Happy Dussehra

At Fort Unchagaon, a heritage resort about 115 kms from Delhi, a father and son duo had come to spend their weekend. After having explored the fort and the riverside, they went up for a rooftop barbecue dinner where they enjoyed the finest grilled meat and fish. The other guests left the place one by one and then the people serving. The younger man ran down and brought a bed spread and two pillows and lay them on the floor of the roof. The father and the son went down and spread their arms and legs in utter freedom enjoying the cool October northern wind blowing on their faces and a beautifully painted sky with sparkling diamonds looking down upon them.

Dad, this is the third Durga Puja since Ma left us and you plan a trip out of Delhi.

Yes. Durga Puja without your Mom at home can never be Pujas. You remember how she would make sure we went out with her to buy our clothes and shoes well in time. Then, she would chalk out the plans for all the puja pandals to visit and at what time….everything with her had to be perfect and nothing was left to chance. And who can forget the ashtami when she would fast till offering pushanjali while you and I would quickly rush to the chop-cutlet stall while she stood in the queue for prasad. Finally, remember the way she would invite all your friends home for bijoya making so many dishes and sweets and to top it all she would make sure you all finished them to the last morsel in that one evening.

The son rolled towards the father and wrapped his arms and legs around him…Oh Baba!

Dad, I think you need company. This loneliness is not good for you. I have my job at Bangalore and there is little chance for me to find a similar profile at Delhi.

Are you suggesting that I get married again…ha ha…you must be crazy to even  to think about it.

No Dad. All I am saying that you join some of these social media apps like WA, FB, Instagram and even Tinder. You will find company that never sleeps and keeps you engrossed with jokes, gossip, politics, religion…you name it, you’ve got it! Who knows one day you will get connected to someone to whom you could reach out on a different level and live a full life again. After all in life there is never a full stop till this thing inside you stops beating…dhakdhak…dhakdhak.

Enjoy the night and forget finding a woman for me. You work on your life. You are almost thirty. You have been doing all that you are asking me to do and yet haven’t found yourself a suitable girl. It is time you stop running after girls and work on things that make you a better man, build your character and strength. Surely your FB will not take you there.

The son sat up while the father continued to lie down. This is where you are wrong, Dad. Let me tell you why a woman and falling in love makes you a better person.

Beta, girls make you a better man is some statement…must be a line you would have picked up somewhere on one of your so called social media universities where such education is free.

I am serious Dad. Let me try and clarify my statement. It was Bijoya Dashami yesterday for us and it is also called Dashera in most other parts of the country. This word Dashera has its origin in the Sanskrit word Dasha-Hara which means removal of ten bad qualities in you. When you are in love, it is that state when Dasha-Hara comes to life. Krodha or anger and amanavta or cruelty gives way to love and compassion for all; your ego or ahankara and mada or pride have no place or price in this world; your attachment or moha is not to any other material thing; swartha or selfishness and lobha or greed lose their relevance when sharing and giving. When in love, anyaaya or injustice loses relevance as you go overboard to be more than nice and the scale of justice always tilts in favour of your loved ones..…Dad, what more do you want?

Beta, I am quite impressed with your erudite reasoning but if anyone were to follow you, it would be the Asta-patha or the Eightfold Path and not Dasha-Hara. You conveniently left out the two most vital of the bad qualities thinking that my dad is now an old man and will never know if I skip a few just to prove my point. Yes I am growing old, but not that old…ha ha.

No Baba, I had not spoken of the remaining two thinking whether you will feel a little embarrassed at my talking about them. Now that you have said it, let me clarify that we should look at Kama vasana or lust and matsara or jealousy in the positive spirit. Kama is nothing but procreation and somewhere all love leads to it but why give it a negative outlook. Everyone feels the need for it and there is nothing wrong about it as long as we can keep the devil in check and control. As far as jealousy is concerned, you may feel protective and want the person you love just to be yours and no one else’s. I see nothing wrong with it. More importantly than the ones I just spoke about, there are some more things love teaches you….patience, focused approach and aim for perfection.

You keep waiting for that one look, for that one mail, for that one call….you know how restless I used to be but now look at me…calm and cool as MSD. Never am I perturbed or in any hurry when it comes to this one role I play so often. Patience and calmness leads to you going into a meditative approach where you focus on that one thing that you want, desire and wait for. How many times Ma and you tried to take me to the yoga classes where the guru ji would teach us meditation. It never worked because my heart was not in it. Now, when I close my eyes, I can see her face, dream of her and nothing else…if this is not meditation then what is? Finally, Dad, in anything that I do, I want to be sure that it is right and perfect the first time be it the wrapping paper on the gift, the clothes I wear, the mails that I send, the words I utter….I check, double check and then proceed. Remember how you would ask me to revise my answer sheets once, to do a check on any silly mistakes I would have made, before handing them over to the invigilators? I never did it. In fact, I always claimed to my friends that I would make sure that I was always the first student out of the examination hall every time. Now look at me….love has changed me and, I am sure, you will say for the better.

I am terribly impressed, son. While William Wordsworth meant to say something different when he said ‘The Child is father of the Man’, I have to admit, rishtey mein tum hamare baap lagtey ho! It is already 2am and we should catch up on our sleep as we have to go for a hike tomorrow.

No, Dad, don’t avoid the issue. You need company and that is where we started this entire treatise on love. Now tell me what do we do next?

Come on Beta, you know all these things are of the Western world where they happen commonly. In India, for people of our generation, we would marry once and live with the same person during the person’s lifetime and, thereafter, live with the happy memories.

Dad, you will be lying to yourself if you were to tell me that Ma was the only one you ever loved in all your sixty years. Surely, you would have fallen in love many times when in school, college, at work and, who knows, even when you were married to Ma, you may have liked someone but never had the courage to talk about it or take a step forward. Bas dil mein hi baat reh gayi hogi?

We have all had our childhood crushes but those happened decades ago. What is the point of bringing them up now? They would be living their own lives in some part of the world.

Let us do it as a fun game. Name these girls and women and then we will decide whom to trace.

Now the father, too, got up and sat down and with a smile on his face pulled out a pen and a piece of paper which appeared to be the reverse of the rooftop dinner bill and started scribbling.

School days in 70s- Mimi

College days in 80s- Rupa

Work time in 90s- Zoya

Since the last one would be an easy thing for you to locate, let me see my bright techie boy locating my school time crush.

Dad, before I begin my search, give me some more clues like her proper name, something more about her school, family.

Mimi or Anupama Basu was a couple of years younger to me studying in St. Martin’s Covent at Delhi. Her father was in the postal department and she had an elder brother, Shouvik who went on to become a doctor. I knew her school timings and would often wait at the gate as she would come out with her friends and walk home while I followed her on my bicycle. Those twenty minutes of slow cycling were the best time of those days and I never missed being there daily. In the evening, I would again cycle around her place and wait for her to go to the market or the library. I would dream of her, write her name on the last page of my note books and even try my hand at poetry. Whenever I heard those romantic Dev Anand songs, I would imagine me singing and Mimi dancing.

Dad that’s quite romantic and surely you never spoke about this to Ma…ha ha….anyway this information should be good enough for my search….here I go to the school alumni site and check for this lady and also run a search for Doctor Shouvik Basu as well.

As the father waited anxiously, the son worked frantically on his iPad with the multiple searches then going to Google, Linkedin and FB….and then…

Yipeee Dad…look at these images and tell me which of these Anupamas is your Mimi.

The dad took the iPad in his hands and looked at the five choices before his eyes on the screen. He clearly saw the girl of his dreams, though now a fine lady, quite easily but told his son that he was confused and could not decide.

Dad, you are faking now. No one can forget their first crush and this is the one and I have checked her brother’s FB which also matches. She lives in Indore now with her family that includes a daughter who looks as pretty as the mother would have looked in your time.

The son opened up the FB page and was able to show the father the lady’s profile. The father was dazed and could not believe his eyes as he saw her photographs and, in one, she was the school girl he remembered her as.

Dad, tomorrow morning we are checking out and going to Delhi airport, from where we will take a flight to Indore to meet Anupama, not for anything else but to bring back some spark into your life. Surely, we will not disturb her happy family life but it will help you bring some zest back in yours. And after meeting her, we will start our search for Rupa and Zoya…. and , who knows, maybe I might get hooked to one of their lovely daughters.

The father smiled and looked up into the space above….a child, truly, is the father of man.

SS 

The Philadelphia Diaries: Where Art Thou?

 

                                                                                                                                        October 17, 2021

Dear Diary

 

I have so much to tell you…I have visited so many places, met some wonderful people and tried many more cuisines. I spent an entire day in the Philadelphia Museum of Arts and honestly it was not enough. But all that is for another day, today I want to write about the art in my neighbourhood. 

The City Centre is beautiful, convenient and comfortable in all respects. I love walking around on a clear, bright day and being surprised by something new! A look at the Health window of my phone tells me that I have walked over 400 km in the last 2 months…and I feel good and alive! I look out the window of my room and I find Mr. Skelman staring back as usual. He is a friend, and I would be disturbed if I didn’t find him there. I wave back with a chuckle, he is a human skeleton standing at one of the windows of the Scott Memorial Library that my window faces! The streets around my room host several fascinating artworks, which I believe Mr. Skelman would have seen being erected over the years. 

Right outside my residence is a stenciled cylindrical structure which can have a contrasting effect on people. It can be overlooked by the many eyes and feet that walk past it daily as a piece of metal or it can bewitch the minds of others with its effortless air of mystery. I belong to the latter group and have never failed to stop for a while and look at it from a different angle. At first glance, it has words in different languages encircling it. During the day, it is almost like a non-human form of Mr. Skelman, but it comes alive under the cover of the stars when it is lit up from within and the words start glowing against the black of the night. That is when you realise that these are not merely random words but an omnibus of medical terms in different scripts from around the world. It is called the Ars Medendi, Latin for Medical Arts. And what a perfect place for it to be, in the campus of Thomas Jefferson University Medical College, right outside the Scott Memorial Library. The library walls that are bare during the day, in fact, bear the text from the perforations like an invisible ink that can be read only by a select few under the moonlight.

It is copper and granite structure, established in the year 2009 by Jim Sanborn, with lines from Latin, Arabic, Hebrew, Cyrillic, Japanese and Chinese historic medical texts. He erected a second Ars Medendi within the campus at a different location; this one is trapezoid in shape, and it is easy to spot Gray’s Anatomy in this. Jim Sanborn, a student of history and sociology, and an American sculptor, is known for his cryptic public works of art including the Comma, Rippawarm and Lux, across America, Japan and Taiwan. His most famous work is Kryptos at the CIA headquarters, the hidden message still waiting to be solved completely by codebreakers around the world. Apart from its definitive reference in The Lost Symbol, those who have the hard-cover edition of the Da Vinci Code would recognize a part of the Kryptos code on its cover. 

Is Medicine science or art? I believe it is a sublime medley of the two, the brutal fact, the cold logic and the sharp proof of science and the soft touch, creative angle and cathartic expression of art. And it brings me joy and comfort each time I look up to find the DNA sequence at the top of the cylinder, the helical spiral unfolding on it. 

A few steps ahead is a pillar with a rather unusual sculpture on top. Coming from the land of the Garuda, fascinated with winged mythological creatures like the Griffin, Pegasus, Thestrals and Hippogriffs and having marvelled at the Winged Lion of Venice, I was pleasantly surprised to find a Winged Ox, with a calm temper and in a state of motion. Naturally, I was intrigued and looked it up. The Winged Ox is the symbol of Saint Luke, the Evangelist, author of the Third Gospel and the Patron Saint of physicians, surgeons and artists. The ox represents sacrifice and strength. The sculptor, Henry Weber Mitchell, erected the sculpture on November 24, 1975, as an ode to great healers, inscribing the names of 50 famous doctors on the pillar beginning with Hippocrates at the bottom. I went round the sculpture, reading the names as they went spiraling up: Celsus, Galen, Vesalius, Marcello Malpighi, Anton van Leeuwenhoek, Giovanni Morgagni, John Hunter, Edward Jenner, Robert Graves, Claude Bernard, Florence Nightingale, Rudolph Virchow, Louis Pasteur, Jean Martin Charcot, Joseph Lister, Robert Koch, William Osler, Sigmund Freud, Madame Curie, Harvey Cushing and John Gibbon Jr. The spiral configuration is believed to represent Caduceus, the staff of Hermes in Greek mythology and Mercury in Roman mythology, with two snakes entwined around it and wings on top. It is associated with merchants and messengers. It is always confused with the Rod of Asclepius represented by a staff with a single snake and no wings, belonging to Aesculapius, the Greek God of Healing. The serpent sheds its skin and represents transition from sickness to health. All medical associations around the world, including the World Health Organisation uses the symbol of the Rod of Asclepius. But the US Army Medical Corps, Public Health Service and US Marine Hospital uses the Caduceus as a symbol of administrative emblem and noncombatant role. 

An ox, a snake, a staff and a group of brilliant minds and hands, all symbolism culminates in this sculpture and is a fitting tribute to healers of the past, present and future.

The Winged Ox is not the only installation by Henry Mitchell here. Exactly opposite the sombre ode to the physicians is a more lively and frolicky scene. Otters, a fountain built in the memory of William Bodine Jr, President of the Jefferson Medical College from 1959-1967 and Chairman of the Thomas Jefferson University from 1970-1977, was established in 1979. The otters are enchantingly real, having a good time in the water. The one sitting on top of the rock is a frequent photo/video bomber of my Sunday Facetime chats. I call him Otto von Mitch and like his company as I soak in the fading autumn sun. Mr. Skelman prefers to steer clear of him and has thus taken his position at the window farthest from Otto, much to my amusement. 

At the centre of the Lubert Plaza, stands the 9-foot proud, bronze statue of Dr. Samuel D. Gross, an alumnus and the Chair of Surgery of Jefferson Medical College. The sculpture was commissioned by the Jefferson Alumni Association in conjunction with the American Surgical Association for display near the Army Medical Museum on the Smithsonian Park at Washington D.C. in 1897. It was later moved to Philadelphia in 1970 for the Centennial Celebration of the Jefferson Alumni Association. A missing scalpel was replaced later in his right hand, where it naturally belonged. The sculptor was Alexander Stirling Calder. He was the son of the man who built William Penn’s statue atop the City Hall. The Gross Clinic is perhaps a more famous artwork honouring one of the greatest surgeons, but I am still to see it and will possibly write about it at a later date. This statue, placed strategically, continues to preside over the University and the generations of medical students to come.

Otto is asleep, I am back in my room, and folded my white coat with Ascelpius’ Rod on the breast pocket. I go to the window, darkness has set, I catch a glimpse of the rays from the Ars Medindi from the corner of my eye,  and bid a silent good night to Mr Skelman…until tomorrow…

 

Love

Philo in Philly

MS

A Star is Born

Ratna, take a look at the report card. What could I have said to convince them about Tara in the coming year? She is three years elder to Mukul and he is now in Class 2 while she is has not made it past Class 1 after so many years. The school has put up their hands. Let us accept the fact that her school days are over and she will be at home. We will try and help her with her education to the extent we can on our own. If you want, we can also try with some tutors but I doubt they will accept the work.

Ratna was looking at the report card in her hands which were shaking in anguish rather than disbelief.

How will we leave her at home alone with no one around for the entire day? How will I go to work now?  I cannot quit my work. How will we run the house just on your salary? Rohit, what do we do?

Just then a little girl with curly hair and bright round eyes walked into the house with her face, hands and feet completely dirty and full of scratches. The dress she wore was completely in tatters and full of dirt.

What happened, Tara?

I was watching Rohini and Maya play with the ball when it went into the Gupta Uncle’s garden. They asked me to get it for them by going under the hedge and the barbed wire as the gate was locked. It was difficult but I got the ball, threw it back at them and sneaked out the same way again. It was good fun and my friends said that they would let me play with them from tomorrow. I am so excited that I will play tomorrow and not just sit outside and watch others.

Come, let me give you a bath and clean you up.

After a while, the family sat on the dinner table. The food was simple…kichadi and omelette for Mukul needed eggs for almost all meals and the loving mother would oblige. Ratna sat next to Tara and fed her with her own hands. She would tear off a small portion of omelette and put it over the kichadi, make a small ball in her right hand and put it in Tara’s mouth while gently tilting the girl’s head with her left hand. After the girl’s meal was done, she put some food in the same plate and ate while others went to their rooms to sleep. Ratna finished off the cleaning of the utensils and kitchen before she retired to the bedroom where Rohit was smoking a cigarette and reading a magazine.

I will take a few days off and see what arrangement we can do. If required, you may also have to take some days off.

I just cannot take any leave now. We have our half yearly closing and you know how important it is for me to be at the bank. I think, Ratna, the time has come for us to take a decision. I know it is a difficult one but how long can we continue this way. She will never be normal and as she grows, it will become even more difficult for her, for Mukul and us as well. Let us accept that Tara has an illness and we need to keep her at home or else she will be a danger to herself and people around. The doctors have said that she may also become violent in the coming days. What will we do then, have you ever thought about it? Get practical, Ratna. There is a place, not far from here, where they keep such patients and they have trained doctors and nurses to take care of them. I have a colleague whose younger sister is there in that home and he told me that it is a good place. Since the time his sister has been shifted there, happiness and peace has returned to their home.

Stop! I don’t want to hear this lecture from you again tonight. She is my daughter and no one is taking her away from me. I will keep her with me. I know the place you are talking about. They call it care home for mentally challenged children, it is nothing but an asylum. My Tara is sick and not mad. She has an issue with the development of her brain. Yes, she gets violent at times and has difficulty in concentrating but these can happen to any kid. Do you know that they often keep the people in that so called home in chains and I can well imagine what care they provide for? Tara is my blood and I will not let her be sent anywhere.

Rohit did not argue. He switched off the light and lay down with his back turned to Ratna. Ratna sat on the bed for some time and then went to the children’s room where she found Mukul soundly sleeping on one side of the bed and Tara on the other. She went towards Tara who opened her big eyes. A big smile came to the girl’s face as she opened up her arms and the mother bent down to give her a tight hug and a kiss on her cheek.

Good night, Mommy.

Good night, Baby.

This was an everyday ritual. Neither mother nor the daughter would sleep without this hug and kiss in the darkness of the night as the father and son duo slept peacefully unaware of this happening next to them.

Next day, Rohit went to work and Mukul went to his school. Ratna stayed back with Tara. It took her quite an effort to explain to the kid why she would not be going to school for she loved the cycle rickshaw ride every morning with her brother. The rickshaw driver, Sabbir, was their regular man and he too asked, Baby, isscool nahin chalogi aaj? Tara just nodded her head as drops of tears rolled down her chubby cheeks.

Rohit returned home in the evening and Ratna made him his favourite lemon tea.

I have some good news. I went to the crèche in the morning and checked if they could keep Tara during the day but they said other parents might object as they all knew about her. I felt disappointed but then there was an elderly couple helping the staff in the crèche. They asked me to wait outside for them. After a while they came out and we went and sat in the bench at the park and talked.

Hello. I am Subhash and this is my better half, Romi. We live in the next row over there. When you were talking to the Madam inside, we heard you. Will you let us take care of your lovely daughter when you go to work? I am a retired man now and Romi still teaches in the municipal school nearby. Now you might wonder why we are willing to keep your daughter with us? It is simple…we do not have kids of our own so we come to the crèche whenever we can and spend time with the children there. We understand Tara is a child with special needs but we can surely handle her well if you guide us for a few days. She will be safe and we will take care of her to the best of our abilities.

While the old man was speaking, his wife held Tara’s hands and was softly talking to her. Usually Tara would be shy and never speak to unknown people but with this lady, she was giggling and talking. Ratna was bewildered with such an unexpected offer and didn’t know what to do.

Thank you. Can I discuss this with my husband in the evening?

Yes, surely. We live in Flat 6A, C Block here. You can bring him to our house as well.

Rohit heard the story and almost spilled hot tea on his shirt.

What about the money? I am sure they will ask for a hefty sum for doing this work. Why should we send Tara to live with some strangers? I think Ratna, you are getting emotional and unable to think right. She needs to be in the home for special children and not outside. You have seen how Mukul teases her and calls her pagli which infuriates her. He refuses to call his friends home for he is ashamed of his sister. The other day she tore off Mukul’s notebook and threw a glass bottle at him in rage. Fortunately, it missed him or else there would have been a major mishap. The two of us cannot go to any get-together for you refuse to go without her accompanying us. This cannot go on. These old people will soon leave this government accommodation and go off. What will happen then? We need a permanent fix and not a stop gap arrangement.

Rohit, I will not send my child to that home. Not as long as I am around. I have heard there are new developments in medicine and surely they will come up with some wonder drug that will cure my child. I will take leave and also go on loss of pay but will be with her always.

We have tried everything, Ratna. We have already taken her to the best of hospitals and specialists. We have tried all treatment including electric shocks. You even brought home the Pir Baba who did everything from burning incense sticks to coconut coir, danced around in his lungi, tapping Tara’s head with his feathered broom. He almost put our house on fire. We have tried homeopathy to ayurvedic treatment. No one can say we did not try. Now that we have failed and her condition is not improving, it will only get worse. I think we have just that one option left.

No Rohit, no! That is not an option. My daughter will be with me and no one will take her away. We will put up one of our rooms on rent to a couple, one of whom will be at home and will take care of Tara. We will charge them a nominal rent but that is not important. My child’s safety and care are more important to me than anything else. I know it will be difficult for all of us but I can see no other option.

That night Mukul went to sleep in his parent’s room and shared the bed with his father. Ratna went to sleep with Tara.

Mommy, don’t send me away. I will not do anything bad. I promise.

No Baby, you are not going anywhere. Just hold me tight and sleep.

Tara wrapped her arms around her mom and slept while listening to her mother reading a fairy tale.

Next morning, Ratna got up early to make breakfast and get Mukul ready for school. She then packed tiffin for Rohit who went away without speaking a single word despite Ratna trying her best to start a conversation.  Just an hour may have passed at work when the peon came to Rohit… Sahab aapke ghar se phone aaya hai. Rohit went to the manager’s room….it was Ratna wailing on the other side…Come home quickly.

Rohit reached home and saw a huge crowd gathered outside. He knew something was wrong. As he walked inside, he found a silent, stoic Ratna and howling Mukul waiting there for him.

What happened?

She did not wake up today. I called the doctor who came and said she had suffered a heart attack in her sleep. How come I did not understand what pain she was in while she had her arms wrapped around me last night? I wish I knew and could have rushed her to the hospital. Anyway, it is all over now. I am relieved today, my daughter is free. She has broken the shackles we wanted to put in and run away. So no more shame for Mukul, no more worries for you and me….my Tara is now a star in the sky, unseen in the blue sky on the days when we are at work, but shining and smiling bright  on us all through the nights.

SS

Mumbai Local

Mi Vishal  Mahtre aahe…I am Vishal Mahtre. I am nineteen years old and have studied up to class ten.  I live in Gopalbhai Chawl behind Badhwar Park, Colaba, with my parents, two elder sisters and a seventy five year old grandmother, all in one room with kitchen and a common bath. I work at the Dominos, Goregaon, as a delivery boy. The work is boring but I get to drive the bike, which is fun. I work in the morning to afternoon shift so I get the evenings to myself when, along with my friends, we practise dancing. Someday, we will showcase our talent in the Super Dancer Show on television.

I love Mumbai locals for they keep the city on the move. Only on days when some idiots with flags or when nature’s fury stalls the iron wheels, does the city come to a total halt but the very next day, it is life as usual. These locals are the lifeline and all this talk about the spirit of Mumbai is all bull shit. Most of us take the locals as we have to go to work and earn our daily bread. Every morning I take the 7.30 morning local to Borivali and get off at Goregaon Station. Though the journey is for about forty minutes, I never take a seat but stand at the entrance door holding the steel rod in the middle. Since the train is usually empty at that hour, I do a few tricks like swinging my body out in a perfect semi-circle to the amazement of the fellow passengers some of whom keep telling me how dangerous and fatal this act could be. Since I have my ear phones plugged into my ears, I can never hear what they are saying but surely can understand with the disapproving nodding of their heads and fingers. I just smile at the nay sayers and keep getting better with my jumps and antics.

One such day, the sun was blazing down even at around 8.00am as the train slowed down to halt at Dadar Station. On the opposite track was another train which too had made its thirty second halt at this major station. My eyes fell on a girl sitting in the other train. She was looking out of the grilled window. I tried to get a better look of her but the two trains started moving in opposite direction. There was something about the girl that I just could not explain but her image stuck in my mind all through the day as I drove around the crowded S.V. Road delivering hot pizzas and cold colas.

Photo courtesy: Indiarailinfo.com

Next day, I made sure I was at Churchgate Station much before time and took my position in the same coach as yesterday. Why was the training moving so slowly today….I wondered… or was it my mind playing games with me….I looked at my mobile and saw the time….felt relieved that the train was moving at the right pace? As the train left Elphinstone Station to move slowly towards Dadar, my heart started beating…. I could feel it go boom..boom…will she be there today? Hey Ganapati….please make sure she is there again. My Vignaharta never fails me and as the train came to a slow halt at Dadar, I could see the girl again. Ufff…she is so pretty….I said to myself. Should I jump onto the other train…I knew I could jump the distance but held myself back as I saw the train and girl roll away, leaving me terribly happy and with a deeper and better picture of the girl. She is so good….I want to see her longer than those twenty seconds….why don’t  the trains get stalled there forever….why doesn’t the electricity fail or the protestors stop the trains on their tracks? How much can I ask Ganapati to do on a single day….I am sure He can do anything but I try and limit my requests to Him to one per day.

The day after, I was once again at Churchgate station at 7.00am and did not board the two empty Borivali locals at 7.10am and 7.20am. I let them go by and waited for my usual local. No sooner had it slid into the platform than I jumped in, before anyone else could ,and then kept looking at the time on the mobile wanting the train to start on time…did not want it to be early nor late but sharp at 7.30am so that I did not miss seeing the Pretty Girl of Dadar once more today. Timing of the two trains had to be perfectly synchronized to ensure we kept meeting. The train moved ahead on time but then as luck would have it, dark clouds enveloped the sky as it reached Marine Lines. By the time the train pulled into Grant Road Station, the rain had started falling…..from a light drizzle it took little time for it to change to a heavy down pour. I could now see the people seated inside the coach pulling down the shutters to prevent the water from coming inside. They wanted to close the door but I stopped them from doing it. My fear came true as the train stopped at Dadar with the other train also standing, as it was on previous days, but with all the shutters pulled down. I stretched my neck to see inside the coach on the opposite end but could not see her despite getting completely drenched. Bappa naraaz hain aaj mujh se shayad…..I was sure she was there but I could not see her….this was my bad day indeed. Not only did I not get to see the girl but my bike skidded and my deliveries got spoilt and delayed. I got an earful from the customers and my boss deducted from my daily wages the cost of two pizzas. That’s the true spirit of Mumbai…professional to the core!

Every day is not the same and the next day it was once again bright and sunny. I wore a nice colourful shirt, set my hair properly with some gel and shaved off the goatee I had grown. By now I had begun to dream of the girl and I just could not take her off my mind whether it was with my eyes open or closed, awake or asleep. Today, the train reached slightly early and I was about to be disappointed but then the opposite train slowly pulled into the station and I could get a better look at the girl. Yes…she was sitting at the same window and she appeared to have looked at me and smiled…..had I started imagining things….did she really smile at me…..yes she did….Thank you Bappa Moriya….Jai Ho! I started jumping in joy and the people in my compartment made strange faces seeing me do a quick hand stand using the back rest of an empty seat as a support. Hurray, I said to myself... Ladki Hansi to Ladki Phansi….

Photo Courtesy: dnaindia.com

I was now determined to meet this girl soon so asked my boss for a day’s leave. You will not get paid then Vishal….I hope you have a good reason not to come to work tomorrow….Yes Sir, I have some very important work at home. Have to take my Dadi for a check-up. Ok…he said...your choice. That night I went to bed early skipping dinner. I wanted to be alone and wanted the night to myself and my dreams. As I closed my eyes, I saw her in a pretty dress come running to me….she hugged me and I started my bike with her sitting behind holding me tight. As the bike moved from one place to another, she moved her hands from my shoulder to tightly hold me by the waist as the bike picked up pace. Her hair smelled so nice…they were flying in the air and I saw her face and beautiful eyes on the rear view mirror. She had such beautiful teeth….just like they showed in the advertisements for toothpastes on the television. I took her to Chowpatty where we had Kala Khatta Gola….we shared one gola…she would taste it first and then I would follow. We sat on the sand for some time looking at each other without saying a single word.

I next drove the bike to Siddhivinayak Temple where we had a nice darshan of the Lord himself. We then went to the silver rat waiting outside and whispered our wishes into its ears. What more could I wish for but still prayed that this girl be mine and mine alone and we could live together forever loving each other. I also hoped she asked for the same things. From the temple I drove the bike to Maratha Mandir where DDLJ was running for 1002 days. We had seen the movie many times but still bought the best tickets where I got popcorn bucket and Pepsi. She let me hold her hand…oh she had such soft small hands which seemed to melt as I held them tight…very tight….as if I will never let them go. She did not mind…she looked at me and smiled and she rested her head on my shoulder.

By now, it was evening and I took her to my friends who were waiting for us. As soon as we stepped off the bike, the music began to play loud and my friends started dancing and asked us to join. This was no choreographed dance but just wild frenzy of the youth of the chawl who craved for their little joys and having a girlfriend was like winning the Olympic Gold Medal and one of them today had won one such beautiful medal. We danced for long and then the beer and biriyani flowed. She joined me in every act and matched me in everything from drinking to eating and laughing out aloud. She was an instant hit with my friends and I was happy about it. She then pointed towards the time…Oh yes…I will drop you home. We bid our friends adieu and drove away into the night…she holding me tighter than ever and me driving slower than ever wanting the drive to get longer….wish the road and night would never end….what a night…what a dream better than any in all my 6935 days of my existence on planet earth.

Vishal Uttho …it is 6.30am and you will be late for work…shouted my mother. I jumped out of my bed and quickly got ready for my big day. I rushed to Churchgate Station and boarded the 7.00 am local to Andheri and got off at Dadar Station at 7.20am. I was in my best of clothes…brand new shirt and trouser and Nike shoe, my most prized possession, shouting at me to ‘Just do it’ Swoosh! I had some time on hand so had a cutting chai and a bun maska. It was now 7.45am and my hour of reckoning was drawing near. I took up my position to board the train going towards Churchgate onto the compartment which I had calculated would be just one behind the ladies compartment where Miss Pretty Face would be seated. The crowds boarding the trains and coming out were jostling me out of my spot but I would again find my ground as a brave soldier unwilling to give up position in the face of enemy attack.

I could now see her train coming and I held my breathe…my heart was beating so loud as the train chugged in and slowly came to a stop. As her compartment passed, I saw her sitting with some other girls… oh she has friends….so how will I talk to her…I had expected her to be alone…hmmm…,anyway let me first board the train and will see what to do when I come face to face with her. The crowd tried to push me inside but here again I stood at the door with my head jutting out at every station to see if the girl had got off. But she did not and the train reached the final station at Churchgate. I got off now and moved closer to the ladies compartment and I saw her coming towards the exit and then she stepped down. I pulled down my cap over my face a bit so that she could not see me. I started walking a couple of steps behind her and her friends. I stretched to overhear what she was saying but in the din of the station could not hear anything. I walked quickly past her and after about twenty steps turned around to face her. Ohhh she truly had a beautiful face with flowing, dark hair and was wearing a simple salwar kameez and had a bag slung over her left shoulder. Why is she making so many movements with her finger? I stood still with my eyes on her ….she was not saying anything with her mouth but talking with her friends with her fingers and facial expressions.

I stood still and let her walk past. I found myself an empty bench where I sat down looking at the station ceiling oblivious of the maddening crowds rushing everywhere. After a while, took the 9.00am train to Borivali and reached my work place. I told my boss that Dadi was better today so had returned to work. He abused me for being late but since the festive season was around and work orders were heavy so an extra hand for delivery was always welcome. I worked longer that day and returned home late. I had dinner and was dead tired and hit the bed and did not dream of anything. Next morning I got up and said a little prayer. Hey Mere Bappa….every day I come to you selfishly asking for one boon after another for myself but today I am asking you to please give the girl her ability to speak. It does not matter whether I get to make her my girlfriend or not. She is beautiful….she deserves your help.

I still take the 7.30am Borivali local from Churchgate. Nowadays, I started watching some YouTube videos on how to use sign language, a few I already know as part of my dancing routines….I plan to test my skills for the first time tomorrow by waving to her, Hello…Hi…how are you….hope she sees me and waves back. Even if she does not reciprocate, it is ok as long as she sits there at the window seat, looking out and smiling….she is after all my daily dose twenty seconds of supreme joy.

SS 

The Last Post

6th July, 2020

Hi Dad,

When I look back all these twenty eight odd years, some memories never seem to fade. You walking me to the bus stop that was far away from our house and then reading the newspaper as we waited for the school bus to arrive. As I grew up, I was embarrassed that you would still not give up this routine but always loved to see you outside the school gate when the last period got over and we would be rushing to get a seat in the bus. You would always buy me an orange ice stick and I would proudly lick it, showing off to the other boys. Then those dreaded parent teacher meetings where you quietly listened to almost all the teachers telling how bad my marks were and how much I needed to work hard to ensure promotion to the next class. Despite all these taunts and complaints, you never raised your hand at me. My repeatedly bad scores  would have made any other mortal give up on me, but you had an undying faith that one day I will prove the world wrong and make you feel proud. Was it your blind love for me that drove you to have such baseless faith or was it something you saw that others missed? How much trouble I would give you when ,after a long hard day at work, you returned home and I would ask for a new notebook or a geometry box that I had lost in school. You would immediately go to the shop and buy a new one for me without ever complaining.

You knew many a thing but overlooked them. You knew I was flicking coins from your pocket, you knew I would often fib about my illness just to skip going to school, you knew I would forge your signature on the school diary pages….I could go on Dad. How much I would trouble you over buying the bicycle or the football shoes….spoilt so many of your Saturdays. You wanted me to take up science but I knew I would never be able to get past those subjects. My class teacher called me a donkey for having given strange options of subjects for senior secondary- first being your wish of doing pure science which had PCBM and second was humanities which I wanted. There was no way the school was going to make a fool of itself by even thinking that in some distant day this idiot would turn into a doctor and so I ended up doing history and civics. Then you wanted to see me clear the civil services and made me join the Rau’s Classes but I had made up my mind and finally ended up joining the armed forces, much against your wishes. Yet you never ever said anything harsh to me. You would often tell Ma and other relatives, “ One day my son will make me proud”.

Dearest Ma,

You often complained that I write the inland letters to both of you but, on the cover, address it to Dad and not to you.  So today I have addressed this letter to both of you.

The food in the mess is good but no one can even come close to your mughlai paranthas, meat palak, fish curry and the yummy mishti you would make. My school friends would finish off the tiffin much before the intervals, on most days, and let me eat their sandwiches. On my birthdays god knows from where you would find time to cook so many things for my friends who were invited including the cake initially done over a kadhai with sand and later in the round oven. The trend continued even when I grew up and my friends would come in large number to our house for Bijoya, after the immersion of Ma Durga. You always loved to go to Pujas and get together in the neighbourhood and you never liked to miss marriages of friends and family. I remember how all your life you would get the things from the CSD canteen at cheaper prices for us and bottles of XXX rum for others.

I often wondered where you found so much strength to do so much work. Almost all your working life, we never had any servants and Baba would hardly do anything other than make the early morning tea while you would do all the cleaning, cooking, washing, get us ready for school with breakfast, tiffin and even keep food in the fridge for the afternoons when we returned home. And after a hard day’s work you would get back to the same back breaking routine. Now, let me tell you a secret Ma. I never felt any pain when you would slap me, something you did often, for doing the wrong things. The reason is that your palm was soft and fluffy and the slaps lacked any sting even though you were putting force behind them. Yes, the one time you used the belt that hurt. But I deserved it for Baba was too soft on me and I always needed your scolding and beating to instill some fear in me. Don’t worry Ma, what I am today, is because of all the beating and eating and love that you showered on me. Never forget to have your medicines and insulin shots for you are the person who keeps our house in order and together.

My Loving Chikki,

I was there with Baba when you were born and always found you a cute little baby. Ma told me that I have even washed your nappies in Delhi’s winter in cold water. Every night I would kiss you on your chubby cheeks and then go to my side of the bed to sleep. Whenever I went out for my school trips, I made sure I saved a little money and bought you a small gift. On one such occasion, I got you a beautiful bead necklace and you took it in your little hands and pulled the sting so hard that it broke and beads were seen flying all over the room. Ma had to collect all of them and she put them together again. I have seen your wooden box that you keep secretly behind your clothes shelf. The beads are still there and so are the small sequined purse and a picture of us together riding a pony at Manali with you in front and me sitting behind, holding you tight, lest my little sister fell down and hurt herself.

I often wonder how, as children of the same parents and having being brought up in almost similar environment, we were so different from each other. I was the playful kind while you were the studious type and our report cards were so different. I was loud, outspoken and had an army of friends while you were the quiet type and a lonely bird. You loved chocolates and cakes while I loved the Indian sweets more, you preferred continental food when we went out while I stuck to my desi variety. I think you never had any boyfriends because most of the boys would be mortally afraid of me and knew what would be their fate when I would come to know about them….you must be cursing me all your life for this my Chikki Chukki. Maybe, because of my over protectiveness you never thought it important to tie a Rakhi on my wrist knowing fully well that I would anyway do it so why the public display of affection. Do you know that I would buy the Rakhi every year myself and Ma would tie it for me? You always brought joy to the house from the time you opened your eyes. Your presence itself had a positive and calming effect on all and then your exam results were such a big thing. Ma had to always ask me to bring a basket of sweets even before you came home with your report card knowing fully well that you would have scored well and the mithai had to be distributed to all neighbours and friends as an annual ritual. Now that  you are a doctor, I know your patients will be in best of hands and shall bless you My Little Sis.

Dear Ma, Baba, Chikki.

I know you must be wondering what this letter is all about. Last night, our battalion got the orders to move to the forward post at Siachen where the situation looks grim. While the spirit is high and the there is great enthusiasm among the soldiers, there is an undercurrent of strange silence and unease. So some of us decided to pen a last letter for our loved ones and keep it in the pockets of our uniform as we face the enemy of the nation. If we survive, the letter will stay with us unread. If otherwise, the letter will reach the recipients along with our uniforms and remains wrapped in the flag we would have gone down proudly fighting for. Only one will reach- the letter or us.

The other day, one of my school mates, with whom I used to exchange stamps, shared one of a war memorials of World War 1, which I am sending along with this letter to add to my stamp collection. It seems strange and coincidental that he would send this at this hour. Maybe, next when you visit any of these sites, you will etch my name there forever. If not then I shall be up there as a cloud watching you all…sometimes white and bright, and at times, dark and gloomy, but I will always be there.

It is easy for me to say don’t cry, but I know it will happen. All I can say is that some of us have to face the bullets to make sure others in the country stay safe, sleep well and keep the flag flying high. Lately, I have been humming a song written by Manoj Muntashir which befits us soldiers in uniform…

Aye meri zameen mehboob meri
Meri nass nass mein tera ishq bahe
Pheeka na pade kabhi rang tera
Jismon se nikalke khoon kahe
Teri mitti mein mill jawaan
Gul banke mein khill jawaan
Itni si hai dil ki aarzoo

And finally, Dad, the day to make you proud of your son is here, so straighten your shoulders and put your chin up.

Will miss you all, as always. Love you all.

Sanjib

Captain Sanjib Chaudhury
32nd Battalion
56 APO

SS

 

The Savoy Bar

City of Joy

George Eggleston had just returned from Mumbai where he was working in an MNC. It was his dying father, Robert, who in his last wish asked his son to take charge of his bar at Park Street in Kolkata. Despite George’s resistance, the father said, “Son, this bar was given to me by my father and before that it was his father who started it during the colonial period. This is where the burrasaabs would come in the evening for their drinks, play bridge and listen to live music. We have seen the highs and lows of Calcutta….times when everything was good and money flowed. Now, things have gone bad but I can tell you, the joy of running this place, meeting people who love fun and feel the sweetness of home, is something no money can buy. You can also make more money than the so called bitcoins on days when wealthy old patrons come here. You give it an honest try for six months and if you feel cheated by your old man, sell it and go where your work and heart takes you.” Tonight would be George’s first night at Savoy Bar, established 1911, the year the Imperial capital shifted to Delhi.

People started coming in around 7pm and some of them spoke to George about his father, how they loved him and that they would miss him. The band had also assembled and they still seemed to wear the old tight fitting white jackets and bow as they started playing old songs….Come September lifted the spirits of the people in the room and some of the oldies took to the floor impromptu to do a gig and twist. As the merriment continued and spirit flowed, George noticed, at a table near him, three strange looking men….one a pure gorasaab and attired perfectly with a hat, the second looked an Englishman but wore traditional Indian clothes befitting a Bhadralok and the third seemed a mix between a gora and a desi. George got closer and tried listening to the men seated.

“Young man, get us the finest and rarest Scotch whiskey you have”…one of them shouted.

“I do have the whiskey but will cost a lot. You think you can afford it?”

The three men started laughing aloud. “Son, don’t worry about money. We shall fill up your coffers with gold mohurs. Just serve us and make us happy.”

George obeyed and poured them the finest whiskey in the bar and stretched his ears to listen.

“Stuart, you stop wearing these funny clothes. Wherever we go, people are watching you and mocking you.”

“Why should I change? These are clothes best suited for the Indian climate. I have written many articles on why even English women should start wearing sarees as against the western dresses.  There is no attire as beautiful as the saree draped well.”

“Why don’t you have your bath in the house where all amenities are there from shower to the bath tub. But you prefer bathing in the Ganges every morning. It is so unhygienic and does no good to your position.”

“Taking a bath in the holy Ganga cleanses your body and soul every day. And for those who say the water is dirty, it has been scientifically proven that holy the Ganges has special properties that kill all impurities and the water turns clean on its own. After my bath each day, I go to the temple on the ghats and chant mantras that I have learnt during my stay in India. Jay Sittaraamjee!”

George was amazed at Stuart….what a man! A foreigner and yet he is more Indian than most. No wonder Dad spoke highly of the people who visited Savoy.

It was now Stuart’s turn to question his friends.

“So tell me Henry, what are you up to nowadays. Surely teaching cannot be the only thing you do?”

“You are right Stuart. I am saddened at the state of Bengal and wish to do something. I am talking to my students to create a Young Bengal Movement. I have great hope on the youth of this state. They are well read and have fire in their belly. If their passion is directed in the right manner and for the right cause, change will happen.”

“You are just a teacher and should not get into the politics of this state. The way you are talking seems you are preparing the young students of yours for a revolution.”

George just could not hold himself back and went to the table occupied by the troika and raised his finger and spoke up in clear and stern voice…. “Gentlemen, this is a place where we want our patrons to come and enjoy. Talking of change, planning revolutions is not what this place is meant to be. You know how sensitive the establishment is to any talk of opposition and upheaval? They will not only put you behind the bars but they will also take me away for being an accomplice and arranging for the meeting place. Today is my first day at the bar and I just cannot allow this here.”

Henry looked up to see the angry expression on George’s face and gently smiled and spoke softly…. “Don’t worry George. No one will ever be able to put me behind bars and I shall make sure no evil ever falls on you. This is India and I care for the country and its people. This is India, my native land.”

George did not argue any further and moved away after pleading once more and showing his clasped hands, as if praying to the men to maintain order.

Henry changed the subject immediately and asked his third colleague….”William, why did you change your name to Yunus Uksfardi?”

“Ha …ha…I too, like you both, love this country and its wonderful languages. I have learnt to speak and write in Persian, Hindi, Sanskrit, Bengali apart from Hebrew, Latin, Greek and Arabic…..so I changed my name as they would pronounce in Persian…Yunus Uksfardi is nothing but saying Jones from Oxford.”

“That is really smart of you, William.”

“I am working on translating old texts of various religions. This land is so rich in culture, history and spirituality that I will never ever think of going back to England. I will create a repository of translated books so that future generations are proud of their country and do not blindly look towards the West for knowledge and material gains.”

George was quite impressed with the three gentlemen who kept drinking the finest whiskey he had to offer. They finished off two bottles in a couple of hours as they kept talking about India. How surprising that we Indians often look down upon our own country and here are three Europeans who love everything about this country. These old men show the true spirit of nationalism and patriotism which the youth in the country today lacks.

The three gentlemen now took out something from their respective pouches and placed a metal under their empty glasses as they walked out of the bar swiftly before George could react with Stuart shouting Jay Sittaramjee. George ran after the men but when he reached outside the door of the bar, the three gentlemen were not to be seen. Vanished!

“Oh no…I have been completely fooled by these crooks. Each of those bottles cost over twenty five grand. Instead of making money on my first day, I have been duped by three crooks for over fifty thousand rupees on a single night. Is this what Pappa had in mind when he wanted me to be here for six months? I will be gone in six days and surely with empty coffers should men like these come more often.”

He walked back to the table and saw the metal pieces glowing under the whiskey glasses…. “I have not tasted one drop of liquor and yet I seem to be imagining things”….he lifted one of the glasses and held the round metal piece close to his eyes…. “Is this a gold mohur….cheats…fooling me. Do I look like an idiot that they give me three pieces of fool’s gold and finish off two of the best and the most expensive whiskey bottles? I am ruined. Pa, sorry”…..George had tears in his eyes.

After wrapping up the evening, George counted the cash. It was over thirty thousand and three golden worthless metal pieces. He put all the money and coins in a box, locked it up before going home for what remained of the night.

Next morning, George went out of the house early as he had not been able to sleep even for a moment as he kept remembering the three crooks of Bengal, their looks, their conversation and their unquenching thirst for whiskey. Across his home was a place where his Great Great Great Grandfather had been put to rest…Captain Charles Eggleston. He wanted to see his tombstone for his father told him often about their lineage and their being of true Anglo-Saxon blood.  He carried with him a bunch of flowers that he kept on the base of the tombstone. He was definitely feeling better and proud now. He decided to take a walk around the cemetery to see who else in his family were laid to rest and to catch up with a bit of history.

George found huge tombstones, some kept well with the names legible, others were in bad state without any trace of who lay there. He was amazed to find some nicely crafted epitaphs….more in the like of poetry which showed the love the family and friends had for the departed ones. As he walked along the huge cemetery, George’s eyes fell upon a strange looking grave which looked more in the shape of a temple. He went closer and saw the inscription….it was Major General Charles Stuart (Known as Hindoo Stuart) 1758- 1828.

George walked further and his year fell on te only grave where a marble figure of the person whose grave was there and he saw the name….Henry Louis Vivian Derozio, teacher, poet and patriot, Mentor of Young Bengal and Friend of the People….Born 18^th April 1809, Died 20^th December 1831.

Things were now becoming clearer to George. Now he had to find William, the third of the night crooks. Having failed to trace his grave, he spoke to the cemetery keeper about the graves of famous people there. The man rattled off many names and he spoke of one William Jones and George asked him to stop. Who was William Jones and where is his grave? The man opened up a book before him to the page containing a picture of an Englishman on the right side and a big commentary written on the left….Sir William Jones FRS FRAS FRSE (1746-1794) a philologist, scholar of ancient India, found co-relation between European and Indo-Aryan languages which he called Indo-European and founder of the Asiatic Society of Bengal in 1784.

George went to the biggest and the best kept grave and admired the man buried therein. Surely a tall man by all counts and fully deserving of the biggest grave. Now the things had become clear to George and he started running out of the cemetery and he reached home and opened the box containing last night’s collection. He quickly pulled out the three coins and saw them against the sunlight….his eyes shown bright as he tried reading the impression on the coins written in Persian….he waited for the neighbourhood jewelry shop to open. He went there and showed one of the coins to the owner there. The jeweler looked in all amazement…. “Where did you get this? This is a gold coin issued by Siraj-ud-daullah, the king of Bengal in the eighteenth century.”

George quickly said that it belonged to his ancestor Captain Charles Eggleston. The jeweler knew Robert well and about his family who had been living in India for over two hundred and fifty years now.… “Keep it safely but if you ever need money and you bring one of these to me, I may just have to sell all the pieces of jewelry in my shop in exchange for it. But I will still do it for this one piece.”

George remembered his father’s last words… “You can make more money than the so called bitcoins.”

SS 

Love in Times of War

They are coming. I can hear the sound of the guns not far from here.

I am coming, dear. I am on my way. Don’t you worry.

Will you make it before they arrive?

Yes. I am speeding down in my Hummer and should reach you before dawn.

Do you have the papers? I am worried, for tomorrow at noon the last flight departs.

I have all clearances and papers with me. The ambassador has said he will wait till I arrive with you before flying out. Why do you worry so much?

You know what they will do to those who worked with the Americans. They call us traitors and for women they will show no mercy. In fact, they will be even more vindictive. 

Don’t worry so much. I will whisk you away before their dirty shadows fall on you.

Shahbaaz called today. He said he is coming with the Talibs.

Who is Shahbaaz?

He is the younger brother of my late husband, Masood. When Masood became bedridden, after stepping on a landmine, Shahbaaz used to help me a lot. He took good care of my son, Roshan. Soon I realized that Shabaaz was getting too close to me. One day he proposed to marry me but I refused. He was upset and angry with me. Then, one evening, finding no one at home, he pinned me down but fortunately my father-in-law returned home early and saw what Shahbaaz was up to. He broke open the door and thrashed his son and asked him the leave the house the very same day. Shahbaaz left but he would often make threatening calls to me. My father-in-law was a good man and he let me go to the nursing school and continue to work in the government hospital where I met you. Now, with Masood and his father no more around, Roshan and I are alone at home. Yesterday Shahbaaz said that, now, I have no one to protect and he will humiliate me in public and then give me away as a slave to the others. Jake, I am shivering. If he reaches before you, I will be gone for good and Roshan will be orphaned.

Rubina, my love, I am coming as fast as I can. I have loved you since the day I first met you lying in the hospital bed with a bullet in my neck. How you nursed me and saved me from death! Next when Shahbaaz calls, tell him Sarge Jake will protect Roshan and me and he will kick your ass so hard that you will fly away from Kandahar to Kabul and then over the mountains into the valley from where you will crawl on your limbs for the rest of your life asking for mercy from your Allah.

Jake, the gun shots are now very close.

I am also round the corner. Have you packed your bags?

Yes, I have packed a few essentials into one small bag and Roshan says he will only carry his football. He plays the ball well and wants to become a professional player in America. You remember the Afghan football player who fell off the aircraft trying to escape by holding on to the wing, Roshan was a big fan of his.

Ha ha…I like the kid as much as I love his mother. 

Jake, someone is knocking on the door. They are here. Shahbaaz is calling me continuously. I am sure he is leading the hordes to our home. This is where our story ends.

Rubina, just take Roshan with you from the back door and you will find my vehicle there. There is no time to waste….run, Rubina , run!

Rubina threw the mobile down, caught Roshan by the arm and started dragging him towards the back door just as the front door was blown away in the gun fire from the ravaging intruders. The boy, in the madness, did not forget to hold the football tight close to his body. He had won the ball as a prize for being the top scorer in his inter-school championships.

It was still dark but Rubina saw the Hummer with the lights on. She rushed towards it as Jake kept his gun aimed at anyone who tried harming his love and her kid. No sooner had Rubina and Roshan jumped into the back seat than a hundred Talibs emerged and surrounded the car in a semi-circle.

Jake fired his automatic gun…ratta tatta taaat…. But the firing from the other side was like a a hundred guns booming together. 

Jake knew there was no escape now….they were too many. His best bet lay in driving the bullet proof Hummer fast. Just as he was about to press the ignition key, the side door opened and a gun trotting Afghan sat down beside him.

Rubina shieked…Shahbaaz…have mercy on us. Let us go.

Shahbaaz looked at Rubina…pointed his gun at Jake and spoke in his native language….give me  your helmet and your gun and take my turban and gun. Just walk out of the car on the left side. My bike is parked behind that trees. There is enough fuel to take you till Kabul Airport. 

Jake asked….what about you?

I always wanted to dress up like the American soldiers with their smart helmets and guns. Today, I will become GI Joe. You take care of Rubina and Roshan. I loved her but I know she loves you more. Hope, after today, my Abbajaan and Allah will show mercy to me.

Go..go…go now!

Jake started the bike with Rubina behind and Roshan in between and roared away. Rubina turned her head to see the Hummer blow up in smoke as the missile landed on it. The victors fired their guns in the air to celebrate their victory of eliminating an American soldier and a fallen Afghan woman. 

In sometime, the bike reached the airport tarmac. The ambassador stepped out of his car and showed the trio the stairway to climb up before walking into the aircraft himself. As the plane took off, Roshan found the empty air force plane a good playground to knock the ball around. Rubina looked out of the window, her eyes moistened with the thought of leaving her country and people for ever and said a silent prayer for Shahbaaz…. May he find jannat.

SS