I’ve been short-sighted since my early teens. My parents didn’t take me seriously when I first complained about not being able to read the blackboard in the classroom,or the numbers on the public buses. They refused to believe that I couldn’t see clearly- firstly they themselves had a 20-20 vision and secondly because nobody in my family had any problems with the vision and because my parents are strong believers in genes and their potency to hand down traits, both physical and mental. And then as a child I loved trying on other people’s glasses. They assumed that I was angling to get my own set of glasses. I admit that there was some truth to their belief , because as a child I genuinely thought ( acually even now I do……..!)that people who wore glasses looked intelligent,scholarly and other-worldly.
I finally got my own pair after a couple of mishaps due to poor vision. As I was growing up I was dismayed at the associations in the English languague that people with my kind of vision problems encounter. I bristled when I realised that to be labelled ‘short sighted’ is a pejorative term and to be myopic is equally bad. The implications are that me and my ilk are bad at planning and donot think ahead.
In contrast people who have a similar but opposite medical condition of poor eyesight due to a refractive error –far-sightedness or hyperopia- are sitting pretty because the associations are laudatory and positive. Far-sighted people are by definition, well…far-sighted and good at planning, looking ahead and such things.
In india 7% of the total population (largely due to paucity of funds leading to not testing of optical disorders ,I suspect) to a high of 67% in Australia. Studies show that the incidence of short sightedness increases with the level of education with doctoral students reporting the highest levels-above 80%.
So it turns out that I was right about my correlation between intelligence and myopia!!!!!
Short sighted and myopic people of the world-lets unite and insist on a change in the phrase used to describe our condition in English languague. We have nothing to lose.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Benazir and Urdu? You must be joking
Well…….i had read this in the newspaper long time ago…today while cleaning my room (thts my favourite passtime as I am jobless these days ;-) ) I found it and I think this will give a good laugh. Just read on…..
Oxford-educated Pakistani leader Benazir Bhutto’s clumsy speeches in urdu sprinkled with english words have become a good way to pep up party converstaions in Pakistan. Jokes and even videos are being circulated on the internet.
At the joint press conference with Nawaz Sharif on Monday night, Bhutto struggled to put her views to the media in urdu “kayee demands kubool kiye gaye hain, date of election diya gaya hai, emergency khatam ki gayi hai, emergency khatam karne ka date diya gaya hai……..yeh bahut significant acceptance hai” she said.
Cross-dressing TV host Ali Saleem, famous for mimicking Bhutto, plays the former PM in the video.
Though Saleem’s “hum courage nahi loosenge” and “promises fullfillange” are exaggerated examples of urdu.
But it isnt just Bhutto who is being accused of mauling Urdu. President Musharaff is also believed to be a sinner. Musharraf’s one liners especially from his speech after the imposition of emergency - “mera total control tha”. “Islamabad mein bahut extremist bharay hue hain” and “ extremism bahut extreme ho gaya hai” have been widely circulated.
Oxford-educated Pakistani leader Benazir Bhutto’s clumsy speeches in urdu sprinkled with english words have become a good way to pep up party converstaions in Pakistan. Jokes and even videos are being circulated on the internet.
At the joint press conference with Nawaz Sharif on Monday night, Bhutto struggled to put her views to the media in urdu “kayee demands kubool kiye gaye hain, date of election diya gaya hai, emergency khatam ki gayi hai, emergency khatam karne ka date diya gaya hai……..yeh bahut significant acceptance hai” she said.
Cross-dressing TV host Ali Saleem, famous for mimicking Bhutto, plays the former PM in the video.
Though Saleem’s “hum courage nahi loosenge” and “promises fullfillange” are exaggerated examples of urdu.
But it isnt just Bhutto who is being accused of mauling Urdu. President Musharaff is also believed to be a sinner. Musharraf’s one liners especially from his speech after the imposition of emergency - “mera total control tha”. “Islamabad mein bahut extremist bharay hue hain” and “ extremism bahut extreme ho gaya hai” have been widely circulated.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
To Kill A Mockingbird
It is not only for what we do that we are responsible but for what we do not do’
Of late, I make it a point to check out the good movies on TV. If the name appeals to me I somehow tear myself away from blogspot and watch it. Helps me to stray from my obsession with Blogging. Yesterday Sony Pix happened to screen ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’. Felt good watching it.
There are three scenes in the movie that deserve mention. Atticus Finch, a principled lawyer with unimpeachable ethics, who defends a Black, has just lost a case to a biased jury. Everyone below, but the Black crowd on the balcony, has left the courtroom. As Atticus is gathering his papers, one by one the grateful crowd gets up and as he is passing by they all give him a standing but silent ovation.
The second is when Atticus explains to his children about how it is a sin to kill a mockingbird.
‘Why Atticus?’ Scout asks.
‘Because the mockingbird is merely a songbird. It does not destroy crops. It does not harm anybody. It only sings for people and makes them happy.'
The third scene is when the mysterious Bogeyman Boo Radley, about whom a monstrous legend has been developed, and who secretly keeps showering little trinkets to his only friends, suddenly appears as a saviour to present the children with his final gift- their lives. Atticus and the Sheriff then ponder about the consequences of revealing his identity to the world. Scout is against it. Simply because the child feels that this act would tantamount to killing a mockingbird!
The movie left me with mixed feelings. Although I was transported to the past, where memories of this novel (prescribed for our ninth standard syllabus) were sharply brought into focus, it also landed me in the present to what is going on in blogger.
Is it okay to gather forces and relentlessly hunt out a lone mockingbird from the garden? Is it okay to then expose it to a laughing world? In all probability it seems quite judgmental and condemnatory. No one has a right to interfere in anyone’s personal space. Every bird in the garden is free to sing. And as long as it merely mimics the songs of other birds or as long as it keeps everyone amused and entertained, it is definitely a sin to go after it.
But what if the scenario suddenly changes? What if the bird decides to go a little beyond the mocking stage? What if it dares to fly down from the rostrum and start pecking at a few? Most probably the persons closest to the victim would try to shoo it away. Some, for fear of being hurt, would obviously keep their distance. And others, especially those that walk in the garden, without any handles for support or anonymity, will dread the consequences of another sullied controversy. They would therefore prefer to remain quiet. But silence is often misinterpreted. Most often than not for cowardice!
However, if the intelligent bird gets the message, goes back to the tree and resumes its melodious singing and mimicking, everyone would again be happy. Perhaps even those that were pecked upon because like time, which may or may not heal wounds, humility certainly does. Everything would again be back to normal. However, what if this does not happen and the pecking persists? What if the wounds keep getting deeper? What if they start to bleed? What if they get gangrenous? It then becomes painful not only for the wounded but also for those watching the act.
When something like this happens, most probably the ones who tried to shoo the bird away will now start to get a little aggressive. They might even resort to assault. But attack is not always the best form of defense. It can also turn into a battleground of egos where baseless accusations are hurled at each other and the situation made to turn disgustingly gory, sometimes to such an extent that the crux of the matter is often lost. Is it okay then for the rest in the garden to pretend to be blind and continue to ogle a Blog war with glee? That again doesn’t seem right. Especially if things seem to be blowing way out of proportion and we have better things to do than merely squabble.
Most of us here have come with an intention- to read, to write and to interact! As long as the dramas that keep happening in the backdrop are innocuous and amusing, it can be taken in the right spirit. We are not naïve enough to pretend that having stepped into the rain under the open sky, we will never get wet. But to keep on standing there and to keep on getting drenched to the extent that we catch pneumonia and perish, that seems a little irrational. Naturally, it then makes sense to unfold our umbrellas. And to protect ourselves!
If there is a problem there has to be a solution. And the only way out is for the team of gardeners to take full responsibility to track down the real culprit, the real bird. Meanwhile, since most of us in the audience still find it difficult to come to terms with the accusations, wondering if what we witnessed was just an illusion or an authentic display of truth, it would also definitely help if the accused mockingbird should come out of its hiding and sing a song of explanation. More so if it feels it has been wronged or victimized. We don’t need anyone to fly away forever. However a clarification would most certainly end the tension that is building up and help clear the air.
Most here in this virtual garden are sensitive writers. Hence most of them will be an understanding and a forgiving lot. Since there are always three sides to a story- the right, the wrong and the truth, it would be helpful if the accused could have its say. As for the abuse and its conclusion, it would have to be taken after everything is out in the open. Because all said and done, I’m sure no one in their right minds would want to kill a mockingbird. And no one in his/her right mind would abet in this crime either.
Of late, I make it a point to check out the good movies on TV. If the name appeals to me I somehow tear myself away from blogspot and watch it. Helps me to stray from my obsession with Blogging. Yesterday Sony Pix happened to screen ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’. Felt good watching it.
There are three scenes in the movie that deserve mention. Atticus Finch, a principled lawyer with unimpeachable ethics, who defends a Black, has just lost a case to a biased jury. Everyone below, but the Black crowd on the balcony, has left the courtroom. As Atticus is gathering his papers, one by one the grateful crowd gets up and as he is passing by they all give him a standing but silent ovation.
The second is when Atticus explains to his children about how it is a sin to kill a mockingbird.
‘Why Atticus?’ Scout asks.
‘Because the mockingbird is merely a songbird. It does not destroy crops. It does not harm anybody. It only sings for people and makes them happy.'
The third scene is when the mysterious Bogeyman Boo Radley, about whom a monstrous legend has been developed, and who secretly keeps showering little trinkets to his only friends, suddenly appears as a saviour to present the children with his final gift- their lives. Atticus and the Sheriff then ponder about the consequences of revealing his identity to the world. Scout is against it. Simply because the child feels that this act would tantamount to killing a mockingbird!
The movie left me with mixed feelings. Although I was transported to the past, where memories of this novel (prescribed for our ninth standard syllabus) were sharply brought into focus, it also landed me in the present to what is going on in blogger.
Is it okay to gather forces and relentlessly hunt out a lone mockingbird from the garden? Is it okay to then expose it to a laughing world? In all probability it seems quite judgmental and condemnatory. No one has a right to interfere in anyone’s personal space. Every bird in the garden is free to sing. And as long as it merely mimics the songs of other birds or as long as it keeps everyone amused and entertained, it is definitely a sin to go after it.
But what if the scenario suddenly changes? What if the bird decides to go a little beyond the mocking stage? What if it dares to fly down from the rostrum and start pecking at a few? Most probably the persons closest to the victim would try to shoo it away. Some, for fear of being hurt, would obviously keep their distance. And others, especially those that walk in the garden, without any handles for support or anonymity, will dread the consequences of another sullied controversy. They would therefore prefer to remain quiet. But silence is often misinterpreted. Most often than not for cowardice!
However, if the intelligent bird gets the message, goes back to the tree and resumes its melodious singing and mimicking, everyone would again be happy. Perhaps even those that were pecked upon because like time, which may or may not heal wounds, humility certainly does. Everything would again be back to normal. However, what if this does not happen and the pecking persists? What if the wounds keep getting deeper? What if they start to bleed? What if they get gangrenous? It then becomes painful not only for the wounded but also for those watching the act.
When something like this happens, most probably the ones who tried to shoo the bird away will now start to get a little aggressive. They might even resort to assault. But attack is not always the best form of defense. It can also turn into a battleground of egos where baseless accusations are hurled at each other and the situation made to turn disgustingly gory, sometimes to such an extent that the crux of the matter is often lost. Is it okay then for the rest in the garden to pretend to be blind and continue to ogle a Blog war with glee? That again doesn’t seem right. Especially if things seem to be blowing way out of proportion and we have better things to do than merely squabble.
Most of us here have come with an intention- to read, to write and to interact! As long as the dramas that keep happening in the backdrop are innocuous and amusing, it can be taken in the right spirit. We are not naïve enough to pretend that having stepped into the rain under the open sky, we will never get wet. But to keep on standing there and to keep on getting drenched to the extent that we catch pneumonia and perish, that seems a little irrational. Naturally, it then makes sense to unfold our umbrellas. And to protect ourselves!
If there is a problem there has to be a solution. And the only way out is for the team of gardeners to take full responsibility to track down the real culprit, the real bird. Meanwhile, since most of us in the audience still find it difficult to come to terms with the accusations, wondering if what we witnessed was just an illusion or an authentic display of truth, it would also definitely help if the accused mockingbird should come out of its hiding and sing a song of explanation. More so if it feels it has been wronged or victimized. We don’t need anyone to fly away forever. However a clarification would most certainly end the tension that is building up and help clear the air.
Most here in this virtual garden are sensitive writers. Hence most of them will be an understanding and a forgiving lot. Since there are always three sides to a story- the right, the wrong and the truth, it would be helpful if the accused could have its say. As for the abuse and its conclusion, it would have to be taken after everything is out in the open. Because all said and done, I’m sure no one in their right minds would want to kill a mockingbird. And no one in his/her right mind would abet in this crime either.
THE WORST NEW YEAR FEELING
Here is another calendar year beginning. Turning back to the pages of the past, i get a nauseating sensation in my guts. Its like the things had been happening so slow and not so properly. It makes me feel whether i have missed something in the swift flow of time or am i gonna loose something in the future time flow?
I can see that i have missed so many things, persons, events and much more in the past. But what makes me uncomfortable is the thought to investigate the missed ones. i.e when i start investigating those what if i found i had missed something much crucial or say i have done something thats terrible and irreversible? May be these fears deep inside my mind causes the nausea whenever i think about the past. But i cannot stop thinking about the past or even the future.
Some people say like 'don't worry about the past, don't dream about the future, but live the present'. I guess i cannot do that. I have tried it many times, say a hundred times last year, but couldn't succeed. I have found myself loosing a good night's sleep just by worrying about the past or planning the next step in my life.
Sometimes i have really felt like a stupid who have let many things go off my hands when i had enough time to grab them. The fault with me is that in a single moment i will have numerous ideas running through my mind, and of course i'm multidisciplinary. The problem arises when prioritizing my ideas.
I'm extremely puzzled and guess i have to spend this year solving my puzzled mind
I can see that i have missed so many things, persons, events and much more in the past. But what makes me uncomfortable is the thought to investigate the missed ones. i.e when i start investigating those what if i found i had missed something much crucial or say i have done something thats terrible and irreversible? May be these fears deep inside my mind causes the nausea whenever i think about the past. But i cannot stop thinking about the past or even the future.
Some people say like 'don't worry about the past, don't dream about the future, but live the present'. I guess i cannot do that. I have tried it many times, say a hundred times last year, but couldn't succeed. I have found myself loosing a good night's sleep just by worrying about the past or planning the next step in my life.
Sometimes i have really felt like a stupid who have let many things go off my hands when i had enough time to grab them. The fault with me is that in a single moment i will have numerous ideas running through my mind, and of course i'm multidisciplinary. The problem arises when prioritizing my ideas.
I'm extremely puzzled and guess i have to spend this year solving my puzzled mind
The innocence I have lost
I see the girl, she has a handsome boy on her side, caressing her like a baby............
I might not have anyone to wipe off my tears when am sad but am not jealous of her.........
I see the girl; she has all the money by her side to get her every creature comfort he may ever want.....
I might not have enough to buy me a pair of reputed jeans or shoes but am not jealous of him either........
I see the girlwho looks as if god carved her when he thought of creating a master piece......
I don’t not like seeing my lifeless impression casted in the mirror everyday but still am not jealous...........
And then I see little children’s playing in the rain in the streets wide opened, stretching their hands to feel the pouring rain...........
I can’t feel the rain as they do because I have to bear the price of being grown up and for the first time I feel jealous.........
I see them playing the games of childhood which splashes their innocent hearts with the rain of joy in the same way when I was innocent like them........
Greed, jealousy, lust, anger play wicked games in my mind now. Am not innocent anymore and am jealous of the innocence they have in them........
I look at their faces filled with feelings and emotions so rare and genuine like gems which I myself treasured when i was like them..........
But the mask I wear daily now to hide the ugly face I have inside has made the gems disappear and I am jealous for loosing those gems.........
I see them and I just keep on seeing them, playing in the little paradise they have created around themselves.......
And they don’t bother about dark forces of life which would inevitably turn the paradise in to hell one day like
It changed mine and I am jealous of the paradise they still have.................
And then I go near them and say to them "be like this forever and ever"................
They don’t seem to understand me and they keep playing................
And then I walk away from the magical world of innocence they rule to the sinful world of which am a slave............
And I realize that the most sinful act god can ever do to you, is not that he made u a human but is the curse that u will have to grow up one day...............
I might not have anyone to wipe off my tears when am sad but am not jealous of her.........
I see the girl; she has all the money by her side to get her every creature comfort he may ever want.....
I might not have enough to buy me a pair of reputed jeans or shoes but am not jealous of him either........
I see the girlwho looks as if god carved her when he thought of creating a master piece......
I don’t not like seeing my lifeless impression casted in the mirror everyday but still am not jealous...........
And then I see little children’s playing in the rain in the streets wide opened, stretching their hands to feel the pouring rain...........
I can’t feel the rain as they do because I have to bear the price of being grown up and for the first time I feel jealous.........
I see them playing the games of childhood which splashes their innocent hearts with the rain of joy in the same way when I was innocent like them........
Greed, jealousy, lust, anger play wicked games in my mind now. Am not innocent anymore and am jealous of the innocence they have in them........
I look at their faces filled with feelings and emotions so rare and genuine like gems which I myself treasured when i was like them..........
But the mask I wear daily now to hide the ugly face I have inside has made the gems disappear and I am jealous for loosing those gems.........
I see them and I just keep on seeing them, playing in the little paradise they have created around themselves.......
And they don’t bother about dark forces of life which would inevitably turn the paradise in to hell one day like
It changed mine and I am jealous of the paradise they still have.................
And then I go near them and say to them "be like this forever and ever"................
They don’t seem to understand me and they keep playing................
And then I walk away from the magical world of innocence they rule to the sinful world of which am a slave............
And I realize that the most sinful act god can ever do to you, is not that he made u a human but is the curse that u will have to grow up one day...............
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
The Lake Who Loved Me
Quite often, Time takes me back to a few moments in my life, when it allowed me to sit back and watch it pass. Apropos, this is not an accomplishment of any great magnitude, and it amazes how Time manages to take us in the opposite direction, against its tremendous flow in which we manage to stay afloat.
Time seems to somehow apportion these moments throughout the span of one's life. One of my favorite pastimes, apart from playing, used to be talking to inanimate objects. As a child, my Ma used to tie me to the window, comfortably, and ask me to count the number of bikes, scooters, cars, trucks, vans, buses passing by. I had to report that to Dad when he used to be back from office, his scooter inclusive. Thus as a mode of remembering the exact numbers, i used to discuss it with the window. And as Time flew, the habit of talking to such inanimate objects continued....talking to the bathroom walls during baths, to my bicycle, with my books and recently my PC. But as days passed by & Age started playing its tricks, Priority took different routes and somehow the habit started fading away.
I lived in a place situated at the foot of a hill, facing a lake. The lake used to dry up in the summers & its rocky bed used to an ideal condition for rock biking. But in the monsoons, the place just metamorphosed into something different.....something surreal. The last winding turn of the road, leading to this place, used to be a fun event. Because, here you were, traveling through a normal road and suddenly a turn raised the curtains to a fascinating visual experience.....a picture postcard view. Two hills, a line of Ashoka & eucalyptus trees surrounding a lake, with ripples unlimited, a set of beautiful residential buildings facing it, the road running parallel to the lake and the complex.....many a stolid spirits came there to get sprightly. And this is the place where I got back the old habit...temporarily....but I retained a few beautiful experiences I would take to my grave... or pyre to be precise, without being racial.
The lake had a cemented boundary, which used a slightly overflow during monsoons. And my favorite pastime used to be lying down on the boundary with my head resting on my shoulders and just staring at the ripples and currents.....it was something unexplainable.....but again, surreal would be the closest expression of my feelings. And with me around, she seemed to get very exhilarated.....almost showing off her nubility, while others considered her to be noxious. Her small waves always kissed my feet; gently....I didn’t see her do that to other admirers....or was it just Murphy's Law! She seemed to beam the moment i came out of my colonies gate ....i could literally hear her tides dance in a state of extreme excitement.....there she was at her hyacinthine best.
She did her best to woo me. She changed herself to look as i wanted her to look....a phenomenon I still can’t deduce. I remember having watched a Pete Sampras tennis match on TV in '97.... held in Key Biscayne near Miami. The skyline during that match had a beautiful shade of purple, something i hadn’t seen before. Though the match got over, the skyline remained embedded in my minds eye. It was September, with the rains ceasing finally. A few days after the match, following my routine of sitting by the lake, I was intrigued by an occurrence. I sat there staring at the lake.....she was still that day, and thus forming a mirror for the Sky to see itself. Suddenly I saw precisely the same shade of purple i had seen during that tennis match, reflecting on her. I got a shock of my life & immediately turned to look up at the Sky.....it seemed liked she knew what I wanted to see and gave it to me.
And yet, I could never give her what she wanted....... How could I give her what she wanted....I was a mortal. I cheered her, played with her, talked to her, spent some beautiful evenings with her. I gave her company on the harsh summer days when she faded away into a small puddle of water....planted small flower plants beside her to cheer her up....but yet she stared at me, seeking something I never really understood. I guess she understood the futility of the relationship. But at least she had me for company.
But one day, I shifted my residence. And i could sense her grief....I couldn’t even embrace her before I left. As I bid her farewell, Time seemed to stop and take me back to those beautiful evenings spent with the Lake.
And the same Time changed my Priorities path and pushed me into a flow I could never come out of. For years I haven’t got the opportunity to see her. Friends tell me that the lake has lost her Charm.....only I know why!
Time seems to somehow apportion these moments throughout the span of one's life. One of my favorite pastimes, apart from playing, used to be talking to inanimate objects. As a child, my Ma used to tie me to the window, comfortably, and ask me to count the number of bikes, scooters, cars, trucks, vans, buses passing by. I had to report that to Dad when he used to be back from office, his scooter inclusive. Thus as a mode of remembering the exact numbers, i used to discuss it with the window. And as Time flew, the habit of talking to such inanimate objects continued....talking to the bathroom walls during baths, to my bicycle, with my books and recently my PC. But as days passed by & Age started playing its tricks, Priority took different routes and somehow the habit started fading away.
I lived in a place situated at the foot of a hill, facing a lake. The lake used to dry up in the summers & its rocky bed used to an ideal condition for rock biking. But in the monsoons, the place just metamorphosed into something different.....something surreal. The last winding turn of the road, leading to this place, used to be a fun event. Because, here you were, traveling through a normal road and suddenly a turn raised the curtains to a fascinating visual experience.....a picture postcard view. Two hills, a line of Ashoka & eucalyptus trees surrounding a lake, with ripples unlimited, a set of beautiful residential buildings facing it, the road running parallel to the lake and the complex.....many a stolid spirits came there to get sprightly. And this is the place where I got back the old habit...temporarily....but I retained a few beautiful experiences I would take to my grave... or pyre to be precise, without being racial.
The lake had a cemented boundary, which used a slightly overflow during monsoons. And my favorite pastime used to be lying down on the boundary with my head resting on my shoulders and just staring at the ripples and currents.....it was something unexplainable.....but again, surreal would be the closest expression of my feelings. And with me around, she seemed to get very exhilarated.....almost showing off her nubility, while others considered her to be noxious. Her small waves always kissed my feet; gently....I didn’t see her do that to other admirers....or was it just Murphy's Law! She seemed to beam the moment i came out of my colonies gate ....i could literally hear her tides dance in a state of extreme excitement.....there she was at her hyacinthine best.
She did her best to woo me. She changed herself to look as i wanted her to look....a phenomenon I still can’t deduce. I remember having watched a Pete Sampras tennis match on TV in '97.... held in Key Biscayne near Miami. The skyline during that match had a beautiful shade of purple, something i hadn’t seen before. Though the match got over, the skyline remained embedded in my minds eye. It was September, with the rains ceasing finally. A few days after the match, following my routine of sitting by the lake, I was intrigued by an occurrence. I sat there staring at the lake.....she was still that day, and thus forming a mirror for the Sky to see itself. Suddenly I saw precisely the same shade of purple i had seen during that tennis match, reflecting on her. I got a shock of my life & immediately turned to look up at the Sky.....it seemed liked she knew what I wanted to see and gave it to me.
And yet, I could never give her what she wanted....... How could I give her what she wanted....I was a mortal. I cheered her, played with her, talked to her, spent some beautiful evenings with her. I gave her company on the harsh summer days when she faded away into a small puddle of water....planted small flower plants beside her to cheer her up....but yet she stared at me, seeking something I never really understood. I guess she understood the futility of the relationship. But at least she had me for company.
But one day, I shifted my residence. And i could sense her grief....I couldn’t even embrace her before I left. As I bid her farewell, Time seemed to stop and take me back to those beautiful evenings spent with the Lake.
And the same Time changed my Priorities path and pushed me into a flow I could never come out of. For years I haven’t got the opportunity to see her. Friends tell me that the lake has lost her Charm.....only I know why!
Thursday, August 31, 2006
ANONYMITY
Even after two years of living together, she barely knew anything more about him than what she did when he first staggered into her life… She remembered the incident so clearly that it could have been just yesterday… Home after her shift at the hospital, she was heating the dinner cooked earlier that morning, when the shrill doorbell shattered the somnolent silence of the night. It had been a long and tiring day, and a friendly neighbourly visit was the last thing she wanted.
Safety chain firmly in place, she peered out to see an unfamiliar man leaning heavily against the doorjamb. “You are a nurse…” he said, rather than asked. His left hand was gripping his right arm, trying to stem the blood that oozed through his fingers, trickling slowly down the back of his hand and wrist, soaking the sleeve of his shirt already red with blood. He had noticeably lost an enormous amount of blood. Barely managing to enter the room, he collapsed.
He drifted in and out of consciousness for the next 24 hours. A total stranger, she knew nothing about him. Yet she instinctively realised that he didn’t want anyone to be called. No doctor, no neighbour, no friend. Relying on her years of experience and using all her skills, she extricated the bullet, cleaned and dressed his gaping wound...
The first night had been bad. Hot and feverish, she worried whether some infection had set in. But he looked visibly better next day. Well enough for her to go for duty, even though leaving the house with an unknown person inside did cause her a few qualms.
He stayed on for almost a week before he left one day while she was still at work. Reserved, almost to the point of being brusque, he said very little. Except for his name, she had learnt nothing more about him… his family, his home, his job.
He surfaced some weeks later as suddenly as he had disappeared. “Can I stay?” he asked. Black eyes gazed into hers, piercing her fragile resistance, plundering her thoughts, reading her mind. Her prudent head screamed at her to say no, but her defiant heart replied, “Yes…”
She had always considered herself sensible and level headed. Not someone who was foolishly attracted to a man she barely knew. And definitely not someone who even more foolishly surrendered herself completely, body and soul. But succumbing to the unthinkable, she had discovered gentleness that surprised her. Passion that set her aflame. Caresses that conveyed what he never uttered in words. Tenderness that spoke its own silent language.
She learnt to respect his secrecy. Accept the fact that he had another life that he was unwilling to share with her. Was he married? Did he have a wife? A child? What did he do? How did he earn his living? Her gentle probing came to naught. Deftly evading her questions, he divulged nothing about himself. “I care for you… nothing else is important…” was all he would reply.
He would disappear for weeks at a time, sometimes returning tired and withdrawn, sometimes elated and happy. But return he always did, picking up the threads of their relationship as if he had never been away. Till that last time, that fateful day… Tuesday, July 11 to be exact.
Seven bomb blasts in the space of eleven minutes had devastated Mumbai, creating death and mayhem. Hundreds were injured, some grievously, while more than 180 persons lost their lives… innocent men and women. Memories of the commotion and chaos at her hospital still woke her up in the middle of the night, cold and shivering. The agonising cries of pain and terror still haunted her waking hours.
She read about the unclaimed body in the newspaper. Despite herself, she had gone to that hospital, to its morgue. One part of the face was blown off completely, one side of the body mangled and destroyed. Her eyes confirmed what her heart had known. Overcome by intense pain, she turned away…
She mourned his death in the solitude of her loneliness. Nursed her anguish in the shadows of her darkened room. Prayed that his soul had finally found peace.
She didn’t even consider collecting his body. What did she have to substantiate her claim? Probably even the name she knew him by was not his real one. She didn’t want to unnecessarily open a Pandora’s box... provide a headline for the next day’s newspaper… start a new tamasha… He had lived his life in secrecy. She would let him die in anonymity…
Safety chain firmly in place, she peered out to see an unfamiliar man leaning heavily against the doorjamb. “You are a nurse…” he said, rather than asked. His left hand was gripping his right arm, trying to stem the blood that oozed through his fingers, trickling slowly down the back of his hand and wrist, soaking the sleeve of his shirt already red with blood. He had noticeably lost an enormous amount of blood. Barely managing to enter the room, he collapsed.
He drifted in and out of consciousness for the next 24 hours. A total stranger, she knew nothing about him. Yet she instinctively realised that he didn’t want anyone to be called. No doctor, no neighbour, no friend. Relying on her years of experience and using all her skills, she extricated the bullet, cleaned and dressed his gaping wound...
The first night had been bad. Hot and feverish, she worried whether some infection had set in. But he looked visibly better next day. Well enough for her to go for duty, even though leaving the house with an unknown person inside did cause her a few qualms.
He stayed on for almost a week before he left one day while she was still at work. Reserved, almost to the point of being brusque, he said very little. Except for his name, she had learnt nothing more about him… his family, his home, his job.
He surfaced some weeks later as suddenly as he had disappeared. “Can I stay?” he asked. Black eyes gazed into hers, piercing her fragile resistance, plundering her thoughts, reading her mind. Her prudent head screamed at her to say no, but her defiant heart replied, “Yes…”
She had always considered herself sensible and level headed. Not someone who was foolishly attracted to a man she barely knew. And definitely not someone who even more foolishly surrendered herself completely, body and soul. But succumbing to the unthinkable, she had discovered gentleness that surprised her. Passion that set her aflame. Caresses that conveyed what he never uttered in words. Tenderness that spoke its own silent language.
She learnt to respect his secrecy. Accept the fact that he had another life that he was unwilling to share with her. Was he married? Did he have a wife? A child? What did he do? How did he earn his living? Her gentle probing came to naught. Deftly evading her questions, he divulged nothing about himself. “I care for you… nothing else is important…” was all he would reply.
He would disappear for weeks at a time, sometimes returning tired and withdrawn, sometimes elated and happy. But return he always did, picking up the threads of their relationship as if he had never been away. Till that last time, that fateful day… Tuesday, July 11 to be exact.
Seven bomb blasts in the space of eleven minutes had devastated Mumbai, creating death and mayhem. Hundreds were injured, some grievously, while more than 180 persons lost their lives… innocent men and women. Memories of the commotion and chaos at her hospital still woke her up in the middle of the night, cold and shivering. The agonising cries of pain and terror still haunted her waking hours.
She read about the unclaimed body in the newspaper. Despite herself, she had gone to that hospital, to its morgue. One part of the face was blown off completely, one side of the body mangled and destroyed. Her eyes confirmed what her heart had known. Overcome by intense pain, she turned away…
She mourned his death in the solitude of her loneliness. Nursed her anguish in the shadows of her darkened room. Prayed that his soul had finally found peace.
She didn’t even consider collecting his body. What did she have to substantiate her claim? Probably even the name she knew him by was not his real one. She didn’t want to unnecessarily open a Pandora’s box... provide a headline for the next day’s newspaper… start a new tamasha… He had lived his life in secrecy. She would let him die in anonymity…
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