The miles bygone...

           The rain was mighty. But it wouldn’t dampen the spirits of the children running home after school. The elderly stood by the bus stop trying to talk sense into the tiny tots, their cheery faces contorting in reply.I was headed home, after a long while. The home coming of a warrior, or so it felt. I took a few moments to fill my heart with the happiness around me. Buses passed in the lightning speed, yet the kids took no notice. They prefered walking, a single umbrella only partially sheilding a herd of them rushing with glee. The songs they sang weren’t great ones but it seemed like the rain rhymed along, the smell of the freshly wet earth blended in and the cool breeze that made earth just feel like heaven.

                There I was, at a coffee shop, sipping coffee while iron clad asbestos kept the rain from coming in and a warm kerosene lamp birghtened the darkened interiors. I watched the thoughtful elders around me, each in their own world of thoughts, of wants, desires and unfulfilled wishes, of races to win, of families to feed… They had come a long way in life, onrounte to the seven ages as Shakespeare had said…

                Home seemed more than welcome, the rain had stayed all along my journey. I stood by the gates, breathing in the fresh homely air.  Memories hung in from the interiors of home, waiting to cling to me. My presence was known, I could feel it. I could see things left outside by my bro’s little baby who had just recently learnt to walk and loved to hide things in lonely corners of home. I remembered how my dad would take her out to the veranda to show her the rain. She would chuckle as the little drops of rain fell into her hands. She would then look at my dad and smile with glee. And like children, they both would walk around the house, with their own languages to communicate and her tender fist cozy in the warmth of his age hardened hand. She would be delighted in the colour of a leaf, or the smell of a flower, the brightness of the sun shading light into her room in the morning. Sometimes I wonder, over the years as we grew, all that’s happened is that we’ve stopped finding happiness in small things...

The raindrops now bounced around like little rubber balls trying hard to reach me as I sat by the threshold of my home. It was fun to play “catch me if you can” with them. Nothing ever lasted forever, like the rain, like childhood, like the wonderful flowers that brightened my day…

Brevity… Life was always full of it. Maybe because dreams once true lose their charm, maybe because somethings are best left unsaid, some wishes best left unfulfilled…  I thought to myself, as the rain echoed away behind me, “The miles were eternal, not just the miles to come, but the miles bygone… “

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…

Love...

Sometimes we don’t know why. Why we do the things we do. Why we say the things we say… Sometimes it’s not the big things but tiny things that make a difference. Like telling her that you love her every once a while; like travelling in a bus and telling her almost everything you’ve seen in the way; like her falling asleep on the phone and all you can hear is her deep breathing but you still don’t want to hang up. After a grueling day, admitting to her that throughout the day, you just waited to get back home and give her a call. When the rain splashes against your car wind shield and the cold is rising, you wish you had her to hug on to. You make a million mental notes to remind you of things to say… A million words aren’t enough to speak what you feel sometimes. But a few soft words from her are enough for you to know what she’s feeling. Every day you feel like you have something to look forward to, her…  

You listen to the song you both heard together in the bus on that rainy day, it’s still on your favorites coz you never get tired of it… You both fight and cry over small things, simply coz there’s a new meaning to it that someone’s there to listen. You love it when she whines about the little things that upset her, love it when she treats you as the final solution to every problem she has. You love it when she gets angry if you call someone else ‘sweetie’.  You talk about the things that are least important, sometimes after long conversations, you lie down wondering what was it that you talked about the last few hours. Simply a text message from her can brighten your day like a coffee can never be able to. You don’t wanna wake in the morning if she’s away and she can’t call. You try and tell her not to do something, not coz you don’t want her to do so, but coz you love it when she listens.  Sometimes you can’t give up fighting even if you know you’re wrong. You hang up in anger and then call back in a few minutes and say sorry. And sometimes you act like you’re angry, till she goes on saying sweet things and sorry’s and you finally burst out laughing.

After a fight and you both feel sad, a hug simply speaks volumes…  When you hug her, her fragility makes you feel strong about her.  Sometimes it isn’t so important to say a lot, but maybe say less and feel more, hear less and understand more. Sometimes even silence and gestures can speak a lot. Sometimes it’s important to worship the weak, for there’s no strength if there wasn’t weakness. Sometimes we don’t realize what she’s worth until she’s not around. For, what would be light if we hadn’t known darkness.

Sometimes we don’t know why. Why we do the things we do. Why we say the things we say. I think we can call it, being in love… 

Virtual Paradise...

Far too many times in my childhood have I seen those electronic 'virtual' pets. For those of you who haven't got the slightest idea, a virtual pet is a small electronic device called the 'Tamagotchi' (created by Japanese) that allows you to take care of a 'virtual' pet on screen. You can feed it, play with it, put it to sleep, clean up its poop and what not, with just the press of a few buttons... Outdated it is now though...

Along the years I always wanted one and when I finally got one, it seemed boring in a few days. But somehow, I seemed to like the concept of "virtual". Like you don't have to really bother about it much like you had to with a real pet. You could play with it when you wanted. You could ignore it for a few days, it will get sick and die. You can always press "reset" and have a new pet. Or if you got sick of it entirely, you could probably get a new device or forget it altogether.

Something that's really not there..."virtual"...  Like our "friendship" and "relationships" these days. Well they aren't all virtual I should say. But so many of them are and some of those that weren't, end up being that way. We are all selfish. We don't have time for anything (that's what we tell ourselves. You would always find time to text back to a call from an unknown number with the cliched "who's this?", no matter how busy you are.) The boom of the social networks is just coz it allows you this virtual world (alongside keeping in touch of course, but who was so interested in just keeping in touch until it was nice to have their comments on pics, the attention from strangers, entire conversations on walls, relationship updates etc etc.) A touch of anonymity, quite a lot of privacy (most people dont think so, but you in fact get more privacy online than in real life) and a hell lot of freedom. How? Read on!

Its about, not being in the best clothes, not disclosing your identity or hiding behind a fake one. Covering up your insecurities and troubles and being someone else. A lot of people wish to be someone else. Besides, how is anyone gonna know its you? Even bill gates's windows cant expose you until you switch on the webcam right? There you sit right in front of that computer screen, whiling away time in chat rooms (again virtual) or ogling at pictures people have uploaded and so fourth. You tend to find some person interesting and you spend hours chatting. You lie about yourself (saying "He/she's a stranger, how can i disclose my identity") make up stories to impress or say sad stuff to get some attention, live your fantasy at least in front of someone who believes its real and things go on. Oh! and not all of us lie, some of us find the comfort of telling them everything true coz they're probably far away and can in no way interfere with our daily lives... The anonymity provides a certain sense of comfort. All you have to do when you smell trouble is "close the chat window". You don't have the hassle of feeling guilty over what you said or did. Coz it wasn't a relationship/friendship you shared over the last few months with whomsoever it was or seemed it be. It was just a 'chat window...'

It's not always clear why such a second life... Its fun. Meeting and getting to know new people. Hear their lies, feed them with ours. (Nope, not all of us are that way. Just mentioning the majority). At least you find someone to believe that your fantasy is real, besides yourself of course.  Maybe we need to be our true selves at least once in a while huh? Like the old school proverb, "Your character is what you do when you think no one is looking"...  But a little bit of fun is good as long as you're not hurting anyone and as long as you're not addicted. I've made some of the best friends of my life, meeting them on fb first and then in person later on. So I wouldn't tell you its totally bad, though i havent done all the faking with anyone... Sometimes its fun. I give it to you fakers :)

And in this context, I'd like to quote a dialog from a computer game I've played...

"It isn't as easy as they tell you in grade school. But it is good to have strong values, and to maintain them, always and everywhere. It's important to have a balance in things. Yeah, balance, thats the right word. Coz a guy who wants too much from life, risks losing everything. And a guy who wants too little from life, might not get anything at all..."

The things that I want, by Max Payne

I felt the rise of an old familiar feeling... It twirled around my head like fumes rising from a chemistry class test tube. The feeling was panic, fear of rejection, being lost... Again...

I heard sounds of something moving, like I had all these years. From passerby's who pitied, to backstabber's and opportunists, to people who knew only to mock, I had seen them all. But her footsteps were faint. It didn't want to wake me. It just wanted to let me know she was coming. She had ventured in through the abandoned labyrinth to reach where I was, ready to just lie there and die. She held the sign that said, "I'm here for you" It was like a dream, one you never wanted to wake up from. The warmth filled my heart and my eyes. Something somehow felt right in a damn long time...

I didnt know when I'd given in. The battles in me subsided as I rested my head against her shoulder, as her arms pulled me into a hug. I pinched myself as we walked together, for I didnt know if it was a dream. I had my own list of loss and things I'd wanted back, like great old Max Payne (cynical character in a game) did...

"The things that I want, by Max Payne... A smoke, A whiskey, for the sun to shine, unlimited ammo and license to kill..."

Simply battling among losses and hurting but keeping myself sane... Hoping against hope for a better life... For someone to come along and pull you out of the wreckage you're in... There I was, fighting to fall asleep and dream. But for once, some dreams do come true. And when they do,  all you have to do is open your eyes... :)

Mom, I'm leaving...

She held my hand tight when I finally made it home. There was this sudden energy and happiness in her eyes than I had remembered. She had a knife in her other hand, which she had forgotten to leave in the hurry to see me. Had it been someone else they would have been freaked. She seemeed to be talking a lot as she dragged my heavy bag into the house. I wasn’t listening. Or nothing was registering. I was back home to see mom and dad after a whole 2 years.

She hurried away to the kitchen to make me something. Whatever it was, it smelled good. I sank onto the couch and took a deep breath of pure homely air. The result was tranquilizing. A few minutes and mom brought food onto the table. For a few moments, I remembered sitting in an old god forsaken, fly clad hotel where I would order some chappathi and some kinda curry that had only water and chilli powder in it. The guy at the hotel would drop the plate right onto the table like he was giving fodder to the cattle. I felt someone tickling my ear and snapped out of my vision. “You started off dreaming in front of the plate? You’ll never change will you?”  Two mins I was home and my mom was gonna lecture me. “No ma. I wont change. I don’t want you to change either.”  I was somehow glad she didn’t pick the emotion in it. I couldn’t help smiling as I chewed the first class food.

All the years I was with her, I never found time to talk to her while having food. I was busy watching some dum movie I had seen a hundred times. Today, well, I had all the time in the world. I was never a mom’s kid kinda guy. I grew up being rough with her. At least till about teenage when I seemed to be developing some senses. As a child I suffered from acute bronchitis. I never could run around like the other kids of my age. And my temper tantrums had something to do with my health. I was always sick and alongside, angry. Angry when I couldn’t do anything other kids did. Angry that I had to take the same medicines for years, they tasted sick. Mom would have to sit with me in her arms all night coz I couldn’t lie down and sleep with the breathing  problem. After 8^th grade, I seemed to get better.

Me and mom used to fight a lot. Once when I was in 4^th grade, I sprayed glass cleaner solution into her eyes when she was coming to beat me. Given my health I was never beaten much at home. I guess it was something I needed :)  One of our fights one day ended with me throwing away her gold bangle  from the balcony of my house. She found out later on and was really upset. It was her dad’s gift to her before he died. I remember promising her a whole jewelery set on my first salary. It’s still pending though and she keeps teasing me with it. :)  Along the years, she became my friend. I didn’t know why but I always would end up telling my secrets to her no matter how much I resolved not to. Only thing I couldn't tell her was love matter. She always would tell me, you should love the girl you marry and that should be your first love. I still manage to tell her about girls I like and she goes like "Viji" with the typical "You're- never- gonna- listen- to- me" kinda look.Viji is my pathetic pet name by the way, my parents and bro find it cute.

 I always loved bugging her in the kitchen. I loved pinching her softly on the arm while she had her hands full and couldn’t do anything back. I Would go up behind her and freak her out. Once I freaked her so much that her reflexes used the frying pan she had in her hand on my head. In my 12^th grade I would go and cling to her from behind and bite her gently when she was making chappathi. (Pssst.... I still do that.. dont tell anyone :P ) I was always called a bug but I knew she loved the attention.

It was somehow my way of making up for the rogue I was as a kid... And yeah, am not saying this coz she’s my mom, she’s a strong woman. Never seen her cry much in my life. Maybe once or twice. Even when I was leaving for higher studies it never seemed to shake her. Though I knew she would be lonely. Dad would be away for work almost the whole day. I would just meet my parents once a year when I would come back home to Saudi Arabia (dad works here), maybe share just about a week or two and have to leave again. Over the years, she seemed to have developed the art of talking to herself while cooking, while shopping, almost everywhere she went...

                I felt a soft hand ruffling my hair as I slept off on the couch. I lazily got up and unpacked my bag showing her the massaging oil and stuff that I had bought for her. She's been suffering from arthritis since I  can remember... Applying the oil to her leg was the fun part, it was the best way of making her sit somewhere and talking. Or she would always be running about the house cleaning or doing the laundry or cooking. We had one of these sessions almost everyday when I was at school. Now it was once a year when I would get to come home...

                Days went by... A month has almost passed and I’m getting ready to leave again. Just a handful of days now. By the way, dad is equally close to me but I just wanted to write about mom this once for the hardships and pain I have put her through. I guess all the mom’s reading this would probably be thinking, “Trouble? That’s what kids are for!”  Kinda true when I think of it. Hehe :)  I haven't ever said ‘thank you’ or ‘sorry’ to mom. I don’t remember having told her that I love her either, though she sure knows I do. I’m always this hard guy who never shows what he feels to her. Sometimes its for the good. She knows I can handle life.      

          

                I don't understand why I can’t tell her. Maybe I’m simply not built that way. Or maybe I will do so someday… But I guess when I leave home this time, I’ll make sure she reads what I’ve written about her…  :)