THE IMMISCIBLE ENTITIES

These days, all the time I wonder what makes life worth living. Is it the people around you – your friends and family... Your job... Your dreams... Or merely knowing what you want to do, how you want to be known and where you want to be. Of course, life never finds a solution for you. In fact, never even lets you find a solution. And then life – the big four letter word – becomes bigger than yourself. You begin to fight with it and try to clobber it into a small dark obscure corner of your heart. And when your own life can’t understand you, not one among those friends and family can either. That is when you begin to realise, it is not your life that is in the dark obscure corner of your heart. It is you.

THE DELUGE...

Today was unlike any other day in my life. Today was special. Today, I felt the pangs of nostalgia strike me once again, only this time, of an immeasurable magnitude. The day began with the newspaper, a cup of Bournvita and instructions from amma to clean up my room. I had books strewn all around me. The clutter. The chaos. Was all this a reflection of my mind? I couldn’t answer for a feeling of being suffocated set in. Music can heal this mess, I presumed. With my PC playing songs from the movie ‘Swades’, I began with the intention of discarding unnecessary books and papers. The mistake that I made, ‘fortunately’, was that I had not defined the concept ‘unnecessary’.

Among the rubble were my LKG and UKG progress reports. My standard one report too – 497/500 yet I had managed only a Fifth rank! No way I should discard these, I convinced myself. Couple of note books followed – standard seven Geography and standard nine Hindi. I caressed those pages, hoping to revive a few fond memories. By my side were Physics texts – ninth, tenth, PUC and my favourite – Resnick, Walker and Halliday. “I lived and loved them all. Please amma, don’t force me to dispose them.”

“Fine… But of what use are these GK books now, when everything is available over the internet?” Amma was determined to make me part with half of my treasure as much as I was to safeguard them. “Appa got these from Delhi, more than 15years ago. These would stay.”

I had constructed a tower of Competition Success Reviews, Wisdoms, Chandamamas, Amar Chitra Kathas and Panchatantras. “My kids would read these,” I told amma.

“And all these books on the Bhagavad Gita?”

“Those I would read when I find time...”

“Hmm... Do what you want.” Amma knew and I did too, that not a square inch of paper was going to make it to the bin. She left me, while I sat waiting for the deluge of memories to flood my mind.

I flipped through the pages of my B.Sc Physics practical observation notebook – Newton’s Rings, Biprism, Ballistic Galvanometer... and my heart grew heavier. The calculations, the amount of time spent on them, the manipulated results... Shut them out, shut them out... I screamed. I closed the book and then, my eyes, waiting for the accustomed slide show of my college days. They whizzed past me, in rapid succession – the wooden stairs, giggling girls, basket ball court, noodles pakkoda... And I saw myself, singing ‘Yunhi chala chal’ with my friends... Friends, who had been by my side only yesterday and gone in different directions today… and perhaps never to meet again... The smell of wet mud, the parched earth, the hugs, the warmth, the mirth, the fun... All lost in time...

The rustle of a gift-wrapper brought me out of my séance. “To a lovely guide and philosopher,” read the card on the cover. I stared at it. The ice-breaker, the first SMS, the summer course – images crashed in. ‘Yeh jo des hai tera’ played mildly in the background. “The song makes me want to go back to where I belong – my land, my people,” I heard him say. “It’s a calling, I can feel it.” And within a few months, he left. “Do you still think of the incidents that unfolded 2-3 years back?” I asked him one day over email. His reply shook me violently, “Don’t remind me of my past...”

“Don’t remind me of my past...” I heard myself say today. “Don’t remind me...” A cold wave swept over my body, snapping me out of my reverie.

I held tightly the wrapper and observation book. “Amma, Ranjith would be appearing for Board exams this year. Handover my Physics texts to him. He'd need these more than I do... And the rest...will stay...”

THE 8 'FACT'ORS

Hi all..! I'm taking a li'l break from my stories, to bring to you tales about GG..! Thanks Subs for: 1. Tagging me 2. Making me write something more fun! :)

In the 8 Facts about Yourself, you share 8 things that your readers don’t know about you. Then at the end you tag at least 8 other bloggers to keep the fun going. Here are the rules.

RULES:
* Each blogger must post these rules first.
* Each blogger starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
* Bloggers that are tagged need to write on their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
* At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
* Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.****

F‘ACT’ 1 – I CAN ACT!

When I was 6years old, Appa brought home a video cassette of the Tamil film, Thiruvilayadal. I was hooked and drenched! It was around the same time that former Prime Minister of India, Rajiv Gandhi, was assassinated and announcements were flooding air-waves on cash awards for those who help capture Sivarasan and gang. Amma, appa and anna were having dinner when the announcement was on… I jumped, spontaneously, towards the television screen, raised my hands in the air and screamed… “Enna sonna, enna sonna… rendu lakshama..? Chokkaaaa Chokkaaa… andha rendum laksham enakke kadaikanamey… Chokkkaa… rendum laksham… rendu laksham… oiyo oiyo oiyo…” My parents were ultra-puzzled, almost speechless for few minutes at my imitation of Nagesh, untaught, yet exact. Till date, appa while appreciating Nagesh’s prowess would cite this incident to demonstrate the influence the actor has on kids and elders alike!

Several people have come up to me and have asked if I am Shruthi, Shyamali’s sister in the film Anjali! Weird coincidence, but we did look a lot alike when we were young. Amma was wondering the other day if Shruthi looks like me now!

I happened to be in a Gujarati dance for the Annual Day in school during my eighth grade. As my roommate aptly puts it – “two left feet is all that took for her to go into hiding.” My teachers couldn’t trace me out and I enjoyed this oblivion by taking shelter in the music room. After a few minutes, I learnt that this ‘music room group’ was staging a play for the Annual Day called, The Ballad of River Ganga. I decided to hang around, though not a part of anything. All of a sudden, there was utter gloom in the room. The ‘Kapila Maharishi’ had apparently fallen ill with just a few days to go for the celebrations. A replacement meant auditions - rightaway! We hundred kids were asked to increase our BPs and pretend to curse the person we hated the most in the world! Having fought with my brother almost every living second of my life, this feat wasn’t difficult. Within a few seconds I was selected! My classmates, seniors and juniors, even now, call me ‘Kapila’! And of course, I was in for the next Annual Day celebrations too! ;)

Later, I put this talent to some great use in college too! Coming up with convincing performances for not submitting assignments on time, bunking classes, covering up for my roomie… You get the point, rt? ;)

FACT 2

I cannot do any kind of driving, except perhaps, driving people crazy. Time now for a quick flashback. Appa chose an auspicious day to start my bicycle training sessions. He asked me not to look back but to keep peddling… peddling… peddling… After I had gone a few feet, I broke the rule, turned back, didn’t see my father behind me and the next image was that of a frightened me falling into the garbage bin! That was the first and last day I ever touched a bicycle in my life and resolved to never touch a bike too! Well… Car is an exception – you couldn’t fall into the bin! I got my DL when I was 18! Now it comes in so handy! Any photo ID proof required, I just flash it across! :D

FACT 3

I love cricket – to watch and to play though it has been 10 years since I touched the willow :( Appa taught me fast bowling – Yorkers and bouncers! And my bowling action used to resemble Ata-ur-Rehman’s! Games always brought in me a lot of joy – the excitement and challenge – amaaazing! Of course, during my teens, I became more interested in fast bowlers! ;) Shane Bond, Brett Lee, Laxmipathy Balaji, Shaun Pollock…

FACT 4

I nicknamed my teacher ‘Soya Beans’. I was 11 years old then! ;) I don’t repent for that, but crap, I got caught! I have been awarded several titles too but ‘Empty vessel’ is my favourite :D

Some special words from my family members –

My bro: Hey, you’re looking like a heroine!
Me: *On cloud 999*

Appa to his friend: Don’t take it easy. She can bowl.
Me: *Wowee* :D

FACT 5

My first film in the cinemas was either ‘Aboorva Sahodarargal’ or ‘Paati Sollai Thattaadhae’. I wish and pray it’s the former! My first adults film was when I was… ahem… 18… and I got to know it was ‘adults only’ sometime during the first scene! ;)

Me to friend: Arey, what’s in that ‘Guru’ film yaar? Everybody is talking about it…
Friend: Yeahhhhh… I knowwww… I wanna watch it yaar…
Me: Let’s go?
Friend: Now! Now!

Me to collegemate: Hey Arpi, we are gonna watch ‘The Guru’ yaar…
Collegemate: He he… Enjoy enjoy! *wink wink*

Me to lecturer: Ma’am, we are gonna watch ‘The Guru’ now…
Lecturer: Whaaaaaaaaaat? *blink blink*

Movie over. No comments. Back home.

Amma: Such a short movie? You are back so early. What film?
Me: Some English film.
Amma: Semma discovery. Enna English film?
Me: Err… Hmm… Uhh… ‘The… Guru’…
Amma: Guru-aa? Guru of what?
Me: Guru of… Err... Guru of… Gurus… Kaelvi kaekaadha ma :x

(Next morning)
Cousin: He he… Heard you watched ‘The Guru’ yesterday…
Bro: Whaaaat? Who watched ‘The Guru’? SHE WATCHED ‘THE GURU’? @$%!#$%

FACT 6

My earliest recollections of a Tamil TV serial is ‘Rayil Sneham’, starring Nizhalgal Ravi and Suchitra Krishnamoorthi. I remember an episode quite vividly when Suchitra would cook a meal for the first time. Nizhalgal Ravi would consume it without complaining, saying it’s fabulous. When Suchitra begins eating, she realises it’s too salty. At the age of 3, I was soooo wow-ed by Nizhalgal Ravi’s affection for Suchi in the serial. I immediately had a ‘karphanai’ friend, (I couldn’t pronounce karpanai when I was young, you see!). I called him Ravi ;) Of course it only lasted few months, but during my teens I was so anxious to know if I suffered from delusions of some sort when I was younger! That was later thwarted when my lecturer said her daughter has two imaginary friends! I was better… he he.. Just one!

Of course, my all-time fav serials include ‘Nizhal villaiyaatu’ and all the stories of ‘Marma Desam’.

FACT 7

One other fact is that my silence has often been misinterpreted. I’m silent when I’m very happy. I’m silent when I want to savour the moment. I’m silent when I’m wrong. I’m silent when I’m angry. I’m silent coz I’m like that. I’m silent just like that. So people tend to misunderstand my silence. It’s difficult to break this image of a ‘snob’ that others have spun around me! *Sigh*

And speaking of emotions, nostalgia is my favourite. Soothing pleasure and searing pain it brings to me all at once. Makes me want to revel in my past and dwell in my childhood.

FACT 8

Finally, I firmly believe in the existence of UFOs and ETs. C’mon, billions of stars, millions of galaxies, but one Earth only? And this explains the Sci-Fi movie buff that I am!


I'm done..!! :)
And my Bakri would be... Prabha..!!

THE SUPERFICIAL THINKER

I see the streetlamps burning during the day and not at night…
I walk on…

I see beggars… I see malnourished children… I see their eyes…
I walk on…

I see cow dung levelling my road and no tar in sight…
I walk on, yes, on it…

And I ask - “Why am I indifferent?”


The auction happened… The IPL is ‘happening’…
I remain silent…

Motorola mobiles are better than Samsung… What say?
I remain silent…

Marxism is in! What do u think?
I remain silent…

And I ask - “Why am I not opinionated?”


You’ll spoil your hair… Don’t apply colour…
So be it…

You are a retarded cynic… A disinterested soul…
So be it…

Disfluencies… Get rid of them…
So be it…

And I ask - “Why can’t I defend myself?”


One of the fundamental problems with me, by me and why only me, is that I am a superficial thinker… Ummm…

So be it… I remain silent… And walk on…

FOOTPRINTS IN TIME...

“Earlier pre-occupied… Now unoccupied…”

“And I think that’s a clever reply. You know what I mean by that, right?"

“A criticism, Mr. Creative Director?”

He nodded.

“But that is the truth,” I muttered, nonchalantly. Sitting on the rocks made me feel like one and his questions fell upon me like the restless waves.

“I am not asking you on how you intend to win the Nobel, just what you plan to pursue-”

I had had enough of this. “Do we always have to pursue something in our lives?” My intrusion shocked him. “Why can’t I just be a Lotus Eater in the land of Ullysseses?”

There was silence and piercing through it were his eyes, combating disbelief.

“You, Ms Idealist, are telling me that food will fall on our plates? That hard work and dedication are just myths? Then, what is life if we do not have our footprints etched on these sands?”

“Only the best ones get imprinted, CD, and the rest, are blown away by the breeze.” All the turbulence in my mind was culminating in this conversation. “To be good is never enough. You need to be the best.”

“With you, it always has to be all or nothing, isn’t it?”

“And if doing nothing is what makes me happy then let me do that.”

I knew CD too well, he wouldn’t give up. “What then, is the difference between man and beast?

“I don’t need to know.”

“So you’ve stopped learning as well?”

“How do you know if whatever you comprehend is the way it is meant to be understood?”

“A question for a question, Smriti? A workaholic in school, I remember you disagreed with the Wrong Man in Workers’ Paradise… After 8 years, you disagree on work? Is this one of your crazy pop-philosophies? Then I’ll tell you what, it’s flawed...”

“I opposed the story since I felt if you prefer work and work brings you more happiness, then why not be a workaholic?”

“So where did the workaholic Smriti go? And what else have you stopped ‘doing’?”

The rock was trapped by water. It had run behind the horizon all its life and now suffocated, it only longed to be freed.

“Physics, philosophy, anthropology, astrobiology, writing, dreaming, living…” I could go on and make myself feel worthless. “Nothing seems to make sense any more. I’m interested in nothing. I’m passionate about nothing…”

A fissure was forming fast on the rock…

“CD… How is it that some people know exactly what they want to do in life? Why is it that I am still searching for that one thing which would make me happy? What if I never find it all my life, would I continue being a Lotus Eater?”

“Let’s put it this way… Some people are just lucky. But for the rest of us – we get to explore. Really Smrits, should life be taken so seriously? Can’t we just live, love, learn, laugh and pass away?”

“But I intend to live on… Live on through my creation but even that would be drowned in the shadow of the best. There would be no footprint of mine, nothing to say I existed here once upon a time…”

Water had by now plunged into the crevice…

“See these striae on the rock? Notice how water has cut through it and left behind ridges… We are like the rock and our creation is the water flowing through us… We never know when, why and how we pass on our creations but they are etched in time just like these striations.”

I understood what he meant. It was time to create a footprint...a deep one!

TO THE ANGEL ABOARD 11E…

I see you every morning as I board the bus, 11E... Your eyes, your expressive eyes, caught my attention the first time... Your ethereal fingers danced in the air when you asked me to move aside amidst the jostling crowd and the roar of the bus... You were at once to me, my angel...

And how you prattle away, so animatedly! Does your teacher in school reprimand you for being so ‘talkative’? Winning hearts with your warm smile, brimming with confidence, you just love life, don’t you? Wish I could ask you these... But all I do is watch you, as you infuse into me a renewed spirit...

Then one day, you didn’t come... My heart fluttered... I tried to suppress the myriad thoughts that crept into my mind- “She is fine, she is fine...” I repeated to myself... But you didn’t come the next day too... and the day after that... I couldn’t ask your friends or get rid of those thoughts... “She’d come, wait,” I consoled myself... And this little nymph did come a week later, with a hanky between your fingers!

I saw you alight from the bus and help your brothers and sisters get down one-by-one... I looked up to read the name of your school – “Little Flower Convent.” You are God’s own child... I do not know your name, but you are to me, a girl who made peace with Him just through your silence... I love you my little angel...

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