The Rainbow

I do not like the sound of the hooting ambulance. It scares me when I am on the road driving. I start steering my vehicle to the right and left in the thick of Mumbai’s traffic because I want the ambulance to pass and give me relief. So, when it is my turn to be in the ambulance, no matter how urgent it may be for me to reach my family to the safety of the hospital, I ask the driver to put the lights on but to keep the hooter on silent mode.  On one such ride, about five years ago, when we were taking my mother-in -law to the hospital, somewhere near Mumbai Central, I made the same request to the driver who seemed quite surprised considering the fact that the distance to be covered was quite a lot and the patient did not look good at all. Good that my wife stood by my decision and we had it our way.

As we reached the hospital, the staff was ready and immediately took the patient for some quick tests which were explained by the resident on duty after consulting the Head of Department that my mother-in-law had to be immediately admitted to the ICU. We were asked to fill up a number of forms and make a handsome advance payment. One of us had to stay back with the patient and the daughter said that she would be there for as long as it was required. Wonder why in our mythological stories and in our society, till this very day, people seek divine help for a son to be born to them when a daughter often does much more for them when the time comes?

Next morning, when I reached the hospital, with a change of clothes for D, the waiting area of the ICU was brimming with activity with many people. This is one place which is completely cut off from the rest of the world. People here may look sad and down but there is a strange camaraderie among the in-mates, if I may call them, with each trying to their bit for their own people and also going out of the way to help others. Only they understand each other. The outside world does not exist for them, nor does this place exist for the outside world. Each has its own pulse, each moves in its own rhythm. Here people exist in the present, for every moment is precious here, every moment brings hope, comfort and even loss.  It is my personal opinion that this is the holiest place on earth for all Gods, Goddesses are remembered irrespective of caste, creed or religion and they surely descend to give their divine boon of life to many.

I went and sat next to D and enquired about her mother. She said that the senior doctor attending was doing the rounds and post that he would let her know what course of action would be initiated. In that crowd of sad people, I could see a few of them were different…..when I say they were different, they truly were different. I walked up to the water cooler trying to pour myself a glass of water but actually wanting to take a closer look at these folks. They seemed pre-occupied with their own talk and one of them even gave me a knowing smile. I had to reciprocate and quickly made my way back to where D was sitting and waiting for the doctor to come and talk to her.

After a while, I left for work and then returned at mid-day to relieve D for a couple of hours so that she could go back home, freshen up and then return again. By now we knew that the patient had to undergo surgery the next day and the doctor had told us about the dangers of the procedure in view of the patient’s age and condition. D was upset and she had every reason to be. There was a sense of fear and helplessness. When D was gone, the waiting room was relatively less crowded. My eyes once again fell on the three people in sarees who were now sitting quite close to where I was seated. One of them looked at me and folded her hands…I was forced to reciprocate by making the namaskar gesture.

Mataji kaisi hain…..How is Mataji?….she asked in her deep and husky voice.

The doctor has said that she will need to undergo surgery tomorrow.

Don’t worry. She will be fine. This is a good hospital and the doctors are dedicated here. Everything will be fine….Saying this she raised her hands towards the roof as if saying Allah will take care of her.

Thank you. Who in your family is unwell that you’re here?

Hamari Appa…Our mother. She is here for the last eight days.

I am sure she will get well soon.

I started reading the newspaper after turning my head away from her. I was wondering as to what had come over me that I was talking to them? All my life I have made fun of these folks. As a kid, I would rush to the homes where a baby was born or someone had got married to watch them. These people would inevitably land up in colourful sarees and clap their hands in a typical fashion, showering blessings and seeking money or gifts. When they were not given clothes of their choice or enough money, the scenes could turn ugly. Then, when I grew up, I would often come across them on local trains and crossings on the road where they would once again clap in their style and seek money. In all my over fifty years, I had never spoken to one of them, apart from a few monosyllables, and here I was chatting, as if with an old friend, both trying to pep the other up in the face of trying times.

After a while, D returned and we had coffee in the cafeteria. We spoke on a lot of things but I did not tell her about my conversation in the waiting room. Was I ashamed? Maybe…maybe not…for I was not sure how it would be understood. No matter how much I tried to convince my better half that we could take turns to stay at the hospital at night, she was firm and I agreed.  She wanted to do everything possible for her mother and I was not going to deny it to her. As I was leaving D, one of them spoke up…

Don’t worry. We are here. If she needs anything, we will help her.

Thank you….and I left with a feeling that D was not alone in the hospital. Strange it may seem but that’s how I felt…reassured by people I never considered as my own, people who I always made fun of and people who were objects of sneer and shame for most of us.

Next day, I had an important meeting that I could not abstain from and the brave daughter sat through the operation procedure all alone…..maybe not. I prayed that she would get some company and help of others whose fathers, mothers, brothers, husbands and children were no better than her mother….terribly unwell and needing intensive care. I reached the hospital as soon as my meeting got over and by then the surgery was done. The doctor said that the operation had gone off well and the patient would now take some time for recovery but we had to wait for next forty eight hours before anything could be said with certainty. After a while, D left for home and I stayed back in the waiting room. 

We were now being allowed, one by one, to go into the ICU to see our respective patients. As I entered, I was given the direction of the bed where my mother-in-law was lying. I tip-toed to her and saw her head was bandaged and she had tubes attached all over. Her eyes were closed but she looked at peace. Surely the operation would have gone off well or else the pain would have reflected on the patient’s face? I spoke to the attending nurse there who also reassured me that the patient was responding well to the medication. I felt somewhat relieved and as I was going out of the ICU, I peeped behind the curtains where Appa was lying….I knew her bed number well for my new found friends had told me about it.

Hmmmm….she looked exactly like my mother- in- law….old…eyes shut…tubes attached all over and machines ticking all around….there was just no difference….I felt like saying…

Bhagwaan ka ghar ho (In the House of God)
Ya aspataal ka dar ho (Or the doorstep of the hospital)
Yahaan sab ek (Everyone’s the same here)
And when we step out of these two places, we start drawing lines.

I asked Shanti….Who is Appa and how are you related?

Appa is our mother in this world. She picks up children who are abandoned by their parents and gives them shelter. She even tried sending us to schools but they would not allow us in. She then tried to help us with teachers who would come to our locality to teach the kids but somehow our struggle for survival and basic needs of food and clothing made us skip the classes after a while and venture out in the world where we could make ends meet. If the police harassed us, as they often did, she would help us. She took care of us when we were unwell. She is now very old and sick, so all of us contribute a small sum daily to make sure she gets the best treatment. It is not easy for us to sustain a patient in such a big hospital but with God’s grace, our daily collections outstrip our requirements. Help is pouring in for Appa from everywhere. She is not just a mother to us but our God Mother.

I was speechless and for the first time felt a sense of guilt and remorse for how indifferent I had been all my life to this segment of people.

The next day when I came back in the afternoon, I noticed that Shanti and her mates were not there. Even before I asked D about her mother, I asked….Where Shanti and the others today?

The old lady died this morning. About ten of them came and they took her away quietly. They all had tears in their eyes and they disturbed no one as they took turns to go in and pay their respects to Appa and later they all gently rolled her stretcher towards the lift. One of them even came and put her hand over my head in a gesture of blessing and then left. I will miss them.

We went to the cafeteria and ordered for a coffee each and some sandwiches. While eating, D started talking about Appa and her children on how much of help and support they were during her night stays from fetching water, talking to her and giving her company. I nodded my head….I know…..

I didn’t know earlier but now I surely know…

The sky is blue
The sea is green
And the world is a rainbow
With a colour and place for all.

Picture courtesy: Internet

SS

Movie Time

“Life is a play that does not allow testing. So, sing, cry, dance, laugh and live intensely, before the curtain closes and the piece ends with no applause”- Charles Chaplin

Like most people, I have been sitting at home the last couple of years watching endless movies and shows on Amazon Prime, Netflix and Disney Hotstar. Actually, watching a movie on a big screen in a theatre, fingers moving in slow motion from the tub overflowing with tri-flavoured popcorns to the mouth, tugging at the tub one last time before allowing it to get snatched away by the one sitting next to you, all seem to belong to a distant past. While I sit reminiscing my movie watching days in the good old theatres or sometimes  even in  makeshift ones , not the ones with super- posh velvety seats in sub-zero temperatures and super-reclining seats where you have to be careful to not doze off and waste a couple of thousands, some happy memories  take the field. So my warning to all my Gen X, Y, Z readers is to stay away from this post as it will sound all Greek to you or may even read like the not-always-fathomable ramblings of an idle, aging mind.

Like most people born in the mid-sixties and brought up in Bengali middle class homes, I began my tryst with films with the all-time favourite Satayjit Ray’s Goopy Gyne , Bagha Byne. Undoubtedly, one of the best movies to begin with and over the years I have learnt to appreciate it more and more at different levels with every re-watch. Obviously, I have no memory of the theatre in Calcutta where we went to watch it but it definitely was a big family event.

Most of the theatres where I grew up watching  movies in Calcutta, Bombay or Delhi (I still prefer the old names since I am at the moment transported back in time) have either metamorphosed into the wonderlands called ‘malls’ or have simply closed shop or have changed hands to transform into multiplexes or are in the process of doing so. In a little railway town called Chittaranjan of the locomotives fame (on the Bihar-Bengal border) there were no movie theatres or at least I wasn’t aware of any at that time. This was the town I spent the first few years of my life in, where the Railway Officers’ Club was the only known place to me where films were screened for the members and their families. This was our go-to place for any form of entertainment- swimming, sports, dinner, pot parties, comics, housie(tambola), Fanta, Coca-cola or Kwality ice-creams….period.  Entertaiment ended there!  Friday nights were movie nights followed by dinners to which all families in the colony looked forward in eager anticipation. Mostly English movies- the war and old classics kind or the Westerns- were screened. But at that kindergarten age the orange drink and vanilla ice-creams served in glass cups were the major draws for me rather than well dressed people in hats and coats moving about on the white screen talking endlessly in an alien language.

My earliest memory goes back to watching my first ever Hindi movie – Sawan Bhadon- with our bungalow peon and Man Friday, Bhola. He was going to watch it at a screening in some mela or exhibition ground where they used to arrange movie shows for the staff and workers from time to time. I had thrown such a tantrum that the poor guy had no way out but to take me there and also return early with me, without watching the whole of it, so as to make it in time before the curfew hours, imposed by my mom, set in. For me it was a nice piggy ride on the bicycle, back and forth to the mela ground (full of stalls, giant wheels and carrousels), with the bonus of watching a movie, projected on a makeshift screen, over the heads of a multitude of people squatting on the ground, from the vantage point of Bhola’s shoulders with a candy floss in hand. Much later, I came to know that the rather plump heroine, singing and dancing in the film (though at that time I thought they were all real people moving behind  the screens) with  huge jhumkas, bindi and thick, well oiled , plaited hair, was to do a Cinderella like act in the coming years and turn into the diva Rekha.  I guess I had started on the right note. Her Umrao Jaan and Khubsoorat have always been on the top of my charts.

My family’s moving from a small town to Bombay in the 70s meant an altogether different experience for me. In those days Eros, the iconic theatre built in the Art Deco architectural style in Churchgate, used to screen beautiful Sunday morning shows for the kids.  A whole world of films kind of opened up for me here-David Copperfield (the characters still remain etched in my mind and the opening scene with a terribly handsome, young David brooding on a deserted beach and his life’s story is unraveled in a flashback), the world of Charlie Chaplin, the inimitable Laurel and Hardy shows, Tom Sawyer, Born Free, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang – to just name a few of the fabulous films that I watched here. Alas, the curtains have come down on  Eros. Also, I wonder if today’s kids , with the amount of exposure they have to screen time, will even step out of the house on a crisp, clear Sunday morning and walk down from Cuffe Parade to Eros, holding daddy’s hand, to watch a morning show. In those days, for us, it was a very big treat. Baba also took us to watch much acclaimed Bengali and Hindi movies to the little auditorium inside Akashwani like Garm Hava, Rajnigandha, Pather Panchali and Ashani Sanket. And then there was always Bollywood. Though Baba took us to watch Sholay in Maratha Mandir, he wasn’t a Hindi movie fan. There Ma intervened. But I still have notforgiven her for not taking me to watch Khel Khel Mein, Julie and Kabhi Kabhie   (I had to be satisfied seeing all my favourite stars on the huge hand painted posters all over the city and listening to the superhit songs on the radio). For that matter even Bobby was out of bounds. Naturally, though, I made sure I watched them all on television many years later.

Kolkata was my home for the next few years- high school, college, university, work, love, marriage, motherhood. Hindi movies were a big taboo in Bengali homes in those days. Not so much in our home but definitely amongst the extended family. In that way my mother was quite a rebel. Despite taunts from many family members she took the youngsters in the family to see many Hindi Movies- Deewar, Hum Kissi Se Kum Nahi, Muqaddar ka Sikandar, Albert Pinto Ko Gussa Kyun Ata Hai, Aakrosh, Masoom , to name just a few from a very long list. Once, in between my tenth board theory and practical exams, I wanted to see the newly released Hum Paanch (at that time I was having a big crush on the angry young man Naseeruddin Shah).  And on our way home, whom do we bump into? None other than the most disliked of all my maternal uncles. I still remember him sniggering-Khoob Hindi cinema dekha hoy na? Parikkha cholchhe na? (You watch too many Hindi movies. Aren’t your board exams on?). Another time, mom and I were back from seeing Sanjay Dutt’s  Johny I Love You. The moment we entered home we got the news of the passing away of one of our very close elderly relatives who had been ailing for a while. Everyone was hounding my mother regarding her whereabouts that afternoon and how they had all been calling her up on the landline for the past few hours. I saw mom hesitating to say we had been out watching Johny I love You (would  have sounded a little weird considering the circumstances), so I quickly said we had gone to watch Akaler Sandhane , hoping that a Mrinal Sen directorial would save her from further grilling.

Schooldays gave little access to films and many a times I had to be content hearing the plots narrated by college going brothers and cousins. This is how I first came to know about Saturday Night Fever, Grease, Rosemary’s Baby, Omen, The Day of the Jackal, though, of course, I made sure to catch up with them in  later years. In our convent, the highest form of entertainment was the annual inter-house acting competition where we ourselves acted in highly censored plays (exchange of romantic dialogues between the hero and heroine were often left for the imagination),  the taller girls getting the men’s roles and the shorter or more beautiful ones getting the women’s parts. So you can imagine what happened when Far from the Madding Crowd (being part of the curriculum) was projected, after a few technical hiccups, on a temporary screen in a large hall packed with teenage girls. Some girls, probably, remained for a week in a trance imagining they were Bathsheba while others spent hours swooning over the charms of the irresistible Sergeant Troy or the loyalty of the stoic Gabriel Oak. Television did throw up the Saturday Bengali movies and Sunday Hindi movies with occasional marathon movie shows during election time. I had a college going cousin – the jholawala pseudo-intellectual type found in all Bong families- who would watch only the Satyajit Ray- Mrinal Sen - Shyam Benegal kinds and had a disdain for all others- and I remember getting into endless arguments with him over the merits of a film like Teesri Kasam or the appeal of a Soumitra-Suchitra hit like Saat Paake Bandha.

Our regular movie haunt with friends was Lindsay Street- Globe, Lighthouse, New Empire. These theatres once hosted Italian operas and theatrical performers from England and other parts of the West. This was where elite Indians rubbed shoulders with the Europeans in colonial Calcutta. Later, they were converted to screen celluloid but the seating arrangement still had that opera like aura. It is indeed sad that these theatres, which once entertained the entire European community and later the English cine goers, had to see very bad days before being sold off to new owners who gave them new look or transformed them to malls and cineplex. They were very much a part of our childhood and youth and it is indeed sad to see them gone.  In those days, a friend’s birthday treat always meant a movie followed by a kebab roll or an ice-cream treat. And what better place for that than Globe or Lighthouse on Lindsay Street ? A balcony or dress circle ticket would cost anything between 4-7 bucks in the best of theatres. Other seats you could get for much less. My male cousins regaled us with stories of the bug ridden 75 paise seats in some cinema halls though we girls seldom ventured there. I can still recall watching Sound Of Music (an old release) and then running all the way down the arcade in Esplanade to catch the just missed minibus back to Lady Brabourne College so that our hostel friends could be inside the campus within the stipulated time .Fortunately, in those days we still tried to abide by the rules as much as possible and ‘Pinjda tod’ had not been heard of yet.

Another time, during the Presidency College festival, I remember watching Ingmar Bergman’s So Close to Life in the morning at the Derozio Hall, followed by Mehboob Khan’s Nargis-Sunil Dutt starrer Mother India at Hind Cinema later during the day, and then returning to Presidency auditorium again in the evening to round off the day with De Sica’s Bicycle Thieves. One of my friends’ mothers had commented, “Your repertoire of films seems to be highly varied for one day. With so much in your head it is a wonder you all found your way back home.”

“Those were the days my friend
We thought they’d never end
We’d sing and dance forever and a day
We’d live the life we choose
We’d fight and never lose
For we were young and sure to have our way
La la la la……”

Life moved on. Met S and got married. With M joining us soon after, we were caught up in the cycle of office-home-office for days and it was the end of romance and movies for us. One day we got a couple of days off for the insurance Licentiate examinations. On the first day we sat through the paper diligently. On the second day, we left home for the examination centre but when the bus was going past Metro we saw the poster of Nana Patekar’s Prahaar, exchanged guilty looks and quickly got off. Prahaar was worth playing truant for and we comforted ourselves that in any case we would have had to re-take the second paper since, with a baby at home, preparation had been next to nothing. So let second paper be shelved for another year!!

Life always comes full circle. Soon it was time to take my daughter for her first movie. Hum Aapke Hain Kaun had been running for months at Savitri Cinema close to our Delhi home. By now little M had been watching television and had picked up some of the catchy numbers from the film. Savitri was one of those theatres where you had to jostle your entry through a pushing, prodding crowd before you could manage to finally plant yourselves on your assigned seats. M was so delighted seeing her favourite Sallu- bhai dancing and singing that she entertained the audience by standing up on the seat and breaking into a song every time the known numbers would come up on screen. Fortunately for us, the audience there was watching the film for the second or third time so they were amused rather than being annoyed.

Savitri closed down a long while back. So did the shop that sold such awesome shammi kebabs near it. I do not know which I missed more. Recently, Savitri Cinema has risen from the ashes in its new avatar- Cinepolis Savitri. Nowadays, to enter theatres you do not have to shove your way through. Rather, beautifully decorated and well lit foyers welcome you. Cinemas have become an altogether exhilarating experience where more than the films other experiences like gourmet food and play areas attract movie goers. Though I still miss those ushers or torch men whom we would look for in the dark and who would focus the beam on our seats. There was a certain charm about finding the nearest torch man, tripping your way up those mould ridden , worn-out, carpeted steps, invariably getting yelled at by an old person for stepping on her toes and, finally, managing to find your seat only to realize that it is too rickety and every time that you tried to recline, it creaked. Nowadays, we enter the auditoriums loaded with magnum sized popcorns packets and nachos or much more. During interval Italian or Thai or Mexican cuisine is delivered at your seats. Not too long ago, the maximum that men could do to impress their partners would be to buy wafers or peanuts in thin plastic packs from the guy who entered the hall during interval with a huge tray swung around his neck. Now the options are endless.

My reverie soon ends as someone has switched on the television in the room and I am jolted back to reality - Republic’s Arnab Goswami screaming on television about who pelted stones at whom during a religious procession and Rahul Shivshankar from Times Now assaulting our minds incessantly with the delusional theory of being the first channel to show the most horrific images of a war.

May be it is time to go to the cinemas after all!

DS

PS.Pics downloaded from internet.

Red, Gold and Green

 Yusuf sat on the bench overlooking the lake and took out from his pocket a small plastic packet. He put it on the bench and opened up his daily lunch which was always two paranthas and pickle. He would come to the same place everyday in the afternoon to relax awhile, for throughout the day he had to do a lot of work at his maternal uncle, Razzak’s furniture workshop. Yusuf had lost his parents in a road accident and he was brought up by his uncle who would love him at home but at the workshop he was a terror and, often, would get violent if the young lad made any mistake.  He would use filthy language at the drop of a hat and would also get into ugly fights with his customers. 

Yusuf found this bench near the lake the perfect place to spend an hour where he could listen to the birds in the trees above, see the calmness of the water and, at times, he would throw stones  with all his might just to give vent to his anger and frustration. And today was no different. Yusuf had cut a piece of wood slightly missing the pencil markings by a few millimetres and Razzak almost chopped off his ears with a saw…”Who will pay for this wasted piece of wood…your bloody father!”

Yusuf was about sixteen years old but he was very tall and had bushes of beard peeping out. He would never wear the skull cap, nor would go to the mosque, even on Fridays. He would find his way to the lake and here he felt the happiest. He was still fuming from the incident at the workshop that day and was contemplating an escape to another place to start a new life when another person came and sat on the other end of the bench. His eyes fell on a lady who was wearing a black burkha. He could not make out if she was young or old, pretty or not, fat or slim….she was covered from head to toes completely. She seemed to be sobbing beneath the veil which Yusuf could make out from the sound that came from her end. 

“None of my business but one thing is clear, I am not alone who’s having a difficult time in this world.” He said to himself and felt happy. He got up and left for it was time to go back to work. He was extra cautious and made sure he would not make his uncle lose his cool again, but he could not forget the woman by the lake…Who was she and why was she crying…did she, like him, have a cruel uncle or aunt?

Next afternoon, Yusuf reached his usual place on time and finished his lunch quickly. Every now and then he would look at the other end of the bench to see if the lady had come but was disappointed. After waiting for some time, he looked at his watch and decided to leave. He had taken a few steps when he saw the woman in black burkha coming. Yusuf quickly retreated and sat down once again. Yusuf tried hard not to look directly, and would slightly turn his head to see the woman on the other end. He knew he was getting late but he chose to stay a bit longer here. Yusuf saw the woman open her purse and take out her phone. She then started typing quickly. What she was writing he did not know but he noticed her fingers. The skin was smooth and fresh…he knew the person was definitely young. Yusuf then noticed her nails….she had painted each of her nails in different colours….red, yellow, orange, green and blue. Yusuf could not help smiling….just then his phone started ringing….

He took the call and without saying anything quickly shut his phone for the stream of expletives from the other end of the phone was so loud that possibly all the people in the vicinity could hear. Like a frightened street dog, Yusuf put his tail between his legs and made a hasty exit from the scene. What happened at the workshop is left to everyone’s imagination but, forgetting all the problems and curses of the workshop, Yusuf lay in his room, watching the moon through the window, and remembered the colourful nails…If someone has such pretty fingers, she surely must be very beautiful…he dreamt and dreamt and hardly slept that night.

Yusuf now waited for that hour when he could meet the pretty woman. And she hardly ever failed him. On days she did not turn up, Yusuf would be sad and, at times, go to bed without his dinner. On other days, he was completely in seventh heaven….smiling to everyone, waving to strangers on the road and even handing over some coins to beggars on the street. 

This went on for a couple of weeks and, by now, Yusuf was bold enough to look straight at the woman who would give him a knowing wave of her hands…Hello! She did not say anything, he did not say anything…just sitting there side by side together for an hour by the lake side. One day, the burkhaclad lady lifted her veil and smiled at him. Yusuf was stunned by the beauty that was hidden behind the veil for so long. She looked very young…no more than fifteen or sixteen…big beautiful eyes and perfectly chiselled nose and lips. She now spoke…My name is Shamina and I stay in Mubarakpura. I have completed my tenth standard and my father does not want me to study any further. You tell me about yourself…

Yusuf kept looking at her with his eyes popping out and his heart thumping hard. He just sat there without uttering a single word. After a while, Shamina put her veil down and left for home. Yusuf returned to the workshop and quietly got back to his work. He worked till late and then retired to his daily routine of staying up at night. He had started to even pen his thoughts in a small notebook he kept locked during the day in the steel trunk under his charpoy. By now Shamina had also shared her mobile number and he would text her when all seemed quiet and asleep. She too reciprocated…word for word and couplet for couplet.

One day, Shamina found courage and sat closer to Yusuf. He was almost shivering but liked the fragrance she had on herself. She even held her hand over his hand and all Yusuf did was to look into her eyes and smiled. She too smiled and asked…Why don’t you say something to me? Yusuf pulled his hand away and walked off. Shamina could not understand his strange reaction. 

The next day, Shamina did not come to the lakeside bench. Yusuf waited anxiously for her but she did not turn up. After finishing work, Yusuf went to Mubarakpura. He walked past her house a number of times but he could not see her. The house looked deserted. His messages were going undelivered. Yusuf was a disturbed man and it was also affecting his work. He would often land up into trouble and Razzak did not know what had come over his nephew who was lately showing great talent and finesse at work. Yusuf would diligently go to the lakeside every afternoon and to Mubarakpura every evening where people had started recognizing the young lad who walked up and down, up and down many times with his eyes glued to that one house. 

One day, out of nowhere, Shamina turned up in the afternoon where Yusuf had just started eating his lunch. She lifted her veil and said…”I will not be coming here anymore. My father has arranged for my marriage. Do not send me any messages for it will make my life at home difficult and spoil my new life in my new home.”

Yusuf looked at Shamina and gave out a loud scream….loudest you would ever hear anyone and was in tears. He was not ashamed of letting Shamina see him crying like someone who had just been orphaned once more. Shamina felt embarrassed and she left the wedding card on the bench and walked away. At first, Yusuf did not want to touch the card lying there….  “Did she really want me to her go to her nikaah and enjoy the festivities? I will never go there.” He left the card untouched on the bench and left for the workshop. Next day, when Yusuf returned, he found the invitation card still lying there. Reluctantly, Yusuf picked up the card and started reading and then threw the card and the envelope into the air and started dancing wildly with tears in his eyes….other people nearby could not understand the mixed reaction of joy and sadness and concluded that the boyhad lost it…gone completely loony.

Shamina’s wedding was a big affair. Her father, who was a local municipal corporator, had made all the arrangements and hired the best of decorators, band and caterers to make sure the guests got the best feast ever. A large number of people came and the prominent leaders of the community also turned up to bless the couple. The kazi did the nikhahnama and the people came on to the stage in a queue to bless the couple, Shamina had her head covered fully and could hardly see anyone other than hearing their names. After everything got over, a crying Shamina stepped into the car, which was decorated with roses all over, with her husband who wore a nicely fitted achhkan and finely decorated cap. He looked tall, strong and handsome.  He was a businessman and had a house of his own.

After the initial rituals at the groom’s place were over, Shamina could breathe easy and entered the bedroom to change into something light. The wedding clothes and jewellery were so heavy that she almost fell down with their weight. The room and the bed were once again beautifully decorated with flowers and small lights which would turn from red to green and from green to golden intermittently. She sat down on the bed to rest a while when her eyes fell on a side board which looked new. The thing had two small pullouts on top and three long ones below. What caught her eye were the bright colours …orange and red on top followed by blue, yellow and green at the bottom. She walked up to the side board and was admiring it when she heard her husband speak from behind….

I got this made especially for you. Open the drawers and see….I  have filled them up with the choicest clothes for you. I hope you like them.

Shamina felt really happy. Here is someone who cared for her. She said…Shukriya….I liked this piece of furniture very much. How did you know that I liked these colours?

Oh, this was made by my nephew, Yusuf, who works in myshop and stays in this house. He did this all on his own and,despite my objections, put all these five colours. He guessed it right that my young and beautiful wife will surely love it more than the usual drab wooden single colour furnitures my people usually make. The poor fellow lost both his parents in a tragic car accident at a young age and he lost his ability to speak in the same incident. It is he who made this and I am happy you liked it. You should convey your compliments to him in person. I will call him and introduce you to him…Yusuf…Yusuf…

SS

Fathers at War

"There never was a good war or a bad peace." Benjamin Franklin

This is Brigadier Danil Organov, commander of the 5^thArmoured Regiment speaking. We have completely overrun the village of Amur. I repeat, Amur is flattened and everything has been destroyed.

Bravo. Well done Brigadier. Now you and your men can rest a while before we give orders for launching our biggest offensive on Kyiv.

Noted and out….Brigadier Organov was a decorated officer of the special corps who were known for their closeness to the army’s top brass in Moscow. They took orders right from the top and had special privileges including good food and allowances.

The tanks stopped in their tracks and the soldiers inside came out of the hatches to breathe some fresh air. Unfortunately, the air outside wasn’t fresh for they could smell the burning rubble nearby. The support team quickly put up tents for the night, with the best and biggest reserved for the commander.  After freshening up, Organov went for a small walk to stretch himself a bit and what better place to go to than to take a look at the victory spot itself. As he walked, two of his soldiers went along for his protection for who knows, hidden from naked eye, some Ukrainian gunman would be waiting for the revenge killing.

The Brigadier looked from a small elevation and felt a sense of pride in having gained victory without losing a single tank or man. As he surveyed his victory, his eyes fell, at a distance, on a small child standing, wearing a blue furry jacket. The army man pulled up his binoculars and saw clearly….yes a little child who was no more than two or three years old.

Sir, should we shoot the boy? If we don’t do it now, we will have another person who will want to take up arms against us tomorrow when he grows up.

No, that’s a child. You will do no such thing….having said this the Brigadier walked towards the boy who was now looking at a corpse of a young woman lying beneath a collapsed wooden pillar.

Mommy…mommy….sob sob….

Organov went to see the woman and one look told him that the tank shells from his side had taken out any hope of survival. He looked around but couldn’t find anyone around. He went towards the kid and bent down. The kid had beautiful blue eyes and chubby cheeks which had turned red having cried for long. The Brigadier was known as the Monster of Minsk in army circles for he was always called into service by the masters for ensuring total annihilation and extermination of enemies of the state. But quite unlike his image and reputation, he picked up the boy and started walking towards his tent with his soldiers following him in amazement.

The boy was given a good warm water bath by the nursing staff accompanying the forces. The Brigadier made the boy sit on the table he was working and offered the kid hot milk, cake and fruits.

What is your name?

Yurichenko but my mother calls me Yuri. And what about you?

Ahh me…Danil but my mother would call me Dani.

And the two took to small conversation but the Brigadier soon found out that the kid was very close to the mother. He would refer to her in every sentence he spoke.

Yuri, it is getting late. It is now time for bed.

My mother would always tell me a story before she put me to bed. Tell me a story Uncle Dani….please.

Fighting wars was the only thing he knew and story books and fairy tales were things left for his wife Svetlana back home who took care of his twin daughters Sasha and Misha. He tried to convince Yuri about not knowing stories but the kid was adamant and just kept his big blue eyes awake and staring. Not knowing much, Danil opened up a map of Ukraine. It was a detailed map and then he started….

There was an old king who wished to live forever. He spoke to all his courtiers about the secret of an eternal life but none was able to give him the answer. One day the king was riding his horse in a jungle near the Ural Mountains when it became dark. He took shelter in a cave where he met a witch. She gave him this map that I am showing you now. She showed him that if he went deep into this countryside, he would find a tree with golden apples. The king should pluck the golden apples and make fine juice and drink a glassful every day. So the king drove down from his kingdom into this new land which was full of ferocious animals and armed people. The king had to fight all the way to reach the apple tree……

Yuri had gone off to sleep and Organov felt a huge sense of relief….Uffff story telling…why do they have such things in this world? 

That night the Brigadier could not sleep. He was wondering what he would do with Yuri the following day when the orders would come for him to lead his armoured corps into deep enemy territory.

I can’t keep him with me. I need to hand him over to someone….he said to himself.

Just before dawn, Organov left his tent with his two soldiers following close behind. He went back to the village and went close to the woman Yuri was pointing at as his mother. Helped by his soldiers, the brigadier removed the pillar and saw a dead woman lying. She had a sling bag next to her. Organaov opened the bag to see an identity card….Lydia Verkhovich and a mobile. He then walked back to the tent to find Yuri crying….I want my Uncle Dani….

Danil picked him up and gave him tight hug. I am here Yuri…stop crying….and the kid rubbed the tears off his eyes and smiled.

While Yuri was having his breakfast, the Brigadier opened up the purse and took the mobile in his hands. He switched it on but could not guess the password. Seeing him fiddling, one of his soldiers offered help…Sir, if you don’t mind let me try. I am pretty good with it.

Danil handed over the phone to him and in no time the password was broken and the phone was alive. He checked the last numbers called and incoming calls on the phone…..he saw a majority on both sides were from someone whose number was saved as Daddy. Dani pressed the Daddy’s number and waited….just when someone on the other side picked up…Hello Lydia….spoke the man on the other side….the Brigadier cut the call. But the ‘Daddy’ on the other side kept calling and Danil did not have the courage to speak….Danil the bravest man in the Russian army had suddenly become weak…become a coward…unable to talk.

Yuri came back to the tent and became cranky once again….I want to go to my mommy….I don’t want to stay here…mommy…mommy ….

Organov took a deep breath and made the call once again….

Lydia…hello Lydia…how are you? Why were you not taking my calls? What’s wrong with you…how is my Yuri doing?

Hello…this is Danil speaking and I have your son Yuri with me….Yuri come…Daddy is here…

Hello Daddy…

Hello…this is Danil once more. It appears your wife did not survive the firing in the village last evening but Yuri is safe. I will give you a location where you can take Yuri with you.

Oh those bloody Russians. They killed my darling Lydia…… Thanks so much Danil for rescuing my Yuri from the invaders but here in Kyiv we have strict orders that we cannot step out of our positions for any reason. I will send you my exact position and you can bring Yuri to me. I am Gary Verkhovich. I was a teacher in the government high school but have now been inducted into the army as a Major. Call me when you are close by and I will meet you in Kyiv….and thank you so much once again for this help.

Brigadier, you just cannot go to Kyiv as a civilian. It is too dangerous there and if they come to know who you are, they will torture you and kill you. Let us abandon this plan. One of his soldiers offered to go instead but Organov was determined. I will go myself and will return by tomorrow. If there is any order to move ahead, you start and I will come and join you in no time.

Danil took off his army attire and dressed like a civilian. Armed with only a pistol  he went  out carrying  Yuri in his arms. His army jeep took him some distance, after which there was no option but to walk the next fifty odd miles on foot. Danil was a strong person and he didn’t mind walking with  ten kilo Yuri in his arms for he had trained with fifty kilos on his back to travel such distances.

As he entered Kyiv, he was stopped at the checkpost….identify yourself.

Danil Organov, uncle of Yuri Verkhovich here whose father is a Major in the army here.

Identity papers please….

I lost them all when my house was destroyed by the enemy but you can call Major Verkhovich….here…and he dialed Daddy once more…Gary, can you please tell the security men here that I am Yuri’s Uncle and a brother to you.

Gary spoke to the guards who were now convinced and let Danil enter the fortified town of Kyiv. Danil was in the city and  he was amazed to see every inch being guarded by an armed man or woman….age was no bar…they were young…as young as fifteen and some as old as in their seventies. All were armed, alert but ready to kill or die for their country.

Danil reached close to the location Gary had sent and made the phone call again. Gary came quickly and was delighted to see Yuri. With tears in his eyes, he thanked Danil over and over again. He hugged Danil and then they parted.

At the checkpost Danil was stopped again…identify yourself.

I am Danil Organov of Kharkhiv. I had come to meet my cousin Gary Verkhovich and am now going back. See the register….here this was my entry done two hours ago.

Ok…you may go, said one guard while the other one sitting on the computer had a frozen look. He had run a quick check of the name. As Danil was walking past the barrier, the guard shouted….Monster of Minsk…..Organov turned around and was met by a volley of automatic gun fire. As he lay still on the ground, his phone started ringing….the Ukrainian guard saw the caller’s name on the small mobile screen…..Sasha-Misha …zzzz

SS