How logical is india’s slogan “unity in diversity”. unity is india’s potentiality and diversity is the reality. does potentiality and reality ever match? these are not peas and carrots as they are shown to be in india. a purely hypothetical phrase, its like two ends of a string which will never meet. however hard one tries it will be more and more messy. the root is where the attitude is. where there exists some dozen different religions, four scores of cultures, hundreds of languages, thousands of dialects in each language, how do unity arise? after all unity is not a word formed of the 5 alphabets. how will india progress? how will india merge into a single decision? how do we make an understanding with other neighbour when the neighbour himself wont understand us. this unity that exists is merely a politically enforced one. the unity is just superficial. inside india is crumbling. its crushing under pressure.

one says ” i love my country, i love india.
but i hate these biharis they dont have any culture..see..
then these bengalis see them…always so selfish.. thinking about themselves always,
now now, dont u dare talk to me about the south indians, they should be omitted from the map of india. these guys you see dont even recognise our national language. they dont speak in hindi.
and how dare you support the marwaris. so shrude, always grouping amonst themselves.
See how people live in america… such a beautiful place. why cant india be like this?
see microsoft, world’s largest software firm. my dream job!! oh god..
some day i would like to be like Bill Gates. my role model”

Height of patriotism. what does he love about india? perhaps even the speaker isnt very sure of the answer. he talks of brain drain. but after some 2-3 yrs even he’s a part of it. he listens to Kalam’s “vision india 2020″ and the next day he has a flight to catch to the states for his new mindblowing job. what does this particular guy like in india? how can he contribute to his country’s developement? how can india grow up with these attitudes running in their bloods. they love to see tom cruise doing unrealistic stunts in MI2, but when our country men perform the same old stunts they are not impressed. they are not wooed. when do they stop worshiping the western world. they forget their own abilities, in their rush of licking the western masses. how many of them want to become an APJ Abdul Kalam or a Ratan Tata? hardly a handful. hence india is sinking. Why this obsession with everything imported. Do we not realize that self-respect comes with self-reliance? this above guy’s answer is there’s no scope for his improvement in this country. he is getting the best of the moolah in america. he’s getting well paid for his job in the gulf. of what he exactly deserves. he says india is not going to change. the entire system is corrupt. what he will he do alone being an honest IPS officer? he will be transfered to some desolate place, or he will be murdered the next day. and he wont join politics for the same reason. fine, done. i admit that he cant do anything in this deep dark world of corruption.

ask him a question… ” do you love your country?” he will say “yes” a blattant answer. atleast do these as follows !!

1.stop pissing on the walls.
2.stop spitting on the roads.
3.stop throwing cigarette buds under your chairs so that nobody would notice.
4.clean up your pet dog’s affluent droppings on the street.
5.pay for the bus tickets when you travel.
6.dont travel ticket less in a local train.
7.stop chucking an empty coconut shell anywhere in the roads.

Even if not for the love for your country, for the sake that you are an educated person, and that when you can respect and conform to a foreign system in other countries you can also do that it in your own.

These are the first steps in loving india. if one cant do these things, how can he even pass the IPS exam? how can he ever dream of changing india? one should first teach the baby to walk then to run, otherwise he will stumble and fumble.

i would like to quote a certain paragraph of apj Kalam in this respect.

“Like lazy cowards hounded by our fears we run to America to bask in their glory and praise their system. When New York becomes insecure we run to England . When England experiences unemployment, we take the next flight out to the Gulf. When the Gulf is war struck, we demand to be rescued and brought home by the Indian government. Everybody is out to abuse and rape the country. Nobody thinks of feeding the system. Our conscience is mortgaged to money.”

Yes india does have a unity amongst all its diversities. and the sad part of the story is india is united in their obsession of the western world.

I

When the pain subsides,

I close my eyes, to get back my past

Hallowed memories burn and blur!

Life has not been

The dream I saw!

I turn every page, to see it bleed,

I turn every corner, to wish you were there

The sun is so silent, the moon burning!

The night gave the pains

And along came dreams!

II

I so wish you would come,

Hold my hand, take my breath,

Into the cages of love!

I wish I could have held your hands till eternity,

Bring you flowers, and write you poetries,

I showed you my dreams,

But,

You gave me fresh blood!

And along came my dreams

]]> http://sauvik.wordpress.com/2008/07/05/and-along-came-dreams/feed/ sauvik http://sauvik.wordpress.com/2008/07/05/the-children-of-the-sky/ http://sauvik.wordpress.com/2008/07/05/the-children-of-the-sky/#comments Sat, 05 Jul 2008 06:59:17 +0000 sauvik http://sauvik.wordpress.com/?p=44

The Children of the Sky

[Inspired from the movie, "The city Of god

The smoke is overflowin’ from the trembling berretta,

As the human Gods rant and rave, of a ruthless vendetta!

Gift them a flower!

Sing them a love song!

The earth is smokin’ smudging the wet painted skies,

As the tears rebel and tender hands hold guns n’ agonies!

The man down there is bleeding; can you buy him a stairway to heaven?

As the blue bird comes and waits; can you give him his childhood once stolen?

Gift him a drop of water!

Sing him a lullaby!

The earth is smokin’ smearing the hallowed sun,

As the tender minds smoke, snort and kill, to become a man!

Has he been crying the entire night? Starving since the full moon?

Did you hand him the gun that day? Did you help him paint the skies maroon?

You gifted him a chain!

You sang him a war song!

The earth is smokin’ because you lit the fire,

As the children of the sky, wait for the summer’s ire!

The man up there is unforgiving, can you pay back for the freedom; you stole one day?

Did he sing you a lullaby? Did you ask him a drop of water?

He sang you a love song!

He gifted you a stairway to heaven!

The earth’s smokin’ because you gave him the gun,

As you lie writhing in the city of gods, a peeping sun!

]]> http://sauvik.wordpress.com/2008/07/05/the-children-of-the-sky/feed/ sauvik http://sauvik.wordpress.com/2008/07/04/in-search-of-a-mother/ http://sauvik.wordpress.com/2008/07/04/in-search-of-a-mother/#comments Fri, 04 Jul 2008 08:57:42 +0000 sauvik http://sauvik.wordpress.com/?p=43

The loneliness

Rajat has been living like this since the past 2-3 months. This self proclaimed seclusion has made him more resilient and indifferent towards life, or so he thinks. At times he feels if he’s behaving alright or not? His depressing ways of leading life has made him think of changing at least for his own survival. But unknowingly he has found a way to vent out his frustration living like this. He’s learnt not to give a damn to this world and the people around him. He’s learnt not take things to heart, and just shake off the dirt of his body, if by chance he rubs shoulders with somebody. He was contemplating on taking a week long leave from office and set out somewhere, his excuse to himself was to escape to Calcutta dust and the human griminess. But the real reason was, he knew; was he was afraid to face the realities of his own life anymore. Incredible India! The advertisement in the web page read, he clicked on it, a few links here and there and few pages refreshed and he was looking at mystic Arunachal Pradesh. The lazy hills undulating caught Rajat’s fancy. He loves to travel around, it takes his mind off, makes him feel human again, amidst all this madness.

That night Sreelekha had called up Rajat. It was half past midnight. Rajat had been expecting a call but it was undesired. They used to talk late, very late, but that night everything seemed unusual. She was sobbing uncontrollably. He just listened, until Sree started speaking.

“Just tell me what you said that day was a lie. Please Rajat tell everything was a lie.” gasped Sreelekha.

Rajat still remembers the first time they had met, the first year of the medicals in the anatomy practical at the morgue. “What an incredible place to find your soul mate”, they used to joke at the fact. But everything seemed so smooth, in this relationship of theirs. The 8 year long courtship, the secret meetings, and the nostalgic walks through the rugged lanes of the college street and then there was obviously a break at the coffee house.

“You know me Sree, I have thought over it, and I have let you know my decision, don’t push me over it.”

“But, Rajat you just can’t end everything, as if you had been the only one in this relationship.”

“I have given this decision my everything, you have to accept It.” said Rajat.

“You people are fucking mad. All of you people are freaks, your mom, your dad all of them” shouted Sreelekha as she banged the phone down.

He had felt his blood boil over, but deep inside he knew that what Sree said was right, and something inside him told that Sree knew it. She knew everything. It’s not that she didn’t want to compromise but Rajat just couldn’t agree to the fact where his life would lead him to.

The bitter-sweet past

Year 1994;

That was the fateful year, when his mother’s illness was first detected…

It was a happy time for the family. The youngest member has been born to Rajat’s youngest aunt, Nilanjana. The entire family had gathered in their family home at the Dover lanes, and there was laughter all around. Every face wore a smile for that day, and it seemed like everyone’s coming up with their indigenously novel idea of naming the baby boy. Somebody suggested “Joy”. Rajat was ecstatic because he had never seen a new born before.

“You are the big bro now”, Nilanjana smiled at Rajat.

“Ol, mol, bol, pol…Oh Yea, yap…. bubu, lulu….!” Rajat replied without looking up, he’s been busy with youngest member ever since he came into the house.

“Here take him to your arms, hold him.” said Nilanjana.

“No, no he’s too fragile, you hold him, I‘ll take him once he’s a few days old. Nilanjana just gave Rajat a caring smile.

“Mashi, now you have two sons! Whom would you love more?”Joked Rajat, after everything had calmed down, and Nilanjana was rummaging through the gifts for the huggies pack.

“Two sons… umm … yea … let me see… whom would I love much? Nilanjana came near Rajat, ran her fingers through his curly hair and said, “Why? Both of them equally.” She could feel a tinge of disappointment in Rajat’s eyes. The sadness she knew was because of his mother.

“Rajat, you should consider marrying, you are already 32 and it’s high time you thought of it”, Nilanjana searched Rajat’s eyes hopefully for an approval.

“Mashi, you know, I won’t marry unless Ma tells me to!” said Rajat, and I can’t leave off my responsibilities, just for the sake of living happily, I can’t be so selfish”

Rajat had a motherless childhood. He has always felt a dearth in the bonding of every relationship since childhood, and it has increased more as he reached his adolescence and then adulthood. He has always been close to Nilanjana, since the day he learned to say, “Ma”. Rajat’s mother was kept away, from him. Rajat was her obsession. She loved him. But she loved him unnaturally. She feared that whenever anybody would come near Rajat, they would steal her son away from him. She would not let him come near Nilanjana. She loved Rajat like she possessed him, but Rajat started thinking on different lines. He started avoiding her. He wouldn’t come home after school, he would cocoon into a shell in the presence of his mother. He used to go to Nilanjana, and find a mirror of his mother. From herein started the rip in the family, in the sisters; Nilanjana was helpless, Rajat’s mother relentless. The condition went from bad to worse, Nilanjana finished college, she got married, Rajat lost a mother; his dad decided to take up a job in Dibrugarh, Assam, for the sake of keeping his mother away from him. And consequently Rajat was admitted to a hostel in Calcutta. It happened so fast, at the blink of an eye, destiny intervened. Nilanjana used to go to Rajat every weekend, her new home was close to Rajat’s hostel. She used cook him chicken, and bring home made gulab jamuns and Rajat never complained of a mother. It was always such a happy reunion of a “mother-son” that maybe even destiny feared for this relationship and never intervened. It grew in leaps and bounds, it blossomed, and Nilanjana was suddenly a mother. Rajat wondered why he can’t call her that. But he could never understand why his mother hardly visited him. He talked to him on phone; she visited him in vacations, but never stayed. He started covering his glum with dirt, time and insomnia. But he grew up, loving his mother like his aunt, and his aunt like his mother. That’s why he never understood the geometry of relationships… Maybe that’s why he didn’t understand Nilanjana too…

The Sacrifice: Mother and then Son

“But, Rajat, You know your ma’s not well, and you have a life too.” said Nilanjana.

“Why did ma get married Mashi? Didn’t you know that she was not mentally capable to go the distance? Don’t you people feel guilty for ruining 2 more lives?” blurred out Rajat all of a sudden.

Nilanjana was taken by surprise, by this sudden outburst, “No, Rajat, it’s not what you are thinking.”

“You don’t see, how Bapi has struggle with ma, his entire life, and he stays quiet, that doesn’t mean that he’s living a ‘life’…” shouted Rajat, by now he’s got up from his chair, and pacing around the room.

“Rajat, sit down,” Nilanjana tried to calm him down, “your ma’s schizophrenia wasn’t acute that time, and we had no clue whatsoever, that it can develop to such a stage. Even after marriage she didn’t have any problems in adjusting to life. It was only after your birth that she started to show signs of acute mental stress.” said Nilanjana.

Rajat was not convinced. In his childhood he had lost a mother, found the mirror of a mother in his aunt, but he has realized that he has started losing her too. But he was a child then, he ran where he found love, he was driven throughout his entire childhood, by the lack of love. Now when he sees his mother suffering silently, craving for him, it singes his heart. Nilanjana often talks about her elder sister to him. She is a great woman. How she had struggled her entire life, how she had supported her 5 siblings, working over here in Calcutta, when the entire family was in Bangladesh. How she had sacrificed her own career and became the only earning member in the family. She filled up the vacuum for an elder son aptly, yet she was neglected all the time. It’s the society, the perversion of the then politically and religiously crippled society that made a retard out his mother. In those days it was a sin for an unmarried woman to go out of the house, leave aside, staying alone in a different country and India was sacrilegious, to East Pakistan (Bangladesh) back then. But she was adamant, she had taken the responsibility, and she was sure that she would see it till the very end. She had not taken a step backward; she had not buckled under the pressure, she had a vision in her mind, and she stuck to it. These are the words that constantly hit Rajat’s conscience. A woman who has struggled like hell, shrugged aside by the society, dragged to the extreme, exploited mentally, should deserve better. If she can sacrifice her life, for her siblings, for her family, for her, responsibility, he too can for the sake his “mother”. It’s time he gave back to her, even though she’s not in a condition to recognize it, but still it’s for the sake of his love for her, his own peace of mind. After all following your heart is nothing but selfishness.

He came back early that day, to his flat. He still remembers his mother retreating into the corner of room, when she heard that he won’t be staying tonight at her place. She had pleaded him, crooned to him for staying, but he didn’t. He sat back into his chair, with a can of cold beer, contemplating on what the doctor said last week, that his mother is improving, but it’s not stable yet. The phone rang. It was Nilanjana on the other end.

“Rajat, Sree called, you didn’t call her for the last 7 days. She’s worried.” said Nilanjana.

“Silence…”

“What happened? You should give her a ring back, and yes, drop by our house tomorrow for lunch Joy was asking for his dada” added Nilanjana.

“I have been from ma’s place just now. She wanted me to stay… with her..!”

“Silence…”

“Tell Joy, I ‘ll come tomorrow.”

In here you wish to fight, you win,

My window to my world, stuck in those starry eyes,

My window to my world, getting larger by the day,

A little rain, a little sunshine, a little to the east it lay!

A little bit of the meadow, a patch of the sky,

Faces, religions, colors, emotions, a handmade bonsai!

My window to my world, a blue house behind the trees,

Creeping bougainvillea wheezing with the breeze!

A little night, a little autumn, a little frame it held,

Somebody’s been crying in the blue house as the night rebelled!

My window to my world, where you see what you wish,

A little compassion, a little bit of courage, but a little selfish,

As I cling to this beautiful squared world, the twilight turns godless,

The marine drive, the Kerala sky, and those sweet rubbing noses!

My window to my world, knows no confines,

No vices, no virtues, no fading smiles, no desires,

Ready to look beyond, to search for that love long due!

In here you wish to have, you sin!

Peeping sunshine, flickering stars, and early goodbyes!

If I’d steal, I would steal a patch of the blue sky,

To step out of the cubicle, and make the bluebirds fly!

If I’d steal, I would steal a woman’s heart,

To kill hate, and make love never part!

If I’d steal, I would steal a night from our college days,

To see old faces and kiss the rising sun before closing our eyes!

If I’d steal, I would steal a missed chance,

To play the old tune in the guitar and let the world dance!

If I’d steal, I would steal the morning’s dew,

To show that happiness lies in the untold few!

If I’d steal, I would steal a drop of people’s tear,

To give them to the rains, let the earth hear!

If I’d steal, I would steal a life that once led,

To let him make the world a place worth living, not yet for the dead!

If I’d steal, I would steal a few hours of my pain,

To see that possible dream, and bring in the rain!

If I’d steal, I would steal a cup of my happiness,

To give it to them, who are far behind me in the pursuit of it!

“Excuse me, Sir!” mumbled Animesh in a possible irritated-yet-sounding-pleasant tone, “Can you shift one seat, that’s mine actually, if you don’t mind”. The old man gave him an indifferent stare and peacefully moved over. Animesh was restless; he put off his cabin baggage in the closet of flight no AI604, stuffed the New York Times at the back of the seat clumsily, took of his Armani overcoat and sat there fidgeting with his expensive new PDA. He was irritated because the flight was delayed for more than 3 hours and to add to it more he left without the cigarette packet from home. He spared a sideways glance to the man sitting beside him. Pretty old, how much? The receding hairline, the prominent creases on his face, the mellowed eyes, he guessed; maybe 75 or less? Yet seemed quite agile, dressed in a plain off-white shirt, tailor-made, ironed and grayish trousers, in a flamboyant thick framed black Gucci glasses, he seemed to be quite at ease with himself.

“May I borrow that paper of yours?” He asked Animesh, interrupting his constant stare from the corner of the eyes.

Animesh was a little taken aback by the sudden interruption but he managed quite well,” sure you may”, sounding quite authoritative.

“Me, Ajatshatru Banerjee, working class, but retired nowadays, he chuckled.

“I am Animesh, Animesh Roy, so Mr. Banerjee you going to Delhi? Or you have a connecting flight to Calcutta?”

“Oh! You are a Bengali? Nice to meet you Animesh “, without even paying any attention to Animesh’s question.

Animesh clicked his tongue in silence,” all of them have the same reaction when they find one, will these self proclaimed Bengalis never change?

“Hmm, so you have a connecting flight or you headed for Delhi?” Animesh repeated the question.

What do you think?

How should I say?

Connecting flight, yes you are right.

Ohkay!

By this time, the plane was soaring up amidst the clouds, white, misty flakes of the heavenly dews, roaming around aimlessly kissing the nose of the gigantic Air India Boeing as it surges ahead across the pacific. Animesh was thinking about the life in Calcutta, dusty smelly stinking roads, the moment he would place his feet outside the cabin the searing, dissipating heat, the air reverberating in sync with the heat emanating from the brown dusty ground, the smell of the rotten fish, the garbage dumped here and there, meandering along the narrow marauding lines of poverty stricken slums, the half-fed dogs, the crows, the tightly packed, loosely constructed shanties along the footpath, everything seemed ugly, bitter and tasteless. He felt like his once hometown had no color, other than yellow, that too mellowed.

“Missing home?”

Animesh was shocked, “voodoo or what? How did he guess?”

“A few more hours, and there again, the city of joy, the SFI’s, the maidan, homemade food, you don’t get these things in the States, you don’t get life over there, suffocating.” Ajatshatru said. “By the way after how long are you going?” Animesh’s face twitched and his eyes blinked, partially in relief, “after all he is no mind reader”, he thought.

“Yes, Mr. Banerjee, missing home”, he sighed. “—missing New York–” he thought.

“You said, you were into service, but retired now, right?” asked Animesh, desperate to shake off the disturbing pictures of Kolkata.

“Yes, son, I have retired long back, I used to be in the chief judge in Kolkata high court, place as such there was none, I had a transferable job, as result of which I had been fortunate to eat the rice of every color and caste and creed.” recalled Ajatshatru in a triumphant tone, “You don’t mind if I don’t call you by your name? You are exactly the same age as my son is.”

“No, no, why should I mind”, Animesh replied a bit confused about what to say to such a strange request. The toil and grind in America had molded him so differently that he now adheres completely to the western culture of calling names; he’s even changed his bathroom habits, unconsciously though. He still remembers how he and his brother differed in ideologies. His brother, a staunch communist and he a worshipper of western ideologies and dreamt of bigger life, unlike his brother.

“Where in Kolkata, do you stay Mr. Banerjee? North or south?

“North”

“I don’t like that side, it’s too congested”

“But, that’s where the real smell of the city is.”

“Yea, smell of rotten fish”

“Ah, that’s a delicacy, did you taste it?”

“And, the smell of pollution”

“Oh! That? They are talking of banning buses that are more than 20 years old, don’t fret over that!”

“And, the musty-smelling bazaars”

“You get good things, cheap, so never mind the smell, plus if that acts as an appetizer, believe me”

“And, dirty politics”

“Even America is not spared, and?”

“And communism and beggars and rusty old buses and stinking humidity and … wasted childhoods, great expectations from a city that’s inevitably a vacuum and there are toiling laborers, and dusty skies, even the moon looks ugly nowadays …

…

…. …

… … … don’t mind if I am rude!!” Animesh heaved.

“I see, you have great affection for your city, good to know!” Ajatshatru smiled.

A steely silence waved over the two, Animesh broke it “so, you stay with son in New York?”

Yes, you can put it that way; at least he does it that way” Ajatshatru said.

“I didn’t get it” What do you mean by ‘that’ way?”

“Never mind”

“Is this your routine tour of India? I will back by the next week, but I won’t be alone. You are coming back on?”

“You’re marrying?”

“Neah, I am already! My ma will be coming.

“Your parents are there in Kolkata?”

“Only my ma, father died 5 years back.”

Oh! Am sorry! Then you should have brought her here long back.”

“Ma used to stay with my brother, but he got married, there have been loads of problems, and brother shifted her to a nearby old home. But recently there have been some problems with the good-for-nothing management group of that home.” rued Animesh.

Is that so? Why what’s wrong?

“I don’t know Mr. Banerjee, don’t ask me. I got this letter from my brother last month, that the old home closing down due to lack of funds and he couldn’t afford to bear ma’s medical expenses, and …

… And you volunteered to fly to your ma and keep her near to you? She must be a very fortunate person to have a son like you, I am sure.” Ajatshatru completed the sentence for Animesh, a sense of great satisfaction and lament appeared on his creased face.

Animesh searched for the tone of sarcasm I it, but there was none, he cleared his throat and proceeded,” yes, that is the thing, but you know America is an expensive country and the dad’s pension that ma gets was never enough, however, we were planning to divide up all properties that father left in ma’s name and conjure up the expenses. Let’s see, the talks are still on, anyways, its family matters”

But Ajatshatru wasn’t listening, the last sentence distracted him, “the property… the inheritance… the divide… the greed…” He cleared his throat and poked Animesh, no, it’s not that I don’t have interests, I told you, I had spent 40 years of my life in these legal matters.”

Oh! Yes, I forgot! Animesh said almost apologetically. And my legal advisor says that there are ways that I can remove my brother completely from this inheritance race.

“Hmm” hummed Ajatshatru.” Where did you say you stayed?”

“Ha-ha! I never told you anything about that Mr. Banerjee, it’s an old trick, I stay in Ballygunge, but why do you ask?

Just like that, no reason, and what’s the name of the old home that your ma had been in?

“Umm… some Bonolata Devi Old-Age Home, I don’t understand why the govt. would even grant them permission if they can’t show enough resources, to maintain and run the organization” He suddenly felt very tired, the already blatant world just suddenly seemed more naked to him. Man’s ugly necessities of life loomed over him like cannibals in a desolate, lonely island, dancing for the death, for the greed, the shrill thundering sound of the Boeing pierced his ears. All his life he had seen this, been in the legal section he has never been spared from man’s utter covetousness, total materialism. He has always despised these and somehow he killed the pest without touching it or making his hands dirty. He removed his red Gucci glasses; they seemed too heavy for him and excused himself from Animesh. Went to the washroom, sprayed water over his face, came back and just sat there in his seat with eyes closed thinking nothing.

He sat like that for hours, ordered a light veg. lunch and ate in silence.

“Mr. Banerjee is everything okay with you? You look pretty exhausted, maybe this long journey!”

“How many minutes to land?”

“5-10 minutes, we have reached”, informed Animesh

“Hmm, you wanted to know when I am flying back to America. Right? ”Yea, if you don’t mind”, muttered Animesh. “Well… then listen, I didn’t give any of my 2 crore property to that idiot of mine and his wife, they don’t deserve it. I made my will, in which the entire property have to be handed over to a charitable trust. And when my son came to know about this decision of mine, I am here flying back to India, Kolkata, shyambazaar, north Kolkata you know, the place you hate so much, am going to breathe over there, and …

[Mr. Banerjee’s voice was drowned in the ear splitting sound of the touchdown of the flight AI604]

The flight has landed, passengers shifting here and there, voices, commotion, the air hostess preparing for the final adieu to all on board passengers and outside a scorching misty heat wave awaited Animesh Roy.

“You want to know the name of the charitable trust, Animesh?”

Animesh fumbled.

“It’s the same that went out of funds and was supposed to close, but don’t worry, it won’t close down now, you can have second thoughts about your company in the return flight” snapped Ajatshatru Banerjee.

Animesh was the last passenger to move out of the cabin, he walked away motionlessly.

“Name–?”   –  “sauvik”

“Age –?” – “23”

It began with some casual questions and some curt yet tensed answers. I needed to value that 23 years of life, and show to the world I am as solid as the rock, let whatever comes up.

“Hmmm… a few cystic areas on the right femoral head, a well defined lytic lesion on the iliac bone” murmured the doctor, “ when was the last time you had the operation told me?” he asked me eyes peeping out of the thick framed moony spectacles.

“Around ’95, almost 13 years back and there has been no complaints afterwards till the last month.” came my ma’s reply, dry but hopeful. Dry because she wasn’t conversant in cyst terminologies and hopeful because she felt that the doctor must have been wrong somewhere.

“Hmm… your son has the same problem once again, the cyst that was there 13 years had come back, recurred, only that it has grown in size, and it just might be a giant cell cyst, but nothing much to fret about, he needs some surgical intervention , and it will all be okay, as good as new.” The doctor explained under one breath.

“Was the last statement really required?” I mean why he needs to give that finishing touch? To show he’s the god around in town? I stole a short glance at my ma, thought I read something, anyways.

“How long would it take for the recovery, i mean before I can start off with office?”

“More than 3 months, but let’s see nothing’s decided as of now”, the doctor obviously a bit disturbed by my impatience.

I looked into her eyes, she had hundreds of questions, she won’t ask, she needs to show that she’s strong at least in front of me. She can’t look into my eyes lest she sees the eyes swelling up, neither can I, same reason. Sometimes I feel like laughing at the situation we are in. When the eyes speak more than you can bear, it’s better not to look into them.

“I will write down some investigations for you, and the usual blood tests will be there, get these things down, we need to be a bit careful this time, and don’t forget to take the elbow crutch, the fees should be paid over there…” said the doctor.

“Appointment’s over”, I thought, indirectly yet politely. My dad did the remaining formalities at the counter and walked to me.

“Put your over my shoulders, till I get your crutch” I put my hands over his shoulders, withered yet strong, stubborn, as I limped back to the cab.

My thoughts were scything my conscience into thousands of pieces. I wanted to laugh at my fucking luck, but not even a smile came to my lips. A bird with “freedom”, “fly”, “high” echoing in its heart and wings ready to take off, shouldering all the responsibilities. This was the day I was waiting for. Suddenly I felt as a pair of invisible hand rose from beneath the ground, and choked me, cut my wings, wringed my feathers, as I lay bloodied onto the ground. When the bird could have flown high, nearly touching the North Star or may be play with the red ball of fire in the twilight zone of the western horizon, lifting it, coming out, going in to the depth of the clouds, grazing the air, against the hungry tide, unruffled.

It took another pain staking 30 minutes to reach home. I was almost silent during that time, but ma kept on talking, talking and talking, maybe she felt distressed that way, or maybe I thought so.  She talked about everything to nothing in between. About how things would turn out to be absolutely fine, about “no-nothings” at all, about family matters, about my childhood crusades, about Mumbai and about how I came to sleep beside her, in the middle of the night, after I had a ghostly nightmare. She gave me an affectionate smile and asked, “You still afraid of ghosts? Ha-ha”. She had this god-gifted talent of making people laugh even in the grimmest moments and how much I could run to see that smile in her face can anyone tell me?   So finally the much awaited smile came to my face; I was blushing, aware of my cousin’s scornful look. I almost blurred out, “No! Ma!! It was just that one single night. Did I lie?

                                                                                *****

“No rice for me ma nowadays that I am jobless as ever; you wouldn’t want a pot-bellied son or do you?”  I shouted as she kept herself busy in the kitchen.

“Don’t worry nothing will happen, see what you don’t to yourself, eating all those vada-pavs and idli-dosas” she stressed.

“But, ma, I am not doing any—-”              

  “You looked so beautiful when you were under my care, all round faced and all; look at you now, no girl will marry you!”

   “That’s good isn’t it?” I said triumphantly.

    “And what happened to her—?”

“Her? Who?”

 “You know who… in your school…you told me about… She’s left you? Aww!!” she chuckled.

“Whaat?? Ma, will you please change the topic? I was suddenly all red.   

“Here, have the milk then, I won’t talk about her, just close your eyes and gulp it down”

“Miiiilk? I hate milk, you better talk about her, than me having milk.”

“Okay!…then”

“No, wait, sorry, you don’t talk. No talk about anything or anybody. I ll drink it up.” I was almost devastated.

“Milk is good for health, more of a calcium diet, the doc prescribed you one.” Ma was saying.

I slumped into the sofa, I knew it was futile to wage a war against ma’s wishes, fidgeted with the remote control, switched channels, lazily, and thought, why can’t they invent a calcium enriched cigarette. Not only calcium, but vitamins too. All re-packed and re-branded. Then nobody would be going after us, for smoking around. Even if they do, we can happily give them a nice black eye.

It had been 10 days without a puff for me. God!!      

Into the sleeping sun,

Of a parabolic freedom,

I want to escape.

to the woods.

to the silence,

where words kill.

Into the melancholic evening,

of an enthralling beauty,

I want to break free.

from the boundations.

from the death and hush,

where you can’t say what you want.

Into the utopia of my dreams,

Of an euthnasic way to awakening,

I want to lie forever.

in the laps of the angel.

in the greens of my past,

where deceptions stop.

Into the night stretched to eternity,

Of an enchanted star studed sky,

I want to steal the world.

to keep them to myself.

to let them live with me,

where separation never comes.

There’s fire raging in his eyes. Tired eyes, tired of seeing the same old pain, the same old dream.

The sixth straight peg of whiskey at his table;

He liked facing the world through the reddish haze of the liquid, nowadays. It looked more serene, more diffused, mellowed. He tried playing with the glass, rotating, turning, shaking, and listened to the soft tinkering of the two ice cubes floating around, before he could gulp down the poison and let it sear his already charred veins. The tinkering of the ice cubes seemed fanatic, a voice seemed to be lingering away, “Che is alive, he’s in our hearts”   The music seemed more distant, the cluttering of the crockery more rhythmic and the moon?

A big blotted white dot in the black canvas — “oh! God, why did you forsake me?”

It was in the early 80’s. Exact date he couldn’t recall, maybe November. Late sunny morning. Mother was busy as usual shuttling from room to room and banging at his closed door in between.

And he?

Lying curled up peacefully in a different time zone. Unaware that a soft chilly breeze was blowing through the half open window, the siphon curtains rippling carelessly, the fan creaking away at its own ease, two sparrows quarrelling at the window pane. A Karl Marx biography tucked carefully under his pillow and an angel in his eyes. Dreaming, dreaming, streaming. The seed of communism was sprouting, thriving, desperate for a drop of water, as it flung it roots into his mind’s canvas. Growing too, was his new found love, revolutions galore.

By the time he got up, the sun was blazing away. A split sunray fell upon the black and white life size poster of Che Guevara sitting majestically fondling a cigar at the right corner of his half open lips. His father, a man he idolized and despised at the same time was preparing for his 9-5 office. A bundle of dirty half corrected exam papers held carefully in between his armpits, a Bengali daily clutched in his hand and dying communist beliefs in his heart. Idolized because, he had never a man with such level of integrity. He did fantasize that he would be able to stand up to support his family as his father did. Year 1947 partition, two nations thousands of people streaming in across the Indo-Bangladesh border, seeking political asylum. Searching for a single shade under the sun, crying their lungs out for a mouthful of rice, not for themselves, but for their children; it is then that his father stood rock solid. The patience, the resilience, the hardship, and the sacrifice he idolized him for all this. And despised? Because he succumbed to responsibility. 55 years of his life, he had spent preaching a bunch of ignorant student in a govt. funded very ordinary school. Shabby and downtrodden.

“Why the hell can’t you wake up a bit early?” His mother shouted, “24years and you can’t even say a brinjal from a papaya!!!” startling him from his daydreaming.

“This boy has a long way to go, before life teaches him something; hopeless”, muttered his father in a half pessimistic tone.

“As always”, he thought of his father, “soft spoken, idealist, half hearted” he tried to hide a chuckle under his breath.

“Comrades!!!!” thundered Manick da. Mr. Manick Chakrabarty, clad in a yellowish white shirt, tucked out, a trouser that had gone through enough, unshaved, yellowed eyes, but there was spark within them, a thick framed black spectacles, which he proudly says was gifted to him by his wife, in their 20^th anniversary. He is the man, who made him that how communism can change this unequal and divided world, where liberty is earned through revolution, where every drop of blood that people like his father sheds will have its true value. Where every head is held high and knowledge is free, where beggars are choosers and kings stripped naked and made to run in the city streets.  He used to echo Marx, “the philosophers only showed how this world can be changed, but the point is the change to actually take place.” Revolution was in his eyes, youth his veins and dreams in his heart. He placed his first stepping stone in his red empire. Words, golden words, Che Guevara came to life, suddenly, “I know you have come to kill me, come shoot, you coward, you are only going to kill a man.” The words were of fire and ideologies are all in red, Red, RED.  Laal salaam!!!  He desperately wanted not to succumb to responsibility, like his father did. The world has never seemed so brave, so daunting, and so convergent. He stopped believing in Gods.

Mid 80’s. Maybe January. He’s not so sure. He had spent days under the sun, painting protest posters in red, rallying at the Brigade grounds, the writers’ building, burning puppets of opposition leaders, even holding a gun and idolizing Manick da.

And nights?

He spent them in puffs of smoke, nurturing hand made bombs, sleepless, or sleeping with the dogs, reading Karl Marx, Lenin, and Che. By that time it was high noon in his life. He tore off his scholarships for the US, gave up his lucrative career, where money came at flick of a finger and he told his sweetheart the same thing as he did to the Gods years ago. He hated it when his father used to say, “Being a common man is hereditary”. He pillared up his father’s failures and laid his stepping stones to success. He gave up his family for his ideologies, his responsibilities for his fantasizes his realities for his dreams, after all this what the likes of Marx, Lenin and Che did.              

Year 2000. Yes, today he can say that the two people he idolized the most did bless him. He might not have rubbed shoulders with the greats of communism, but he did go past his fellow comrade Manick da, with due respect. This time there was no need to hide the smile.

But yes, today’s sun did rise, but at a heavy price. The old retired school teacher, that his father was, is no more. He died of an askemic heart, ill treated, lack of medicines, lack of money, because in his world money didn’t come at the flick of a finger. His mother terminally ill; she was diagnosed with colon cancer 2 years back. Irreparable. His one time sweetheart settled in Cincinnati, US of A. he stood rock solid. He never even for a split second thought of laying down his ideologies, so that “his” people would question his integrity. After all he was his father’s son. Patience, resilient, and the sacrifice; he felt like the God, a god who sits among equals, he has no lesser children. Every drop of blood still boil, they are just as red as they were 30 years ago. The words still spit fire, but sadly beggars are still not choosers. There still some work left.

****

That evening his mother breathed her last, the final brick in the wall of his RED empire fell crumbling, broken down into thousands of pieces. After decades tears fell, instead of blood, white ruled instead of red, and Krishna became God instead of Marx.

For sometime.

The secretary (on phone): yes, sir the CM had already sanctioned the proposed site for the SEZ. The meeting is scheduled sharp at 4pm.

                                    There’s still some unfinished work.