It was 2nd of August 1990. The Iraqi tanks swerved towards Kuwait in the early hours of the morning. Surrounding them were trucks full of sleepy Iraqi soldiers from the “Popular Army”. Though they were not really popular in Iraq nor would they be accepted by Kuwaitis in the near future. At best, they were a bunch of poorly trained soldiers who had been handed a few weapons and were commanded to loot, plunder, rape and kill.
Colonel Moosa was handed one such division of rogues. Looking at the heavy eyed lethargic asses in the slow moving trucks, he cursed his bad luck to be assigned to command them. He was not sure what Saddam Hussein had in his mind but believed completely in the reasons behind the upcoming assault. The bastards had it coming. Lowering oil prices like that and then disrupting our weak economy. If that was not enough the Kuwaities had the audacity to demand for their money spent in saving them from the Iranian steam roller. And any ways was not Kuwait once a part of Iraq. We are just about to take over what is rightly ours, Moosa convinced himself.
ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMM………….the deafening sound of the first Iraqi fighter planes passed above the trucks, which would initiate the seven months of agony and destruction on the now resting Kuwaitis.
And Destruction it was. The whole city was bombed. The buildings destroyed. The airports shattered. Parliamentary institutions burnt. The monuments ravaged. Play grounds and recreational centers were ransacked. International phone lines were cut. Those that did not suit their purposes were torched. Even mosques and places of worship were not spared. The economy was in doldrums as Iraqis went about burning oil wells and turning one of the most prosperous nations into tatters.
Some locals escaped the torture and ran for their lives to neighboring countries. Dejected expatriates came back home to their families losing out on every penny they saved. Some stayed back seeing their rights being abused every single day. Women raped. Children killed. Men grief-stricken with the burning images of their loved ones. The methods used to torture Kuwaities were devilish. They included fracturing limbs and ribs, administration of electric shocks, burning naked body parts, pouring acid into the eyes eventually leading to blindness, subjecting victims to mock trials and no medical attention to the ailing Kuwaities. All these outrageous acts occurred in a span of 7 months but it took the Iraqis only 4 hours to take over the whole of Kuwait. The weak Kuwaiti army could not pose any resistance to the mighty Iraqi one.
In four hours, Colonel Moosa and his bunch of thugs had reached Shuwaikh, an industrial area wherein all major ports as well as offices are located. It contained a Friday market at Al-Rai place which used to start on Thursday in the afternoon and went on till Friday.
As the trucks took a groaning halt, the soldiers jumped out of them and started shooting haphazardly at the well furnished offices. The whole area had been vacated by the locals after the news of the defeat had reached them. After realizing that there was almost no one in the area to be shot, the soldiers started searching for any valuable object they could get their hands on. And they found cash, artifacts, new and used goods, clothes, material, furniture, carpets, animals, antiques and souvenirs which were put into the trucks. They busted each and every shop and then burned it.
At the far end of the area stood a lavish Car Showroom in the name of Osman Rahmani. A dealer in automobiles and also an agent for companies like Ferrari, Jaguar, Dahitsu and BMW. The swanky cars could be seen from far, standing neatly in order, waiting to be taken. Some of the soldiers broke it open and were amazed to see a humongous showroom with at least 50 high class adrenalin-pumping beauties.
“Is this all for us?” asked an amazed Saqib, one from the popular Army.
“Yes, you ass, this one for you, that one for me and Rameez you can take this…”Sohel laughed hysterically at their fortune.
Rameez,a sly young boy stood silently at a corner ,his eyes on the beautiful spectacle but his mind elsewhere, “Don’t you think we should check for cash here, a man having so many babies must have plenty of cash piled in his office”.
So the search started. They walked around the cars and broke open one by one all the doors to find the safe. Sohel entered a cabin which was left in hurry with papers all around and a messed up wooden desk with photos and desk toys all lying unattended. A motivational poster in the cabin said “Winners Never Cheat” in Arabic which Sohel promptly tore off. The grand desk was ably matched by a grander chair all made of Rosewood, the finest wood in the world. A look of the cabin indicated that it belonged to a person who believed in conventional products as opposed to the latest technology gadgets.
And there behind the chair was the old harmless looking Safe.
“Here it is ,here it is”, Sohel called others as they came running to find a grey colored rectangular strongbox cast from steel. The door and the body of the safe were clung tightly to each other. Sohel first tried to push the door open with its handle when Rameez called on “Donkey, first look for the key”
Sohel, though hurt by his own stupidity, shot back, “You are a donkey, and do you think the bastard would leave the key here for us to open”.
“Shot it then, Himaar”, said Rameez.And all the three soldiers started pumping bullets on the poor safe. Nothing Happened. So, they tried shooting it from different angles, aiming at the key-hole. The safe had turned black with smoke emitting from its exterior but refused to budge.
“This is not the right way; let’s hit it hard with a sharp object, an axe or something”, Sohel spoke, looking everywhere to find something.
“Are u crazy? Saqib staggered, replied, “Where in the world will we find that? Look at the time. The Colonel would be waiting for us. Any ways this safe looks too old to have anything in it”.
“Grapes are sour, you go if you want but I am going to open up this devil”, a determined Sohel answered.
=================================================================
Colonel Moosa looked at his watch, it was 4.30 p.m. The instructions were to be at the Dasman palace by 6.00. The journey had tired him. He ordered all the soldiers to stop the looting and start sitting back in the army trucks with all that they had garnered.
=================================================================
Meanwhile the three soldiers started hammering the safe with sharp and heavy objects, which they found in a hardware shop nearby. Two more joined in to help but the bloody safe was resolute. “Fuck…Fuck..Fuck” sweared Rameez in rage, pounding the safe blow after blow with a very heavy axe.
“Stop it”,Sohel said finally, “This is not working. There is a shayataan in this, we need welding equipment. I will get it”. And he ran from the cabin.
Welding is used to join two metals but as there were dents on the safe due to repeated blows; Sohel wanted to burn and melt it for ease in breaking through. The soldiers found a Gas Metal Arc welder, a heavy equipment which required four of them to pick up. They brought the machine to the far end office and amidst the cars to finally the cabin, entirely exhausted.
Sohel who had received moderate training in welding when he was fifteen started burning the dent with the flame. “This will take 10 minutes” he claimed as the sparks flew from the Safe.
=================================================================
Meanwhile, Moosa checked the trucks one by one filled with looted artifacts. But he saw one truck’s driver seat vacant. He walked to it to find some soldiers sitting behind.
“Where is the driver, we have to leave”
“Don’t know sir, infact there are five missing”
“Find them, you have 5 minutes” as he checked his watch showing 4.50 p.m.
=================================================================
“Sohel, leave it. This is not taking us anywhere”, Saqib spoke finally after 10 minutes of welding dint melt a single dent.
Sohel stopped the welding and could not believe that after an hour they could not come even close to opening it.
Rameez was quiet sitting in a corner but dint speak a word.
“Are you saying that we took over the whole of Kuwait but could not open a single fucking safe”
“So what the fuck can we do, we are just wasting time here.Fuckin wasted an hour on this fuckin safe.”,Saqib retorted.
Sohel containing his anger, spoke “Let me try once. Just once.”
He Looked at Rameez who was fuming with anger “Rameez,Can u just keep hammering the safe while I try to melt it” =================================================================
Moosa finally gave the orders to move the trucks to Dasman palace. But it pissed him to see one lonely truck still standing without the driver in the seat. A soldier came running from the truck.
“Where is the fucking driver?”
“There, the soldier pointed to Osman Rahmanis Office,”They are opening a safe”.
“A safe? What is in it?”
“They don’t know, but they think its going to be valuable”
“And who came to told them that, how much time they were in there”
“One hour, I think”
“One fucking hour and they could not open a safe”
Moosa started marching with fury towards the office with the lone soldier following him helplessly. What he saw pissed him more. Amidst the smoke, the sparks, the frustrated soldiers, and an unfortunate safe being the target of their aggression, he could sense defeat.
“What the fuck do you think you all are doing?”
All of them stopped their work and stood in a line. One managed to speak.
“Sir, we are opening the safe”
“For the last one hour. If you could not open it why didn’t you just leave it”.
“Sir, it would be matter of shame, we take the whole country in few hours but can’t open a simple safe”
That’s irked Moosa.He had not thought of it this way. “Did you shoot at it?”
“Yes, sir”
“You even tried the hammering?”
“Yes”
“You tried welding also as I can see?”
“No positive result, Sir”.
“When u can’t break it, fuckin burn it and leave”.Moosa declared and left the cabin.
As per orders petrol was splashed at the safe and was burned. The soldiers left for the waiting truck one by one but not before giving one glance to the unconquerable safe.
Sohel, the last one to leave scowled and said, “Shayataan”
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Part 2
It was only on February 26 1991, the Iraqi occupation of Kuwait ended. The Desert Storm unleashed by the American forces routed the Iraqis within 42 days. On that day, a new life emerged in Kuwait. The flag of free Kuwait was raised in a celebration. Overjoyed groups of people gathered in suburbs and city ecstatically, congratulating each other with tears of happiness and relief. Portraits of Saddam Hussein were torn; Iraqi flags were ripped down from public buildings and replaced with Kuwaiti ones. By the next day, the celebrations had reached a fever pitch. The delighted residents thronged the streets, cheering, clapping, blowing car horns, waving flags and carrying large posters of the Amir and the Crown Prince .Kuwaitis danced in the streets in gay abandon, thanking the allies.
Osman Rahmani, the Dealer of Cars had narrowly escaped capture by the Iraqis and had returned to his country as soon as semblance of normalcy was reestablished.
Overcome by emotion, he dropped to his knees and thanked Allah Taala as his forehead touched the precious soil. The worst lay behind him and now he only had to look up. He walked through the streets of Shuwaikh only to find almost every shop burnt and destroyed. He could not distinguish his office from far and was scared to think about the damage done there. As he entered his showroom, he found it to be absolutely vacant, minus his beautiful cars. The Iraqis had used his cars till the time they were in Kuwait. Some must have been taken to Iraq, some left abandoned on the streets, Osman pondered as he ascertained the loss.
Dejected, he walked to his cabin and was appalled to see it completely burned. These Bastards, Osman imprecated in his breath. He had spent a huge amount of money to make this cabin and had sat for hours till the construction was complete to his satisfaction. All that was in vain. Tears in his eyes, he walked to his safe which had been burnt completely. He tried to open it with its handle, sure to find it empty. But what is this? The safe was tightly shut. He could not believe it. The safe had bullets lodged in its body, it showed dents which could only happen from heavy hammering, it was totally black in the front due to burning but it had not given in.Osman could not believe his luck. He almost laughed sensing the frustration the Iraqi assholes must have gone through.
“So you were in my country for seven months but could not open my safe, so much for your arrogance you bastards, as he shoved the key into the safe.
Click…. Click….then Osman with an awaited breath held the handle as the safe opened gently.
The contents in the safe were unharmed and oblivious of the assault on them.Osman picked up the daily collection money of the last days of the month and important documents of his office
He still could not believe it. He checked the Safe again. Wanting to know where he bought this safe from and its country of origin, he moved his hands all over the safe searching for the make. And he was surprised.
He never thought products made by this country were so reliable though he loved the culture, cuisine and the people.
You know what country the safe was from???
Yes, it was our very own INDIA.
You know who manufactured that product???
Yes, It was our very own GODREJ.
Osman smiled as he shut the locker again. He had to replace it but already knew where he will go to buy the safe. Being a frequent traveler, he also decided which country he will visit the next time after sorting out things here, the country he started respecting, which was India. Finally he had a reason to smile after a long long time.
(A true story though the characters are fictitious for the sake of dramatization. But the safe was owned by a car dealer and some Iraqis did try a lot to open it up. For us Indians, I guess this is one more story which should make us proud. We may not have a Microsoft or a Toyota but we sure have a Godrej.)
Saturday, November 3, 2007
A Traveler’s Guide from VT to Nariman Point-Part 2
Towards Nariman Point
I pass by the bus depot surrounded by more people, but this time sober than they were in the trains. As if suddenly the unruly beasts have changed into serene beings. At times the queue to get in the bus is so long that it reaches the VT Station itself. This serpentine line grows by the second. So even if the double deckers reach the depot after a trip with remarkable regularity, it doesn’t really help. Indicating that no matter how efficient our systems are going to be, Bombay will finally burst, that is if it hasn’t yet.
What amazes me more is the patience shown by the office goers who don’t mind waiting for another 10 minutes for their chance to get in these gentle buses.
I really don’t have the patience for the bus.Infact after the terrible torment I go through everyday I think I deserve a ride in the taxi.
Hence I move towards the unofficial taxi stand ahead of the depot.
So the crowd which has come out from the latest train gets divided into two, the patient go for the buses and the impatient go for the taxis. To reach that unofficial stand where you can see the taxiwalas calling “point, point, point”, one has to pass through a road which connects the Ballard estate and VT.
No other road can give you a proof of what mob mentality is. I mean a second earlier people were waiting obediently for the traffic lights to turn green and suddenly they start walking showing absolute disregard to the traffic norms. Speeding cars, giant buses or gigantic trucks…. all be damned! When the crowd marches, the driver has to take the weight off his feet from the accelerator, exhaling in exasperation.
These Taxis are made for 4 but they push in 5 people for that extra 10 ruppees.And no, it doesn’t come for free. These Taxi walas have to pay the “Maamas” 200 every day collectively.Infact what’s amusing is that they know every Maamaa and where he is posted for the week.
But one should see them driving. They are our very own Micheal Schumacher’s. One lap means leaving the commuters to Nariman Point and be back to VT for another round. Well they can’t afford a pit stop. Even though they really need one, most of the cars are in pretty bad shape. At times one has to hold the door as it can’t be closed.
But they rule the roads there. No one messes with them. Red is just a color, doesn’t mean anything more. Maamaas have been paid to look the other way. They also treat the passengers as if they are doing a favour on them. They demand their ten rupees and frown at you if you ask them to stop midway.
And when u start going regularly with them they know u by face, some ask you why dint you come on a certain Thursday. If you see them most look from the underworld, shabbily dressed, chest hair dirtier than that of Anil Kapoor, chewing paan ,their beetle stained teeth can be seen when they growl “Kya Hai Be?” to the one who stares at their boldness. Zero chivalry to the opposite sex and more affection to their kind and there is a reason behind it.
Aashik, one I befriended says “Nakhra Karti Hai, Yeh Officewali”.
The taxi passes through D.N. Road, a very important arterial road of the city. This one road has so many beautiful buildings that you sense an architectural rhythm in them, the beats given by the hawkers and the cadence provided by the honking cars. And it’s the Flora Fountain which acts as the Chief Conductor. For you it may only be a work of art but for me it’s a symphony being created everyday.
At D.N. road one can find everything, right from books to cd’s to belts to toys to umbrellas to cameras to sophisticated electronic goods ….trust me EVERYTHING.
It’s like a small treasure hunt you are having in those ground floor alleys and the stalls lining them.
Usually on a Saturday afternoon I take a walk through this street to check on some books and DVD’s.
The DVD guy takes a look at me and whispers “Do u want this?”, flaunting a Dvd of scantily dress women. “There is more to it” he chuckles. A smile from me tells him that my theory is over. So we get down to business, searching for some meaningful movies packed in three.Dont expect all the movies to work. They won’t. But it’s still worth the money (50 rupees) u r paying. And never never buy games from them. They never work. These guys are paid 200 everyday and a bonus if the selling is good. Moreover they have to pay to the Policemen, the BMC and surprisingly even to some NGOs for the blatant piracy.
The books are definitely a better bargain. But again some pages would be missing. Your bad luck if they are at the end of the book. If you are tired of the walk, have the sugarcane juice there. Trust me it’s the best I have had in whole of Bombay.
The car whizzes past a no of banks and a lot of shopping stores like Globus (check the ties there, good for less), Fab India (the only problem with Fab India is that everyone knows it’s a Fab India Kurta you are wearing) .What I don’t want you to miss is an Agiary on the way where they have two bearded men carved on the stone having the lower body of a horse with wings and facing each other. And for a date in Town, buy fresh flowers from Prakash Florist.
Now we finally reach Flora Fountain which I told you about.
It’s a Stone Fountain erected in 1964 for the then Governor of Bombay. Made at a princely sum of 47000 rupees. What is disheartening is the state of this beautiful structure. The pretty ladies carved on the marble are smiling unaware of the stains on their white fabric and oblivious of the fact that the fountain doesn’t work.
Now the Taxi takes a road between the incompetent High court and inept University of Bombay.
One can see the Rajabai tower, at a height of 280 feet, located in the confines of the university. Do you know that the entire cost of Rajabai Tower was paid by Premchand Roychand, a prosperous broker who also founded the Bombay Stock Exchange, on the condition that the tower is named after his mother Rajabai? Rajabai was blind and a staunch follower of Jain religion. She was supposed to consume her dinner before evening. The evening bell of the tower helped her to know the time without anyone’s help.
About the High Court, well its 562 feet long and 189 feet wide so it’s real huge with 60 sanctioned judges and a record of 3-4 lakhs cases judged every year and more than that pending.
Right opposite is the Oval ground where one can see budding youngsters vying for a place in the Indian cricket team. Till 1997, Oval ground was poorly maintained and visited by drug peddlers, prostitutes and beggars. Then a group called ORCA (Oval Residents Cooperage Association) won the case against the government, took over the charge, build a fence, a jogging course along the periphery and most importantly a concrete lane through the ground for smooth thoroughfare.
On the far end of the Oval Ground once stood The Vengsarkar Elf Club. I still remember I had come back disappointed after not being selected. You know in Bombay at one point in time there are 50000 cricketers who dream of playing in the national team. (I heard my coach saying that figure after a net practice session).
Then some turn to B.Com.Some to B.SC.Some realize they aren’t really that good. Finally left are a few boys who study cricket.
Every year even their hope diminishes a little, their bones creak a little, the girlfriends who shared the dream of being there till the end leave them, their friends pat the backs but also shrug their own shoulders while smoking, the families who had pushed them into cricket beg them to leave the bats at home and finally they themselves raise their finger to indicate they are Out. In the process they kill their dreams and live another life.
But now when one sees the Dhoni and his boys winning the T20….the feeling of “what-could-it-have-been” does play in their mind, the dream still runs in their sleeps.I again look at those innocent beings practising so religiously and ponder over their future.
The Taxi has reached the intersection where we see a huge line of people waiting for the UAE embassy to open. I see the frustration in the eyes of every Indian as he shields himself from the sun with a newspaper or a plastic bag. I mean to be treated that way in your own country is sad but maybe its just a foretell as to what will happen to them in Gulf .This is the closest you can feel to what Indians felt in British Rule. So if you want to undergo that.”Saala, Mere Desh Mein Mujhe Khada Rakha Hai”feeling, please join the queue.
Some are waiting from 8 am for the embassy to open. One can see two policemen trying to keep this line in order and also looking for someone who would be eager to grease their palms to go ahead .I see one fair Arab watchman holding an umbrella, watching each and every Indian in the line with disdain.
At exactly 9, a tiny window opens of the embassy to accept the certificates and charge the to-be-rich-in dirham-public 1500 per certificate for endorsement. Some have to go back for another round of attestation which they missed. First the ladies would get a chance even if they just happened to know where the embassy is (how unfair!) and then maybe the poorer sex would be lucky.
The taxi takes a jerk as the signal turns green. I pass by Mantralaya.The less said about this place the better. I have walked through the corridors of Mantralaya and it reeks of power but also mixed with it is the stench of corruption. The security is real tight and again poor people are harassed who may want to visit the various departments for help. To enter it first you have to stand in a long line with a chit mentioning your name and whom you want to meet. After that you join another long line where you are checked briskly by some gruff hands before you go in. so it may take almost an hour before you actually enter the gates.
The Peons and Staff Members are real Bastards.They stare at you for a while, and then leisurely come to you, take you to a corner ,their dirty hands on your back, tell you the deal like a good salesman also mentioning that’s the only way it can be done, smile at you waiting for your response. If you show no interest, they may make your life difficult but then that’s a price to pay for being honest. Infact most of the systems are such that you have to end up shelling out something because you just can’t afford to abide by the rules.
When you come out of the Mantralaya robbed not only of money but also a little self respect for having ended up bribing (when you really did not want to ),don’t forget to look at our Flag fluttering on the Building to complete the irony of the situation.
My taxi passes through the Shipping Corporation of India indicating we have reached the first lane of the place I love the most. I heave a sigh of relief. I can breathe the fresh corporate air. I can see the ties flowing in the soft wind,i can see the Merc’s and the Bmw’s and the powerful men inside it with a folded Economic times by thier arms.
Nariman Point is Here, Folks…..
(To be Continued).....
I pass by the bus depot surrounded by more people, but this time sober than they were in the trains. As if suddenly the unruly beasts have changed into serene beings. At times the queue to get in the bus is so long that it reaches the VT Station itself. This serpentine line grows by the second. So even if the double deckers reach the depot after a trip with remarkable regularity, it doesn’t really help. Indicating that no matter how efficient our systems are going to be, Bombay will finally burst, that is if it hasn’t yet.
What amazes me more is the patience shown by the office goers who don’t mind waiting for another 10 minutes for their chance to get in these gentle buses.
I really don’t have the patience for the bus.Infact after the terrible torment I go through everyday I think I deserve a ride in the taxi.
Hence I move towards the unofficial taxi stand ahead of the depot.
So the crowd which has come out from the latest train gets divided into two, the patient go for the buses and the impatient go for the taxis. To reach that unofficial stand where you can see the taxiwalas calling “point, point, point”, one has to pass through a road which connects the Ballard estate and VT.
No other road can give you a proof of what mob mentality is. I mean a second earlier people were waiting obediently for the traffic lights to turn green and suddenly they start walking showing absolute disregard to the traffic norms. Speeding cars, giant buses or gigantic trucks…. all be damned! When the crowd marches, the driver has to take the weight off his feet from the accelerator, exhaling in exasperation.
These Taxis are made for 4 but they push in 5 people for that extra 10 ruppees.And no, it doesn’t come for free. These Taxi walas have to pay the “Maamas” 200 every day collectively.Infact what’s amusing is that they know every Maamaa and where he is posted for the week.
But one should see them driving. They are our very own Micheal Schumacher’s. One lap means leaving the commuters to Nariman Point and be back to VT for another round. Well they can’t afford a pit stop. Even though they really need one, most of the cars are in pretty bad shape. At times one has to hold the door as it can’t be closed.
But they rule the roads there. No one messes with them. Red is just a color, doesn’t mean anything more. Maamaas have been paid to look the other way. They also treat the passengers as if they are doing a favour on them. They demand their ten rupees and frown at you if you ask them to stop midway.
And when u start going regularly with them they know u by face, some ask you why dint you come on a certain Thursday. If you see them most look from the underworld, shabbily dressed, chest hair dirtier than that of Anil Kapoor, chewing paan ,their beetle stained teeth can be seen when they growl “Kya Hai Be?” to the one who stares at their boldness. Zero chivalry to the opposite sex and more affection to their kind and there is a reason behind it.
Aashik, one I befriended says “Nakhra Karti Hai, Yeh Officewali”.
The taxi passes through D.N. Road, a very important arterial road of the city. This one road has so many beautiful buildings that you sense an architectural rhythm in them, the beats given by the hawkers and the cadence provided by the honking cars. And it’s the Flora Fountain which acts as the Chief Conductor. For you it may only be a work of art but for me it’s a symphony being created everyday.
At D.N. road one can find everything, right from books to cd’s to belts to toys to umbrellas to cameras to sophisticated electronic goods ….trust me EVERYTHING.
It’s like a small treasure hunt you are having in those ground floor alleys and the stalls lining them.
Usually on a Saturday afternoon I take a walk through this street to check on some books and DVD’s.
The DVD guy takes a look at me and whispers “Do u want this?”, flaunting a Dvd of scantily dress women. “There is more to it” he chuckles. A smile from me tells him that my theory is over. So we get down to business, searching for some meaningful movies packed in three.Dont expect all the movies to work. They won’t. But it’s still worth the money (50 rupees) u r paying. And never never buy games from them. They never work. These guys are paid 200 everyday and a bonus if the selling is good. Moreover they have to pay to the Policemen, the BMC and surprisingly even to some NGOs for the blatant piracy.
The books are definitely a better bargain. But again some pages would be missing. Your bad luck if they are at the end of the book. If you are tired of the walk, have the sugarcane juice there. Trust me it’s the best I have had in whole of Bombay.
The car whizzes past a no of banks and a lot of shopping stores like Globus (check the ties there, good for less), Fab India (the only problem with Fab India is that everyone knows it’s a Fab India Kurta you are wearing) .What I don’t want you to miss is an Agiary on the way where they have two bearded men carved on the stone having the lower body of a horse with wings and facing each other. And for a date in Town, buy fresh flowers from Prakash Florist.
Now we finally reach Flora Fountain which I told you about.
It’s a Stone Fountain erected in 1964 for the then Governor of Bombay. Made at a princely sum of 47000 rupees. What is disheartening is the state of this beautiful structure. The pretty ladies carved on the marble are smiling unaware of the stains on their white fabric and oblivious of the fact that the fountain doesn’t work.
Now the Taxi takes a road between the incompetent High court and inept University of Bombay.
One can see the Rajabai tower, at a height of 280 feet, located in the confines of the university. Do you know that the entire cost of Rajabai Tower was paid by Premchand Roychand, a prosperous broker who also founded the Bombay Stock Exchange, on the condition that the tower is named after his mother Rajabai? Rajabai was blind and a staunch follower of Jain religion. She was supposed to consume her dinner before evening. The evening bell of the tower helped her to know the time without anyone’s help.
About the High Court, well its 562 feet long and 189 feet wide so it’s real huge with 60 sanctioned judges and a record of 3-4 lakhs cases judged every year and more than that pending.
Right opposite is the Oval ground where one can see budding youngsters vying for a place in the Indian cricket team. Till 1997, Oval ground was poorly maintained and visited by drug peddlers, prostitutes and beggars. Then a group called ORCA (Oval Residents Cooperage Association) won the case against the government, took over the charge, build a fence, a jogging course along the periphery and most importantly a concrete lane through the ground for smooth thoroughfare.
On the far end of the Oval Ground once stood The Vengsarkar Elf Club. I still remember I had come back disappointed after not being selected. You know in Bombay at one point in time there are 50000 cricketers who dream of playing in the national team. (I heard my coach saying that figure after a net practice session).
Then some turn to B.Com.Some to B.SC.Some realize they aren’t really that good. Finally left are a few boys who study cricket.
Every year even their hope diminishes a little, their bones creak a little, the girlfriends who shared the dream of being there till the end leave them, their friends pat the backs but also shrug their own shoulders while smoking, the families who had pushed them into cricket beg them to leave the bats at home and finally they themselves raise their finger to indicate they are Out. In the process they kill their dreams and live another life.
But now when one sees the Dhoni and his boys winning the T20….the feeling of “what-could-it-have-been” does play in their mind, the dream still runs in their sleeps.I again look at those innocent beings practising so religiously and ponder over their future.
The Taxi has reached the intersection where we see a huge line of people waiting for the UAE embassy to open. I see the frustration in the eyes of every Indian as he shields himself from the sun with a newspaper or a plastic bag. I mean to be treated that way in your own country is sad but maybe its just a foretell as to what will happen to them in Gulf .This is the closest you can feel to what Indians felt in British Rule. So if you want to undergo that.”Saala, Mere Desh Mein Mujhe Khada Rakha Hai”feeling, please join the queue.
Some are waiting from 8 am for the embassy to open. One can see two policemen trying to keep this line in order and also looking for someone who would be eager to grease their palms to go ahead .I see one fair Arab watchman holding an umbrella, watching each and every Indian in the line with disdain.
At exactly 9, a tiny window opens of the embassy to accept the certificates and charge the to-be-rich-in dirham-public 1500 per certificate for endorsement. Some have to go back for another round of attestation which they missed. First the ladies would get a chance even if they just happened to know where the embassy is (how unfair!) and then maybe the poorer sex would be lucky.
The taxi takes a jerk as the signal turns green. I pass by Mantralaya.The less said about this place the better. I have walked through the corridors of Mantralaya and it reeks of power but also mixed with it is the stench of corruption. The security is real tight and again poor people are harassed who may want to visit the various departments for help. To enter it first you have to stand in a long line with a chit mentioning your name and whom you want to meet. After that you join another long line where you are checked briskly by some gruff hands before you go in. so it may take almost an hour before you actually enter the gates.
The Peons and Staff Members are real Bastards.They stare at you for a while, and then leisurely come to you, take you to a corner ,their dirty hands on your back, tell you the deal like a good salesman also mentioning that’s the only way it can be done, smile at you waiting for your response. If you show no interest, they may make your life difficult but then that’s a price to pay for being honest. Infact most of the systems are such that you have to end up shelling out something because you just can’t afford to abide by the rules.
When you come out of the Mantralaya robbed not only of money but also a little self respect for having ended up bribing (when you really did not want to ),don’t forget to look at our Flag fluttering on the Building to complete the irony of the situation.
My taxi passes through the Shipping Corporation of India indicating we have reached the first lane of the place I love the most. I heave a sigh of relief. I can breathe the fresh corporate air. I can see the ties flowing in the soft wind,i can see the Merc’s and the Bmw’s and the powerful men inside it with a folded Economic times by thier arms.
Nariman Point is Here, Folks…..
(To be Continued).....
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Haji Deen Mohammed
My mom is an amazingly good storyteller. When I was a kid she used to put me on her lap and tell me a lot of stories. I can still hear her voice laced with the cling of her bangles as she used to ruffle my hair. My eyes would move from her to the dark ceiling where I could visualize every minute detail happening.
Different stories had different ways of storytelling…
For a horror story….I could see her eyes becoming large with fear. Her hands clawing at me and then stopping me from biting my nail.
A fairy tale ….would mean a soft voice with a seemingly happy atmosphere where everything is Hunky-Dory but suddenly the problem arises in the tale and my eyebrows meet in concern for the usual damsel in distress. Such was the effect of these stories that once I actually put a pea beneath the mattress of my elder sister to prove she is not a princess when she dint realize it.
Some stories had mom saying in the end “To Dekho Beta , Kabhi Jhoot Nahi
Bolna…Bado Ki Izzat karna …Nahi to Allah Miya Gussa Karenge (something my sis still uses to tell her kids)
Or “kya samjha tumko?” where I had to tell the moral of the story.
I am a big boy now so no more stories for me. But I sure do remember most of them and today would like to share one of the stories from the “potli” of my Mom. One which is so relevant for all the youth today.
Mom tells me it’s from the Arabian nights. But I dint remove the book of Arabian nights which I possess, to check it….what you will read is my understanding of the narrative. What visuals I saw on the ceiling one night when mom was telling me this lovely story.
Chapter 1
Haji Deen Mohammed was a unique man. No it’s not that he was not normal. He was. But he was just too optimistic in nature. Never did anyone in the village see him in anger or in despair. He used to smile constantly and laugh at times showing his front tooth which was half broken. Not that he did not have worries. He had. And his optimism had no real ground to exist. He could hardly provide for his wife and two children. Craftsmen by nature he makes decorative items with the help of simple tools. His friend and helper, Mairaj used to buy it from him to sell them in the larger markets of Dilli and Bambai but he had not come back for long. Money was running out. In desperation he had started stitching handmade carpets for a small businessman but with no orders forthcoming from the cities even the businessmen had asked Haji to leave.
So now he is sitting on the thick ground in the hot afternoon watching kids play Gilli Danda with glee.
“ Haji…Haji” …someone was shouting.
Haji stood up cleaning his kurta from behind to remove the dust and see who was calling him.
It was Ali, Haji’s dear friend running towards him brandishing his dirty gamcha.
“Is Mairaj Back. That’s good. I knew he would .Its Friday. He always does” Haji shouted back as his buddy reached him, panting.
“How many Fridays have passed by, Haji. And you have just sat there on this muddy ground waiting for him” his finger pointing to the place where Haji had just been sitting.
“You just can’t kill time like this waiting for him. I have got a job for you. Kishen Lal wants to paint his house. He is paying Ek Paisa.
Kishan is a nice man”Haji smiled,
“Is he looking for me?”
“Yes, he is, because you are the only fool to work for so less and that miser doesn’t want to give what others are asking for. But good for you. At least you can have a meal in the night with your wife and kids”.
Haji put on his hand on his friends shoulder and started preaching him while walking towards Kishan’s unpainted home
“Allah is the Greatest, Ali. See how he has provided sustenance for me. I will come to your house after I am done. We can eat Sattu* then”.
* Sattu-a mixture of Rice,Jowar,Bajra and Channa. (CONTINUED--- CHAPTER 2)
Different stories had different ways of storytelling…
For a horror story….I could see her eyes becoming large with fear. Her hands clawing at me and then stopping me from biting my nail.
A fairy tale ….would mean a soft voice with a seemingly happy atmosphere where everything is Hunky-Dory but suddenly the problem arises in the tale and my eyebrows meet in concern for the usual damsel in distress. Such was the effect of these stories that once I actually put a pea beneath the mattress of my elder sister to prove she is not a princess when she dint realize it.
Some stories had mom saying in the end “To Dekho Beta , Kabhi Jhoot Nahi
Bolna…Bado Ki Izzat karna …Nahi to Allah Miya Gussa Karenge (something my sis still uses to tell her kids)
Or “kya samjha tumko?” where I had to tell the moral of the story.
I am a big boy now so no more stories for me. But I sure do remember most of them and today would like to share one of the stories from the “potli” of my Mom. One which is so relevant for all the youth today.
Mom tells me it’s from the Arabian nights. But I dint remove the book of Arabian nights which I possess, to check it….what you will read is my understanding of the narrative. What visuals I saw on the ceiling one night when mom was telling me this lovely story.
Chapter 1
Haji Deen Mohammed was a unique man. No it’s not that he was not normal. He was. But he was just too optimistic in nature. Never did anyone in the village see him in anger or in despair. He used to smile constantly and laugh at times showing his front tooth which was half broken. Not that he did not have worries. He had. And his optimism had no real ground to exist. He could hardly provide for his wife and two children. Craftsmen by nature he makes decorative items with the help of simple tools. His friend and helper, Mairaj used to buy it from him to sell them in the larger markets of Dilli and Bambai but he had not come back for long. Money was running out. In desperation he had started stitching handmade carpets for a small businessman but with no orders forthcoming from the cities even the businessmen had asked Haji to leave.
So now he is sitting on the thick ground in the hot afternoon watching kids play Gilli Danda with glee.
“ Haji…Haji” …someone was shouting.
Haji stood up cleaning his kurta from behind to remove the dust and see who was calling him.
It was Ali, Haji’s dear friend running towards him brandishing his dirty gamcha.
“Is Mairaj Back. That’s good. I knew he would .Its Friday. He always does” Haji shouted back as his buddy reached him, panting.
“How many Fridays have passed by, Haji. And you have just sat there on this muddy ground waiting for him” his finger pointing to the place where Haji had just been sitting.
“You just can’t kill time like this waiting for him. I have got a job for you. Kishen Lal wants to paint his house. He is paying Ek Paisa.
Kishan is a nice man”Haji smiled,
“Is he looking for me?”
“Yes, he is, because you are the only fool to work for so less and that miser doesn’t want to give what others are asking for. But good for you. At least you can have a meal in the night with your wife and kids”.
Haji put on his hand on his friends shoulder and started preaching him while walking towards Kishan’s unpainted home
“Allah is the Greatest, Ali. See how he has provided sustenance for me. I will come to your house after I am done. We can eat Sattu* then”.
* Sattu-a mixture of Rice,Jowar,Bajra and Channa. (CONTINUED--- CHAPTER 2)
Chapter 2
Haji stayed in a small hut in the farthest part of his village. He hurriedly walked towards his house eager to show the one paisa tightly clutched in his fist to his wife.
Kulsum Bi was the apple of his eye, his life.Haji had seen her once in a wedding and he knew she was the one. He had pushed his mother a lot to get married to her. Kulsum was the only reason for Haji to be alive and no matter what befalls them he was aware that she would always be there to support and comfort him. The only thing he disliked and feared was her shrill voice which could even make Lajjo, his goat stop from may bleating.
Kulsum was a fine young lady. But lately she had become impatient as hope was diminishing and she could see no further respite from her misery till Mairaj came.
What irritated her more was Haji’s laidback attitude. With every night her kids sleeping empty stomach, the mother in her had become more vocal.
Tonight she had fed her kids with some dal and roti and as they wanted some more she kept an empty pot on the fire till the kids slept.
“Asalamwalaikum”, said Haji as he entered his hut which was illuminated by a single lamp.
“Walaikumasalaam” the pain in her greeting was noticeable
“Meri Jaan, look what I have got” showing her the coin which Kishan Lal gave him reluctantly after a strenuous session of coloring.
Kulsum though relieved to know that the next two days her kids wont go unfed still dint react.
She said plainly “Have your food. I have cooked something, and what have u done to your kurta, it’s all dirty. Where have you been”.
Haji told her everything while eating whatever little Kulsum could keep for him.
“You know this is not enough Haji, We must do something”
“Have Faith in Allah Taala, my dear, Things will get better” Haji said softly while kissing his sleeping kids.
“Chand Bi is giving me five paisa for selling off Lajjo”
“Kulsum”, after a long pause Haji said “You can’t possibly do that. She is family. How could you even think of it? Will you sell of your kids too”.
This comment angered her and she started shouting “Yes I will. It’s better to sell than to see their faces every Morning & Night asking for food.
“They clutch this all the time telling me Maa khaana do Maa khanaa do” showing him the Pallo of her tattered sari.
“It’s a Test from Allah. He wants to see if we still remember him and worship him in this time of ordeal. And does He not say In the Holy Quran that No man would be burdened more than that which he can’t handle.”Haji was trying hard to make her understand.
Kulsum started crying “you don’t understand my suffering. What do I do when I see the eager look in their eyes, their gulping throats, their sighs and how much do I lie?”
Haji came forward to comfort her.
Wiping her tears he said“Kulsum you are my life. If you start losing hope I will be shattered. You think it is easy for me. Its not. But I am patient”.
Hours passed. Haji, lying down was looking at a lizard walking on the roof of his hut as it tried to catch a fly. It was Kulsum’s time to soothe her husband. She lied down beside him and kissed the noble mark on his forehead and said sorry
“You can go to your mother’s house for some time”
“I am not going anywhere”Kulsum whispered back, nuzzling his neck
Haji took her in her arms and tried to sleep again.
After a long time he whispered “I see a dream”
“What?”Kulsum, half asleep murmured.
“I see a dream every night. For the last three four days”
“What dream? Different dreams or the same dream?”
“The same dream, everynight”
Kulsum moved him from her arms and got up, now interested “what do you see? Why did you not tell me?”
Haji now lying back looked at the lizard which had gulped down the fly and said “Because it doesn’t make sense”
“What do u see? Tell me. Tell Me now”
Kulsum Bi was the apple of his eye, his life.Haji had seen her once in a wedding and he knew she was the one. He had pushed his mother a lot to get married to her. Kulsum was the only reason for Haji to be alive and no matter what befalls them he was aware that she would always be there to support and comfort him. The only thing he disliked and feared was her shrill voice which could even make Lajjo, his goat stop from may bleating.
Kulsum was a fine young lady. But lately she had become impatient as hope was diminishing and she could see no further respite from her misery till Mairaj came.
What irritated her more was Haji’s laidback attitude. With every night her kids sleeping empty stomach, the mother in her had become more vocal.
Tonight she had fed her kids with some dal and roti and as they wanted some more she kept an empty pot on the fire till the kids slept.
“Asalamwalaikum”, said Haji as he entered his hut which was illuminated by a single lamp.
“Walaikumasalaam” the pain in her greeting was noticeable
“Meri Jaan, look what I have got” showing her the coin which Kishan Lal gave him reluctantly after a strenuous session of coloring.
Kulsum though relieved to know that the next two days her kids wont go unfed still dint react.
She said plainly “Have your food. I have cooked something, and what have u done to your kurta, it’s all dirty. Where have you been”.
Haji told her everything while eating whatever little Kulsum could keep for him.
“You know this is not enough Haji, We must do something”
“Have Faith in Allah Taala, my dear, Things will get better” Haji said softly while kissing his sleeping kids.
“Chand Bi is giving me five paisa for selling off Lajjo”
“Kulsum”, after a long pause Haji said “You can’t possibly do that. She is family. How could you even think of it? Will you sell of your kids too”.
This comment angered her and she started shouting “Yes I will. It’s better to sell than to see their faces every Morning & Night asking for food.
“They clutch this all the time telling me Maa khaana do Maa khanaa do” showing him the Pallo of her tattered sari.
“It’s a Test from Allah. He wants to see if we still remember him and worship him in this time of ordeal. And does He not say In the Holy Quran that No man would be burdened more than that which he can’t handle.”Haji was trying hard to make her understand.
Kulsum started crying “you don’t understand my suffering. What do I do when I see the eager look in their eyes, their gulping throats, their sighs and how much do I lie?”
Haji came forward to comfort her.
Wiping her tears he said“Kulsum you are my life. If you start losing hope I will be shattered. You think it is easy for me. Its not. But I am patient”.
Hours passed. Haji, lying down was looking at a lizard walking on the roof of his hut as it tried to catch a fly. It was Kulsum’s time to soothe her husband. She lied down beside him and kissed the noble mark on his forehead and said sorry
“You can go to your mother’s house for some time”
“I am not going anywhere”Kulsum whispered back, nuzzling his neck
Haji took her in her arms and tried to sleep again.
After a long time he whispered “I see a dream”
“What?”Kulsum, half asleep murmured.
“I see a dream every night. For the last three four days”
“What dream? Different dreams or the same dream?”
“The same dream, everynight”
Kulsum moved him from her arms and got up, now interested “what do you see? Why did you not tell me?”
Haji now lying back looked at the lizard which had gulped down the fly and said “Because it doesn’t make sense”
“What do u see? Tell me. Tell Me now”
Chapter 3
“I see that I am walking and walking and I see the sun setting and I see the river flowing by and then I see a bridge on the river. I walk to the other side. On the other side I see a white cottage. Completely white. I walked towards it and see an old man wearing a sparkling white kurta pajama sitting there in deep contemplation. He looks at me and asks me to come towards him. His eyes tell me that he was waiting for me. This old man has a large white beard flowing in the heavy wind. and then I walk towards him and as I come close to him he suddenly holds my hand tight and asks me “Have you come for the treasure” I try to release my hand from his clutches but this old man doesn’t budge. I try hard and hard and then I wake up”
Tears were running from Haji’s eyes as he told his dream.
“And you have been seeing this every night”
“Yes every night. I want to go and search for this place. But I thought you won’t allow me too. That’s the reason why I did not tell you. You will think of it as foolish which I know you are thinking. But this dream kept coming again and again. I feared that I if I see it tonight I will walk out of the house in the morning and look for the old man waiting for me. And with the problems we are going through it’s just not possible.”
Kulsum had no words to express her confusion.
“I don’t want to sleep kulsum. I don’t want to sleep”
Kulsum moved her hand on his beard and said “if you see it tonight, you go. I won’t stop you.”
And Haji did see it again. The river, the bridge, the cottage, the old man, his hoarse voice saying “have you come for the treasure” and the firm grip of the old man on his hand. And Haji did get up. It was the Fajr time as the Muezzin called for morning namaaz.
Tears were running from Haji’s eyes as he told his dream.
“And you have been seeing this every night”
“Yes every night. I want to go and search for this place. But I thought you won’t allow me too. That’s the reason why I did not tell you. You will think of it as foolish which I know you are thinking. But this dream kept coming again and again. I feared that I if I see it tonight I will walk out of the house in the morning and look for the old man waiting for me. And with the problems we are going through it’s just not possible.”
Kulsum had no words to express her confusion.
“I don’t want to sleep kulsum. I don’t want to sleep”
Kulsum moved her hand on his beard and said “if you see it tonight, you go. I won’t stop you.”
And Haji did see it again. The river, the bridge, the cottage, the old man, his hoarse voice saying “have you come for the treasure” and the firm grip of the old man on his hand. And Haji did get up. It was the Fajr time as the Muezzin called for morning namaaz.
Chapter 4
Haji was ready for his destination. He wore the best Kurta Pajama he had...the one he wore in his wedding. Putting on his Mojidi and praying one last time for success in his mission he walked out of the house.
The first glimpse of the gentle sun could be seen from the mountains.
But also in full view was Kulsum, standing beneath the Mango tree with a small red Potli.
“Here keep this” Kulsum said, “It has some rotis and achaar. Eat it only when you are very hungry. Don’t give it to someone on the way. Take Ali with you if you can. Also…”
Haji interrupted her “Kulsum. Kuch nahi hoga. Don’t worry. I will be back. Inshallah. Soon.
He kissed her forehead and walked away to his dream.
She went back in the hut and lied down besides her children who were not aware that their father was off to a place he did not know how to go.
The first glimpse of the gentle sun could be seen from the mountains.
But also in full view was Kulsum, standing beneath the Mango tree with a small red Potli.
“Here keep this” Kulsum said, “It has some rotis and achaar. Eat it only when you are very hungry. Don’t give it to someone on the way. Take Ali with you if you can. Also…”
Haji interrupted her “Kulsum. Kuch nahi hoga. Don’t worry. I will be back. Inshallah. Soon.
He kissed her forehead and walked away to his dream.
She went back in the hut and lied down besides her children who were not aware that their father was off to a place he did not know how to go.
Chapter 5
But Haji did have an idea. He had seen a river. And the closest river from his village was Gomai Nadi. He knew that to reach it may take one full day. He thought of borrowing a horse or a mule but that would have cost him. Hence he relied on his legs and thought of walking all the way.
The sun was warming up for its daily journey through the skies. Haji had just walked out of his village and was on the narrow lane which took people to the cities. He had not been to one yet. Mairaj used to tell him so many things about the city. The bazaar, the lights, the energy, the city girls. So confident and so pretty, the English Memsaabs, the money. But somehow Haji had never left the village as he could not survive without seeing his kids and Kulsum.This was the first time he was leaving them and had no idea when he will come back.
Mairaj would have certainly laughed at his foolishness. Running after a dream .Crazy.
Haji smiled.
He passed the British Cantonment which had set its base at the outskirts of his village. Seeing the company flag fluttering he said in contempt “Chorwa saale”
He met Hari Bhai on the way who had just milked his cows and was walking with a huge tumbler on his head.
“Where are you off to, Haji.”
“Will tell you when I get back”. He did not want to lie. He fastened the pace so that he doesn’t have to put up with more questioning.
Kulsum meanwhile had bought some Rice and Dal from the bazaar.
Murtuza, her son was asked to take care of his sister, Badar.
Both were surprised not to see their farther who hugged and kissed them every sunrise.
Had he come in the night? Where has he gone? He had promised me he would get me something in the night. Did he? Murtuza demanded to know.
Badar was too small to ask questions but she reacted with howling cries and copious tears.
Even Lajjo had started may-may hing moving her neck vigorously, wanting to break the rope which tied her to the mango tree. If she only knew she was about to be sold to the plump Chand Bi, she would have kept silent and not moved a muscle.
When the sun was at its fiercest best, Haji stopped in his tracks. He had asked for directions from some villagers and was told to take a “Tanga” as it was just too far. Luckily one showed him the way where he could find a bridge which passes over the river.
Haji opened up the Potli to take a bite. He realized Kulsum must have made them while he had gone for Fajr prayers and the acchaar was from her mother in law. The last time she had come she was in a sarcastic mood. Her look was of disgust and seemed to be repenting for getting her pretty daughter married to this good for nothing.
But all this will change.Haji reminded himself. He ate a little, offered his Zohar Namaaz and was back to walking towards the river.
Kulsum was sitting beneath the tree ,her eyes searching for her husband. Her kids were playing in front.
“It’s too Hot Murtuza, Get in the house. Chalo” as she lifted Badar.
The sun was loosing its brightness gradually.Haji was taking a little rest sitting in the shade for some time. As he was massaging his weary legs, he heard the tick tock of a horse dragging a Tonga along with him.
Haji got up in desperation and waved his hands to it.
A poor Tonga driver looked at him and asked, “Where are you going”
“Gomai Nadi”
“Teen Kawdi”
“I have no money”
“Then what do you have”, looking at his thin Potli.
Haji hurriedly opened up the potli “I have some Rotis and a little something”.
The Tonga drivers hunger got the better of him. His master had asked him to fetch his friends but that was way too far. He could surely help this underprivileged man to his destination.
And have some rotis.
Kulsum at the same time had finished with the lunch. Murtuza had gone out to his friend and Badar was fast asleep.
She started thinking if it was a good decision to send Haji like that. But there was no harm. She knew he would sit there waiting doing nothing till Mairaj came. The stock of Handicrafts which he had prepared was kept in the corner. He was good at his job, she thought as she checked some of his work. Kulsum just hoped he would come back soon.
The sun was warming up for its daily journey through the skies. Haji had just walked out of his village and was on the narrow lane which took people to the cities. He had not been to one yet. Mairaj used to tell him so many things about the city. The bazaar, the lights, the energy, the city girls. So confident and so pretty, the English Memsaabs, the money. But somehow Haji had never left the village as he could not survive without seeing his kids and Kulsum.This was the first time he was leaving them and had no idea when he will come back.
Mairaj would have certainly laughed at his foolishness. Running after a dream .Crazy.
Haji smiled.
He passed the British Cantonment which had set its base at the outskirts of his village. Seeing the company flag fluttering he said in contempt “Chorwa saale”
He met Hari Bhai on the way who had just milked his cows and was walking with a huge tumbler on his head.
“Where are you off to, Haji.”
“Will tell you when I get back”. He did not want to lie. He fastened the pace so that he doesn’t have to put up with more questioning.
Kulsum meanwhile had bought some Rice and Dal from the bazaar.
Murtuza, her son was asked to take care of his sister, Badar.
Both were surprised not to see their farther who hugged and kissed them every sunrise.
Had he come in the night? Where has he gone? He had promised me he would get me something in the night. Did he? Murtuza demanded to know.
Badar was too small to ask questions but she reacted with howling cries and copious tears.
Even Lajjo had started may-may hing moving her neck vigorously, wanting to break the rope which tied her to the mango tree. If she only knew she was about to be sold to the plump Chand Bi, she would have kept silent and not moved a muscle.
When the sun was at its fiercest best, Haji stopped in his tracks. He had asked for directions from some villagers and was told to take a “Tanga” as it was just too far. Luckily one showed him the way where he could find a bridge which passes over the river.
Haji opened up the Potli to take a bite. He realized Kulsum must have made them while he had gone for Fajr prayers and the acchaar was from her mother in law. The last time she had come she was in a sarcastic mood. Her look was of disgust and seemed to be repenting for getting her pretty daughter married to this good for nothing.
But all this will change.Haji reminded himself. He ate a little, offered his Zohar Namaaz and was back to walking towards the river.
Kulsum was sitting beneath the tree ,her eyes searching for her husband. Her kids were playing in front.
“It’s too Hot Murtuza, Get in the house. Chalo” as she lifted Badar.
The sun was loosing its brightness gradually.Haji was taking a little rest sitting in the shade for some time. As he was massaging his weary legs, he heard the tick tock of a horse dragging a Tonga along with him.
Haji got up in desperation and waved his hands to it.
A poor Tonga driver looked at him and asked, “Where are you going”
“Gomai Nadi”
“Teen Kawdi”
“I have no money”
“Then what do you have”, looking at his thin Potli.
Haji hurriedly opened up the potli “I have some Rotis and a little something”.
The Tonga drivers hunger got the better of him. His master had asked him to fetch his friends but that was way too far. He could surely help this underprivileged man to his destination.
And have some rotis.
Kulsum at the same time had finished with the lunch. Murtuza had gone out to his friend and Badar was fast asleep.
She started thinking if it was a good decision to send Haji like that. But there was no harm. She knew he would sit there waiting doing nothing till Mairaj came. The stock of Handicrafts which he had prepared was kept in the corner. He was good at his job, she thought as she checked some of his work. Kulsum just hoped he would come back soon.
Chapter 6
The Tonga left him on the way. Haji thanked him. It would take at least an hour for the retreating sun to vanish, Haji told himself. The fed driver had asked him to walk through the narrow lane for a few minutes to find the bridge.
Amidst the huge trees and green foliage he finally saw the bridge. But it did not look similar. It was a little broader and made of stones. Haji had seen the dream enough times to realize that his bridge looked like being made of naturally fallen logs that could support one at a time. The kind that could get washed away from strong currents. He stood there tired at the centre of the sturdy bridge leaning down looking at the gushing river eager to meet the hushed sea.
“Hey you”. a villager shouted.
Haji stood back.
“What do you think you are doing” the villager closed on him.
“I am searching”
“Searching what?”
“I am searching for a bridge and a cottage”
The villager looked at him quizzically.
“Someone is waiting for me there”, Haji replied, “Is there any other bridge, I mean smaller”.
The villager still did not understand him but decided to like Haji
“There is one, but way up there”, pointing to the huge mountain. “But no one stays that side. It’s too scary there in the night” the villager warned.
Haji thanked him and walked towards the mountain.
Kulsum had a guest at her house that evening. Some one coming regularly to meet her and was eyeing Lajjo as of now. Chand Bi was a plump nagging lady.
“Where has your Miya gone” Chand Bi demanded to know.
“I don’t know” a curt reply from Kulsum, making her hair.
“What work does he have? And why did he say no to 5 paisa? Does he think he can make more than that, sitting doing nothing?”
Kulsum trying to change the topic “That’s a nice earring Bibi”
Chandbi was surprised with the comment,” is it not? Touching them, she said” when was the last time Haji got something for you, How much does he really care to get something for you. Saying no to 5 paisa like that. And Look at your kids, thin and frail as if they haven’t eaten for weeks.”
Kulsum heaved a sigh. Out of respect for the aged lady she had kept quiet but now her patience was being tested.
Chand Bi Continued. “He did not tell you where he went. You must be aware of what he does. These men are like dogs. Keep a tight leash on him. There is a big Tamaasha happening in the other village tonight. He must have gone there to see the Nautch girls dancing. I am sure he is there”.
“Stop it Bibi” Kulsum took the lady by her arm and pushed her out of the house.
“My Husband is my concern”, she defiantly said and closed the creaking door.
Haji had climbed tirelessly for an hour on the steep mountains, his eyes on the spot where the villager had pointed to. Amidst the green shrubbery he could hear the distant sound of the river. And then finally he reached a plateau to find his dream coming true……
Amidst the huge trees and green foliage he finally saw the bridge. But it did not look similar. It was a little broader and made of stones. Haji had seen the dream enough times to realize that his bridge looked like being made of naturally fallen logs that could support one at a time. The kind that could get washed away from strong currents. He stood there tired at the centre of the sturdy bridge leaning down looking at the gushing river eager to meet the hushed sea.
“Hey you”. a villager shouted.
Haji stood back.
“What do you think you are doing” the villager closed on him.
“I am searching”
“Searching what?”
“I am searching for a bridge and a cottage”
The villager looked at him quizzically.
“Someone is waiting for me there”, Haji replied, “Is there any other bridge, I mean smaller”.
The villager still did not understand him but decided to like Haji
“There is one, but way up there”, pointing to the huge mountain. “But no one stays that side. It’s too scary there in the night” the villager warned.
Haji thanked him and walked towards the mountain.
Kulsum had a guest at her house that evening. Some one coming regularly to meet her and was eyeing Lajjo as of now. Chand Bi was a plump nagging lady.
“Where has your Miya gone” Chand Bi demanded to know.
“I don’t know” a curt reply from Kulsum, making her hair.
“What work does he have? And why did he say no to 5 paisa? Does he think he can make more than that, sitting doing nothing?”
Kulsum trying to change the topic “That’s a nice earring Bibi”
Chandbi was surprised with the comment,” is it not? Touching them, she said” when was the last time Haji got something for you, How much does he really care to get something for you. Saying no to 5 paisa like that. And Look at your kids, thin and frail as if they haven’t eaten for weeks.”
Kulsum heaved a sigh. Out of respect for the aged lady she had kept quiet but now her patience was being tested.
Chand Bi Continued. “He did not tell you where he went. You must be aware of what he does. These men are like dogs. Keep a tight leash on him. There is a big Tamaasha happening in the other village tonight. He must have gone there to see the Nautch girls dancing. I am sure he is there”.
“Stop it Bibi” Kulsum took the lady by her arm and pushed her out of the house.
“My Husband is my concern”, she defiantly said and closed the creaking door.
Haji had climbed tirelessly for an hour on the steep mountains, his eyes on the spot where the villager had pointed to. Amidst the green shrubbery he could hear the distant sound of the river. And then finally he reached a plateau to find his dream coming true……
Chapter 7
He saw it. It was there. In front of him. He was back in his dream again. The wooden bridge and in front the small white cottage. It was standing there as if waiting for him. The moon had come up; the moonlight falling on the cottage giving it a, mesmerizing effect. The river was still following its course lashing at the wooden bridge intermittently. He crossed the bridge in a daze. He could not believe his eyes. Could it really be true, Haji thought. Is it possible? And where is the old man. He was sitting there on the stairs. There is no one here. Even the cottage looked abandoned. Haji looked around searching for the old man
In the whole journey he used to talk to himself making stories.
The Old man would clutch his hand and ask him. “Have you come for the treasure”
Haji would say” Yes. I have”
The old man would smile, and lead him to the treasure.
He would open the lock to the cottage. Take him inside and would hand him over the treasure lying in the room and tell him “Take this. You have earned it. Go, your wife is waiting for u” and Haji would thank the old man and walk out to his beloved. He never thought what that treasure would be. He just knew it would be something special.
But all this did not happen.
There was no one to call him.
No one to ask him what was he doing there so late in the night.
He walked up to the stairs and looked through the windows. Absolutely nothing .Except darkness. A little dejected, Haji sat on the stairs and decided to wait for the old man. Half of his dream had come true. It’s the other half which was left to be realized.
“Sabar, Haji, Sabar”, he muttered to himself.
He waited and waited and then his tiring eyes closed on him and he slept a much needed sleep.
In the whole journey he used to talk to himself making stories.
The Old man would clutch his hand and ask him. “Have you come for the treasure”
Haji would say” Yes. I have”
The old man would smile, and lead him to the treasure.
He would open the lock to the cottage. Take him inside and would hand him over the treasure lying in the room and tell him “Take this. You have earned it. Go, your wife is waiting for u” and Haji would thank the old man and walk out to his beloved. He never thought what that treasure would be. He just knew it would be something special.
But all this did not happen.
There was no one to call him.
No one to ask him what was he doing there so late in the night.
He walked up to the stairs and looked through the windows. Absolutely nothing .Except darkness. A little dejected, Haji sat on the stairs and decided to wait for the old man. Half of his dream had come true. It’s the other half which was left to be realized.
“Sabar, Haji, Sabar”, he muttered to himself.
He waited and waited and then his tiring eyes closed on him and he slept a much needed sleep.
Chapter 8
Nagraj Yadav was a ruthless man. No one really messed with him. And tonight he was in a real bad mood. The British were looking for him and his group of thugs. As soon as they were to be found, the order was to hang them all. To avoid suspicion they had dispersed in small parties and were all planning to meet in Agra to become the uninvited guests of the landlord’s daughters wedding.
There we will kill, Nagraj told to himself.
He enjoyed killing. Tonight he was hiding on top of a certain mountain which had a river flowing through it. Accompanying Nagraj was Shera, another thug with untold records of killing and kidnapping against him. Both of them were dressed with checkered loongis and shirt jackets like the company sepoys. They possessed daggers, cords made of twisted leather, having a noose at the other end which if entangled on the horse or the man would result in his instant death.
They were expecting the British to be on the look out for them. But what they were not expecting was a seemingly poor man in a plain white kurta pajama sleeping on the stairs of a deserted cottage. The thugs closed upon him.
“He looks like a Farmer”
“What is he doing here?”
“He could be an informer, from the company.”
“But he is unarmed”
Shera grinned,” Do I care” and kicked the poor man in the stomach.
Nagraj taking lead took him by his collars and pushed him hard again to the ground.
Haji was taken by surprise. Nagraj slapped him hard, so hard that blood started oozing from his face. The thug then threw the cord on his neck and pulled it hard. Haji gasped for air.
“Why are u here”, Nagraj asked. It would mean nothing to him to kill this person but wanted to know what made this stupid man to sleep here.
“Why are u here”, Shera shouted again from behind.
“I…saw a dream”Haji just managed to speak.
Nagraj was intrigued. He loosened the chord.” What?”
“I saw a dream and I came here. An old man was to be here to tell me where I will find the treasure”
Shera burst in laughter. He fell down laughing, his hands on his stomach. He just couldn’t believe what he heard.
But Nagraj was stunned.
“Do you see it everyday?”
“Yes” Haji replied, breathing heavily.
“And now did u see all this. This place. This bridge…”
“This cottage. I saw all this. Everything. In my dream every night”, continued Haji.
Shera could not understand what engaged Nag so much.
“Whats your interest? Kill Him. What we have in front of us is a mad man. And only a mad man could see such a dream. And only a mad would think of following it.”, he questioned Nag.
“No he is not. I see a dream everyday. Just like him.”
He looked at Haji who was badly bruised with blood running on his face.
“And what I see scares me. I don’t know what Durga Maa wants to tell me.”
Haji asked him,” What do you see.”
“I see that I am walking to a hut which is at the farthest corner of a dusty village. There is a mango tree in front of the hut. A goat is tied to this mango tree and she is restless. I walk towards the tree and see the goat has dug a small hole in the ground beneath her. I dug further and further and you know what I find. Do u know what I find? I find Gold. Gold. Lots of it. In a number of pots. Then suddenly I see the door of the hut opening and a pretty lady is standing there. She smiles and asks me “have you found the treasure”
And then I wake up. I am seeing this dream every night. It scares me so much that I don’t want to sleep.”
Shera was shocked with Nagrajs confession. He was his best friend and still was unaware of the turmoil going through him.
“Why did you not tell me?”
Nagraj had released haji. He sat down on the stairs and in deep thought said,” I thought Maa would tell me. Make it clear to me. And she has now. There is such a place and I have to find it. This man is here for a reason. He is here for me. To tell me to go search for this place as he has.”
“But he has failed. He did not find anything. There is no old man here.”Shera tried to reason
“But I Wont”, grinned Nagraj twirling his mustache.
“So what do we do with him”, Shera removing his dagger for just one signal from his friend.
“We leave him”. Nagraj said with finality,” Go traveler, you have done what you were destined to do, Run, before I change my mind.”
And Haji Ran…................
There we will kill, Nagraj told to himself.
He enjoyed killing. Tonight he was hiding on top of a certain mountain which had a river flowing through it. Accompanying Nagraj was Shera, another thug with untold records of killing and kidnapping against him. Both of them were dressed with checkered loongis and shirt jackets like the company sepoys. They possessed daggers, cords made of twisted leather, having a noose at the other end which if entangled on the horse or the man would result in his instant death.
They were expecting the British to be on the look out for them. But what they were not expecting was a seemingly poor man in a plain white kurta pajama sleeping on the stairs of a deserted cottage. The thugs closed upon him.
“He looks like a Farmer”
“What is he doing here?”
“He could be an informer, from the company.”
“But he is unarmed”
Shera grinned,” Do I care” and kicked the poor man in the stomach.
Nagraj taking lead took him by his collars and pushed him hard again to the ground.
Haji was taken by surprise. Nagraj slapped him hard, so hard that blood started oozing from his face. The thug then threw the cord on his neck and pulled it hard. Haji gasped for air.
“Why are u here”, Nagraj asked. It would mean nothing to him to kill this person but wanted to know what made this stupid man to sleep here.
“Why are u here”, Shera shouted again from behind.
“I…saw a dream”Haji just managed to speak.
Nagraj was intrigued. He loosened the chord.” What?”
“I saw a dream and I came here. An old man was to be here to tell me where I will find the treasure”
Shera burst in laughter. He fell down laughing, his hands on his stomach. He just couldn’t believe what he heard.
But Nagraj was stunned.
“Do you see it everyday?”
“Yes” Haji replied, breathing heavily.
“And now did u see all this. This place. This bridge…”
“This cottage. I saw all this. Everything. In my dream every night”, continued Haji.
Shera could not understand what engaged Nag so much.
“Whats your interest? Kill Him. What we have in front of us is a mad man. And only a mad man could see such a dream. And only a mad would think of following it.”, he questioned Nag.
“No he is not. I see a dream everyday. Just like him.”
He looked at Haji who was badly bruised with blood running on his face.
“And what I see scares me. I don’t know what Durga Maa wants to tell me.”
Haji asked him,” What do you see.”
“I see that I am walking to a hut which is at the farthest corner of a dusty village. There is a mango tree in front of the hut. A goat is tied to this mango tree and she is restless. I walk towards the tree and see the goat has dug a small hole in the ground beneath her. I dug further and further and you know what I find. Do u know what I find? I find Gold. Gold. Lots of it. In a number of pots. Then suddenly I see the door of the hut opening and a pretty lady is standing there. She smiles and asks me “have you found the treasure”
And then I wake up. I am seeing this dream every night. It scares me so much that I don’t want to sleep.”
Shera was shocked with Nagrajs confession. He was his best friend and still was unaware of the turmoil going through him.
“Why did you not tell me?”
Nagraj had released haji. He sat down on the stairs and in deep thought said,” I thought Maa would tell me. Make it clear to me. And she has now. There is such a place and I have to find it. This man is here for a reason. He is here for me. To tell me to go search for this place as he has.”
“But he has failed. He did not find anything. There is no old man here.”Shera tried to reason
“But I Wont”, grinned Nagraj twirling his mustache.
“So what do we do with him”, Shera removing his dagger for just one signal from his friend.
“We leave him”. Nagraj said with finality,” Go traveler, you have done what you were destined to do, Run, before I change my mind.”
And Haji Ran…................
Chapter 9
Haji reached the village in the late evening. He was too excited to realize he had walked all morning. There was his Hut. His mango tree. His Lajjo tied to the tree. He saw the small hole dug by the goat. He started digging with his bare hands.
Kulsum was weeping all night and the next morning. She thought of telling the sarpanch of Haji’s absence. But thought of waiting one more day.
She was lying in her hut when she heard some sound outside. Was it Chandbi trying to thief on her goat? She got up hurriedly and opened the door to her hut.
She found Haji there on his knees.
“Did you find the treasure”, Kulsum asked, relieved to see him.
Haji smiled which turn into a laugh showing his broken front tooth.
And then she saw Gold. Lots of Gold.
Kulsum smiled.
Mom: Kya Samjha?
Me: hmmm?
Mom: what’s the moral of the story?
Me: Follow your dreams.
Kulsum was weeping all night and the next morning. She thought of telling the sarpanch of Haji’s absence. But thought of waiting one more day.
She was lying in her hut when she heard some sound outside. Was it Chandbi trying to thief on her goat? She got up hurriedly and opened the door to her hut.
She found Haji there on his knees.
“Did you find the treasure”, Kulsum asked, relieved to see him.
Haji smiled which turn into a laugh showing his broken front tooth.
And then she saw Gold. Lots of Gold.
Kulsum smiled.
Mom: Kya Samjha?
Me: hmmm?
Mom: what’s the moral of the story?
Me: Follow your dreams.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
A Travelers Guide from VT to Nariman Pt. (Part 1)
The train screeches to a tiring halt. I get up from my fourth seat (where you just about get to place your ass) in the second class compartment, after an arduous journey and get down the train.
When I get down the train, a proud feeling runs around in my body.
The Feeling of being a Bombaiite.
With so many legs walking strong, so many hands holding bags, so many eyes on the station clock, so many hearts left at home, you sense you are a part of this army, these middle class soldiers going to their various barracks on a war everyday, moving the whole of Bombay with their strength and it really makes you proud to be one of them.
And my Spirits are revived as I go through the most endearing journey from VT Station to my office in Nariman Point.
You know why it’s endearing? Coz I see the most beautiful things in that little trip of mine.
I see the blue uniformed “polishwala” sitting barefoot gazing at each and every shoe passing by, I see the ticket collectors standing lazy performing their daily ritual, and I see some fat rich men still sitting in the first class compartment waiting for the rush to disperse. I see unconcerned policemen sitting on chairs discussing their woes. I see among the hordes of people a few nice-looking girls guarding themselves from the lecherous crowd and a few boys having dreams of corporate success in their eyes, I see the permanent residents of the station begging early morning for their breakfast; I see sunlight shimmering through the circular transparent glasses across the stations and massaging some of the fatigued empty tracks. How I love this sight!
VT station was built in 1887-88 by Frederick Williams and if I had the opportunity I would kiss his hands for constructing this magnificent medieval castle. I am certain this chap had many pets and loved hunting. I am sure he stayed once on the Baker Street and loved playing Hide and Seek, because this station is one of the biggest play boards where you see something distinct one day and the next day you find something more interesting.
Let me give you an example. When you walk towards the ticket counter and move to your right you will see glorious doors opening to the heart of Bombay. You will listen to the taxis chirping, buses grunting, cars neighing but that’s not what I really want you to concentrate on. As soon as you come out, look back at the corners of these doors.
You will see a monkey hiding under the stones, a sly fox looking at you, a peacock trying to cover herself...Ahahah…that’s not enough. Look closely. Look closely. Do you see the monkey holding a vase, the fox is amidst the grapes and the peacock is hiding behind a huge pineapple. It also made me realize this gentleman sure loved eating fruits and maybe drank from a vase.
There is another creature I still have not been able to identify, leaping at you. It’s an eerie animal winged with demonic features: with horns, tail, and talons.In fact this creature (help me name it when u see it) is leaping out from every nook and corner of this building. Initially I dint understand the purpose of these “unrecognized” creature but recently on a rainy day, I noticed water coming out from the mouths of one of them. Then it dawned on me that at its best all these creatures were gargoyles in this huge fountain of a building.
Right opposite Vt station you have a very important building like the BMC, another Ethereal structure designed in the Gothic style of Architecture. But what I would like you to see in this building are two dragons holding a shield on which is written...(Oops!that is something I missed). Personally to me these dragons signify the British Raj in India and they sure look horrible with their eyes looking fiercely at you. Lately they are being painted on account of Independence Day.
Infact Vt Station is made in the Christian style with the towers more squarish and lean (forgive me for my weak understanding of architecture) and surprisingly the BMC towers are made with Domes of a Masjid and they stand proud in front of each other.
On the BMC Building you will see our national flag fluttering and right in front there is a statue of Sir Ferozeshah Mehta, who was an inspiration for young Indians of British Era to educate themselves and inspired them to join politics. Written in bold letters you will see “1845-1905” and below it “A True Patriot” marked in English, Hindi and Gujurati.
Now turn your attention to the Capitol Theatre.You will surely not miss it. Every one acts as if they have not paid attention to the soft porn flick poster put up on this theatre but there are sure furtive glances on the cleavage of the struggling actress or on the passionate kiss shared by the onscreen duo or on the promising title like “Hawas” or “Pyaas” which tries to seduce the audience to the seats on paying a paltry sum of 25.
Just for your information there was a Capitol theatre in every major city of the world, some died out and some still functioning.
Let’s move ahead towards the bus stop and on the way, you will see the main gate of VT, on which “Madhya Railway” (Central Railway) is emblazoned. There is a Lion and a Lioness sitting proud on both sides of the gate. They look content, as if they had been fed a sumptuous meal by Mr. Frederick before being asked to sit on the top to immortality. I have noticed the mane of the lion reaching his reclining body. Every Morning I greet the couple which a slight nod of my head. I am sure they must be pleased that at least their presence is being acknowledged in this busy world.
In fact this place is the best place to view VT station and its grandeur. Right at the top you have a Lady a la statue of Liberty but prettier unaffected by the ageing city in front of it.
Below it you have three more ladies, all dressed in white. One standing in the middle and the two sitting besides her. (I need a binocular to understand what’s happening up there).
And on the VT building you have large portraits sculpted in marble of important gentlemen. One looked like the figure of “Mr. Tilak” but I am not sure if British loved him so much to have his picture engraved there.
Overall now when I see VT Station closely, it runs a creepy sensation down my spine. It disturbs me, because of the indelible print which the English have left on Bombay, on me.
They bloody came, conquered, ruled, looted us, shook hands and left leaving us some Monuments so that we can remember them.
Shit! I should hate this Station but I can’t. I like this Monument so much. With a sense of irritation I move ahead.
To Be Continued……
(This Blog is dedicated to my dear brother, Sajid Siddiqui who helped me understand the Beauty of Bombay and the common love which we share for the city.)
Monday, July 16, 2007
Love
I got up startled from my half death. I tried hard to look in the dark at the one who had spoiled my sleep. And there she was, pushing my legs gently.
Normally she ruffled my hair and told sweet nothings but tonight she was sitting far away, expecting a confrontation.
“What do you want from me now? Ha vent I had enough? Why are you troubling me now?
She lowered her gaze but did not say a word.
“Enough tears have been shed for you, enough nights stayed awake, enough days I have spent thinking of you, enough have you wronged my heart”, my subdued voice spoke.
“Don’t Say that”, she said, visibly hurt.
I went on, the pain now more prominent in my tone, the defeat more traceable in my sigh,
“I remember all the sweet moments I spent with you but now, enough roads have I walked with you, enough of your holding my arm, enough the soft feel of your gentle breasts, enough of your lips which turn into a fake smile.
With decisiveness I spoke, “Enough have I run away from responsibilities, enough of befriending leisure and enough of enmity with practicality”.
“Why don’t you understand Razi? You mean a lot to me, a lot”
“O please, Stop that! You promised me that I will find you this time. But you are just an illusion,
O Love, you are just a facade. No one can really find you. What a fool I was to believe in you”.
And you know what, I really don’t need you now, I am absolutely fine without you.
Enough is what I find of you in my mothers lap, in my fathers blessings, on my brother’s shoulder, in my sister’s innocence, in my friend’s laughter”
“Why don’t you go to those who yearn for you, who are lying awake waiting to hear your tap on the doors of their hearts?
And what will you give them after they open the doors? Just suffering, anguish, distress?
You are just an evil guide who directs to a destination which promises only torture and torment.
Leave me alone. This heart is devoid of all these trivial emotions. You have killed it. Now go. Go from here, Leave me alone.
Love had tears traversing her beautiful countenance and I knew I had hurt her.
“I have only meant good for you, I want that you get the most of this world but there is one force stronger than me and that’s Fate. It binds my wrists tight and whips me when I think helping you ,when I want to do something for you.
I punish myself every moment when I see you in throbbing pain.
I crucify myself every instant when I notice your distress.
And still I come to you because I so badly want to be with you.
I raised my hands and asked for her as she embraced me amidst tears.
After a throbbing silence as we engaged ourselves in deep thought, I asked Love
“Then why did she say that she won’t see me again”.
“She was so close to me; I really thought I had found you in her. And now she tells me that she won’t see me ever again,”
“That girl didn’t believe in the eternity of togetherness but only in the temporary moments of brief romance” Love replied,
“You deserve better Razi, we may have failed this time but life teaches you to move on.
I promise you one day you will get what u are looking for, one day Fate would release me and I will come running to you for unending bliss and an everlasting ecstasy. I have just come to tell you that I am there for you and will never let go of you. You will be with me forever.
One day you will believe that I EXIST” she said this and vanished in thin air.
I lied down back, pulled the blanket on my head secretly hoping that what she said was true.
Normally she ruffled my hair and told sweet nothings but tonight she was sitting far away, expecting a confrontation.
“What do you want from me now? Ha vent I had enough? Why are you troubling me now?
She lowered her gaze but did not say a word.
“Enough tears have been shed for you, enough nights stayed awake, enough days I have spent thinking of you, enough have you wronged my heart”, my subdued voice spoke.
“Don’t Say that”, she said, visibly hurt.
I went on, the pain now more prominent in my tone, the defeat more traceable in my sigh,
“I remember all the sweet moments I spent with you but now, enough roads have I walked with you, enough of your holding my arm, enough the soft feel of your gentle breasts, enough of your lips which turn into a fake smile.
With decisiveness I spoke, “Enough have I run away from responsibilities, enough of befriending leisure and enough of enmity with practicality”.
“Why don’t you understand Razi? You mean a lot to me, a lot”
“O please, Stop that! You promised me that I will find you this time. But you are just an illusion,
O Love, you are just a facade. No one can really find you. What a fool I was to believe in you”.
And you know what, I really don’t need you now, I am absolutely fine without you.
Enough is what I find of you in my mothers lap, in my fathers blessings, on my brother’s shoulder, in my sister’s innocence, in my friend’s laughter”
“Why don’t you go to those who yearn for you, who are lying awake waiting to hear your tap on the doors of their hearts?
And what will you give them after they open the doors? Just suffering, anguish, distress?
You are just an evil guide who directs to a destination which promises only torture and torment.
Leave me alone. This heart is devoid of all these trivial emotions. You have killed it. Now go. Go from here, Leave me alone.
Love had tears traversing her beautiful countenance and I knew I had hurt her.
“I have only meant good for you, I want that you get the most of this world but there is one force stronger than me and that’s Fate. It binds my wrists tight and whips me when I think helping you ,when I want to do something for you.
I punish myself every moment when I see you in throbbing pain.
I crucify myself every instant when I notice your distress.
And still I come to you because I so badly want to be with you.
I raised my hands and asked for her as she embraced me amidst tears.
After a throbbing silence as we engaged ourselves in deep thought, I asked Love
“Then why did she say that she won’t see me again”.
“She was so close to me; I really thought I had found you in her. And now she tells me that she won’t see me ever again,”
“That girl didn’t believe in the eternity of togetherness but only in the temporary moments of brief romance” Love replied,
“You deserve better Razi, we may have failed this time but life teaches you to move on.
I promise you one day you will get what u are looking for, one day Fate would release me and I will come running to you for unending bliss and an everlasting ecstasy. I have just come to tell you that I am there for you and will never let go of you. You will be with me forever.
One day you will believe that I EXIST” she said this and vanished in thin air.
I lied down back, pulled the blanket on my head secretly hoping that what she said was true.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Quiver....
Quiver: It’s considered a case for arrows…but in my Quiver I have stories.
My stories, my arrows are made of Pain and laden with little thin strings of Pleasure. They have been sharpened by sorrow and been burnt in the heat of grief. When my arrows become hot they are cooled in the flow of hope.
I keep these arrows in my quiver and the Quiver close to my heart but now the time has come to remove these stories one by one and aim at you all who live between a grasping life and a strangling death.
Some of them are sharp, meant to hurt you…real nasty. Some of them would wander aimlessly... …some of them would be true…some would be blatant lies.
And mind you, I am a trained marksman coz I have learnt a lot from my teacher, the tough taskmaster called Life.
And here I raise my First Arrow called Love, take an aim with my bow made of touching words towards your heart.
My stories, my arrows are made of Pain and laden with little thin strings of Pleasure. They have been sharpened by sorrow and been burnt in the heat of grief. When my arrows become hot they are cooled in the flow of hope.
I keep these arrows in my quiver and the Quiver close to my heart but now the time has come to remove these stories one by one and aim at you all who live between a grasping life and a strangling death.
Some of them are sharp, meant to hurt you…real nasty. Some of them would wander aimlessly... …some of them would be true…some would be blatant lies.
And mind you, I am a trained marksman coz I have learnt a lot from my teacher, the tough taskmaster called Life.
And here I raise my First Arrow called Love, take an aim with my bow made of touching words towards your heart.
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