That day, I came home unusually late. I opened the door with the two coarse hands of mine. My son rushed out at me the moment the door was opened. He looked at me with those expressive eyes of his as if asking me whether I had kept my word of buying him a new toy. I turned my head side-ways and continued to elude those inquisitive eyes. He appeared dejected and understandably so. He has not had a toy in years. The toy that he has played with all these years now has a deep dent and so do I.
I have failed as a father, as a husband. Those days have now gone. I still remember those days when my father used to take me to his lush fields. I used to watch him toil in harsh sun day-in and day-out. Months of perseverance would then yield fruitful results. The rich harvest of crop would not only suffice our family but would be enough to feed the neighborhood too. Today, I have to struggle for a day’s survival. Those fields that I once owned are now in possession of landlords.
I had no other options left. I had to take these drastic steps to meet the ever increasing demands of the markets. A tiny drop of water emanates from my eyes as I pen down my final lines. I only wish that it was from heavens above. I apologize to my family that I am leaving them alone in this dark hour. But this is the only way out. I cannot face the goons eyeing me everyday; I cannot face my innocent son or my caring wife, I cannot face myself in the mirror.
I moved on finally to the lone Banyan tree standing in midst of barren land. The land which once used to be lush green was now wearing a shade of burn. The tree had stood the test of time by staying strong throughout the seasons. I thought, wasn’t it the same tree whose branches acted as swings when I was a kid? I wondered whether those same branches would be able to bear my weight today! The branches felt warm over my neck as if reassuring me that death will be prompt. I looked heavenwards for the last time. Stars were shining in pitch black sky. Suddenly I heard something snap and the sky was starless.
HOPE THIS SMALL EFFORT HELPS YOU TO UNDERSTAND THE FATE OF MANY OF OUR TRUE ‘ANNADATAS’. SAVE THE FARMER.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Primary Ardor
I still remember the day she looked at me. The day she smiled at me. The day she conversed with me, as if it did matter. I could see nothing but the gleam in her eyes. The year of 1999. I was still in school then, grade eight to be precise. She on the other hand was at least an inch or two taller than me and I really hate this part…at least half a decade elder to me.
I used to meet her everyday then. Dad’s car had broken down then. Thus, I had to rely on public transport to ferry me to school and back. That was the first time I actually talked to her. “Hi, my name is Nikhil”, I would say. “Hello”, would be her reluctant answer.” I saw you at the city park once. Do you stay nearby?”, I asked. She curtly replied,”Yup, bang opposite the park”. Just then her bus arrived. I cursed the driver and realized that she was gone only when I heard the bus accelerating.
“She’s the one”, I said to myself. If there’s any one it’s gotta be her . I made it a point to reach the stop before time and then as a gush of fresh air, she would arrive. A formal hi and talks over weather would be the only conversation between us. This even though may seem insignificant to me now, was enough to make my day. Dad was surprised when I started talking about saving fuel, being independent when the car was right again and I insisted on using BEST. My dad was proud, but little did he know that his son was in love.
The date was 16th of July 1999. Heavy clouds strangled blue sky and it seemed as if it might unleash its might any time now. Mom handed an umbrella to me just as I was about to leave. The wait at stop paid off when she arrived. She looked stunning. I wish I could tell her. She seemed more cheerful than usual. Her bus was late which I did not hate. She talked about college and college festivals. I just couldn’t hear what she was saying. I could just see her large eyes expressing each word that flowed out of her lips. Her long tresses were waving playfully in the fresh monsoon air. Her perfume almost swayed me away. I wanted to hold her and tell her how much I loved her. A brief spell of shower almost came as a gift when she stood under the same umbrella that I had got…Thanks mom. Then suddenly….it happened…her bus it was here again. Bye bye.
Next day, I decided that now was the time to tell her how I felt about her and in a very flimsy manner, got a rose for her (RED!! Can you believe!). It was the stop again. Her again. But this time she wasn’t alone. She was with Derek, our local macho. Seeing a rose in my hand, she playfully asked me who was it for. “For our class teacher. It’s her birthday today.”, I lied. “So sweet”, she said and pecked on my cheek. It turned red. Derek playfully slapped me on the other one, even it turned red. And then….they went off.
Holding both my cheeks, I wondered how quickly everything happened. I consoled myself saying after all it was love at the bus-stop which any way would’nt have materialized. She however left me in a stranded Pose holding nothing but a Red Rose….
I used to meet her everyday then. Dad’s car had broken down then. Thus, I had to rely on public transport to ferry me to school and back. That was the first time I actually talked to her. “Hi, my name is Nikhil”, I would say. “Hello”, would be her reluctant answer.” I saw you at the city park once. Do you stay nearby?”, I asked. She curtly replied,”Yup, bang opposite the park”. Just then her bus arrived. I cursed the driver and realized that she was gone only when I heard the bus accelerating.
“She’s the one”, I said to myself. If there’s any one it’s gotta be her . I made it a point to reach the stop before time and then as a gush of fresh air, she would arrive. A formal hi and talks over weather would be the only conversation between us. This even though may seem insignificant to me now, was enough to make my day. Dad was surprised when I started talking about saving fuel, being independent when the car was right again and I insisted on using BEST. My dad was proud, but little did he know that his son was in love.
The date was 16th of July 1999. Heavy clouds strangled blue sky and it seemed as if it might unleash its might any time now. Mom handed an umbrella to me just as I was about to leave. The wait at stop paid off when she arrived. She looked stunning. I wish I could tell her. She seemed more cheerful than usual. Her bus was late which I did not hate. She talked about college and college festivals. I just couldn’t hear what she was saying. I could just see her large eyes expressing each word that flowed out of her lips. Her long tresses were waving playfully in the fresh monsoon air. Her perfume almost swayed me away. I wanted to hold her and tell her how much I loved her. A brief spell of shower almost came as a gift when she stood under the same umbrella that I had got…Thanks mom. Then suddenly….it happened…her bus it was here again. Bye bye.
Next day, I decided that now was the time to tell her how I felt about her and in a very flimsy manner, got a rose for her (RED!! Can you believe!). It was the stop again. Her again. But this time she wasn’t alone. She was with Derek, our local macho. Seeing a rose in my hand, she playfully asked me who was it for. “For our class teacher. It’s her birthday today.”, I lied. “So sweet”, she said and pecked on my cheek. It turned red. Derek playfully slapped me on the other one, even it turned red. And then….they went off.
Holding both my cheeks, I wondered how quickly everything happened. I consoled myself saying after all it was love at the bus-stop which any way would’nt have materialized. She however left me in a stranded Pose holding nothing but a Red Rose….
An unlikely duo!
Ronnie was late. Nothing new. His being late today would increment his “Being thrown out of class” count to three this week. Surprisingly it was only Wednesday. Still at 18, Ronnie looked quite gray for someone of his age. Silver streaks here and there peeked out of his tresses. Dark circles evaded his eyes. A rugged T-shirt and old torn jeans made him the way he was...Filthy.
Ronnie was a student of St. Stephens College which is regarded as one of the best in town. A bus ride from his place to College would take around 25 minutes. The bus he would take would be Bus no. 525.
A nasty fall over a rock virtually invisible to poor Ronnie made his knee sore. Ever late and now in severe pain Ronnie managed to get into the bus. Pushes here and there, people coughing and an oversized lady blocking his way made him feel dizzy. A couple of minutes later he almost fought for the seat with an elderly man and found the seat next to a person who can be said to be a total Antithesis of Ronnie. Nearly 65 years of age, neatly pressed trousers and a clean white shirt. Perfectly placed black cap…a Parsi cap and a gleaming gold watch. The man we are talking about is Mr. Rusi Irani.
Spotting the whole scene, Mr. Irani intervened and boomed at Ronnie saying the seat was meant for senior citizens and that boys of his age must offer seats rather than snatching it away in this ungrateful manner. A few nods and grunts here and there compelled Ronnie to vacate his seat for the old man. The rest of journey was nothing but surreal pain for Ronnie which as it seemed was throbbing. Mr. Irani noted Ronnie’s unusual posture and felt bad for him but kept mum.
Next day, same story. Ronnie took the bus 15 mins late. The bandaged knee still reminded him of the fall if he exerted a little extra weight over the leg. Somehow he managed to get onto the bus. Making his way through the traffic, Ronnie heard commotion over a seat a few rows ahead of him. It was the same man who boomed at Ronnie yesterday... Mr. Irani. Mr. Irani was arguing over a seat with an equiage woman which he had reserved for someone. Arguably he said it was for his injured son. On spotting Ronnie he said,”Ah! There he is.”.
What followed next was a long chatter of discussion and laughter. Mr. Irani turned out to be a very humorous person indeed. Ronnie got along pretty well with Mr. Irani. Ronnie told Mr. Irani about his time management problem and was given some apt tips by Mr. Irani. Next day Ronnie was in time and also found Mr. Irani holding a seat for him yet again.Mr. Irani would now meet Ronnie daily and the duo would chatter as if they were long lost friends. Ronnie learnt that Mr. Irani was a retired accountant and that he visited town for court hearing over his VRS issue with the company. Ronnie could only wonder at Mr. Irani’s love for his 1960 ford, his obsession for cleanliness. Ronnie also obtained some useful study tips from Mr. Irani. Ronnie talked to Mr. Irani about his obsessions, and his dreams. A half a century age difference seemed almost to not exist between the two. In Mr. Irani Ronnie had found a friend, philosopher and a confider.
Bus no.525 was a regular phenomenon now. But one day the sky appeared duller than ever. Even the birds stopped chirping. Mr. Irani’s absence made it even gloomier for Ronnie. A week went by and Mr. Irani’s absence each morning would make Ronnie feel sick. An overheard comment from a co-passenger stunned him. He heard someone saying that he had to attend a parsi funeral in evening and that the person passed away in the hospital after suffering from a heart attack a week earlier. Ronnie suddenly felt hollow. He just prayed it would’nt be Mr. Irani.
Next day, aboard the daily 525, Ronnie prayed for Mr. Irani. However, a friendly tap from behind made him see a beaming Mr. Irani still holding a seat for his dearest Ronnie…. All was well.
Ronnie was a student of St. Stephens College which is regarded as one of the best in town. A bus ride from his place to College would take around 25 minutes. The bus he would take would be Bus no. 525.
A nasty fall over a rock virtually invisible to poor Ronnie made his knee sore. Ever late and now in severe pain Ronnie managed to get into the bus. Pushes here and there, people coughing and an oversized lady blocking his way made him feel dizzy. A couple of minutes later he almost fought for the seat with an elderly man and found the seat next to a person who can be said to be a total Antithesis of Ronnie. Nearly 65 years of age, neatly pressed trousers and a clean white shirt. Perfectly placed black cap…a Parsi cap and a gleaming gold watch. The man we are talking about is Mr. Rusi Irani.
Spotting the whole scene, Mr. Irani intervened and boomed at Ronnie saying the seat was meant for senior citizens and that boys of his age must offer seats rather than snatching it away in this ungrateful manner. A few nods and grunts here and there compelled Ronnie to vacate his seat for the old man. The rest of journey was nothing but surreal pain for Ronnie which as it seemed was throbbing. Mr. Irani noted Ronnie’s unusual posture and felt bad for him but kept mum.
Next day, same story. Ronnie took the bus 15 mins late. The bandaged knee still reminded him of the fall if he exerted a little extra weight over the leg. Somehow he managed to get onto the bus. Making his way through the traffic, Ronnie heard commotion over a seat a few rows ahead of him. It was the same man who boomed at Ronnie yesterday... Mr. Irani. Mr. Irani was arguing over a seat with an equiage woman which he had reserved for someone. Arguably he said it was for his injured son. On spotting Ronnie he said,”Ah! There he is.”.
What followed next was a long chatter of discussion and laughter. Mr. Irani turned out to be a very humorous person indeed. Ronnie got along pretty well with Mr. Irani. Ronnie told Mr. Irani about his time management problem and was given some apt tips by Mr. Irani. Next day Ronnie was in time and also found Mr. Irani holding a seat for him yet again.Mr. Irani would now meet Ronnie daily and the duo would chatter as if they were long lost friends. Ronnie learnt that Mr. Irani was a retired accountant and that he visited town for court hearing over his VRS issue with the company. Ronnie could only wonder at Mr. Irani’s love for his 1960 ford, his obsession for cleanliness. Ronnie also obtained some useful study tips from Mr. Irani. Ronnie talked to Mr. Irani about his obsessions, and his dreams. A half a century age difference seemed almost to not exist between the two. In Mr. Irani Ronnie had found a friend, philosopher and a confider.
Bus no.525 was a regular phenomenon now. But one day the sky appeared duller than ever. Even the birds stopped chirping. Mr. Irani’s absence made it even gloomier for Ronnie. A week went by and Mr. Irani’s absence each morning would make Ronnie feel sick. An overheard comment from a co-passenger stunned him. He heard someone saying that he had to attend a parsi funeral in evening and that the person passed away in the hospital after suffering from a heart attack a week earlier. Ronnie suddenly felt hollow. He just prayed it would’nt be Mr. Irani.
Next day, aboard the daily 525, Ronnie prayed for Mr. Irani. However, a friendly tap from behind made him see a beaming Mr. Irani still holding a seat for his dearest Ronnie…. All was well.
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