That first time again

This was it. I had to do this. It has been a while, and I might sound like a horse, but I need to do this. For my self. For my peace of mind. For me to know, that I can do this. I squatted on the floor, placed my hands on my lap, straightened my back, closed my eyes and took a slow deep breath. As I breathed in I took in the ring of the electronic shruti. The amalgam of three basic notes. I separated them, unconsciously and chose my note. And synced my voice with the shruti and sang my first note after a long time. I felt my vocal cords vibrate and my voice surrounded me. I felt myself swaying as if I was swimming in the tone of my note. I was almost out of breath but I held on until the end. Then I took another slow deep breath. The silence was deafening. I sang the next note until my breath gave way. Then the third, and the fourth and the fifth. I was singing again.

Strangers

A single drop of sweat ran down her temple and into the shallow cave under her jaw. The orange street light and the white light inside the bus reflected against that single line of sweat, accentuating her slender, oval face. An angry finger wiped it off clumsily. Little fringes of her hair stuck to her forehead, undisturbed by the rhythmic bobbing of her head. I couldn’t help being thankful for the humidity that day.

I was on my way back from work. On an impulse I had stopped for pani puri at the roadside chaat stall outside my office. Sairam’s stall was as usual swarming with young professionals refreshing themselves from a hard Monday’s work. I had to squeeze and push my way through to reach the panipuri wala. But I was in no hurry to leave. The traffic on the road didn’t encourage me to add my bike to it. I was rolling up my sleeves when the BEST bus came to a halt in front of the stall. It was so close to the pavement that the tires almost brushed against the concrete bricks. The bus was packed with the rush hour crowd. With every lurch of the bus, the crowd inside moved in inertia like a tribal dance.

She was a peculiar sight. I don’t know what was peculiar about her but there was something about her that caught my attention. She was seated in the front of the bus at a window seat. She had earphones on and an elbow stuck out of the window. She had long wavy hair that was tied in a pony tail at the nape of her neck. Tiny fringes of curly hair sprung out on her forehead. She was fair. There was a slight unconscious smile lingering on her lips. I couldn’t tell what her eyes looked like because they were hidden behind fat rimmed glasses. She was singing along with the music playing in her ears. I could see her only between a thickening layer of heads. But I saw that her eyes were shut, her head bobbed and her fingers tapped together in rhythm –

tap – tap tap – tap
tap – tap tap – tap

I suddenly lost my appetite. I asked for a glass of water instead. When the man gave it to me, I made my way out of the crowd around the stall. She had opened her eyes, and looked at the traffic jam ahead as if she had just noticed it. Silly girl, I said in my mind and shook my head as I poured some water into my cupped hand and splashed it across my face. I needed to cool my face badly. As I opened my eyes and looked up at the bus, still stationary. I noticed she was looking at me. She was longingly looking at the steel tumbler in my hand. Her eyes slowly shifted to my face and suddenly my face felt very hot. She looked at me with piteous eyes as if to ask something of me. A strange energy rose up in my stomach, past my chest. But as it reached my throat it came out in a sudden laugh.

I panicked. I knew that was the wrong reaction. And it wasn’t even what I wanted to do. I waited for her reaction. She looked at me one long second and giggled under her breath, a little embarrassed. I relaxed. The bus lurched further and suddenly I realized the bus was going to move. For the wildest second I considered getting on the bus. But I didn’t. And walked to my bike. And left.

The Addiction

A low beep was heard at the end of the room. The silence that followed was tantalizing. They looked at each other. They both knew what it meant. The elder leapt at the sound and ran across the room to grab the coveted seat. The other was left groping at her dress in order to prevent the inevitable. It was a matter of seconds, everything was a blur. All they could see was the cursed seat. Then there was that music, that evil music that can enchant, enthrall and captivate. It lasts for not more than 5 seconds, but it is a clear sign of the pleasures that await as the computer comes alive.

The elder had long seated herself, while the younger stood by the seat sulking.

“Why must you always sit at the computer when I turn it on to do my work?”

The elder gives a gleeful laugh, “Because I’m addicted. Don’t you know that?”

“Mom, come on! Haven’t you played Solitaire enough already!”

Sunday Morning

“There's someone at the door.”

“I’ll get it. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Early on a Sunday morning, fresh sun was streaming in through the open windows in the living room. It brightened up the whole house. The air was cool. She wanted to turn down the fan. Winter was on its way. Not yet, she thought, and pulled up the blanket around her. But sleep had left her. She stared blankly at the curtained window, tracing the yellow lines of the embroidered flowers on the red cloth. She could hear him talking to someone at the door. She wondered who it could be. What time was it? The clock was on the wall above her head. She would have to get up. She groped around the bed for her cell phone. She couldn’t find it. So she gave up and buried herself under the blanket again.

“Its 3 AM. I thought they were going to stay over.”

“What a mess! Come help me clean up.”

“It can wait.”

She smiled at the memory of how his voice tickled her ear. She turned over and closed her eyes. She felt his fingers run down her spine, her skin tingled. She felt him blow a strand of hair away from her face. She took a deep breath in. Last night was the best. She heard the door close in the hall. He was coming. They had slept may be an hour ago. But she didn’t feel sleepy. She felt restless. She wanted to get up and do something. But her body wouldn’t move.

“Bloody milk man. 7 AM on a Sunday! Do these people have no scruples?”

She sat up on the bed, “I’m not sleepy. Do you want some coffee?”

“Arey! You haven’t slept at all last night. Come, get some sleep.”

She didn’t want to resist when his hands pulled her down on the bed. His hands automatically circled her waist and her legs automatically intertwined with his.

“You have to call mom.”

“Shut up” he whispered back.

“We should wake up before noon, I’m not sure when your parents said they were going to come.”

“Will you please shut up and go to sleep?”

The temple bells were ringing for the morning aarti. The sun was trying to peep through the curtains that were fluttering in the wind. She breathed in the comfort and closed her eyes.

“Shall we just order for lunch? I don’t want to cook.”

“hmm”

“I hope my parents won’t land before 4 or something. This place is a mess.”

“hmm”

“Last night, the guys were just...”

“hmm”

He looked over at her face, “You’re asleep aren’t you?”

“hmm”

Home is where the Heart is

The wind was beginning to blow and the air was getting cooler. So, I picked up my sweater and took some money in order to buy coffee. On my way out I looked out the window to check if there was light enough outside to read. It was about 7 pm/ 19 hours and the sun was just beginning to kiss the trees good bye. I quickly made my way out of the dorm, bought a cup of coffee from the kiosk and headed for the little park next to my dorm that had been teasing my imagination for a while. It was a quiet little place, unkempt and ignored. Nobody seemed to go there. I saw a couple of rabbits hopping around nibbling. I tried to approach them but they ran away. So I left them alone.

I found a seat perfectly situated in the corner of the park but with decent sunlight still streaming in from the gaps in the trees. I took out my book and began to read. A little while later I felt a sudden movement under the bench, when I looked behind it was one of the rabbits that had just brushed past my legs. I was amazed. Within just a few minutes the rabbits had gotten used to my presence so much that they didn’t mind hopping past me. I couldn’t help smiling to myself as I sipped my coffee and went to my book.

I felt comfortable. The air was getting chillier by the minute and the light was quietly fading out, but I felt comfortable. As if, I was one of the bushes in the corner, or one of the rabbits. It smelt of damp earth. With the taste of strong German coffee swirling in my Indian mouth, the soft warmth it brought inside me against the chilly wind around me, it felt like home.

Dead Branches

He was sitting on a pile of bricks in a corner, while the others were busy making arrangements for the night. Today, this was their home. A thin wall divided their world from the noisy railway station behind. The make-shift tent with two staffs and a large black plastic sheet was now put up. The woman dragged a small portable stove and some utensils under the tent and began to prepare dinner. A man joined her under the tent and began stitching a tear in his pant.

Trains kept passing by, ruffling the plastic sheet. It created a huge racket but nobody seemed to notice it. He sat on the pile of bricks because every time a local train passed, it made the wind rush over him. It made his long brown curls fly back. It thrilled him. There was a pile of dead branches that lay ahead. He noticed that if he could get on top of those branches he would almost be able to touch the trains that pass by. He jumped off his seat and walked towards the branches. The tar road under his bare feet was hot in the afternoon sun. Nobody saw him walk up to the branches. He made sure he did not catch their attention.

He gripped the nearest branch and shook it. Satisfied with its strength, he reached out for another branch a little further up. He looked towards the man and the woman. They were not looking. He gingerly placed a foot on a thick twig. It bent a little under the weight of his leg but he didn’t notice. He picked up the other leg and was about to place it on one of the branches, when suddenly the twig gave way and his leg got caught among the branches. In a state of panic he let both his hands go and fell backwards on the ground. He felt the twig cut open his skin and he saw the blood oozing out. Before the sense of pain could set in, he felt a cold chill run up his spine. He couldn’t open his eyes because of the sun blazing above him and the searing pain from his leg made it difficult to breathe. Both his legs were up in the air. One stuck between the branches and the other dangling over another branch.

It wasn’t until the woman came to examine the scene that he realized that he was screaming his lungs out. He had never felt such pain in all of his five years of life. He held his hands up hoping his mother would taking him into her arms and make the pain go away. Instead she pulled him up by one hand and disentangled his leg from the twigs with the other. Once he was on his feet, she slapped him hard across his face and yelled at him for making mischief. She then left him to tend to his wound and went back under the plastic sheet.

The child learnt an important lesson that day: Never cry for help if you get in to trouble.

The Truth

The string tied to her index finger,
She draws it out of the spool at her will.
She loops it, folds it, stretches it, breaks it,
Then fastens it again to her finger.

I came and she placed me gently
On the wobbly string.
I wobbled. Adjusted. Made my niche,
And then, grew too big for the string.

Now I stand beside her,
Plucking the string she preserves,
Pulling the string from her,
Forcing my will upon it.

And yet the string is not mine
Nor hers, we both know.
But it lies there between us,
Forcing us to hurt each other.