A WORLD OF THEIR OWN...?

(UNEDITED)

PART ONE

“Do you think he is dead?”

D.E.A.D… The word numbed me... my eyes were riveted on the shrivelled up lump of black mass. A thousand flies scavenged his body, some entangled in his curly locks of unkempt hair, while a few others swarmed over his grey beard and pale lips. A mangy lungi or half a lungi separated him and the stone slabs on the platform.

“Is he DEAD?”

Ritu’s voice appeared to be coming from a distance, though I could feel her breath - short and heavy. I nodded my head in agreement, rest of the body still transfixed in fear.

The bus-stops in Chennai encapsulate the myriad features of the city. The white paint of the fragile shelters, strip themselves naked to reveal the brown skin of rust, brown - the colour of street urchins running behind firangees. The maroon hue of paan or veththalai adorn the walls, for the pious - the same shade dotes their forehead, and through every incision on the human body spurts out the same colour. While a cross-section of men cannot resist but ogle at women waiting for the bus, several lovers with their muses are busy in another corner praying for the break-down of all the buses in the city.

And in the midst of all these activities, the man lay, just as the dog beside him, oblivious of the detestable odour of garbage and urine, and he - but a non-entity to the passers-by.

“Let’s alert a few people here,” I said, knowing half my words had not managed to escape the confines of the larynx.

And then, it happened...

The fingers of his left hand came alive, sending scores of flies swarming in our direction.

“Run Smriti.. RUN,” the instructions were loud and clear from my roommate, as a thousand more of the species took off from his body, revealing a wizened skin. “I think we are their breakfast today,” I yelled, cutting through the thin slices of air, and watching the flies do the same more efficiently than me.

That was my first encounter with Mr Fiery Eyes or Pied-piper, as Ritu called him, a soul who would soon begin to impinge upon my future thoughts.
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PART 2

“Stars…..wonder what story each has to narrate, wonder why they have to die before reaching human ears…” I was on a high. “It’s incredible isn’t it - how they never fail to capture our imaginations, dreams and aspirations,” I said, stretching my arms towards heaven, taking in deep breaths.

“Snap out of the realm of fantasies Smrits… Have you ever thought about the world outside you being real?” Ritu’s words were harsh, yet true. But all the same, I was a carrier… and I often told myself that such manifestations of wild ramblings were in fact justified.

Ritu was more practical and spontaneous. It was beginning to drizzle slightly and the lovely drops of water ensnared in her hair glistened under the sodium vapour lamp.

I looked at those celestial beings that supposedly decide our fate. “It is all based on the gravitational force of attraction exerted by the stars on the elements of the human body at various points of time in our lives,” the astrologer had said while alleviating my scepticism. “Prashnam,” she continued, “is another form based on simply the time of your query while some can forebode events based on your voice. Everything is mathematics Smriti… Everything involves calculations. And of course, the grace of the Guru...”

The vermillion spot on her forehead merged away with the spectacular hue of Gaia’s neighbour, Mars.

My chain of thoughts was broken by the sudden screech of the wheels. People’s voices flooded my ears as a crowd collected around a car. I made my way through the stream of onlookers. He was there… right in front of the vehicle. The scruffy locks of hair remained dishevelled, the lungi hardly serving the purpose and he held a staff tightly within his palm. But what followed, were incomprehensible visuals, or rather, incoherent sights and sounds. The Pied-piper pointed his stick to the right just like the traffic police, and yelled “Left” loud enough for a few more lights to come alive in the vicinity. The elders laughed, street-urchins mimicked his actions, with occasional jeers of “Paithyam” from the amused crowd. His antics continued, with new-found vigour, now that he had an audience. The car swerved to the Piper’s right and drove away, leaving more room for spectators to hoot and taunt. He lay on the road and rolled over, scratched his head and sang notes and words novel to human ears.

Half hour had passed with the drizzle turning heavier by the passing second. But that did not deter the performer or his audience. I watched, tear-stained… and helpless… Ritu tugged my arm as we made our way out of the thamasha. A roar from the onlookers made me turn back and have a look. Piper was now swirling his lungi with the stick. “He’s mad beyond remedy…” someone said and the guffaws followed…
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PART 3

“I am not mad, ma…. I am not mad… It’s… It’s just this disease…,” the voice belonged to my brother.

My thoughts travelled back in time as I sat on the bed, still unable to recover from the scenes that had unfolded before my senses. Precisely five years before this night, my brother’s world would come crashing down, heralding omens of distress and eternal gloom over my family… all under a week’s time…

He was beginning to act a little weird… spending most of his time by the balcony, looking out at the people on the road, irresponsive to our constant queries, a spaced out stare occasionally disrupted by sudden violent behaviour.

“We are losing our son… we need to act soon,” appa said, but his worst fear was inching closer by the second.

“Your son, Mr Kumar, is suffering from a chronic mental illness, that we term Paranoid Schizophrenia – a chemical imbalance in the brain,” the psychiatrist at a renowned hospital in Bangalore stated as a matter-of-factly to souls who had raised their son for 21-long years all in the hope that he would stand on his two feet and take care of them.

“It could be hereditary or it could be otherwise. Any relative of yours with this disease, Mr Kumar?”

Appa looked at us, worry-lines flooding his forehead. “No, doctor…”

“What about the cure?” Amma’s voice was feeble.

“No cure, but, can be controlled,” the psychiatrist continued, “We need to constantly monitor the drug dosage and what we don’t want… is a relapse.”

I didn’t understand a word of what followed. I was watching amma. The first tear was always the toughest to shed.

“As a family, you need to be strong. Accept things and move on.”

Deepak had a separate session with the doctor after ours.

Nobody spoke a word until we reached home. The air was filled with disbelief, of non-acceptance and betrayal.

“Why me, ma?” Anna finally spoke. “Two in a hundred have this disease. Why did I have to be among the two? Why do I have voices in my head saying they are coming after me, to kill me? Why am I not like the other guys? Why me, ma? Why me?” I saw my brother’s frail body embrace my mother’s.

Days, weeks, months passed. There was no significant improvement in Deepak’s health, in fact it had only deteriorated. My parents had consulted nearly a dozen doctors, two dozen religious seers and astrologers.

Fear penetrated deeper and deeper into his mind. He was losing his ability to reason. “You fool… the neighbours should not know of my existence. They will kill me… I need to burn all my photographs… my identity cards… my passport… Give my certificates Smriti… Give them to me, you fool… ” My parents and I resisted… But Deepak was turning violent. He slashed his wrist... We had to give in, as we watched helplessly all the vital documents being reduced to nothing.

For three years neither did the sun rays kiss his skin nor did his friends pay him a visit. He spent his time within the confines of his room, listening to ‘Kurai ondrum illai’, a soulful rendition by M S Subbalakshmi. Deepak suspected both amma and appa of plotting to kill him. He wouldn’t consume food for fear that it might have been poisoned.
Amma… amma was a wreck. Every single second of her life, she spent wiping her tears, which would only draw violent outbursts from appa. I couldn’t blame him either. He had a million problems both at the factory and at home. Fate had snatched the smile away from all our faces. We lived, only because we couldn’t die…

My faith in God ceased. “IT may exist. But an entity that makes mothers cry cannot be worshipped. IT is the greatest sinner. I DON’T NEED IT ANYMORE…”

“Hey, is everything okay? You look like you’ve a BP of a 1200!”
Ritu got me back into the present…
“Remember the major outing we’ve planned for tomorrow? Get some sleep now Smrits, and stop looking like a possessed moron…”

She turned out the lights… and that… was the colour of my life…

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PART 4

Panagal Park and Pondy Bazaar – twin areas in Chennai that could explain commodity fetishism in six seconds flat. The aesthetically appealing shopping malls, jewellery stores, apparel showrooms, flanked on all sides by restaurants, this business hub attracts a crowd of over a million on weekends. And in all probability, you’ll not be walking, but swimming in a surging sea of men, women and kids.

“Uhh… sweaty day.” Ritu was breathing through her mouth. The heat of the tar was making its way through my shoes. We were almost through with our shopping and walking towards the bus shelter.

“Akka… akka… buy this cotton bud, ka… I haven’t eaten food since morning, ka… please buy this, ka…” A street urchin was tugging my hand, trying to squeeze a packet into my palm.
“Give him a glare and he’ll be gone,” Ritu murmured. I tightened my optic nerves and sent him a feigned fierce look.

It didn’t last long. This frail bundle of bones was no more than four and a half feet. Bare-footed he was waging a battle with the heat. And so were his weather-beaten shirt and shorts.
“We have a winner,” I grinned at roomie. “How much is this packet?”

He studied my facial expressions for a while. “Akka, buy me some dosa instead, ka.” Ritu winced. “I smell some hidden agenda here. Think this kid is capable of extortion? Probably hoodwink us somehow?”

“Let’s take the risk.” We crossed the road and stepped into Balaajee Bhavan. I scanned the area for a table. “Akka, let’s go to the room upstairs. There are loads of tables there.” I stared at him. “First alert: He knows the topography!”

“What’s your name?” I enquired after we had placed the order.
“Karthik.”
“Hmm… Karthik… Which class are you in?”
“Ninth standard, ka.”
“NINTH?” Ritu and I echoed. He looked too puny for a 14-year-old.
“I study in Corporation school, akka. No money to educate my sister. Every weekend I walk from Teynampet to Pondy Bazaar and sell cotton buds.”

His penury made me sick. “Be grateful to Him Smriti. He has given you good health and wealth.” Sharda’s voice filled my head. “Only total surrender and service would alleviate the pain.” I was in Bangalore then, making an insincere effort to listen to my wannabe evangelist-buddy. “God, we must accept Shads, is a flawed entity. And it is time we stop deceiving ourselves by giving silly excuses to bail ‘It’ out every time – ‘He gives us problems to make us stronger, He gives us problems ’coz he knows we can find out the solutions… Nay… Not happening.”

“Ghee roast!” I looked up to see the waiter serving chutney and sambar.

Karthik worked dexterously with both his hands. He had a voracious appetite. The ghee dosa was gone in five minutes.

I paid up the bill and in his eyes I could see the gratitude. Ritu wished him luck and we watched him disappear into the crowds.

“Inequality,” I muttered turning to roomie.
“Injustice… Hmm… Word association?” Her face brightened. “My turn! Red-tapism.”
“Tough one… RTI… My turn! Proletariat.”
“Piper…”

“Piper?” I turned around and there he was just a few feet away…rummaging for food in the bin. The dogs were giving him a stiff competition. Empty plantain leaves from the garbage were followed by violent curses. He hit his rivals with the staff and continued his search.

“Hey Smrits, look! He’s reading a magazine! Lol! Must be a literate piper!” Ritu guffawed.

My gaze rested on those palms clutching the book and memories clouded my vision.

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PART 5

“ ‘I am an open book… And the scribbles in these pages are my friends and family…Though a few scribbles did last only a few sides, yet they have left behind indelible impressions to last to eternity.

“ ‘I’ve always wanted the past and the present to meet at a junction where every mistake that haunts my memory would be washed away and from where I would not take two but jus’ a single path into my future... much much confusin’ this way..??? jus’ stick around with me.. you’ll figure it out soon..”

I recollected memories of flipping through the pages of Deepak’s diary, a few months ago, when he was away at work. Yup at work! He overpowered his greatest foe that held him captive for nearly four years! Not entirely normal but he carried out his activities reasonably well. The fear had ceased… the voices inside him spoke no more… The medication continued though, as per the instructions of the psychiatrist… The diary contained notes of his college life and the days of struggle with schizophrenia.

“ ‘Some guy comes over everyday, some counsellor. Tells me not to listen to the voices. How do I know if they come from my mind or from those around me?’ ”

“ ‘That guy made me chop vegetables today. I didn’t want to. I know my parents have hired him to kill me…’ ”

“ ‘Counsellor said some shopping malls have sprung around Bangalore city… Had I been normal, I would have gone there… just like guys of my age do… I want to be normal too…’”

“ ‘I was made to solve math problems. Easy stuff… 2*2 types…’ ”

“ ‘Stepped out of the room, for the first time today. Amma has lost weight. She looked happy.’ ”

“ ‘Doctor has prescribed a diff pill… and that tastes like shit…’ ”

“ ‘The voices don’t speak anymore… But I am a useless vegetable… Who would want to employ a schizophrenic anyway?’ ”

“ ‘My first job… in the copy section of an ad agency! Who said schizophrenics are just people with a mental disorder? We are simply more CREATIVE than the rest!’ ”

“ ‘Went out with appa today… my first mug of beer after 4years!’ ”

“ ‘Major argument between amma and Smriti today… heroine got into a college in Chennai for MA… Amma wants to parcel her off to some guy instead… I intervened and well, like always, diplomatically sorted out the issue! Heroine will study, amma can hunt for a guy meanwhile, at the end of second year, get her married… Of course the earlier it happens, the better it would be for me ;) ’”

“Hey, 12G…” Someone shook me violently.

It took me a while to get back to the present… I was still in Pondy Bazaar but the Piper… there was no trace of him.

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PART 6

“G O D … Isn’t He as imperfect as our species?” I was surprised to hear Ritu speak this way. “A father teaching his mentally challenged son to ride a bicycle, a mother waiting for the bus to ferry her daughter to a special school, a child desperate for an embrace from his mentally-ill mother… What expectations do they have of the future? Do parents feel guilty for not having brought into this world a perfect child? And what is His role in all of this?”

I didn’t have an answer. “Maybe He creates these special ones and brings sunshine into their lives before an eternal eclipse. Then, He creates us. So we can understand their illness and treat it.”

“It’s unbelievable - one element in the atomic table can make all the difference… And how our life changes and our perspective of the world changes.” I instinctively knew Ritu was still thinking about the Piper, though it had been a week since our third encounter. We watched our auto meander through the dark alleyway until it screeched to a sudden halt.

“Dei saavu graaki…” The auto driver yelled out. “Idhe pozhappaa pochu…”

It was the Piper again. This time he had jumped in front of our vehicle. “He’s gonna end up under the wheels of a bus,” the driver said making futile attempts to dodge his opponent. “Dei Mani,” he called out. At first, a silhouette appeared and then a face emerged as Mani made his way towards the auto-rickshaw.

Piper had begun his antics meanwhile. The bright headlight drew his fascination and invited the driver’s flak. The Piper’s innocent experiment of prodding the headlight with his staff ensued in a tug-of-war with the driver. Mani deftly tackled the former and brought him under his control.
“How many times to say… Admit him to a mental asylum… Else one of these days I’ll do it. Take him home now.” The driver started the auto and we moved on. I looked back to catch a glimpse of the Piper, but darkness removed any trace of him.

“Ganesan,” the driver said.

“Umm?” Ritu and I looked at each other.

“His name is Ganesan. My nomadic neighbour,” the driver continued. “People say he was fine in his younger days. Had a steady job as a salesman and married a flower-seller he loved against the wishes of her family. Maybe because of her parents’ curses, Ganesan started behaving abnormally and over a period of few days, he looked like he needed doctor’s intervention. Much was spent on medicines and his wife couldn’t handle the expenses all by herself. She was also quite young. That poor thing would keep him chained and not let him out. Then one day she committed suicide - fell in front of a moving train with her kid. Should have seen the body – cha. From then on, he has been like this. Nobody to take care of him and nobody to call his own. Eats from the bin, sleeps near the bin and jumps in front of vehicles. Hmm…”

“You never admitted him to any asylum?” I asked the driver while paying up the auto fare. “Definitely they’d take care of him there…”

“We don’t have time and money to fend for ourselves or provide our families with a basic square meal, where would we think of others? Each man to his own, ma. Hmm… At the end of the day, all that matters is if we have six feet of earth under us – both when we are alive and once we are gone.”

“Just six feet of earth…” I repeated and let memories take over my present…

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PART 7

“So… what’s your height Smriti?”

Uncle and I were sitting in Coffee House on M G Road, Bangalore, a couple of months back on a cold winter morning. The question was definitely a lot out of context as we were in the middle of a heated discussion on the execution of Saddam Hussein.

“I’m not sure I heard that one right, perippa. You asked for my height? Why?”
“Answer my question first young lady!”
I was bemused. “Guess around 5 feet 7 (in). Why?”
“Then,” he said, with that familiar wicked grin on his face, taking out a piece of paper from his shirt pocket, “this guy is 6 feet 4 (in)!”

I knew where this game was heading although it was happening a lot earlier than I had actually anticipated. I turned the photo away nonchalantly, sending a signal to my uncle that perhaps I was not ready for this as yet.

But the grin persisted. “Sriram is working in Kuala Lumpur. Nice family. In fact his mother is particular that you get married to her son. So, what do you think?”

“You want to know what I think? I think… it is time for our movie,” I got up and began walking towards the exit. Rex theatre was but a few metres away but my thoughts were all over the place. Sure… Sriram looked smart and sophisticated, but why all the hurry now? What about my education? And career? And did perippa mention Kuala Lumpur? Whatever was my family even thinking- I’ll be an ocean away from them… with a stranger…

With a STRANGER? I looked at my uncle, frantically. “I…uh…can’t marry an Eiffel Tower surely…”

“Hah… Lean-ing Tower of Pisa is saying she can’t get married to an Eiffel Tower!”
“Jokes apart, perippa… I’m just 22 and -”
“And did you notice those dimples on his cheeks?” Uncle cut me short with a wink, “I thought they were cute!”

“In which case, you can get married to him. He is all yours!” My lips broke into a smile. Somehow at that precise moment Sriram didn’t seem a stranger to me any more. All the petty issues could be sorted out, I felt.

We entered the dimly-lit movie hall and several fumbles later, reached our seats.

I hardly had had taken a glance at the photograph and I cursed myself for that. In fact I only remembered the Genting backdrop! But now I really wanted to know how Sriram looked! Did he have curly hair? What about those dimples perippa was talking about? My brain began working of ways to snatch the photograph from uncle!

“He’s coming to India this February. And I hope this would now make you stop fidgeting young lady, I’ve already mailed his pic to you!”

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PART 8

If anybody had ever asked me the name of Shahrukh Khan in Don or if Priyanka Chopra had even acted in that film, I wouldn’t have been to answer them correctly! My mind was simply too full of Sriram!

But that intoxication was short-lived…

I entered my home to find shattered pieces of glass strewn all over the place, crockery broken into a million fragments, telephone cord dislodged from the socket and lying on the floor, books reduced to the cover and pages swirling in the air… chairs, tables, curtains, rods all upturned and chaotic - similar to the thoughts on my mind. Sitting atop the rubble, and bleeding, was my brother…

Amma was on her knees, hitting her head continuously with her palms and wailing, with her mouth almost torn apart in anguish. And appa…was watching it all happen again… helplessly watching it all happen…

“I’m not mad, ma… I’m not MAD… It’s just this disease… this DISEASE.” Deepak hurled a few pieces of crockery in angst. Amma’s wails grew louder. Bleeding more profusely, he embraced her. Appa and I hugged them both. Schizophrenia was bringing my family closer but at the cost of our happiness…

“I had feared this the most, Mr Kumar. Deepak has had a relapse. I would suggest your son be admitted in NIMHANS. I have done my best…”

The psychiatrist washed his hands off the matter, while we watched in disbelief.

“AMMAAA…”

The scream rang through the hospital corridor as we rushed in to find Deepak crouched in a dark corner of the room, hurling abuses at unseen forces. Fear was back to haunt him… and us…
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PART 9

“To Yelahanka Satellite Town? Hmm…Why?” Here was a woman sitting absolutely dejected in NIMHANS and Sharda calls up asking for a favour. “I’m... hmm… I can’t come Shads… Ask Preethi or Vaishnavi… Sorry. Bye.” I hung up before the cajoles.

“Missionaries of Charity… Missionaries of Charity…” The phrase never seemed to go away from my head. I concentrated hard on the ceiling fan. It had been a gruelling week. Traffic jam, hospital, odour, doctors, patients, parents, husbands, wives, kids, rooms, screams… I was sapped off my energy. A few moments of Sriram would heal the pain. “This is only transient. Things will change,” I’d console myself.

But today, the phrase was distracting me. “Missionaries of Charity…”


“It’s just a few metres from here madam. See the church there? Beside that.” Sharda and I followed the auto driver’s instructions.

“Why are we going there, Shad?” I knew that question was not meant for her alone. “Hey listen, it better be good and quick. I need to relieve amma by noon.”

We reached the place and surveyed the area momentarily. To our right was land left vulnerable to the arrows from the sky. Perhaps a building was recently brought down and construction was going on.

“This must be the place,” Sharda said pointing to the left. We opened the gates and walked inside.

A Sister greeted us. “From a corporate company?” she asked.

“No Sister. We are students. I’m Sharda and she’s Smriti. I want to serve the special ones of this institution…full-time.” I turned my face, sharply, to look at Shads. What is she saying? Four years of engineering… For this? Why? Do her parents know?

“Come right this way, my children.” She guided us. “This is a surprise. A couple of corporate houses come forward to donate a portion of their profits but we don’t see many volunteers.”

She led us to a barren room with a few wooden benches. “It’s difficult to not listen to the cries of help and then the guiding voice of God,” Sister said when we were seated. “Tell me…”

“It’s a constant calling – to serve others and these days the urge is getting stronger than ever. I know one hand can make a lot of difference to this society and I want to extend mine to light up a few hearts. My parents,” Sharda paused and looked at me, “do not know about this. But I’ll convince them. Please give me a chance, Sister.”

“It’s a noble thought. But I’d suggest you look around, get the feel of the place before confirming your decision of choosing this path. One moment children, I’ll be back.”

I hurriedly whispered to Sharda. “What’s all this? Is this why you wanted me to accompany you? Charity begins at home Shads. Serve your mom and dad. Be an obedient daughter and –”

“Charity does not begin at home, Smriti,” she cut me short. “Charity begins FROM THE HEART.” And there was silence, more silence… I couldn’t argue.

“I’m sorry children for the delay. Please follow me.” The Sister led us to another building.

We had barely stepped inside a room when more than a dozen tiny wizened palms held mine. “Say hello to our guests here,” Sister said and a loud cheer reverberated around the room. Elderly women surrounded me… Their dark sunken eyes pleaded understanding… “Shunned by their family members and shunned by the society. The reason? They live in a world different from ours. Born into poor families; deserted by their own blood; drowned in irrationality, delusions, hallucinations; lying on the roadside – they cannot ask for food when hungry – they do not know… they cannot defend themselves when harassed – they do not know… Our mission is to rescue them, bring them here and provide them with food, shelter and medication.”

They appeared petite and fragile, but their eyes were brimming with life. The room had more than fifty beds, each with a bed-sheet and blanket. While a few were fast asleep, those awake were eager to make friends with the two new guests in their room.

“A psychiatrist comes over every week and we have a van which brings in all the necessary supplies to the missionary. This place also houses other destitute women who help the Sisters out in taking care of the people and maintaining the place. Service to man is service to God, so we work round-the-clock. There is no day or night - we attend to anybody at anytime. Come children, I’ll show you the prayer room.”

“God has a plan for each of us, doesn’t He?” Sharda said as she entered the prayer hall. “Still angry with Him, Smrits? Faith can move mountains, and in the Entity we rest our hopes that tomorrow will be better than today.”

Sharda had a long chat with the Sister and promised to return in a few weeks.

“Wonderful place, wonderful people. That was a re-awakening, Smrits.” I nodded my head as we walked up to the bus shelter. “Disease strikes the rich and the poor equally. Just like your brother and the special ones here, there are many more who need our help. How do you think we can go about?”

“We’d need a bunch of sensitive people… No, we need to sensitize people, Shads…”
“There are several institutions and individuals who offer such services, but they are all fragmented. We’d have to bring them together.”

“Then mass-media can bring about awareness…”

“So we can rehabilitate them, treat them and empower them…”

My eyes glistened, until doubt crept in… “Easier said, Shads, but…”


Deepak was home in a few days. “He’d be fine,” the psychiatrist assured us. But there was something else running through my parents’ mind - “Who’d take care of him after we’ve gone?”
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PART 10

“Butterflies in your tummy?” Ritu was referring to my “date” with Sriram. I was back in the present and events would unfold from here on, like how Deepak had mentioned –“just a single path into my future.”

“I’m fine, Ritu. See you soon.”

I had rehearsed my lines the previous night. It shouldn’t take me much time, I told myself. I stepped into GRT Grand at 6pm, and was out in half hour. “Good luck. Any help from my side, don’t hesitate to ask,” he said and then we parted.

There was a new-found purpose in my life.

“Easier said, Shads, but… IT IS NOT IMPOSSIBLE.” I gushed over the phone. “Have located a new home for Ganesan! Also, the campaign starts tomorrow. Wanna know the placards I’ve made?”

“Mental-retardation, schizophrenia, bi-polar… any illness… TOGETHER we can fight it.”

“Penury is not the enemy, indifference is.”

“It’s no longer a world of their own… We are in it too… IT’S A WORLD OF OUR OWN…”

©2007-08 GG