Drops of Jupiter

“Oops! Sorry”, I told and turned around simpering. I’d plugged in my earphones deep into my ears. It was my favorite song and I made sure that what I was singing wouldn’t be audible to the people around me. This is not the first time this had happened to me; only, this time it got a bit too audible that people 4 cabins from mine actually stood up and peered in my direction to find the source of that grotesque squeal. It was a high note and I had tried real hard to keep my voice low that ultimately what had escaped my lips happened to sound strangely like a fat mouse being strangled by a debilitated cat. Quite immune to such humiliations, that I am, I went back to my work. But the thought refused to leave my mind. ‘EAR PHONES, EAR PHONES, EAR PHONES…’ maybe I should let the haunting thought leak out of the neocortex of my brain, through my finger tips via the keyboard onto Microsoft Word.

Ear-phones have become the newest inclusion in our list of ‘Oh-I-can-never-live-without-it-you-know’ gadgets. Earlier they used to come as feeble metal arcs supporting a pair of flimsy sponged circular disc large enough to cover the external auditory meatus and an awkward part of your pinna. (Ah! Come now! I really couldn’t find another term to call them). Later they started getting bigger as well as smaller at the same time. The huge ones began serving the pilots while the smaller ones went to the cool dudes. Well, some to hot ones too. Ever since, there has been too much talk about it. Or maybe not!

I happened to hear from one of my friend’s friend’s friend that people have started turning into zombies- not the flesh tearing, berserk, havoc creating type, but the prosaic, listless, inanimate sort. I mean, they don’t smile at each other or form gangs or trip the solitary geek zombies and watch them fall flat on their faces and laugh. Well, you know what I am talking about. Now getting back, I was quoting one of my friend’s friend’s friend. She claims that people have become more like zombies, each with a pair of ear phones- not to mention, they imperceptibly happen to get stuck with the wax in the earlobes. She was upset, people hardly spoke to one another, or smiled. To be annoyingly redundant; maybe that is why she called them zombies. Apparently it took a lot of consoling and cajoling from my friend helping her ameliorate from her bewilderingly dismal discovery. Two weeks later I saw her in a bus station; waiting for a bus obviously. But that was not all. She didn’t smile at me. She dint wave back a ‘hi’ when I did. She had ear phones plugged in. Ah! The irony of it!

In addition to being the source of perturbation for a few of my friends, the ear phones have also caused some evil aberration in some. The other day I happened to over hear from one of my other friends that he always wore ear phones when in a crowded party. He claimed that, this way, in addition to being able to pose himself as one of the cool dudes, the smaller ear phones landed with, he was less necessitated to indulge himself in the ultimately stupid conversation a group can head to. He also says that one major advantage of being in a crowd with an ear phones is that people tend to consider you momentarily deaf and you might even get to hear stuff that you shouldn’t be or at times wouldn’t. He was all glee that one such incident did happen, when he overheard his classmate tell one of her primetime-gossiper friends what about my friend annoys her the most. From then on, he has been royally picking on her. Tut tut... Very unhealthy.

Despite this common characteristic- ‘zombieism’, the ‘ear-phoners’ as I would like to call them can be categorized into two spectra:

First are the ones that seldom care about their ears and let the music blare out so loud that sitting ten feet away from them, you would still be able to hear the music as loud as if you were in a rock concert. I wouldn’t be so much concerned about their ears if the cacophony from their screeching ear phones had not bothered me. It just rendered me curious. And what annoys me the most is that, in case they happen to break out of the trance, and wish to communicate, these absolute morons tend to holler at you as if you were diagnosed with an ear cancer and had been stone deaf all your life.

The second category consists of those that are too very concerned about their ears. Incidentally, they drop their volumes to such levels that all they manage to ear are occasional THUMPs and THUDs and at times even a few raw squawks that amount to being the highest pitch attainable by a violin. Plugging in their ear phones is a ritual. Music is optional. Would I put myself down if I admitted I fall under this category?

P.S: Now if you happen to be wondering what on earth ‘Drops of Jupiter’ has got to do with this article, nothing actually. It was the song I was listening to when I wrote this. I ignored one of my colleagues telling a ‘hi’ to me and didn’t smile at her, because I had my earphones plugged in.

Desolate

She shivered slightly as the cold breeze ruffled through her hair. She pulled her jumper closer and walked ahead. She had gotten used to the pain. She had tried desperately to find a way around. And had failed miserably. But the trifle hope she had clung on to had been fed by a message. Did that mean she should hold on? Why was she unsure? He had meant everything to her. But all of a sudden he was gone. Far. Where did it all start? Where had the end begun?

It was in their cafeteria that she first saw him. He had dark brown eyes. Her favorite color. He was talking animatedly about something, soccer she doubted. Wow, she would’ve loved to join his discussion. She was wondering what she would say if she were to join him in his discussion, when her friend shook her awake to the present. She tore her eyes from him and turned to her friend to reply to a question she hadn’t heard. They walked to their usual place at the far right corner and settled onto their seats. She did not look at him again. Later when they got back to their class, she even forgot to think about him.

Things had remained passably prosaic until one day, when her cousin Bess dropped by her place to invite her for a girls day out. “Wow! Your wardrobe needs some serious revamping Brigette!” Bess crinkled her nose at her modest closet as if she had just sniffed a pile of teeming dumpster. “I didn’t know u collect antique, Brig”. She looked up curiously to see Bess holding a pair of her faded jean. She held it as far away from her as possible. Slightly nettled, she called out “Gimme a break Bess. If you promise not to crack about my wardrobe again, I’ll let you shop for me today”. “Really? Thank youuuuuuuuuu!!!” Bess squealed in joy. Brigette wondered what on earth was so alluring about shopping. May be she missed a couple of really important genes that defined girls like Bess.

After a short chat with her mom and a steaming mug of chocolate, Brigette and Bess left to shop. Around the corner, Brig’s best friend Rebecca, who she always called Becky, joined them. Instantaneously Bess and Becky hit it off. She drove in silence listening to the two girls bicker on and on. Finally they reached the new mall that had opened in great grandeur following the break of that spring. Much to Bess’s demurral, Brig had agreed to go to that mall. If it had not been for the awesome book store in the mall, she would’ve given away anything to finish her shopping at the smaller and lot-less-lustrous mall down the lane. She let the girls drape themselves with the seemingly never ending set of dazzling gowns and skirts and what not. She slipped out to the book store.

A strong aroma of papers hit her squarely on her face and she felt instantaneously exhilarated. She moved slowly from row to row inspecting the books. She found what she had been looking for. There was one whole section of her favorite author. She eagerly etched forward looking for the newest best seller. She picked a copy, got it billed and settled onto a read table comfortably. She had finished almost two chapters when she heard a chair scrape nearby. She however didn’t pay much attention to it.

After about a couple of minutes she heard a distant voice, “Hey there! Brigette isn’t it?” She heard her name and realized that someone was talking to her. She looked up from the book and her heart gave a jolt. It was HIM! She looked into his eyes and forgot to respond. He coughed awkwardly snapping her attention back. She quickly composed herself and forced a smile and replied, “Yeah, I am. I’m sorry. I got pretty lost into the book”. He smiled back and told “Oh that is alright. I am Brian. Green Valley high”. “Guess I’ve seen you around a couple of times” she told. He beamed at her. She recognized me. Pointing to the book in her hand, he told, “Awesome plot. I think I was one of the firsts to pick up that book. I’ve already read it half a dozen times”. She was going to reply something when, “There she is!” she heard the triumphant voice of Bess. Both of them turned around to find a very tired but happy pair of typical teenagers. She waved at them. Becky looked down at her dubiously. Before any conclusions could be drawn, Brigette hurriedly introduced them to Brian. After polite ‘hellos’ and ‘catch you later’s they left the mall.

Back on the way, Bess began explaining how very lucky she had been to get the last piece of her new pencil skirt when Becky interrupted, “So are you going to tell us about him or not?” Brigette had a tough time making them believe that it was only a minute-long acquaintance she had had with him. She however did not voice out her thoughts that were secretly cursing the girls to have intruded in. She instantly felt guilty. That night she dreamt discussing baseball with him. Her dreams had never really made sense. But she was surprised about how clearly she remembered his face; even the tiny scar below his left eyebrow.

Days rolled by. She started seeing a lot of him at school. The more they spoke, the more she liked him. There was nothing that they disagreed upon with each other. He was ofttimes amazed finding her at ease discussing cars and soccer and gadgets and stuff that any other girl would’ve turned down their nose upon. She could see that he was strongly lured by her.

He was always there for her. She felt very secure with him around. So it didn’t come as a big surprise when they both had fallen head over heels in love. Falling in love had been as natural as a little birdie soaring high into the sky for the first time and yet making it without crashing down.

Every weekend they would walk to the bridge over the little stream, holding hands, not talking. They would watch the sunset in silence. Then they would go to the towering three storey public library at the secluded lane close to the woods, and spend the rest of the evening discussing the latest best seller or their favorite authors occasionally arguing but mostly enjoying each other’s company. Then they would retire for the day. But that week, he had seemed extremely perturbed. She couldn’t decide if she should ask him what was bothering him or not. She decided she rather wouldn’t. That is when Brian spoke up.

“Hey Brig.. there is something that I wanna tell you. I didn’t know when I should tell you. I’ve been battling with myself.” She was getting impatient, rather, anxious. “I used to have a best friend, Matt”. Phew, she thought. Is that all? But she could see some pain in his eyes that he had clearly concealed all these days. She wondered what could’ve gone wrong. “Three years before you moved in, the winter was very bitter and it snowed very hard. It was the hardest we had ever seen. It was everywhere on the news. People preferred to stay warm and safe in their homes. I however insisted that we go skiing. Matt was reluctant in the beginning. But with my coaxing, he gave in and we agreed to go the following day. We reached the top of the hill right in the centre of the woods. We didn’t know they had temporarily stopped skiing that season. The whole place was deserted.

We put on our boots. I suggested that both of us go down together. But Matt said he wanted to go first. I let him go and watched him as he skiied down. He was gaining speed and I was feeling all exhilarated. But neither of us noticed that someone had left an almost invisible string that ran between two trees on the path. He skied right through it. It was terrible. The string had gone through the exact middle of him. And I saw it as he came apart. Just like that. There was nothing much I could do. But it was the most horrifying and grotesque thing I’d seen all my life. It needn’t have happened to Matt. It could’ve been me, if it were not for him”, and he broke down. Now she knew what had caused the pain. She yearned to say something to ease his pain. But he continued. “I’ve not been able to get rid of the guilt, the pain. If it were not for my suggestion to go skiing, he would’ve had to go through what he did. I’ve had this with me ever since” he told and pulled out a small carefully preserved newspaper clipping and thrust it at her. “UNFORTUNATE TEENAGER DIES IN SKIING ACCIDENT”, blared out the headlines. There was a small unclear picture of 2 happy young guys with a long description of the mishap. She didn’t know if she could find the right words at all. She wanted him to know that she didn’t think that he was at fault at all. She just held his hands and sat silently, watching him cry, helplessly.

After about ten whole painful minutes, he stopped and looked up, “Matt forgave me. He never left me after that. Hey brig, would you like to meet him?” She looked at him puzzled. Of course! A picture of Matt! It was already ten past eight. She should be home in another half hour if she didn’t want to freak her parents out. It would take about fifteen minutes for them to reach Brian’s home from the already deserted library. Then maybe she could spend about ten minutes with him there and later ask him to drive her home. So it wouldn’t take over forty minutes max, she roughly calculated. She could handle that. “Sure Brian. I would love to” and he responded with a bright smile. It was as if the past half hour had not been.

He dragged her onto her feet and started hurrying out of the library. They walked in silence, until Brian took the wrong turn to his house. “Erm.. Brian, shouldn we be going left?” but he didn’t seem to hear. He kept hurrying and she was finding it difficult to keep up. After a couple of minutes, she was almost running. He was going into the woods and she was starting to feel nervous. Few more minutes passed by. That is when she saw it. There was a long-deserted, huge wooden country house, standing weakly. “Matt’s house.. his parents left the town soon after the accident. They couldn’t stand the grief.” Brian told. “Oh” she said weakly trying to look at his face in the dark. “come on.. lets go in..”. “Brian I don’t think we should be here. Besides, its pretty late” she told trying desperately to stop him. “Dun chicken out Brig. Come on.” He told and pulled her along.

She reluctantly pulled herself forward. May be there is a portrait of him that he would like me to see, she thought. They walked onto the porch and reached the front door. The boards were creaking noisily. Brian opened the front door confidently. May be he went there often. She looked at her watch in the dark. She could see that it was not very late. Not yet. She expected to see a very dirty webbed living room but was shocked to see it as good as a place where Matt had once lived. Just as she had expected, there was a life-size portrait of Matt facing the front door, hung on the wall exactly in the middle of it. The portrait was very life-like. Matt was very handsome, even with a few noticeable freckles on is nose. His hair carelessly fell over his left eye. She felt really bad both for Brian and Matt. She looked around to find Brian looking up at the portrait too. She waited for him to talk. After few silent minutes Brian spoke, “Well.. see? That is Matt.” He beamed proudly. She half expected him to break down again. But no. That is not what happened. “Hey Matt.. Howdy mate? Sorry I couldn’t come last week. So meet my girlfriend Brigette. I promised I’d bring her here. Didn’t I? There you go. Do you like her?” he was talking to the portrait. She was not sure what she should do or tell. She stood there staring at Brian. He smiled back at her as if encouraging her to talk to him.

“It’s late Brian. We should get going”, she told. But now Brian was frowning at her. Well! What? Very uncertain, she said out aloud, “Hi Matt”, she didn’t know if she should say, “Glad to know you” or “I’m sorry you are dead” or anything for that matter. So she kept quiet. She looked at a very unhappy Brian again, mustered all her courage and pleaded, “Let’s go Brian, please”…

Brian had been very indifferent of late. He had cut down on their phone calls, which by itself, was not very often. She tried talking to him. He would respond. But there was no life in what he replied. She didn’t know whom to turn to. Becky suggested that he was going through some phase and that he needed some time to get alright. But she knew something was going terribly wrong. She couldn’t think of anything that could’ve gone awry, except that night they had returned from Matt’s house, when she had been too perplexed to talk to him.

After a very perturbed week, Brian called her up telling he wanted to meet her. She was not very happy, as she should’ve been. She met up with him near the library that evening. “You don’t believe in what I told about Matt, do u?” he asked her. “What! No. Of course I do. I mean, why wouldn’t in believe that?” she was totally confused now. “No. It’s not that. U don’t believe that he exists. Do u?” “Huh?” may be she had heard him wrong. “Matt is still not gone. He still lives there. At his home. Waits for me till every weekend when I go meet him. When I told him, about you, he wanted to meet you too. And that is why I took you to his place.” Her head was spinning now. She desperately tried convincing herself that he was probably playing a prank on her and would laugh his heads off at her face. But no. that was so unlike Brian. He had never played a prank on her before. “Matt is very upset. He could see it right away that you didn’t believe in his existence, that you considered it a big-time joke when I took you to his place and spoke to him. I’ve known him all my life. I can seemingly sense his disapproval for you”

She was nonplused. She closed her eyes trying to comprehend what Brian was telling. May she should talk him out of this. May be she would. “Brian, please. Matt is dead. And I am really sorry about it. But he is not here anymore. There is no one in that house. I really..” “SHUT UP!” Brian had never screamed at her. “It’s over. I don’t wanna see you anymore. Matt is my best friend. I owe him more than my life for what I’ve done to him. I don’t want someone who wouldn’t even remotely try and believe in his existence. It’s over. I called you over to inform you of this. I cant pretend anymore that I am in love with you. Goodbye.” And he had simply walked out of the library. Out of her life.

She wondered if she’d ever be the same. She didn’t want to cry. She couldn’t move on. She didn’t want to be branded as the ‘Broken-Hearted’. But how good would she be in concealing her grief? She endured the pain every time she saw him, every time she heard someone call out her name and turn around to realize that it was not him. She had given up on books; they reminded her of all the times they had spent at the library laughing over something very silly, or discussing something very seriously. She had tried calling him a few times. All that she had managed to hear from him were, “Get a life”, “All my love for you has vanished. You are no one to me”, “LEAVE ME ALONE”. But still she hoped someday he would come to his senses and plead her for apology, which she would gladly give. After all, she had loved him with all her heart. She would be ready to understand him, accept him with his faults.

That morning she had woken up very early and couldn’t get back to sleep. She had laid on the bed watching her ceiling. Her mobile had beeped with a new message. After Brian, she had seldom received messages. She sat up and picked her phone curiously to see who had messaged. The sender’s number was unknown. She opened the message that read, “Thngs r gonna b fyn. Wanna meet ya at d bridge ovr d stream. nw” her heart gave huge leap. It was Brian! She knew it from the language he had used in his message. But she was not sure if she should be happy. She didn’t want to carry hopes to let them crash again. May be Brian wanted a proper break up with her. She told herself she would accept anything that happens. After all, things couldn’t get any worse. She immediately left to their favorite spot.

She stifled a sneeze and looked up. She was just a few strides away. The fog was immense. She put her hands into her pockets and walked ahead. She could see the silhouette of a hooded figure standing over the bridge, looking down into the stream. She walked closer and saw him look up. She saw a very handsome face that had a few noticeable freckles on the nose. Another breeze blew the hair that had carelessly fallen over his left eye. She froze where she was. He smiled at her.

How accident prone could I get...

The earliest memories of my childhood dates back to the 19th of April, 1992. I was 3 yrs, 1 month and 5 days old then. (Alright, I am bluffing. I wouldn’t have even known if this happened if it were not for my mom, let alone the date of the event.) My mom had taken me with her when she was on a staff tour with her fellow teachers. We had been to Hogenakal, a majestic falls on river Kaveri. The rocks could get really slippery there. Yeah. You know what I am getting at. My mom was holding me in her arms, trying to divert me from my hunger cries, pointing at some random stuff that could be seen from the rock she was standing on. And lo! In a *POOF* both of us disappeared from the sight of others. Well, actually if they had looked down, they would’ve found us. My mom slipped off the rock dropping me into the water and her falling on another rock that was next to the one she was standing on. If it were not for the PT master, I probably would’ve been a tribal princess in the dense forests of Zaire. He caught me just in the right time and prevented me from falling off and into the falls. Thus it began. My falling-spree. From then on, I’ve been falling for ever. And I’ve become the most accident-prone of all the Homo Sapiens that I know.

When I was about 4 years old, my mom left me with my then 7 year old brother to play with my dad’s bicycle that was left to rot in our balcony, my brother found intense fun in cycling the pedal of the stationary cycle. And I was utterly amazed with the working of the cycle chain. All of a sudden I had a strong urge to put my hand in between the cycle chain and the gear it was wound onto. *CRRRRRRUNCH*! My right index finger was all sticky. Not with grease. But with my own blood. I can imagine myself bawling sitting there, my brother full of glee and my mom completely panic-stricken and rushing me to the hospital. I don’t want to get into details because what happened that day became a common scene at my home. My finger survived with minor fractures.

Forwarding through, I arrive at the memories of my 1st std. We lived in apartments. My best friend Yogini had come home with her mom and after all the fun, was heading back to her home. She had descended 2 flights of stairs and was in the floor right beneath ours. I wanted to tell her my millionth ‘Bye’ and leaned over the wall. The next thing I knew was that I was at Yogi’s feet and she was leaning over me with eyes widened in concern and asking me ‘Aishu! Are you ok?’ I had fallen off the wall to land right at her feet. Well, at least I got to tell her another ‘Bye’. Thus I ended up with a plaster stuck to my forehead for the next couple of months. The only thing I was happy about was that there were cute patterns of Donald Duck on that plaster.
*SWIRL SWIRL SWRIL*… Am in 5th std. It was the PT period. Me and my classmate decided to entertain a strange thought that cropped up in my head. We decided we would climb up one side of the goal post in our football ground, swing through the whole length of it, and then come down descending through the other side. This time however, Yogi dint want to see me hurt. She stood standing right below me, to catch me any moment I lose grip and fall down. I DID lose grip. Yogi immediately caught hold of my legs. If only she hadn’t done that. I would’ve landed on my legs safely. But now, she held onto my legs tightly and I landed face-down. *THUD* I fractured my left hand. Very soon, I met with another accident and had my left hand sewed with 3 stitches.

Every time I went to watch a football game in my school, no matter what, the ball found my head. When I cross the road, a car appears from nowhere, stops inches from me, the driver puts his head out and says *BEEP BEEP* (censored). I try to cut vegetables. And I cut my epidermis. I sweep the house, I sprain my ankle. I clamber down the stairs, try skipping a step and end up skipping a dozen and landing on my knees. I learnt riding a bike. I ended up performing an awesome ‘wheeling’ stunt involuntarily and landing on my back with the bike lying on my tummy. Trust me, that did hurt.

In short, if u happen to be wondering about the dangers of something as simple as throwing a stick into the air, I can tell you, if u were me, it would land right on your head, oriented in Y-axis, bore a hole in the center of your head and make you bleed.

Bashed, Abashed

I walked into my apartment totally exhausted. It was almost 7.00 pm. I was very keenly looking forward to slumping onto my couch comfortably and lazing there for a while. But for some reason, I thought I’d fight my fatigue, throw open the ever-unlocked front door of my home and storm into the home and give my mom a little shock. I was smiling involuntarily imagining my mom shouting at me and asking me to grow up and get back to my senses and blah blah. I soon started grinning. I saw a fellow inhabitant of the apartment looking at me suspiciously. I saw her walk past me shaking her head disapprovingly. I could hear it almost as if she’d shouted out to me, ‘Girls these days!’ That only made me grin wider.

I tiptoed out of the elevator, reached my front door, burst into the house shouting ‘mooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmm’ and I froze mid way. There were guests. Shucks! Up in the air flew my little dignity. They were as shocked as I was. I simpered pathetically. My mom came rushing from the kitchen with a tea cup in her hand. She looked extremely perplexed at first, then having realized that I’d tried to do something crazy, she stifled her laugh and introduced me to the guests. They were my dad’s colleague’s family. My dad had invited them home for tea but had received an urgent call from one of his friends and had to leave. Unfortunately tea had extended to supper. I looked at them and tried to smile but looked like I got caught somewhere in between a cough and hiccup and a grin and I walked into my room with very bright red ears.

Inside my room, I saw my brother waiting for me to come in. He had come early that day from work. He looked at me and instantaneously started shaking with silent laughter. I couldn’t help it and I started laughing with him too. My mom put her head inside the door and interrupted our insanity. She called me to lend her a helping hand in the kitchen. I hurriedly finished my duties dutifully and went off to the kitchen.

Since the supper had been quite unanticipated, my mom really had lots of chores to attend to. I decided I would act responsible and ameliorate some of the dirt that had rubbed off on my reputation. After I’d done a bit of assistance, my mom thrusted into my hands the tea cups that were brimming and fuming angrily, as if challenging me to carry them without spilling driblets of the edible consignment. Well, they were messing with the wrong person then- I thought to myself and walked extra cautiously. Now if you happen to be anticipating the occurrence of a mishap, I’m sorry to dishearten you, nothing of that sort happened. I successfully delivered the beverage, passed on a friendly smile to the guests and settled onto the swing chair. They looked puzzled. What? Were they expecting me to pass out on the carpet? Some people they were! The fat lady sitting at the corner of the couch did smile back at me; after what seemed like ages of silence.

The balding man seemed to have come out of a delusion and decided it wouldn’t be so harmful after all to start a conversation with me and engaged himself in bombarding me with questions he already knew the answers to; ’where did u study?’, ‘oh that is an institution run by people who run Amritanandamayi Matt rite?’, blah blah blah. I was waiting for my dear brother to rescue me from this predicament. Finally he emerged from our inside the room and apologized, clearly bluffing, that he had to attend a very important call. He couldn’t pretend it any longer. I grinned at him triumphantly as I left to the kitchen to help my mom.

Inside the kitchen, my mom made it obvious to me that she was glad I delivered the tea without soiling the carpet. My injured self confidence was mending. Dinner was ready. My stomach was grumbling noisily. Since my mom made it clear that we’ll wait for the guests to finish the dinner, bid them adieu and then eat, I gobbled down a couple of chocolate cookies trying to appease the beast in my stomach.

Tradition has always been a forerunner at my home. So my mom insisted that the guests be served their dinner in banana leaves. She wanted me to serve the food. Great. They were seated on the floor. And I started serving the food in the order that they were meant to be served. Well. Did I mention? There was an extremely annoying kid the guests had brought with them. And that little tumult was whining for more of sweet. I tried to keep my face straight and gave her one more piece. I stepped back from her leaf. Oops! I stepped on something really squishy. I turned in horror to find myself resting my left leg in the center of the leaf of the fat man. Ew! That was gross. What happened next was a complete chaos. My brother burst out laughing. My mom was trying extremely hard not to laugh her heads off. The little rat of the girl started crying; God knows for what. The fat lady was so shocked she thought she would wipe my feet off the food I’d stepped on. The bald guy didn’t know if he had to tell ‘O it’s alright’ or ‘Watch out girl’ or ‘Watch where you put your next leg now’. Since he didn’t tell any of those, I ended up putting my next leg into the glass of water and slipped and fell. The whole of the room was a mess. So was I.

The incidents that followed were not vital. The damage was done. My mom helped me clean the mess and served food in another leaf accompanied with a hundred apologies. The rest of the serving was taken care by my mom and bro. They wouldn’t risk another such malady. I stuck to kitchen silently munching on all that I could lay my hands on and cleaning the already clean kitchen. My ears had surpassed the degree of shame they could handle and were probably of a strange mix of red and purple. When the guests left after lunch, none was happier than I was. That night when my dad came home and listened to what had happened, he swore, he’d think twice before bringing guests to my home again.

To Bemoan and to Absolve

“Shut up, okay? I’m never gonna talk to you again. Get lost.” I banged on the phone, fuming. In the past one week we had hung up on each other more than what we had done in our 18 years of friendship. She is my best friend. She was in a new place and was finding it extremely difficult to accommodate herself to the new environment. She had chosen me to vent out her frustration. Not that I complaint of it, but she was not letting me help ease things for her. This is all I could stand. “If she doesn’t even try to pay heed to me, why should I even give a darn to what happens to her!”, I thought angrily. My brother’s mobile was playing Nelly Furtado’s  ‘All good things come to an end’. I thought miserably, our friendship was no exception too.

That evening my mood was so bad that I skipped my supper and went straight to bed. My sleep was very disturbed. It was late in the dusk. We both were sitting on our favorite bridge and talking happily just like good old times. As usual, she sat there squeezing my fingers just to see how much pain I could withstand. And I sat pretending it dint hurt one bit. I woke up from my sleep realizing it was all a dream. And I realized I was crying. I shouldn’t have done that. Not when she needed me the most by her side. I looked at the clock; it was just past 1.00 am. I called her up. I didn’t mind waking her up. All I wanted was her to know that I regretted having shouted at her and not having understood what she is going through. To my surprise, she picked up the phone in the first ring. She said “I knew you’d call Aishu. I’m really sorry. I should’ve been more understanding. I’m gonna try and listen to what you say. After all, you are my best friend.” She left me speechless. She had told all that I had intended to tell her. It felt great. We both spoke for another 40 minutes or so. And when I went back to bed, I was grinning recollecting all that we had spoken.

How many of us have gone through similar situations? How many times have we cried with that crunching feeling in our stomachs?  I bet everyone of us. When such a crisis rises, we pray for some miracle to alleviate our malady. But why is it that we flounder so much when it comes to apologizing? Why don’t we realize that before we conclude things about others, we should try and walk in their shoes? What obstinance stops us from forgiving?

It certainly is not very difficult to make new friends. But to retain them is paramount. To hold onto them throughout is profound. It is not every day that we find someone who accepts and loves us for what we are. After all, to err is human. It is these imperfections that make life beautiful.

Call up that friend who you had stopped talking to ages ago because of some silly misunderstanding. Browse through your mobile contact list. Make a surprise call to your schoolmate who was once your best friend but who you grew distant from cos you made new friends. To be the cause of someone’s smile is blissful. Make your presence felt. Make someone happy and feel special. Lets exile from within our shells of ego, and regret and make amends for all of our iniquities. After all, losing to a friend is not as bad as losing a friend. Is it?

Bereaved

It’s going to be 4 days since I last heard him. I miss him. So much that every time I think of him I start choking and I am forced to divert myself. But I really don’t know if am ever going to forget him. But life must go on.

That morning was just like any other. I was tying the lace of my white shoe. We had PT that day. I was looking forward to lazing away with my best friend escaping our PT sir’s occasional angry stares. Like usual, mom wanted me to tuck his shirt in for him, once he had done eating his breakfast. Some brother I had! Little brothers could get really annoying. And I had to live through it every day. I went to the table walking on my toes, careful not to dirty the floor. I looked up at the clock. We had 5 more minutes for the school bus to come. To my utter horror, I found him having stained his white shirt with brown chocolate milk. Great! Now I am going to be blamed, I thought miserably. Before my mom could come in and find him in a mess, I helped him change. By the time we were ready, the bus had already come and was honking madly. My mom was trying her best to keep the fuming driver wait for a couple more mins. We both hurried off to the bus. Panting, we both got into our favorite seats and settled comfortably. For some reason, he started giggling madly. I was very annoyed. But I couldn’t help myself and I joined him in his maniacal laughter.

A few more stops, and the bus was crowded. That is when it happened. The driver stomped on the brakes very hard; so hard that we were thrown off balance. My little brother, who was sitting on the edge of his seat trying to dodge a paper bullet from his friend behind, fell off the seat and hit his head. He stood up staggering and beamed his trade mark beam at me. I was relieved nothing was wrong. But he had developed a huge lump on his forehead. After a while it had grown into a strange shade of purple. He reminded me of some bug that I couldn’t recall.

We reached school, headed off to our classes. I DID manage to spend some time in peace and laze during the PT period. In the evening, we got into the bus again. His head had swollen really bad. Now I was worried. I was praying nothing would be wrong. He tried hard to ignore his ache and continue his paper bullet shooting.

We reached home. Mom was totally panic-stricken looking at the size of the lump on his head lying on his little shoulders. She took him to the hospital. The doctor reassured mom telling it was only a blood clot and that he was going to be alright. With a handful of medicines, mom returned home clutching his hands tenderly. Dad was relieved too.

The next morning, he slept through the day. And when mom tried to wake him up, he popped open his little eyes and complained of a bad ache in the whole left half of his head. Mom consoled him and said he was going to be fine soon. But things only worsened. The next morning his vision had blurred. Mom and dad were having serious thoughts about taking him to another hospital. They did. The doctor told that he had developed some sort of huge clot in his brain and that they were gonna have to operate him. Shattered, mom and dad agreed to it. But he seemed unperturbed. He smiled his way into the operation theatre. He told me, “You wait till I get a chance to see one such lump on your head too.”  And giggled his trade mark giggle.

After that he never smiled or spoke. They brought him out after something like 5 hours of painful wait. But they told he was never going to be fine. He was never going to be.

Now I would give away anything to see him staining his uniform or wearing the wrong shoes. I swear I wont ever fuss about having a little brother. I promise to take care of him like my mom always wanted me to. What should I do to get him back? Its sickening to look at his school bag, his unattended school uniform, his squeeling whistle that he used to annoy me with. May be if I pray really hard, he’ll come back.  After all, he wore his favorite pair of shoes and had my Swat-Kats pen in his hands when they put him to sleep in that box. I know. He is going to come someday, and give me a lump on my head. I will wait till then.

What happens in a classroom..

Who calls classroom boring?? Certainly, I don’t. Please don’t consider me a ‘Padipist’ who is ever-allured to the foreign symbols embellished equations and has a high affinity to anything scribbled on the black board (I never understood why people call it a black board even when it is green). Since I find it extremely difficult to snooze with a source continuously producing an irregular discourse of noise, I prefer to look around and find what everybody else is doing.

Being a first bencher, I have an upper hand in creating a ‘Sincere student’ impression to the teachers in addition to being able to copy notes from the actual ‘Padipists’. When I look back, the teachers are not annoyed at me. Because they tend to think I am sharing my notes with them. Good thing. I get to take a sneak peek at the whole class.

The first benchers are mostly adjusting their spectacles, scratching their noses with the back of their pens and sometimes even staining ink on it, scribbling away furiously and making a detailed document that would go down the history. There could also be alienated species on the first row. They are waiting for the perfect time after the attendance has been taken, for the teacher to turn around so that they would get to sneak out of the classroom. Don’t raise your eye brows at this point. I know a couple of aliens who infested my class.

The second benchers are those who are either desperately craning over to look at the notes of the first benchers or stifling their yawns. There could be two prime reasons why a person can end up in the second rows. One: they couldn’t find a place on the first row. Two: they were late for the class and their last seat was gone. Scenario 1 is most likely when the class is filled with big time nerds and they would give away anything, even a chocolate cornetto (blimey!), just so that they would get to sit in the first row. There is no much of explanation required for people yearning for the last seat. But at this point, one might wonder, why the unfortunate would end up in the second row but not the first. I would argue that he’d rather prefer losing attendance to being stuck to the first row.

Next, we’ll concentrate on the central spectrum of the geographical entity. These are the people torn between eternal pen scratchers and the blissful sleep walkers. They are in their own world. One should not be surprised to see someone taking notes occasionally. There may also be a couple or more of gadget-freaks who are showing off their brand new mobile phones to their green bench mates. The majority of them are however the most essential parts of the grapevine. They make best use of their resources at this particular location and time.

The super-heroes of the class are mostly concentrated in the last rows. The entertainers of the class are often found in this sphere. They are seen in class regularly towards the fag end of the year because they are in the brink of the attendance lag. Another reason may be that they wouldn’t get to spend time with their day scholar counterparts if it were not for the class. They put their Photography-in-Concealment skills to test. At times, you might’ve wondered from where that delicious smell comes intruding the class hours exactly when your stomach is already grumbling away to glory. Put the blame on them. They know the secret of munching with their jaw set perfectly still. Sitting in the last row is an art in itself!

The next time you feel the class is very boring, try and look around. May be you would find stuff that I haven’t. Discover them and enlighten those fellow classmates of yours who complaint the next time.