We'll meet again...

The asphalt shivered nervously as cars sped away. The moon was a mere echo of itself tonight. It was cold, steam rising from the sewers grates like all of hell lay beneath it. After almost two years in Saudi Arabia, I was finally going home to India for vacation. It was weird, for people usually go for vacation to places other than home. But we expatriates had that luck. Two months in a year or a couple of years, pack up, go home... Saudi had always been another home too...

I had promised my nephew that I'd get him an mp3 player. Though it felt like something that happened in my last life or so, I still remembered telling him I won't forget. It had to be the night before and past midnight for me to remember it. There I was standing by the pavement for a cab to come along. Not every cab guy could be trusted at that time of the night, I could be robbed. Secretly I wished an Indian came by.

It started raining as I thumbed down a taxi and just jumped in. To my relief he was an Indian. He started off with a decent Hindi asking me where I had to go. I told him the need of the hour and we were cruising through the night, talking. Though my hindi wasn't so great, I could communicate and we got in quick rapport. It was important for me to get what my nephew wanted and he treated it more important than I did. We passed by most of the malls near my place and all of them were closed by the hour. We sat thinking about where to go next. He suggested another place but I was short of cash to go that far. He said it I could pay him the rest someday when we'd meet again. "Duniya bahut chotti hain saab..." (The world is really small sir). Hoping I could adjust the money buying a cheaper player, I agreed.

It was about a half hour drive. He kept mentioning that the mall we were headed too had everything anyone could possibly want. ("Duniya ki har cheez jo hain, vo aapko vahan millega") He was keen on trying to understand what an Mp3 player was or what it did. When I mentioned my nephew, he showed me a picture of his wife and a year old baby boy. He had come for work 13years ago and never seen them since. He told me there was some new thing that you could sit in front of a screen and see people who are far away. Though I knew he meant video chat, I pretended to be someone who didn't know much. I guess I wanted to get his picture of the world...

We talked a lot. About corrupt politicians... About riots.... About the Indians winning against Pakistan in a recent cricket match.... About how Pakistani's were wrecking peace in India.... I wasn't ever so patriotic, but I guess, going home the next day and having an Indian guy nearby inspired some spirit. We finally reached where we were headed. Yeah, he was right, you could probably get everything you'd ever want. He offered to shop with me. He looked about in awe at all the gadgets. We kept talking about things, like we were friends for ages. He seemed to like the Mp3 player, saying he would take one for his son when he got the next chance to go. "Kahin jayenge to bore nahi honge"  (You won't get bored if you have one when you're going somewhere), he said. I smiled at his innocence.

He was silent on the way home. After a while he said, he wanted to take a ticket and go back to see his family. Adding in an undertone that he would think the same every day all these years, worrying if something would happen if its late. ("Har din yeh sochtha hoon ki ghar jaaoon... Agar der hoga tho kya hoga") I didnt know what to say. He feared the wars and worried about their safety. They will be fine, I tried to tell him.We turned a corner and we were minutes away from home. I opened my purse and counted what I had. I had compromised on the player so I had enough to pay him. I figured I had little extra.

I stepped out of the car, handing him the money which he pocketed without counting. He said it was fine. We shook hands and I told him I was from Kerala and in an after thought asked him where he belonged. "Pakistan", he said with a smile and departed. Standing by the pavement, I wondered why our countries fought wars and were at each others throats when we regular people never felt any differences from each other.

I walked home with a smile, happy that I had paid him the little extra I had.

Lost...

                The gate seemed wobbly, wanting to submit to gravity as he pushed it open. The soil was moist from recent rains. A small pathway led to a courtyard. The courtyard held the remnants of a fountain and the flooring which was once marble, now betrayed dirt and undergrowth. The dilapidated remains of a home gleamed in the faint moonlight. The front door didn’t seem to be locked. It simply fell off its hinges as he opened it, crashing into the ground. The smell of rot was prominent. “This was home to someone once”, he thought.  

                He lit a match, watching the darkness shift away from where he stood. Finding a candle on the mantelpiece, he tried to light it. Gingerly the wick caught fire. Placing it on a small table, he sat beside it. The light in the room shifted as the breeze disturbed the flame. The darkness was like flowing water, shifting and flowing, hither and thither. The shoes that lay beside a gnawed welcome mat indicated that a couple lived there. He could hear soft voices, past conversations echoing in the hallway. He related to the voices instantly.

                The staircase led upstairs. The ebony handrail seemed to hold remnants of her soft touch as she would come down the stairs welcoming her husband after work, her feet slowly imprinting itself on each stair. The side walls held photo frames that were no longer clear. Carrying another lit candle along, he walked up the stairs. The bedroom still held remains of a livid chandelier and a huge bed. Her favorite teddy stood on the bedpost, holding a heart that said “I love you”. It was his gift on their anniversary. A mirror held a small picture of them stuck to a corner, her eyes were still a twinkle, he remembered. The wardrobe held their favorite clothes, now torn and moth eaten. A fallen cradle lay to a corner of the room, amidst broken, scattered toys.

               He remembered how he had hugged her every day before leaving for work. The smell of her hair filling his heart, the smile on her face while they kissed, the cute frown on her brow when he said he might be late. The late Sunday afternoon’s when they spent their time walking in the courtyard below, when the afternoon sun would glow like her pretty cheeks every time they kissed. It was all lost. Was it a mistake, was there something he did wrong, he did not remember. But he had loved her, forever.         

                This was his home once. He remembered. This was their dream once. This was his family. She was his love. They had lived years in this beautiful dream. Sometimes when you wake from a dream, it simply is dark and bare. Sometimes your life can take the color off your dreams, can crush beautiful flowers to lifeless nothingness; can change beautiful homes to dark dilapidated structures rotting in the undergrowth…

                                The thunder roared outside as he began to descend the stairs. He felt as though he was not welcome anymore. A million memories dragged his mind like photographs under those garlands of cobwebs. The Dry leaves crunched under his feet as he trod away from home. The gate didn’t seem to want to protect his dream home anymore. The rain got heavier but he walked on, looking back at home every once in a while. He had nowhere to go, no paths to follow, and no dreams to hold on to…

              It was not just about living forever. The trick was about living with oneself forever. The roads stretched on to fearful eternity, the rumble of the shifting gravel under his feat, echoing away into the distance…