Love...continued

Continued From: Love...

The Story of My Shoe

It was always Uma Miss who used to come in with the good news–official holiday declarations, the unexpected half days, those free lunch distributions, outdoor excursions, inter school art competitions and many others. But this time it was a new one.

In small village schools, you don’t have different teachers for different subjects.  Very often the same teacher teaches social science, moral science and English and does other clerical tasks for the school office. Ours was no different; Vikram sir being the most strict teacher in the school (after our secretary) was assigned PT classes for junior section along with Math and Science. But that afternoon he was too busy setting up the half yearly papers. A paper forged with questions he expected to intervene our silly pranks and negligence in the class, as retribution to our formation breaking during PT class and accounting all the in-disciplinary acts at school as a whole.

But the fear of exam was suppressed by the fact that it was the last day before exams and Vikram sir’s absence was the cherry atop.

“Vikram sir isn’t cominggg...” she said, her voice cheerful like always and her glowing eyes almost identically wide as ours after hearing the news. The classroom turned into fish market instantly, everybody started running towards the tiffin rack to pack their bags and run home.

Wait! Wait...she shouted, even her shout was melodious. Everybody stood still! But you can’t leave for home now… she continued, half of the kids hung their face expecting double sleeping period. What a bad ending to a perfect day like this I thought, the day even started with a heavy shower. The crowd started to breakup and return to their respective seats for a ‘heads-down’. But if you want I can take your PT class! And all 30 odd pair of eyes lit up again.

“I looked at the small nepali eyes of my friend and we ran towards the sports room”

PT with Uma miss was more about playing and less about training. Everybody was allowed to play their favorite sport, even hopscotch for the girls. My class was filled with good cricket players (Read: who could stand properly with the bat and pick it up on time when ball is thrown towards them) and almost all either knew how to throw a ball swinging their arm or they were trying hard to learn. I wasn’t able to apply that much brain in sports, May be that’s the reason that I loved football more than cricket.

We already had a lot of cricket experts and critics, but very few were interested in correcting a wrong football shot. All I had to do is reach near the ball and kick it, goal…? Well every kick on the ball was directed to only one direction, the short lived water pond in the center of the ground, and about goals, well we hardly ever had goal posts. Architecturally wrong, this place used to store all the rain water and was a trouble for the top-notch cricket players of class 4 but was a treat for us. Though it was often spoiled by Chandan, the school peon who with his spade used to dig a long canal all the way to the drains to flush out the water, but it was saved till then.

The ball landed in the pond and all 5 of us ran towards it. The goal was not to kick the ball out of it, that’s a mistake! The goal is how long can you stay there with the ball. The bottom grass were uprooted and the clear water mixed with the feet-dig earth turned pale yellow. First just the color then its form, the watery mud mixture soon took a thick viscous form but we were far from stopping and being stopped.

Uma miss has left for office long ago to attend a call she received, but it hardly mattered us. Has she been there, we would have played equally wild, also it was our last year with those half pants “Let’s ruin it” was the word in my mind only to be interjected by a loud call by Uma miss to come-back to the shed, it had started to drizzle…”but this is the best part about playing football” a friend said. I thought of returning for once, but what the hell, she was Uma miss, she would understand, and we started to play again. There was another call from her, this time it was loud and in no way melodious.

Water- often visualized being drank by a boy under a tube-well, being sprayed and played with by children, flowing down a fresh dug canal to a paddy and countless other happy moments; has a darker side, and hailing from the riverbank of one of the most ferocious river in the country, I guess I already knew it somewhere deep down my heart.

"Ironically, the two most-dark side of water; comes in two completely different volumes, the one in drops is the darkest"

Not far away, after her two customary calls for us to come back, Uma miss headed towards the other end of the school, the fun was all lost as everybody started returning, and so we too decided to return back to our class, just then that small eyed kid kicked the ball out of the water shouting “today, you will go to keep it in the sports room” dammit! Vikram sir must be there, and he will be accounting much more than my muddy shoes to set a tougher paper. I looked at the ball and it went the other way of the field. I ran to prevent it from crossing the bamboo boundary but it kept on rolling, slowly but continuously, luckily it got stuck between two bamboo stick. Tired after the game I took my time and reached there to pick up the condemned ball, only to see Uma miss sitting on the floor near the seldom visited open godown, that place was almost considered the blind spot of the school.

Facing away from me, with her elbow on her knee and hand on her forehead, she was sitting there as if she was thinking something, quite an odd place and posture for a teacher to sit and think - I thought. But there were certain jerks in her moment, she was bringing her other hand towards her eyes - she was crying.

Just then few of the lady teacher reached there, it appeared like they were trying to find her. I stepped back and headed towards the tube well to wash myself. I didn't know anyone who would have seen her in this stage, moreover she wasn't from our village so that clears a lot of good people out of the list. But I was hardly 10 then and the best part of being young is that, you forget things that should trouble you.

I washed myself all alone with no one to pump the tube well. Already tired, I didn't had the energy to clean the shoes further and headed like that towards the sports room with the football in my hand without even thinking about the consequences. Our sports room was also the common room for most of the male teachers, and Vikram sir along with Rajeev sir and a few others used to sit there regularly to have male chats, but it was just before exams and I expected them to be busy setting the toughest paper of their lives. When I reached there, I was shocked to see almost all the male teachers in the sports room, even those who were seldom seen revolving around it. Some managed to grab a seat, others standing. Some perfectly quiet others murmuring to themselves. I managed to maneuver inside the room between the gaps and kept the football inside the cartoon full of other junk and started to move out using the similar route. Nobody cared to scold me or even have a look at my shoes. Seeing the Gods(We have 33 crore) smiling upon me, I ran from there.

On my way back I felt, something was odd in there, but that’s the best part of being young. By the time I reached my class, I have stopped thinking about it. But it's not always the same…not when you start recalling those things.

Few years later, I was awaken by a shocking news.

The Lone Wolf

A Study

I don’t know how long I have been writing this. It’s hard to write about a subject you seldom meet, and even fewer time in its true form.

He has always made me feel as if I have always known him, like we have grown up together.
But it’s only in the recent past have I come to know about his existence, his true existence.

Have spent countless nights with him, both sad and happy, foolish and wise, futile and some of them even highly edifying.

And almost always, he; somewhere or other used to leave a hint, a hint which always lead to a thought of singularity.

Hints which often made me wonder on questions like,

Why do we have to be with a family at home, with friends at school, with siblings in the backyard with colleagues at office and in a graveyard full of other dead people after death?

                                                                         

The answer, which I came to learn the hard way was very compelling. It can’t be denied that we all are afraid of being alone. We fear death, but not greater than the fear of dying alone in a closet. We love to get lost, but losing your hotel name in an alien location sends chilling spikes to the nerves of an average traveler.

Unlike many of us, ‘He’ wasn't born alone, but unlike any of us, he prefers to stay that way.

No, he is no average singleton grocery buyer! He lives in the 21^st century, and things like this will only call out for attention-hurling-police. He have been playing this normal character from a very long time and have developed perfection in it, when asked frankly, even he wasn't able to recall since when.

He lives, he moves, he talks, she sees, he winks and he moves on. But deep down his heart, he is a “Lone Wolf”

“First they try to kiss you, be you then kill you”

We all have that dark desire to break free and live life our way, quiet contrary to the facts that we all are chained to different shackles of life. But when you see someone who’s wrists are scar-less, living a free man’s life, not giving a damn fuck to anything in life other than the few things that makes difference of him being alive, ‘You’ feel insecure! You want to ‘be’ like him, ‘live’ like him but you can’t. You can’t because you have only seen the bright side of the full moon.

The moonless nights are kept away from you for your own good, But he reveals the darker side, the side he chooses to reveal only when its time. This time you start fearing him. You pity his life and feel sad for him, but it hardly matters and you better do so, that’s the very reason he unraveled it, it’s time for either him to leave the system or yours.

There’s a phenomenon called waning. Coincidentally it’s connected to the gradual disappearance of moon from the sky in bits, pieces and slices. The only difference is that, we know the moon takes 28 days, we are yet to find out how long wolves take to come back.

Flipping A Coin

The cycle tires were quivering and the age old hand-bell was tringing all the way on the newly widen road to the grazing field. The road looked like someone has just sprinkled raisin on a yet-to-bake cake. The road though resembled the unbaked cake; sloppy and gooey, the raisin weren't soft enough. The handball size boulders were so strategically placed on the road that no one could dodge one of them even if he has to travel a feet. But then again who was trying too? The desire to reach the pond has suppressed all other feelings by then and cycling was the only word in mind.

I looked at him, he knew what I meant. A Race! "But on this road?" he signed expecting a reply. But before his signing expression could have ended, my leg shifted my entire weight on my right peddle and then to the left and he was watching my back. Neither of my sense organs cared to reply him and this was what we used to do.

 I was zooming away from him and he was trying very hard to catch-up, but soon left hope. It wasn't the first time we were riding those lanes and he knew I always had a strategic advantage. But it hardly mattered who would win or loose, every time we rode those lanes, we would surely stop at a small 'Ghumti' to buy those cheap sweet puffs and enjoy them for being so deliciously cheap.


But it was hardly 6 in the morning, Romen da wouldn't even be at his shop, infact he too would be at the pond. His front tire started closing up to my rear ones…

The neck to neck race has changed into a pleasant ride in the country and the unbaked cake with raisins topping has been replaced by twisting turning bitumen road with bamboo shrubs running parallel to it on both sides, weakening the rising Sun further, not to startle us. In between those hide and seek of the sun, the bamboo border and the twisting road, we got a glimpse of the pond. It was hardly for a
moment, but it was enough...

This time he looked at me, this time I knew what he meant, this time I watched his back zooming away.

We went pass Romen da’s ‘Ghumti’, the garage house of the early bus to a nearby town zoomed away. The bus is still in the garage; people are going to get late today. The twisting turning road went straight all of a sudden and the pond; crowded with people like ants around a drop of sugar syrup, was clearly visible from the elevated road. A lot of people have gathered there. Many known and some new faces. But it wasn’t the faces we were there for. There was another species present there from the mammalian family, in almost the same number as human present at the pond.

It was the early morning of 14^th April of an unusually good year. I was near a pond without my mother’s consent and with one of my (then) best friends. And most of all, we were equally excited to see herds of cow being bathed together at a pond and fed vegetables for reasons we hardly knew then. All we knew was it was the first day of Rongali Bihu and we loved to hear “Lao kha begena kha, bosore bosore bahi jaa”

Sometimes you don’t need reasons to accomplish anything; the fun involved in doing it is just about enough. "Sometimes you just flip a coin without favoring a side."

Destruction! A Good Thing to Begin With.

To begin with, I would like to say, this wasn't even the title of this article a day ago, or even now while I am writing…because I haven't decided it yet, But “What is the title?” isn’t the question, simply because you have already read it.

The question is what was it before it was changed to this? And why was it changed?

Whilom: (adverb) Pronounced: /wʌɪləm/; in the past.

3 days ago I experienced something for a brief moment, something I am very sure everybody, in varying magnitude, has experienced in his life. A feeling of despair!

 

A series of thoughts ran through my mind like pictures taken from my own life. It was like watching a movie, only it was a horror one. There was a moment when there was three of Me. I was relieved that I have company, but only to realized, they were Me against Myself. They were "Anti-Me".

Just before the moment I was about to rupture, the movie screen turned bright white and I saw the current Me, Me for Myself, and He said something… something that took away my fear... 


The chronicle:

So, after an enlightening experience like that, I sat down to pen picture the whole event. As I told, it was a very brief moment. But when I sat down to pen it, I was amazed with the details that it happened! It was like the ink from my mind wasn't going to stop. I went on writing, I couldn't have stop as I no longer had control over what I was writing, neither was I allowed to read it. It was like my 10 fingers were slaves, working, typing relentlessly for a big fat boss sitting somewhere up; My Brain.

After an hour of continuous nibbling with the keyboard, I knew I have documented everything I could remember. So with a thought of giving it a fresh look the day after, I went at peace with myself.

I gave my two whole days to write, rewrite, review, correct and give it the feel I experienced, but it was like I was pushing a wall. I read and re-read it again and again, but couldn't even satisfy myself.

I knew I couldn't add anything to it, I was done with the article, and it was ready for posting, but only it wasn’t.

I WASN’T… 

Refutation: (noun) Pronounced: /rɛfaˈteɪʃ(ə)n/, the speech act of answering an attack on your assertions 
So here you are penning down one of the most remarkable experiences from your life but sadly you are unable to. How frustrating that could be? You give yourself petty explanations like “Your English isn't good enough” or “Maybe it’s just because it’s too late, try again tomorrow”, you even tried to copy the text to a new file just in case it strikes a chord, silly isn’t it? But deep down your heart you know you are almost done with it.

So why not delete it!?... How could you? After investing that much of your time, during office lunch, those late night coffee, waking up early morning just to write and rewrite that experience and suddenly you are asked by your heart to delete it? That’s merciless and your brain can always give you reasons not to, afterall it was her child. 

With all this mayhem going around and you with your hands on your closed eyes, hear something, a faint “clung”. You know what it is. It’s your laptop hard disk motor stops rotating. 

With a 4 year old laptop and a dead weight battery removed from it like a bad organ, it hasn't ever waited for you to shut down; every time there’s been a power cut. From the last mission of MW2 or the final touch to a beautiful RAW photo in Photoshop, it never did, but never has it shut down in a time like this.

Remember? I copied the text to a new document… well; I wasn't done saving it yet. I was blank for a moment, same as my word document. I didn't know how to react. It was then I saw the same myself once again, the screen went white once again like a florescent lamp, and He, I, Said the same thing to myself.

Take “Three deep breath”. Yes! This was once the title of this article, and I was almost done with it, or so I thought. 

3 deep breathe down my larynx via my trachea to my bronchioles. What difference does it make? Ask this to someone who is running out of it. 

I stood up, breathed some more, “Click, ting, zooommp!” power was back!

I sat down again; my index finger went right on to the power button of my laptop. Windows 8.1 looks really pretty while powering up!

The moment it was ON, I directly went for MS Word, a pirated version I confess.

It read “Recover Unsaved Document, Untitled-1”

I can still save it from being a disaster. All I had to do was click on it. 

Mind Feed:

Like a great mind once said, (not quoting): Destruction is good, you get a chance to start all over again keeping in mind your past mistakes.

I clicked on “Cancel” and here I am writing this article. Disaster? No because Destruction is a really good thing to begin with. Huh! (In a realizing tone)...There lies its title somewhere.

P.S: I still haven’t thought how to start “Three Deep Breath” version 2.0, but there is one thing I am sure of. It won’t start with “One day…”