journey by train. When her brother tried to take the suitcase from her, she slapped his hand, irritated by all the fuss he was making.


12:30 PM. Ishita got a call from her Yoga teacher. “It’s breathing techniques day for you my dear. Good for the baby. Don’t miss.” Her Yoga teacher was like a Hitler to Ishita. A polite Hitler. There were times she felt embarrassed at being told in front of the class that she was overindulging in sweets or the time when she got late and was told that she had to practice discipline if she wanted to raise a good kid. Is that a thing to say in front of the whole class? Anyway, she didn’t want to get late. But her driver was on a chhutti. These guys go to their village at the drop of a hat. Ishita decided to take the metro. It’s comfortable.



1:10 PM. Rewa was looking out of the train’s window. She got up. Her brother asked her where she was going. The bathroom she said. He signaled where to go and sat down reading the newspaper.


1:10 PM. Ishita got inside the ladies coach and was immediately offered a seat. She dug her purse for her bag of cookies and started munching on one.



1:30 PM. Rewa’s brother had broken the door of the train’s bathroom. She had not been responding to his knocking on the door or shouting her name. When they brought her out, she had fainted. Minutes later the railway authorities picked up a crying baby from the railway tracks. The baby girl weighed 2 kgs and had slight bruises. Mother and daughter were now being driven to a hospital. Rewa had never felt so ashamed in her life. But her brother was beaming and called it a miracle baby. What nonsense was he saying.


1.30 PM. Ishita and her baby were being taken in an ambulance to the hospital. The authorities had a tough time telling the commuters not to click pictures. Mother and daughter were healthy. Tired, Ishita sipped on the juice. 

Saturday, September 6, 2014

Kiddish is Adultish


“How did you know ‘A’ is written like ‘A’?“
- “Umm”
- “Don’t ask silly questions!”
- “Because I say so!”

There is nothing more irritating than having questions in the mind; the ones without an answer; especially the ones that make the elders upset, especially those. Raja had lots of things going on in him. But the smart boy that he was, he knew when to stop an argument. He would ask but not insist. He would nod in obedience or just flash his biiiig smile.

And so it went on day after day.  

On a cloudy day, Raja was trying to catch a budhi mai (dandelion seed). The seed was more impatient than Raja. It flew from the road, under the rose bush, across the toy car … finally resting on the window of the old house.

The old house was a shabby place which would have made an excellent playground. An uncle lived there all by himself and wore pretty much the same sort of clothes that Raja wore and absolutely loved. Red t-shirt and orange Bermudas or white vest with checks on shorts. Comfortable and stylish clothes.

Uncle used to colour all day. Raja envied uncle so much for this. Imagine colouring all the time. Uncle didn’t even make drawing of his school or hut or flower. He would sometimes dip his hands in colour and have fun on paper. What fun!

So, when the dandelion seed got stuck on uncle’s window Raja just had to get it. And off he went.
  
Obviously Raja bumped into uncle. Why would Raja stop at the window, catch the dandelion seed and go away? Anyone who knew Raja would understand that he had to know ‘what’s inside’.

And the next thing you know, Raja and uncle were sharing a chocolate cream biscuit with chilled Pepsi. Ah! Heaven.

Raja asked uncle, “Do you know lots of things?”
Uncle smiled and said, “No. In fact I know nothing. But I love to know more and more things.”
“So do I.”
“You do?” Uncle laughed and said, “You know Raja my little friend, you are better than grownups. So nice to talk to someone who understands what you are saying.”
Raja didn’t understand this sentence but he could not tell uncle that, could he? Praises worked with Raja 100 %.
Raja looked around the room and found it pretty much like his own if Mumma didn’t clean it after every two hours. He noticed a drawing with two circles; just two circles on a whole page.
“What’s that?”
“Oh that….that’s my unfinished masterpiece. What does it look like to you?”

Raja re-looked at the drawing and then spoke after a minute, “Once I wanted strawberry but Mumma gave me mango. But I still wanted strawberry so she said it’s a yellow strawberry. But when I ate it I found out that it was actually mango. So I threw it out of my mouth. In the plate it looked like exactly what your painting is looking like. What I’m saying is that the shape is just the same but the colour is different.”

Uncle put his finger on his mouth, trying to look serious while stifling his laughter and said, “You are right. The society conditions us to accept what we don’t want and what we want, the society can’t accept. The dilemma. The urge. The rebellion. Everything comes out. Brilliant. You are my rainfall!”
“But…my name is Raja, not Rainfall.”
“No, no. Raja is what you have been named. Rainfall is what you name yourself. Isn’t that good?”

Raja nodded.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“How did you know ‘A’ is written like ‘A’?“

“Well, we are told it’s written like that by people who were told by others. And a lot of people keep telling the same thing. And so we write ‘A’ like ‘A’ and not ‘B’ or ‘C’. It’s simple actually. Just do what the others are doing until you do something that the others will also do. Understood?”
Raja giggled. And so did uncle.

In his little mind, Raja now felt that his question was not silly and at least had an answer. In his grownup mind, Uncle now felt the need to paint without a heavy heart and with a free mind. Both had learnt from each other. Both were teaching each other. Both didn’t know this. 

Friday, September 5, 2014

Micro Story

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