Tuesday, March 30, 2010

AmAn And AdIL

Brotherhood seldom crosses violence , it has weight...and comes in all ages...
I was a spectator, to their actions, and now I am a voice of their love. Aman and adil , two brothers, in identical dress, skinny and lean and together. Just when I reached and was siting at the bus stand on one of the chairs, they gave a careless glance at me and went on with their play. Perhaps they were playing who behaves more well, outside the house. So they were following instructions their mom gave them in anger. “sit here” she shouted . They preferred the floor unlike me, and took their place on the ground without any complains about their preferences. She came with a sack full of bottles , as it seemed from the noise that sack made . And told them “take care of this, I’ll return in a moment! “
Aman was elder. He pulled Adil’s arm and dragged him above on the stack. He placed him carefully there . As carefully as a muslim would place Quran. His concern for Adil was evident from what he was doing. He was in every alternate second looking at Adil, if he is fine, if he is feeling uneasy in siting because of the height of the huge sack, his everything was Adil’s movements. Their mother and father came with a set of luggage for them to board onto the bus. His father climbed up the back ladder of the bus to board the luggage there. It seemed mostly what I would call trash. I wondered why they are transporting trash from one place to another. Adil and Aman too fragile to contribute, to my surprise, were contributing. All the while her mother was facing difficulty in lifting the luggage to handle it to their father. Adil jumped and pushed the luggage as if it was a balloon . just to help her toil less. To help her stressed forehead get some relief. Aman on the other hand was busy helping Adil balance his moves. And also was taking care of Adil’s cough. He kept giving him water at regular intervals.
While her mother was shouting at Adil to keep off the luggage and let her manage, Adil looked innocently and jumped a few baby steps and again tried to help. As all the luggage eventually got loaded , Adil started coughing incessantly. Aman rushed at the ugly water cooler to fetch some water in his broken bottle and returned back to see Adil coughing blood. He got scared. Not to see the blood, but to see his brother in pain. He felt a sharp pin piercing him. He tore a part of his vest that was identical to that of Adil’s and wiped his mouth. Their mother was patting on his back and shouting for aid to the ignorant crowd. I rushed to the crowd of spectators that surrounded the family. He was not fine, and so was not his brother.
Adil stoped coughing as he stoped breathing. His mother felt numb, motionless under my eyes. I checked Adil’s pulse and told them it has stopped, and saw aman run somewhere. While his mother and father were in tears and wrapped up adil beside them, I was searching for Aman to see if he’s alright. Aman came running into the crowd pushing them away ,still not shouting and wailing, with a sack. This time and empty one. But large enough to gulp Adil. Aman wiped the tear on his cheek and pretended to be strong. He managed to raise his voice to audible levels and said, “ this is important , we need to take this along with the bottles also “
His mother saw Aman falling speechless after his decision to preserve his brother. His motive to move on keeping the things that mattered the most. Trying to make an effort of not letting life change under his dear brother's absence. An effort of not letting Adil think, that Aman did not wait till he wakes up again.
Hopes in childhood often counters the reality which we realise as we grow up. And having someone who shares your childhood is someone very precious. A person that remind you of your best days, at your worst times . Its very important to preserve people, the bonds and the memories.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

you are still here

Manika was an adult now. Her definition of adult was constructed from the fact that “ you grow into an adult when you make money of your own..when you are self dependent “
And she preached it too often to her friends and her juniors in college. She had the most lucrative degree, was an engineer. Successfully graduated from a premier institute. She was very happy about the four years getting over. Being a friendly person she made a lot of contacts during her college life. Some dear , some very dear. But she somehow lost interest in them when she entered the corporate world. No one had expected this turn of fate, but she gambled well with emotions, and thought, and moved on .
It was her first day of her joining the company. Very elated of the fact she got ready very well, just as she used to get in her college parties, touched up her introduction lines, like she did while she entered college, got some information of the who’s who of company..same as she did before entering the college, and wondered, has it moved on?
It was her night shift, and she got a call. She picked up, it was an unknown number. “hello...hello....hello...is any body there?? “
And no one responded. She could make out its someone very close to her. She crosschecked with all her previous contacts on her email list. But then all in vain. She found nothing.
With days passing by she got more and more busy with her new life. Clubbing , projects , training.. it came all too much and too well also. She was enjoying every bit of it. but felt empty at times when she thought of her old days. Some thing lingered about her past. She still wasn’t away being away. The only thing she came across every single day was a call at night..just like she had on the day of her joining. She sometimes picked it..sometimes yelled on the silent listener and sometimes just dint bother to consider it ringing. Out of inquisitiveness she even made friends with all the boys there  who oogled her, just to check if they are the ones calling. It wasn’t the case either.
She lived in a PG with her professional subordinates . one day she was all alone in the flat watching TV. And came her favourite programme Dance India Dance ...and she immediately scanned for a number in her cell phone to give a missed call, only to realise she’s not where she still thinks to be.
Later one night, she was fast asleep when her roommate came and knocked the door. She shouted from the door “chotu wait I’m coming” and ran to open the door...only to realise she wasn’t the one she had expected to be. She was not overworked. But she knew what was missing. The calls at night did continue all through. And she used to think ...what does it take to stay connected?
An year passed so on and she decided to leave her job for the sake of further studies.  It was again a night shift. And an email pop up came. The mail read
“ I used to knock at your door every night till an year ago...meanwhile this year I just had the option to call and check whether you have slept or not..not to talk...coz I know you had decided to move on..but just to make each day complete. Neither a day passed at that time without you, nor does it now.
Now even I’m out of college. The doors haven’t dreaded me so much...never have I been so obsessed with a room number.
I still miss you boss. Lots of chit chats due...
Chatter box “