The same hand movements, same complaints, the forgetfulness and exhaustion.

It was the time to practice our sports drill, which I would be doing standing very close to the audience on the final day. No denying that was all the more reason to try to do it better, but I have two left legs! Dance and I were like the broken couple who once had a teenage dream but grew up to realise we weren't meant for one another.

Glad enough as I was to find that all my classmates were irritated with it too. Though, I wont deny that it was a very rejuvenating break in an all-girls' school, from the regular subject classes with teachers, toxic for my mind and students who considered themselves to be either Mark Zuckerberg or the most front forward donator to the school.

Okay, I admit, I am generalising but the rare one who didn't fall into any of those categories ended up showing the traits of Hitler, which made it no better.

You just couldn't have laughed or even smiled without being told you are being 'disrespectful' or a 'hindrance to peace'.

However, even during the drill, we could see that our Sports teacher was so dissatisfied with us, that the situation would often turn to be like in the classroom. After all it was an all girls' school.

So, as we had completed our first round of practices, we were told to be at the uncovered bleachers to rest and have a look at our juniors performing their part.

They were as sick of the drill as we were, but they surely were a lot less lazier. They appeared so funny and therefore, cute to us. None would smile out of them though; none but one.

This little girl stood right in the front and headed a line for the drill. She wasn't any regular beautiful, but to em she appeared the most beautiful of them all. She wasn't cute because of being funny, but of being elegant.

The steps of their drill didn't even suit anyone except her, to me!

She would do it so well. She made the weirdest steps look mesmerizing! She always appeared appeared calm and dedicated, and had a slight joyful smile on her face throughout, even during the much difficult part of the drill.

Her face was a blend of sunshine and positive vibes. All of this just added to her beauty. All else would fade away when she entered and did the stupid steps with great elegance.

And, all of a sudden, I had started looking at her like my little sister. Her smile was the most attractive feature about her. It was like gold dust among shapeless pebbles.

She had understood by now how I would look at her always, tell everyone how cute she was and would enjoy her performance. This covered her face with a wide grin and she would even blush!

In all chaos and lethargy, it was amazing how she could remain so gleeful and fascinating. I just sat down there, looking at her and her vibrant personality, realising how much I had to learn from her. I wish I could hold her tightly and have her bright tiny face against me.

I wanted her to retain that gentle bliss she had all along. I wanted to save her from committing the mistake, I committed during the course of my life.

No, I didn't know her name, her religion, her attitude, family or for that matter, anything about her life.

But, yes, however, crazy and vague it may seem, she was beautiful and I always wanted to keep the little lady protected. 

I bent down on my knees, looking at the one before me, so lovestruck!

I, being a girl, wasn't supposed to be doing this. I should have been the one experiencing having this being done to me. But he was worth it!

Lost in the elegance of the man in front of me, I raised up my palm. "Marry me?"

Though, it wasn't the first time I was asking him this.

He facepalmed.

And, nothing ever could have been more mesmerizing than that gesture.

My eyes turned heart shaped, and my jaw dropped like a lost desert resident's who finally had found her oasis! I took deep breaths or I would have fainted of so much love!

He didn't answer me but stood there shaking his head.

Suddenly, I heard someone approaching towards us. I sneak peaked a bit behind his huge muscular body to find out, it was his wife!

It was too late for me to get up, and to pretend like nothing had happened. She abruptly, came into sight and ran her eyes at both of us, observing yet questioningly.

I pretended to have been tying my lace.

As she glanced at me, I looked down at my show, trying to make something out of the situation.

He went over to his wife, and took her in his arms. She wrapped hers around his neck too.

Lifting her up a bit, he kissed her lips, while I got up to my feet and waited for them.


"The dinner is ready, Shiva." She whispered, blushing as she drew back.

Looking at her, with a glimmer in his eyes which only her reflection could bring, he nodded.

And, then, Shiva walked out of the room.


Shakti raised an eyebrow at me, I looked away, still sensing two eyes inspecting me.

"I.....I...." spoke I, turning towards her ," I was just tying my shoelace" and, I looked away again, guilty conscious.

"Sure." She said, grinning," a lot of girls do that!"

I, involuntarily, turned my eyes towards her and laughed really hard.

She came over to me and embraced me. Her delicate arms had a heavenly cool peace which made me feel enlightened for the few moments she held me.

Her mild scent covered the air around me, making me even more relaxed and appeased with the moment.


"You are me. He will come to you at the right time." Shakti said


I gently pulled back, and looked at her doubtfully.

She gave me a very reassuring smile and said, " I've prepared your favorite dishes for you! Let's go and eat."


And, I just blissfully nodded.

Khyati Sanger

Change. It can’t be pleasant for everyone. Neither can it be harsh for all. Change has two opposite effects on people. One’s loss might be another’s gain. When one person wins the others inevitably lose. A single change can offer both joy and grief at the same time. After all that’s what change and life are all about. We can’t ask for change nor can we choose what it will be. A short story about a change and its consequences.

A Change

I gripped at the steering wheel in anger, knuckles white. Beside me Carla sat fuming. I had definitely decided that the drift between us and our ‘cherished’ daughter was final. That’s when I registered the feeling of the car rolling. The last thing I see is a face disappearing with the flames. I only thanked god that my young girl had decided not to accompany us.

The Losses

I let the rainfall mix with my tears. I never thought I would cry over them: that I would feel pain in losing them.  I was in my hideout, the only one that gave me solace after a big blowout. However now there is nothing to hide from in this house. Nothing left to detest. My long time ‘wish’ had come true. I was going to get a new ‘set’ of parents. The ones who I had always detested were gone, dead. I always thought that I wanted someone else who would not hate me so much, who liked me for who I am and not for whom I wasn’t. And now when there is nothing but a void for what used to teach me, I know I had in some ways always relied on it. And now when I get another chance, I realize that I never really wanted one. I always had to be content but I wasn’t. I hated them for being them, for changing me and in bad moments, even destroying me. I knew too little then. It is now that they have destroyed me. And this time it is irrevocably. And now I can’t even hate them for it.  My new caretakers, I can’t call them anything else, were going to arrive in an hour to take me from the one place I called home. I had now started hating two new people, now even before I knew them.

The wind blew out two leaves from the almost barren tree, now left with just another one. Yes, that was me, me who was going to have to grit my teeth and tough it all out to survive. The worse thing was that I was not even sure that I should try. Now I just wish I had gone with them to that stupid party. They had tried a lot of ways to get me to come. But now they had given up, on life and on me. Maybe it didn't change much. I wish it had in the way I wanted it to. I loathed it now, that change that I had wished for and the one I was sure would be good.

The Gains

I was almost nauseous with the feelings of worry and excitement desperately trying to win me over. And this battle was one of those ones which I never think I will ever learn the outcome.  Soon I was going to have somebody to call my own. Somebody who would completely belong to me, look up to me and love me. As Matthew drove down the car surprisingly fast for his ‘never-break-rules’ attitude, I allowed myself to consider the girl that we were now going to adopt. Her parents had died unexpectedly. Matthew was not exactly the happiest person when I proposed the idea of taking a ‘traumatized’ child under our wing. Traumatized in his eyes, that is. But I was sure that the simple psychology of children would help her put her past behind her soon enough.

In a way the death of her parents was a blessing to me. After all it had given me a chance to have a new future. A future with me being a happy mother and she being my adoring daughter. Maybe it will be a new future for her as well. Perhaps she will be happier with me. Maybe I am just trying to make myself believe that it will work out.

                                              

And then, no matter how it effects you a change will change you.

~ Niranjana Menon

Her hair looked like fire.

That's the first thing he saw. It looked as though an aura of flame was billowing around her. Little charcoal black strands were tucked behind her ear, but the rest of it flew in the wind. The orange sunlight cut through it like light in darkness. It illuminated her face and made her ebony eyes sparkle.

She was looking out of the window. He sat down next to her in the only vacant seat in the whole train. She didn't even stir. 

The train lurched forward. 

He watched her from the corner of his eyes. Her hands were short and stubby. They were smeared with paint. Her nails were bleeding. She nervously clasped them around a pencil that she was holding.

She was trying to draw something in the book that she had placed on her lap. It was fraying on the edges, dog eared and torn in many place. She had scribbled all over it. 

But there was one empty page and she was drawing a portrait into it. She kept on erasing it. Again and again she made the paper empty and began from scratch. It took him a while until he understood whose resemblance she was trying to capture. It was self portrait. 

But it was all wrong. Her eyes were more shapely, her smile prettier, her hair more startling. She saw herself as much less than she was. 

She suddenly stood up, and walked away, leaving her book on her seat. 

He pondered on what to do next. His stop was fast approaching. He gathered up his bags and got ready to leave. 

The last second, he turned around and opened her book. He scribbled something and quickly left it in the same place. 

The girl with the flaming hair returned to take her seat. She was glad that he was gone. He was slightly creepy. She opened her book once again to stare at her own image. Filled with flaws and imperfections and hurt. Just like her. Instead she found something written there for her.

'You are more beautiful than you think.'

~ Niranjana Menon

"That's beyond the point!" he spat.

"The point is beyond you!" she hissed.

They were beyond hope.

Whenever two people from the canine or feline family fought real bad, the onlookers would plead, "Stop fighting like Aloks and Janvis for dog's sake!"

Their neighbours Mr. and Mrs. Mehta prayed their daughter Sweety grows up to become a music composer so they can finally get the chance to sound-proof their apartment. But alas, she was only four, and they came to terms with the idea that in the meanwhile they'd better get used to this background score highlighted by name-callings such as 'Miss Bhindi Bazaar' and 'Monkeyface'.

During their courtship period, Alok and Janvi often went to the movies, and most often they saw Shah Rukh Khan films. They'd come out of the cinema hall, dazzled and twice in love. These days they only frequented Sunny Deol movies and then bought the DVDs, too, to secretly practise the yelling techniques and tonal inflections in private.

What did they fight about so much, one would wonder. The topic was almost always profound. Like this one Sunday when they went to the zoo and all the animals gaped with amusement and bemusement (alternatingly) as the two quarreled about the 'which colour's striped on which colour' of a zebra.

Then one fine day, Alok's mother came visiting. As she witnessed them bickering about whose head had sprouted the first grey strand first, something struck her. After Janvi requested Alok to go climb a tree, Alok suggested she should go make him a sandwich. This was followed by her asking him to go wash his mouth and finally he advised her to go jump out of the window. The third tip was delivered with such passion, thought mummyji, that a fleeting look of enlightenment crossed her face, and her experienced locks of grey shined and sparkled as in the ads.

As though by miracle, after mummyji left, things became perfectly harmonius between husband and wife. The usher at Maratha Mandir was shocked to see them after ten years; the garbage collector was thrilled at having found thirty-seven Sunny Deol DVDs in the trash (the couple immediately stepped out and picked up a few DVDs of another Sunny ;) Mr. and Mrs. Mehta enrolled their Sweety at the Tiny Tots' Engineering Prep School to erase completely the memory of the possibility of the career of a music composer; the zebra was disappointed to suddenly stop being the center of all the attention; and the canine and feline communities were outraged at having lost an idiom.

That night while eating dinner, mummyji popped into her mouth some Chlormint achaar that she'd made for her son with so much love.

‘I believe in miracles, and God is the best one happened to me ever.’
“ Go, clean  the   small temple  in  our house.” My  dad  said,  and  I  was  off  at once!
First,  I  took out all  the  idols of the Almighty  and  kept  them  on a glass table.
They  had gathered a bit  of  dust  on  them,  but that didn’t decrease  their   purity even  by a single fraction.
Then, I started brushing off that dirt from  the sculptures  with  a clean  cloth, one by one.
I took up the smiling  diminutive  statue of Lord   Shiva  and started wiping it,  while I was lost in my thoughts.

Not a  single  good  occurrence had taken place that  day. I  felt like   I  had  been  given  the  gift of life which attracted to it the curse of  suffering  and  agony   like  a  magnet. The negativity of the curse had grown  so  powerful  that  the  gratefulness and desire of life had lost before  it. A tear  spun  down  my  cheek and landed on Lord Shiva’s statue. I was   unconscious  of  it’s  happening and so I continued to rub the cloth against  it.  The  swampy  tear was enough to polish the  statue further and give a  better  sparkle  to  it. Lord Shiva saw my tears, felt them but  didn’t vanish   the  smile  on  his  face. He was smiling, looking at me cry. I worked my way  through   the rest of the  sculptures and soon, all the idols were dirt-free.   I placed them back and arranged to get them somewhat in the same positions as they  were before.

‘Why me? What wrong had I committed? Or was my true commitment the wrong?
Why do I need to suffer? My God, The Father of the World, doesn't he love me? If he did, why is  he making me suffer the unbearable  helplessness with life! This way I would turn insensitive forever!’ thought  I.
I wanted  to  be near  the spiritual  patch  devoted  to the God. I felt like some energies  which exists at that place, would come to me and  fill me with everlasting strength!  So,  I  took  my   book  and  went  to  the  temple  to read it in the  presence  of the Almighty.  The  name  of  the  book  was      ‘101 quotes to  live life with happiness.'



Happiness,  the  word  itself made me elated. I   wanted  my every  cell  to  absorb  the  meaning of the word and trap it in my heart so  that  it  can  never  let  go  of me. After all, I had been soaked in distress for  quite  a  while  now.

I tried to read by I could not as I was  worried about  the  fuss  in  my  life.  I  conversed with God, that day.
“ Why! Why  Lord?  Why do   I  see   everyone   smiling   but   myself,   feel   sad? ”
I looked at all the statues  hoping  that at  least  one  out  of  them  would  come to life and  convey the  much needed  love  and  understanding.  None did what I  wished for. I  stared at them  with  wet eyes  and all of them smiled back at me. I knew I  would not  get any   respond,  so to distract myself, I continued reading.
The next quote I read was ‘Smile is not always  happiness. It took me less than a second to  turn my head towards  the idols. For a moment, I felt like they were answering my question.   But then, I thought it might be a coincident and   wanted to  try it once  again.
‘Was God really talking to me?’ I wondered

“ Why only I have to suffer? ” The next quote said

‘Everyone suffers. The trick is not to let it destroy your trust in others  when that happens. Don’t let  them take that from you.’

My eyes were trapped in tears again.

“ I know you are talking to me Lord. ” I whispered.

I started asking God various questions, and reading the quotes. It  appeared as if we were weaving a conversation, which helped answer my questions  well.

“Why do i have to suffer at all?”

‘Suffering is a teacher. It unites one with oneself. ’

“But, these sufferings are too much for me!”

‘The greater the obstacle, the more glory in overcoming it.’

“How do i overcome the sufferings?”

‘Acceptance of what has happened is the first step to overcoming any  misfortune.’

“ Just acceptance? Is nothing else needed?”

‘Overcoming can be achieved by seeing the bigger picture and living for a  brighter day. ’

“ I am losing my strength because of these problems. I can’t concentrate on the achievements i need to conquer”

‘Being aware of your problem is smart. Overcoming it is the mark of great  achievement and a  successful person.’

“ I feel lonely. No one helps me to vanquish all this! ” ‘When no one is with you, God is with you.’

I had got all the answers to my questions, I didn't pursue the conversation anymore. I stood up. Inside of me was born a stronger person.
The me who is bolder, better and clearer towards the life and it’s ways.

“God, today, you have given me a new outlook to life. Nothing can be greater than your presence.You exist in this world, my Lord. I know.
You created me and now, you fulfill my desire of  support. What does  a  human need  but  you,  my Lord!  You  are  Eternity.  You are strength.   You are everything! I will practice what you preached to me today.”

And with this statement, I read the last quote which said -“Life is like a game of chess.
To win you have to really make a move. Knowing which move to make, comes with the in sight and knowledge ,and by learning  the  lessons  that  are  accumulated  along the  way. And, you have a long way to go.”                                                                      

 - Khyati Sanger

It was a cold winter evening, bare trees stood shamelessly as the wind blew, watching folks play delightfully with snowballs, and snowmen alike, slipping, tripping, ice skating over frozen lakes and ponds. The wind resonated with sounds of laughter and merriment, not very far away sat a slightly tense Tyson, today was his big day.

He knew he was going to do it, "no more holding back" he thought as he waited, rather paced to and fro, around that small wooden bench. Not very far away from the public view, yet had an amazing sense of privacy around it. Maybe that's why Alexis and Tyson loved this place, it was like a home away from home. they'd study, talk, laugh, cry, go crazy, and quite literally grow up around this place.

It was "their place".

Many were surprised at how these two 18 year olds could spend hours just sitting there, either engaged in an animated conversation, or enjoying the muted silence which lingered on between them. Tyson and Alexis had liked each other ever since they understood what they word meant. The feelings had always been pretty strong, but both rationalized it under the name of friendship. He could never forget how she laughed every time he did something stupid, or even the times when she fell and laughed at her own clumsiness.. never forget the twinkle in her eyes when he gave her a hand made bracelet for her 16th birthday, and how it never left her wrist ever since the minute he tied it there. She on the other hand never got past his beautiful green eyes, his chiseled jawline, the way he gesticulated when he was particularly enthused about something, the warmth of his reassuring hugs when she leaned on him for support, his scent, the strength of his character, his tender care.. they both loved each other, and never acknowledged it.

Tyson was struggling for the perfect words since the past 3 years, and yet nothing he could come up with would ever be close to perfect.

She finally arrived after what seemed like an eternity (which was actually only 15 minutes..!) there he was, dressed casually, and yet something about him was particularly attractive and it made her weak in her knees.

A little away from the bench was the shack they'd built together, it was their own little "lake house" as they called it. Both their parents knew where exactly to find the kids if they weren't home or at each others place. Only this time, Alexis' parents were out of town, and Tyson had his aunt come over.. perfect excuse to stay out of home. The minute he set his eyes upon her, he was never able to get them off.. she was her usual tomboyish self and yet exuded so much of feminine grace and beauty, that a combination like that was rather hard to let go of.

From a distance, she could see, the shack was lit up with small dim lights, was made very cozy, now especially during the winter, it was a must; to not have to do it herself, made her feel both relieved and slightly worried, she could only wonder what he was up to. Just as she was about to enter, he told her to close her eyes, and then slowly opened the door. She walked into something that looked like it came right out of one of those romantic beautiful-and-rich-princess-meets-handsome-and-brave-prince type of fairy tales.

There he was, down on one knee, with a ring in one hand and her hand in the other, he finally proposed, his words were simple yet messed up, just like his feelings for her and yet nothing could've seemed more perfect.

I may not be able to understand some things sometimes,

But I will always listen,

I may never be good with words,

Yet I will never tire of talking to you,

I may not know how many stars are in the sky,

But know how to put them in your eyes,

I may not be able to bring you the moon,

Because you shine brighter than it,

I may not know how many grains of sand there are,

Yet I know you wont make me count.

I don't know a thousand and ten things about life and society and how to deal with a girl when she's feeling blue..

But I guess I'll find a teacher and companion in you.

Today I ask you to be mine,

'Cause I know that together we'll be so fine!

MARRY ME ALEXIS.

All she could manage was a smile, as tears came rolling down her pretty cheeks, a very overwhelmed and almost choked "yes" escaped her.

It was snowing, and even in the dimness of the lights, one could tell, that they were both glowing.

Sangeeta beauty parlour does amazing business. It started out as a 100-odd sq. feet non-AC room and today, after over a decade, it's a two-storey AC parlour and has opened shop even in Lokhandwala.

I go to the 'parlour' only for basic services like waxing and threading, like most of us do now, thanks to the flourishing 'salons' for haircuts and 'spas' for more fancy pampering. Yet, Sangeeta aunty always seems to have become fatter like the gold chain around her neck. Unfortunately for us and fortunately for her, unwanted hair grows back quickly.

The place is always teeming with old, loyal clients but for some reason the beauticians are always new. Yet they're a homogenous lot. Something binds them so that despite a couple of them leaving every month and a couple of them joining, the staff seems unchanged, untouched.

One afternoon while having electrically-overheated wax smeared on an arm, I was involuntarily, unwillingly eavesdropping on their conversation which was actually rather interesting. The girl who was reverse-whipping me with a waxing strip was complaining about her bhabhi who apparently can give Lalita Pawar a run for her money. An older woman who was bleaching someone's face 'Shehnaaz Gold' consoled her for a moment and then immediately started to curse her father-in-law's illness that ate into their modest income. The young girl politely interrupted the woman and asked another young girl to take up my idle arm so they could get rid of me faster and in the meanwhile they'd get to catch up. As she opened her mouth to moan about her 'Lalita' bhabhi, her friend began her own laments over her cheating boyfriend. And so they were simultaneously jabbering and simultaneously reverse-whipping me.

The problems keep piling up. Husband problems, children problems, parent problems, Sangeeta aunty problems, landlord problems, crowded train problems, client problems, health problems, financial problems... Like layer upon layer of hot wax, the problems keep piling up in the air-conditioned room, and the women keep pulling them out like hair. They massage their stressed-out lives in circular motions like the back of a semi-nude aunty. They paint their aspirations a bright scarlet like the pretty toes of a teenager. In a place that has beautification as its motive, they try desperately to lighten out their scars. They joke and they fight and they sing and they advise each other to use eggs for their hair and turmeric for their skin and they exchange recipes and they ask each other to bring them things from near their homes because they're cheaper or 'exclusive'; things like peppered banana chips, mobile phone covers, water bottles, padded bras. They bring all their troubles to the parlour and squeeze them out of their hearts like zits. And that, I guess, is what makes them a homogenous set.

Each one of them returns home every evening feeling light, temporarily relieved of their maladies, but alas, like unwanted hair...

The sun is in its prime, young children throng to the Ice Cream Van, the smell of wet grass and lime juice fills the air; a rhythmic tune of the typewriter initially interrupts the sound of chirping birds and laughing children, but soon becomes one with all around it, encompassing every sound, every detail within itself. Inflicting on paper, a subtly enjoyable torture, a permanent tattoo.

He types away furiously, fingers never pausing to rest. The typewriter, irritates at first, but slowly turns into a lullaby. Hector falls asleep at his master's feet, there's no leash or anything of importance to retrieve. His master sits by a piles of sheets, some tattooed, some not. Fascinated by this solitary heaven, I look up from my book to smile at him. His face is blank, it says nothing, it sees nothing. It remains lost in thought, remembering, recollecting, re-living. Then as though possessed by an invisible power, he types away, with fervor and passion, stronger than his body can sustain, younger than his appearance will allow. Hours go by, in a similar fashion. It is time for me to leave, and I do. Not thinking much at all, about this strange man with a dog by his feet and a typewriter across his lap, not thinking for the hungry dog's patient loyalty. I live my life, and see him the next morning. Same place, same clothes.

He has not gone home.

Once again I try to establish eye contact, once again the vacancy of his expression rejects me. I go on with my life. The day has grown older, I return home, he is still there. I fight the impulse to go over and ask him what his business is. A fortnight goes by before I ask him what he wants. "Nothing" he says, and types away. "Do you have someplace to go?" No response. I try to sneak a peek and Hector objects, with an unfriendly bark, miffed by the distraction, I'm greeted with the embodiment of physical agony and irritation in the eyes of this man. I walk away with an apology so sincere it stings my own eyes.

He has still not gone home.

The next few days go by with no interaction, though Hector and his master look weaker, paler, but never morose. I go over, the next afternoon, not to impinge, but to unhinge - myself from this growing feeling of ruthless observation, and overpowering rejection from this strange man and his dog. I bring a portion of food over, leave it by their side. I'm once again greeted with those same eyes, but confusion shrouded the agony of irritation. I smile and walk away wordlessly. The next week flies by in this fashion.

All this time goes by, and he still never goes home.

I catch a glimpse of him now and then from my kitchen window, never stirring from his place, unless an emergency presents itself. I live my life, but now this man and his strange dog are a small part of it. There is no relation but a strange connection. Summer is coming to an end with the cool breeze grazing our skins. I'm on my way, across the street, into the park where this strange friend, and his dog sit. I place the food where I usually do and turn to walk away. A breeze teases him by running along with a few recently tattooed pages. I offer to help, but I'm shunned away. Just like I was, the very first time, all those months ago. I try to walk away, but turn back around. He's too busy typing. The papers around him are collected, and haphazardly placed under the weight of the food container I just left there. I walk away. Once more, restrained by unfamiliarity, to ask of him, the meaning of his actions, or the lack of them.

Summer has passed, and the rains reign over with their scintillating blows. I'm constantly pushed away by this strange man with a typewriter and dog. I don't see him in the park anymore. It seems he's moved away to a better spot. But of one thing I am sure, he's never gone home. Not once since that afternoon in the early summer. The rest of the year goes by. My life goes by. Unaffected by the change in routine; no more daily trips to the park with food for a strange man with a typewriter and dog.

...

Summer comes around once more. The world is warm with happiness again. I'm at the park with my book again. But the strange man with the typewriter never returns. I go home to find a parcel at my door. It seems a bit too heavy to just lift off the floor. I let myself in, throw my belongings at the couch and reach for the parcel and set it upon my table. It bares no indication of the sender, yet the wrappings are untidy and hurried.

...

Reader, it was a Typewriter.

And with it a small typed note (with several muddy paw prints) that read as -

"This typewriter, has written of and witnessed many phases in my life. I have very little memory of the person that you are, but your kindness of spirit is etched deep into my heart.

Thank you,
J."

I was both surprised and moved to tears. How did he know where I lived? When had he delivered the package? Why did he have to send me anything at all?

The only thing I knew him by, was now sitting atop my table.

...

Several months have gone by since. I heard a strange knock on the door one afternoon. A strikingly beautiful young woman stood before me and said with quiet disbelief, "you are exactly as he described you." 

...

She was J's daughter. J was an aspiring writer and an Alzhimer's patient. He could never finish the any of his works because he often lost track of the plot. He was always too stubborn to seek treatment and left home without a word. He'd traveled too far and had no means to find his way back, he was too afraid and obstinate to ask for help. So he did what he knew best - observe and document. 

The last interaction I'd ever had with him, was the same day the search parties found him. Took him to a hospital and started treatment unsuccessfully and forcefully.

His last words - " she'll know what to do, just tell her, I'm going home."

Jessica and Melanie, two twin sisters, met at a coffee house, after 16 long years, which followed a separation and fallout between parents after their biological mother died when they were very young. Their father sent Melanie to the care of their relatives. He was far too busy leading a life of luxury with the “other woman” and his “favorite daughter” thought Melanie. But what she didn’t know was the kind of hell Jessica went through everyday. They were both told that the other didn’t want to keep in touch and thus there would be no letters. Their bond was although well established, but it changed with changing times. Where Melanie, was allowed everything that she wanted, Jessica grew to become a subdued although rebellious teenager, where as Melanie blossomed into a self assured individual, sure of what she wanted and where to draw the line.

At 18 they both sat face to face. But it wasn’t like two sisters meeting each other after 14 long years, it was more like a mirror, and the person was so much more different from her reflection. They both had their own set of apprehensions, their own set of grudges, and both of them waited for the other to speak first. None of them spoke, and both went their own way.

One morning of their 20th birthday, both Melanie and Jessica received an email. Melanie, from her father, and Jessica from her aunt who took care of Melanie.

The email read :

Dear Melanie,

I know you must be very mad at me, but there is something you need to know. Your sister and I love and miss you a lot. I’m sure you have your own set of reasons to believe otherwise, but I did try. Try to win both my daughters. You both were 4 when it all happened. 

Before mom left us, I was out on a business trip, with my assistant Kate. When I got a call from my mom’s lawyer, stating that she’d filed a divorce. Mom and I had our share of issues, but we always knew how to get our way around them. But it was this time that your aunt Martha, yes the same one who died three days after mom, she really crossed the line. 

She’d never approved of your mom and me getting married, and did for a major part of the time create a lot of fights between us.You must have heard a very different version from Melissa, but she never really lived with us to sense the gravity of the situation.Melissa and your mom were the best of friends. Mom told Melissa everything, which enraged me to a great extent then, but in retrospect, it seems like a good move. 

When I got back from the trip, I realized that your mom was terminally ill, she told me she’d prepared a will and that I should read it only when she was gone. So the day she left us, I opened that envelope and picked up those printed papers, they read that, both of my daughters would be under the care of Melissa. And that if I wanted custody, I would have to apply for it.. which I did, but I could really only get only one of you, and I couldn’t decide who, for both of you were a beautiful amalgamation of your mother and me, more like your mom though, and I realized how much more I missed her with every passing second after our separation. The court ordered to give me custody of the older of the two, which is how Jessica came to live with me. I would never choose between my two lovely daughters.

Your mother was truly beautiful and so are her two little girls. Your aunt Martha told your mom that I was having an affair with my assistant, which was a lie, because I was never unfaithful.

I write to you to ask of your help. Your sister is falling apart, and it was time you knew the entire truth about your family. I never did cheat on your mother. And I don’t love this woman I’m married to. One might think I had it easy, lost his wife, got married again, still has the money. Only I know the kind of anguish I go through every single moment, living in the same room as the one who killed my wife and forced my children away from me. 

She does terrible things to Jessica as well. 

A sense of closure is something you both yearn for, and I think that if the two of you met, it’d do you both a lot of good. 

On your 20th birthday, I can only give you my love and ask for a lot more in return. I can only hope that you will give your sister a chance and agree to meet her.

Love,

Dad.

Melanie, did. After reading a similar mail, Jessica waited outside a coffee shop in the rain, wondering if Melanie would still be the same. When she saw the same pretty girl walk towards her, she smiled, without even realizing it. They both wanted to hug the other and never let go, but somehow exercised a great amount of restrain. Both stood uncomfortably before, by a sudden sound and jerk were thrown into each others arms. Their hands suddenly felt wet and their stomachs really hurt, looking around them, they saw people were falling, somewhere there was the sound of a fast bike screeching down the lane, and the voices of loud roaring and mean laughter filled the air.

 Mass Shooting.

Their hearts were full, and their eyes welled up. The rain kept washing the blood as it came, but it couldn't wash away the brutality of life. It couldn't wash away the pain. The floor they fell upon was hard and wet, and yet they found comfort in each others arms. The only words that escaped them were, "I've missed you so much" and with that the rain washed away every drop of life within them.

It continued to rain heavily after that, but it was never enough to pour life back into their dead corpses.

It was a dimly lit, dusky saffron sky, the sun was in its last few stages of setting, and with each passing moment as the breeze gently blew, dried leaves fell to the ground, birds chirped their way back to their little nests, children ran around crushing the dry leaves; a happy time for everyone around. The sweet wind carried with it, the fragrance of blossomed flowers, it resonated with the sounds of nature, she sat there quietly smiling, watching her life unfold before her eyes, slowly yet fast, blurred yet distinctly clear in her reflection, her shaky wet reflection which smiled back at her from the white marble base of the water fountain on circumference of which she sat.

Soon she saw the face of the one she waited for, her wait had come to an end.

A new life, a new beginning was in store for her, for when all of nature was slowly preparing to sleep and rest, within her heart was fire and zest. Sure enough she knew about her cheating husband, and no she wasn't plotting his death or anything even remotely close to that. They'd never been separated officially, but they were living apart for almost a year now. Both quite comfortable with the arrangement in some ways, and yet they were dying to be together, just like old times. He was too guilty to face her, and she was too hurt to let it all just go by.

So they both took their time to let it all sink in. He told her it was a mistake, and she believed him, only after 12 long months of separation. Everything about the world was preparing to go to sleep, coming towards the end of a long day's work, only that her time had just begun. On a dusky Autumn sunset, she decided that she needed her husband more than she needed her pride to be intact. Sitting aimlessly, looking undecided in the waters, she made her decision.

When the birds were asleep and so were the children, among all other things alive, she lay awake in an over-sized gown, planning her next day.

It was a little cold outside, but she could feel only the warmth within her heart.

Bombay mein bhagwaan mil sakta hai. Us se bhi mushkil hai uss bhagwaan ko aur khud ko rakhne ke liye makaan milna. Woh bhi chalo mehnat aur qismat ki jugalbandhi se shaayad mil jaaye. Kuch mushkil se hi sahi, zara ghoom-phir ke hi sahi, kuch pyaari si sadakein mil sakti hain jinpar dono or ped lage hon.

Lekin! Kisi bhi sadak par, kisi bhi waqt, aasaani se ek rickshaa milna - naa-mumm-kinn!

Image Credits - Somesh Kumar
somesh.kumar.blogspot.in

In nakchadhhi rickshaaon se behadd bezaar thi Nupur, jo aadhe ghante se beech-raste par kabhi iss bhaiyya se toh kabhi uss bhaiyya se “Versova?” poochh rahi thi. Aakhir mein ik chahcha ne badi nazaakat se apni rickshaa dheemi ki – rukaayi nahin – dheemi ki, jaise koi ladki kisi ladke ki feelings ke saath khilvaad kar rahi ho.

Nupur ka gussa iss waqt tak itna badhh chukaa tha ki ki woh tez raftaar mein jaati hui Rajdhani Express bhi pakad leti, to iss chacha ki dheemi rickshaa kya cheez hai! Teen-chaar kadam daud kar woh uss rengti hui rickshaw mein ghuskar aise baithh gayi, maano seat uska sinhaasan ho, aur rickshaa-wale se gurraa kar “Versova!” kahaa jaise apne naukar se chai maang rahi ho.

Chacha apni chaturaayi ka chaupat hote dekh naa paye. Aise binaa poochhe unki Dhanno-samaan rickshaa mein baithhne ki himmat kaise hui uski! Dono aise ladey, maano gaaliyon ki raas-leela ho rahi ho. Nupur ne faislaa kar liya. Who jaayegi bhi issi rickshaa se, aur dunyaa ke tamaam rickshaa-waalon ki harkarton ka collective badlaa lete hue, iss chacha ko binaa paise diye bhaag jaayegi!

Haan haan, yeh ladki aisi paagalon wali harkatein karne ki poori qaabiliyat rakhti thi. Ek baar shart jeetne ke liye ussne cold-drink van se ek Pepsi churaa li thi. Film dekh kar binaa ticket ke baazu wali screen mein ghus jaana uski favorite cheating thi! Yahaan tak ki uske bachpan ki bell bajaakar bhaag jaane wali aadat aajtak durust thi!

Haar maankar badbadiye chacha ne rickshaa chaalu ki aur meter down kiya. Agle signal par jab rickshaa ruki, tab Nupur ki nazar right-side wale aaine par gayi aur uska mood fatt se achha ho gaya! Baaki dinon bedhhangi ghoomne wali Nupur, aaj full Eid Mubaarak ban kar nikli thi – pink salvaar kameez, gold kolhapuri chappal, uski badi si black bag, jismein who apni saari qaaynaat lekar ghoomti thi, aur woh white wallet jo usne Varun ke saath khareeda tha. Unke rishte ki doosri saalgirah thi uss din, aur Varun usse woh wallet gift kar raha tha. Select karte waqt waise unki pasand mein fark aaya tha, as usual, aur as usual, Varun ne usse chidhhaate hue kahaa, “Haan haan, tumko jo thheek lage. Waise bhi tumhaari hi toh chalti hai hamesha!” Aur phir salesman ki taraf muddke, “ Kyun bhai, sahi hai naa?” Aur salesman bhi kum nahin! Bola, “Haan bhai, auraton ka zamaana hai. Unke saamne kahaan apni koi majaal.” Agar Filmfare mein over-acting ke liye nomination hote, toh Oscar pakka uss hi ko milta!

Aaj uss din ko thheek ek saal hua tha, aur aaj subah bhi Varun ne phone par usse sataate hue kahaa,“Haan meri maa! Meri kabhi chali hai kya?” Aaj ka masla yeh tha, ki Varun ko apne favorite director ki nayi film ‘Ek Chaandni Raat’ dekhne jaana tha, aur Nupur ko ghar hi par kuch achha waqt bitaakar celebrate karna tha. Lekin nahin, aaj subah usne thhaan li thi ki woh Varun ko surprise dekar galat saabit karegi aur usse apna mannpasand dialogue phirse maarne ka mauka nahin degi. Isliye woh theatre gayi, aur naseeb uska ki usse aakhri do tickets mil gayi! Lekin naseeb uska ki usse wahaan se rickshaw milne mein itni der ho ho gayi. Varun kabse intezaar kar raha tha uska... magar usne socha, koi baat nahin, tickets dekhkar bahot khush ho jaayega.

Chidchide chacha ne gusse se “yahaan se kidhar?” poochhkar Nupur ke khayaalon ko disturb kiya aur usse apna bhaag jaane wala plan yaad dilaa diya! “Umm.. right lekar pehle uss gate pe zara ek minute rok dijiye, main ek kaam niptaakar aati hoon, phir yahaan se aage chalna hai.”

Naa toh aage chalna tha, aur naa hi Nupur ka waapas aane ka koi iraada tha. Building ke andar jaake seedha Varun ke ghar chali gayi. Waise, iraada toh apne chacha ka bhi nahin tha rukkne ka, kyunki aaine mein unko Nupur ka wallet dikh gaya jo who bhool gayi thi - Woh wallet jo gift tha! Woh wallet jismein gift thi! Sham ke show ki do aakhri tickets.

Phir kya! Un dono ne gharpe saara din ek-duusre ke saath waqt bitaaya, aur Varun Nupur ko chidhhaata raha ki hamesha ussi ki chalti hai. Shaamko jab woh dono balcony mein khade sunset dekh rahe the, tab balcony ki do seat mein baithhe apne chacha apni chachi ko ‘Ek Chaandni Raat’ dikha rahe the.

"Chai par milte hain?" he finally managed, drawing all the courage he didn't know he possessed, like sucking water from the depths of an almost-emptied coconut.

He often saw her in the bookstore that he manned. For years he had believed his to be the happiest job in the world, but as her visits became frequent, he made it 'happiest and luckiest'. He loved to watch equally the joy on her face when she found dirt-cheap a book she'd been wanting for ages, and the dejection that clouded her as she put back a book on the shelf after checking the price. They always exchanged silent smiles for hello. The only conversation they ever had was books-related, and isn't that all one needs? That day as she was paying for her second-hand Faulkner and Faiz, he asked her.

"Main chai nahin peeti," she half-teased.

"Ummm... Coffee par milte hain?"

Dragging in one Chhotu to fill in for him, he walked to the nearby Sakina dairy that evening, and found her sitting on one of the two tables it boasted of. Tea and coffee arrived, but they drank from the cup of silence.

Next day as she dropped by ostensibly to look for a certain title, he asked, "Silence par milte hain?"