Breaking Habits

Being alone is one thing and feeling lonely is an altogether another feeling.
But sometimes the divide between these two feelings, though thick, gets blurred due to our own actions. Once into this dangerous intersecting area, one must get to know this as early as possible and jump back to an area that is secured to be called at best.
Year 1999, was a very trying year for me. Away from home in this place which lacks the comfort of talking your heart out, as there is nobody to listen to you, and more so when people know you are hitting a rough patch, financially and then emotionally, you come to realize that you are alone. One can at best bottle up his feelings and throw it into a sea of wilderness and forget that there is even something called a heart in one's body. But there is a silver lining to this feeling - You somehow attain a certain balance in life and peace. After all, sooner or later, we all realize one day that life is most of the times about materialistic aspirations and then humanity is only a day to day affair where you do charity for Gods sake. Despite this few people will still be there who will stand with you through thick and thin. In my case it was only my wife. Parents in a distant place, I never wanted to bother them with my worries. What help would it provide rather than making my problems seem quadrupled than they were. As it is they were already double, one mine and the other shouldered by Huma, my wife. Life was passing away like a job which is done on a shift basis. Huma would set out in the mornings to her school and would be back by noon and then after an hour I would leave home to do tuition and would be back at eleven in the night. The intervening night would provide little solace as we would be busy with a two year old child, Kaleem. We both were like those assembly line units, which function in harmony yet are distinct in their individuality.
Despite all this my mind would wander into the vicious circle of despair and keep on trying to break the already eroding confidence in my abilities and myself at large. It had become a kind of habit to keep thinking about something which had no base and would always be ineffectual. I had to break this cast that was altering me into certain shapes that was not indigenous to me. In one word, I was getting lonely while I was alone. And this was the dangerous zone I was getting into.

Amongst these days, one day was different. That day I entered the bookshop that is quite famous in Jeddah, also because it is the only one that is there. Whatever the reason, I just entered it and went to the section where reading material was kept. I picked up books randomly and ran though some passages to get a feel of the content that they contained. Back in India, I had always visited the area where books were sold at throw away prices alongside streets and pavements on Sundays. I would sit there and run through the books pages flipping through the pages reading few lines and passages and take those books on rent, read them and return back the next Sunday and pay some more to the balance amount and take new ones. This was a cycle that was maintained for most part of my student life. Somehow this cycle broke when I came to Jeddah. I must say that it unnerved me no end as I this cycle had abruptly broken. Visiting this space was like coming home. I had entered back in my heaven. After spending an unknowing 3 hours in that bookshop, I picked up 'A Suitable Boy' by Vikram Seth, which was and is still a bestseller. I bought that voluminous book that ran into about 1349 pages and headed home. That night I started reading the book. There is no questioning of Vikram's talent in creating this epic book but for me it was those characters that stuck to me like glue. Every night I would read a couple of pages before going to bed as there was no free time other than that to sit back and have a continuous read. The book dealt with the life of the central character Lata, a 19 year old girl and the arduous task her mother Rupa has of finding a match, a suitable boy for her. The book, set in the 1950's dealt with Lata and 4 other families which are related to her. I do not remember when the book came to an end but the time when I came to the concluding pages, after reading for about three months, I had developed a kind of relationship with these characters. The last passage which describes Lata moving out of her hometown with her husband in a train, still lingers in my mind. It is a very moving image that had left me moist eyed because with Lata's finding a suitable boy, the book had come to an end. And I was again alone. But it is not the only affect the book had on me, because It had changed me in more than one way than I could had ever envisaged. I had broken the circle of loneliness that had seeped into my life. The book had provided me the companionship that I had so much longed for that I only realized it when the book came to an end. I was relieved that I did not go back to my own worries about which I could do nothing other than just think about them. I realized then that we all have worries about which we sometimes cannot do anything but then we can at least divert our minds from these worries.
That day I had broken the worst of the habits that I had developed, that is of thinking about something that would never change, never happen and something about which I could do nothing.
With that feeling I headed towards the bookshop to pick up another book to run the cycle uninterrupted. With changing times, my life changed for good and somewhere the worries of those times ceased to exist or rather gave way to new worries. But I had learned the trick that of keeping myself so busy that I did not have a single free moment that could turn into a lonely moment of my life. I broke that certain habit by creating a new one.

A Parallel Identity

The December of 1992...Bombay - a warm wintry noon and probably the best season that Bombay has and for me it is an eventful winter I have witnessed during those turbulent years of my life. I had just turned 24 in the previous month and was hopping in and out of jobs in the hope to find that firm ground on which I could rest my feet. That day I had taken the train to Pune from Thane to attend an interview in HCL at Pimpri, a suburb of Pune and an industrial hub as well. Clad in casuals in my own self-effacing manner carrying a formal attire for the next day's interview and a clean set of kurta-pyjama for the intervening night and a book to give me company in case I didn't get a good fellow traveler for talking during the journey.

The journey to Pune was a comfortable one and being Sunday forenoon there were vacationers returning back to their workplaces after the week-end. I took my seat and ran a cursory glance in the compartment and found the laid back faces of the usual travelers. I adjusted myself to my surroundings and opened a book to keep myself entertained.  It was by evening 5:00 that I reached Pimpri and stationed at a nearby hotel.  I had my dinner and slept early to wake up early for the next day's appointment. The next morning i.e. 7th/Dec, I woke up, took a shower, changed into the formal attire that I had brought with me, picked up the morning newspaper and came to the restaurant for breakfast. I ordered a simple breakfast and unfolded the newspaper to read the front page headlines: BABRI MOSQUE DEMOLISHED.

It was the first most sensational news that I had read because it was the first time I understood the gravity of a news, the subject matter was followed by me for the last few months. I cannot express my feelings of those few moments as I kept reading the column and imbibing the vastness of the repercussions it would have in the coming days. I hurried my breakfast and left the place to reach the venue of the interview where they said that the interview is postponed to an indefinite date and that we would be informed later about the new dates. Though I could see that coming, I still had that shock on my face as my mind was not at all in the place where I was standing.  I left the venue in a hurry and came back to Pune railway station from where I would be returning back home. It was already noon while I took the train ticket to return home. The train would be leaving at 4 in the evening. Little did I know then that amidst this political stage down, I was taking this journey which would eventually change the way I would be looking at the cosmopolitan fabric of the place I had been born and brought up in.

For those who have lived and witnessed that period may recollect that it was the time of great political upheaval. It was the time climaxing the movement for the Masjid-Mandir dispute. The communal divide was there even before this period but it was somewhat lying transient under the cosmopolitan and secular fabric of the nation. It was rather like a venomous snake slithering under the carpet waiting for the right moment to show itself and claim its first victim. For the past few weeks there were arrangements going on and people were moving to the disputed site. December 6th was the decided day for action. I had been following this news for the last few weeks but there was a kind of a confident person in me who said that it cannot happen. Though there had been spurious communal riots in the past in different, small towns of India but none of them were as grave and as impact bearing as this one. It had the capacity and the fire to alight the whole nation in its aftermath. I always believed that this could not happen and would never happen. But it did happen. Somehow politics and religion were like an intertwined DNA particle which is still bearing human beings which are nothing short of destructive mutants. But at that time the fact that my confidence in myself had eroded showed on my face and I couldn't hide myself.

I sat at a bench on the railway platform my eyes immersed in the book but my thoughts moving  far way from the book into its own secluded groove taking me back to those few episodes in school where the first signs of this divide were sown. Even a standard IV history class would be unbecoming when a Afzal Khan's name arose or Aurangzeb was mentioned. But somehow all these feelings were encompass in the broader cosmopolitan fabric of Bombay. The city with its huge heart was in fact the torchbearer of secularism. It made people like me what we are today - a bit more open in our approach towards all communities, as we were the answer to its benevolence and ingenuity. But that would not keep us away from the heat of any backlash our community had to face. After all every community is a two-sided coin, and the advantages or the disadvantages depend on which side of the coin one is.
With all these overbearing thoughts, I boarded the train. At around 4:30, the train moved and as it moved all I could see were images of a self-contained crowd which had turned euphoric overnight. This alerted me as it was no time for festivity but the people on every platform that the train stopped were jubilant than their usual self.
I had pushed my bag containing the clothes underneath my seat. The book and the newspaper were still in my hand. To divert my attention from my distorted and disturbed thoughts I opened the book. As I did that there came a middle-aged person and sat across me. Few minutes passed and he asked me for the newspaper. I looked up from the book at him and passed the newspaper. He opened its folds and started reading the headlines on the first page and uttered these words in Marathi, " Somehow this had to happen. There are many things that need to be changed....to be done." I raised my head to look into his eyes. He was a civilized man, speaking in chaste Marathi. I was not surprised by his reaction but by his considering me of his own community. I had no reaction to his forgone conclusion. To curtail my discomfort I gave a faint smile which was more discomforting than any other available response but I had to go with it as I had no choice or an inclination to disapprove as any initiative from my side would prove futile. In the meantime two men came and occupied the empty seats and the compartment was now full of people. I got back to the book but was not reading it. I excused myself and walked up in the compartment to check another seat for myself but couldn't find one. I could see the train was unusually full. I came back to my seat and found the men sitting there debating in favor of bringing down the mosque and justifying it as well. I seated myself rather uncomfortably and before I could reach for the book, I was dragged into the conversation. One of the boys rather of my  age sitting next to me asked me in Marathi, 'Isn't it so. What do you say Mr.....?' Trying to ask me my name and at that moment I became a part of that group; the mob which had decided that my opinion would also count. A sudden anguish ran up my spine and before I could think even for a second, I replied '....Shubhankar'.
'Where will you get down ? '
'Kalyan'
My name entailed that I belonged to the majority group in the compartment and my opinion was that of the group and that killed all hopes or desire, if any I had that moment to differ from them, and somehow after this my anguish subsided. I looked out of the window for a second or two and then moved back to the group that was no different than the crushing moving sound that the train was making. They conversed with me for a while and I allowed myself to be included in them. Wherever the train stopped I saw similar scenes of some festival that was being celebrated. My mind wandered for a while to images that I would get to see near my home. That unnerved me a bit. I now realized that the cosmopolitan fabric that I was wearing for so long had been torn to pieces. Or may be all these years I had been covering myself with something that was never mine. It was difficult to decide this then. Nobody knew my name, my identity in the train back then, but it was during the same journey that I had acquired another identity, even if it meant to protect myself out of the fear of the unknown or unseen or just to seek timely refuge. That night I reached home but was far different from the person who had left a day back.
A name is an identity but how does one define this identity. Now that there were two names, it still had to be one identity but that identity had been compromised.
Time passed but I could never forgo those events of that winter. It was an identity that somehow stuck to me and would come to the forefront when the time arose. I knew that it would always run together with me where ever I went, though it would not meet me but would still be there like a parallel identity.

A human need of a desirous man.

There are some episodes in life that define people through their travails. They also define how they will be remembered by you for the rest of your life. There is one such person for whom I have a certain amount of respect and regard. It was the winter of 2010 and the evenings were passable providing respite from the punishing heat of the summer. As usual, I'd leave office at 4:00 and come to the bus stop and catch the bus back home, a journey which would take 40 minutes at times and sometimes more than that. Usually a few colleagues would also board the bus and there were some strange faces which had become quite familiar to evoke a smile and a silent hello. I don't know when this routine broke, as a sexagenarian colleague started regularly using the same bus from office to back home. He would get down one stop ahead of me, which meant that he would be accompanying me for the greater part of the journey. He would invariably take the seat adjacent to the middle door and I would usually take his immediate front seat. He always kept to himself and to his rosary. This went on for a couple of days, we greeted each other and kept to ourselves. One day I didn't have the exact change to take the ticket and he paid for it. I think that broke the ice and my journey had company now. He would eat a chewing gum immediately as he sat and would give me one. I don't know when we fell into the comfort zone and started conversing at ease during the journey. We would talk about many things. He would share some Urdu couplets and poems, past experiences, his childhood memories, about his deceased parents and his children. I would also share such matters with him but with a certain sense of dignity that his age required and also because familiarity breeds contempt. Both of us would go down memory lane and talk about our families living in our respective native lands. One Thursday, as is the week-end here, I shared with him a humorous incident about a friend who would say that it is weekend and with a mischievous smile, cheekily say that his better-half is waiting for him at home and he'll be having kebabs. We both laughed at the hidden innuendo in the humor. From then on, on a Thursday, I'd say: "Today is Thursday and there will be kebabs" and laugh ourselves to our homes. Looking at his mood, one such day I joked that he must also be bracing himself for kebabs. He just laughed it away and said that at his age kebabs are not easily digested. That weekend he bought some carrot halva from home and gave me. The halva was delicious and I said that his wife really cooks well. He said that his daughter and he had made the halva and that his wife is in fact bedridden for the last many years. She seldom walked and nobody knew the ailment she was suffering from. In a very dignified way he expressed his desire for a woman's company, a desire that every man rightfully has. That day he spoke at length about his inner anguish and I lent a mindful ear to his soliloquy. He said that he had expressed this to his friends who were of his age and they suggested that he should get remarried, as being a Muslim this is allowed and can be done. I knew that his health was being compromised by this self imposed celibacy. I said that if the need be then it is not wrong to do so but he should get his daughter married first as she may face some problems because we all come from a society which sometimes blames a person for just being a human being. All through the journey we spoke about the matter and he kept on repeating that some how he was uncomfortable with the thought. It was the last signal before he had to alight from the bus when he said: Yaar, you know there is only one thought that comes to my mind when I think about another woman. If I tell or ask my wife that I want to get married, she will agree to it. She knows what I am going through and she knows her own plight as well. But I have lived my life with her and I still care for her; her health, her life and I want her to live. And even if she gives me permission or agrees to my getting married, she may not tell me but surely a feeling will cross her mind and she will think at least once, that it is better for her to die before seeing such a day in her life." Saying this, he called for the bus to stop as his destination had arrived. I looked at him as he stood and alighted from the bus. He was a simple man but a superior human being. It was the desire of a man that he had sacrificed and defeated to allow a more human need which is nothing but compassion and love, to triumph.

From the School Diaries...

Those years seemed quite inconsequential then but little did I know that I'd call them my formative years for the rest of my life.
School teachers do not leave your memory and one such teacher I can never forget is Miss Violet. This passage takes me back to the time when I was in the ninth grade/standard.
Miss Violet, with all due reverence served two purposes, one as an English teacher and second as the school Supervisor. As an English teacher she would always be on the vigil to correct our pronunciation the moment we opened our mouth to say something and more often than not correct the compositions in our books and give generously 2.5 out of a 10. She returned back the books after correcting them only for us to see that the corrections done in the red outnumbered the composition written in blue. Apart from the usage of grammar, there were other things to be kept in mind while submitting the book for correction - Ball pens were not to be used only ink pens were allowed, leaving proper margins, writing the complete word in the same line and not taking the remaining part to the next line and so many such goofs and errors, which would unknowingly pass to her along with the books. I remember once she opened my book before returning back to me and just said, 'Good'. Quite elated by the appreciation, I opened the book to check the marks as Miss Violet would never flatter anybody with a false appraisal. Looking in the book my lower jaw dropped. I had got a measly 2.5 out of 10. Was it her sarcasm ? I could not get the 'good' in her remark and looked at her in horror and fear. She was looking at me and replied, "That 'good' was for using the intransitive verb in the correct place. You had erred in the last essay and I had made a remark there, I am happy you now know intransitive verbs." I could see the wide grin on everybody's face as my classmates were rather amused more by my bewilderment than her casual remark.
Miss Violet was also the School Supervisor; whatever that meant to her but for us it was to be disciplined the moment we entered the school premises - standing in a perfect line during the assembly; not allowing the eyes to wander while prayers and national anthem is going on; we had to be sure that the socks were white, the shoe polished black, the pant of the correct grey hue and the tie, a bright red; Hair had to be kept shot and if we denied a hair cut even after a warning, then a rubber band was tied to the long hair and she assured that the head resembled a tornado for the rest of the day.
To be seen in the corridor during a period was blasphemous enough to warrant a 'kneel-down' outside the class for the remaining part of the period. I remember vividly that incident when she had caught me once in the corridor as I was looking out of the corridor window out in the open to a passing by funeral procession. She shouted at me, "HEY YOU! What are you doing in the corridor?". I looked at her and immediately tried to avoid her gaze. I froze as she came rushing towards me and asked, "Which class?"
A faint ," Ninth B" slipped my lips.
"You are enjoying the funeral procession?" She took me by my hand and brought me to the class and peeped in the classroom and made sure I too peeped along with her. She called the class teacher,"Ms. Mavis, this boy will kneel here till the bell rings."
I didn't have a problem kneeling out of the class, as Ms. Mavis' monotonous period was terribly painful and boring in its own way. But the classroom was just across the Teacher's room from where it was visible for every teacher to see me and a couple of teachers remembered me after that incident. But also that was the last time I was ever found in the corridor except during recess.
Even while writing this it comes to my mind that if I had to submit this page to her today she would underline few sentences in red and remark, " Need to use appropriate figures of speech - Refer Wren & Martin" and give her favorite 2.5/10.

CHOCOLATES FOR HER SOUL

Vacations have always been very trying and taxing for me. First, because I do not travel too often and second, the excitement of it is marred by the rescheduling of the time-table for a couple of weeks. I have always felt home where I have lived the longest.
But certain things are mandatory in life and one just can't help but put through it rather than attempting to push the envelope.
This incident takes me back to the year 2002, when I was taking my first vacation in 5 years and travelling to India with my wife Huma and a 5 year old son, Kaleem.
Shopping gifts for the loved ones in full swing as every evening after office, we would go out to buy clothes, chocolates, etc for our relatives. This went on for quite a few days and then came a day when I knew that we had already shopped enough and had exceeded the travelling weight limit. One evening just two days before flying, Huma asked me that she needed to buy some more chocolates separately for her. This demand baffled me as it was very much unlike her to ask for chocolates and second I did not want to carry an additional bag. I jokingly enquired if she needed these for her to eat, as I knew she did not eat much sweets. Whenever given one, she would nibble it and would give the remaining part to me. I reminded her that we had already bought enough and there was no chance we could accomodate more weight and I was in no mood to pay excess baggage costs merely for chocolates. She insisted on buying them and to compensate for the excess weight, she was ready to partake some clothes from her suitcase. I tried to see reason in her argument but failed to as she did not tell me why she needed more chocloates and why she was ready to cut down some clothes from her baggage. Finally, we again went to the market and she bought all kinds of chocolates that she knew Kaleem loved eating. When she was done with it, I took the bag and kept it on the weighing scale and my mouth opened wide as the chococates weighed an unnecessary 6 kgs. I turned to her and asked her to look at the scale. She said that she was fine with the weight and would rearrange the bags. Still, I was disturbed as I never liked travelling excess baggage and here I had to as she was quite persistent about the chocolates.
Bags were rearranged and the excess chocolates were ready to fly with us in a totally separate bag.
A flying start to the holidays took place and we reached India. It took us a couple of days to distribute the gifts and the bags were empty except for our clothes and the extra bag of chocolates.
Few days had already passed and I kept looking at the bag asking her what she intended doing with those chocolates. She asked me to leave them to her and feel relieved as she would take care of them.
At this point I was really intrigued about the chocolates because as far I knew, we had distributed the gifts amongst our relatives and friends. There remained literally nothing to be given to anybody. The next day she got up a bit early and woke Kaleem as well and were ready to step out of the house with the bag of the chocolates when I got up from my sleep and called them to wait. She said that she would be back in an hour or two and I could stay at home till she comes back. Looking at the bag of the chocolates in her hand, I got inquisitive and wanted to know to whom the bag was going to be delivered. I insisted that she wait for me as I would accompany her. She relented and I joined her along with the bag of chocolates.

The rickshaw stopped at a place near the railway station and we got down and entered a dilapidated building. I tried to read the board on the entrance gate but it was not clearly readable. We entered through the main door and were greeted by a middle aged woman. She asked us to take the seats right across her. Huma asked her that she had come to distribute some chocolates to the children staying there. I asked the woman about the place and she said that the building housed 210 boys and girls, aged from 3 to 14. Once the messenger was in sight, she asked him to call the girls out from the dormitory and stand in a line. The girls came out and Huma & Kaleem started distributing the chocolates to the girls - four to ten year old, they were standing in a line and waited for their turn to come and take the chocolates. Few girls who were old enough did not come out and Huma went in to give the chocolates to them. Then came the boys and took a chocolate as their turn came. Kaleem was distributing these chocolates and there came a moment, when a 5 year old boy came to take a chocolate. He was just Kaleem's age. I looked into his eyes as he took the chocolate and still stood there and did not move. Looking at the innocent desire of this boy, my eyes welled up and I took a chocolate from Kaleem's hand and gave it to him. Overwhelmed by my own predicament I left the room immediately. The harsh reality of life was stark naked right in front of my eyes and I could not see beyond my tears. I came out of the gate and looked up at the board hanging in front of the building and tried to read it but could only just read that it was an orphanage. I stood there thanking God for keeping me alive to give chocolates to my son.
Few minutes later, Huma came out of the building with the empty bag and we took the rickshaw back home. I looked at Kaleem who was eating a chocolate. I could not utter a single word though wanted to talk a lot to Huma about this. But certain emotions are best left unsaid.
That day I realised that Huma did not eat sweets but the sweet, delicious, mouth watering taste of the chocolates had somehow reached her soul.

Equilibrium of a teenager.

It is teenhood for him and I have to help him find an equilibrium with the pasage of time. And all I do is draw lines and then look at them and blur them and redraw them. Lines of measured freedom. He at times looks at me the way a bird glances and nips its wings after a furious struggle in the urge to break free from the cage.
Fluttering his strong defiant wings against its walls in the desire of breaking free but freedom I give him in measured quantities for fear of the unknown. I know, often freedom takes them to such skies and to such places that the safe return back home from there becomes impossible.
I know he would have his share of experience before he finds an equilibrium.
Though he has come from me, I find him very different from me. When I see in him the positives that I didn't have, it calms me that he won't commit those mistakes that I made. When I see those negatives in him which I don't have, I only ask for resilience in him which I had.
I expect him to succeed where I had erred;
to forgo where I had endured;
to understand where I had ignored;
to be vigilant where I was careless;
to love where I had denied.
to protest where I had surrendered.
Teen-hood leaves with some scars but also imparts the experience to erase them. Only time will tell if the experience he gains is enough to wipe out those scars. Till then we search equilibrium which is not in our hands.

Sundays of my childhood.

I remember the Sundays that I used to have then though we did not call them week-ends.
The mornings would not provide me extra sleep and I didn't feel the need as well. On the contrary the house would be full of activity as the kitchen would exude the aroma of the special food that would be prepared for breakfast. I had to do the last minute errands, the crucial job of getting a 'lemon' from the nearby market place and it would be unfailingly given to me by my eldest sister. She would be the matriarch at work with a firm grip on the kitchen. Her rotis, very soft and done properly which still cannot be beaten by anybody else.
It would also be the day when Baba would get to take a nap after breakfast and the time when the effort by my mother in silencing us would be wasted.
Lunch would be a special one as it would require a large part of the noon to prepare it.
Evenings would be a Hindi movie on the only television channel 'Doordarshan'.
Simple yet each moment embedded in my mind as a precious jewel.
Lives have changed now, but I still prefer an early morning on a week-end. And I feel more like my father when I hit the sack for an hour after breakfast. Thankfully, kids have been tamed by their mother to move to the other room so I can sleep for an hour and give myself the most blessed time of the week. Happy Sunday to all the daddy's who enjoy their Sunday nap !

Difficult Breakfasts.

Today as usual, I had been to the regular South Indian restaurant for breakfast near office, which I frequent about once a week, usually on Sundays. I sat at the corner table which I usually take. A waiter came up to me. I gave him a glance and saw that he was a new one and not from the usual ones who come to take the order. I was late for breakfast, as it was already past 11, and I doubted if I could get to eat something from the breakfast regulars, I just asked him what I could get to eat. He gave the usual verbal menu but it made a marked difference - his Hindi was a bit way too odd, not exactly like the ones who speak heavily accented Hindi like most South Indians do. Well, he took the order and left towards the kitchen which can be viewed through a window to the customers as well. He placed my order to the cook and waited with a tray arranged with the plate and other things. It would be a while before food would come and so I gave a cursory glance to the interiors of the restaurant and the few people who were eating there. Somehow my gaze returned back to this waiter as I saw another waiter behave very impolitely with him. I kept noticing the attitude of the staff with him which was subtly overbearing and dominating.
My food took long to come and I could see the boy also getting impatient with the kitchen staff for delaying the food. He came up to me and apologized for the delay. I asked him to take it easy and that I could wait though i had to rush back to office. His colleagues were noticing him while he spoke with me. He came with the food and asked if I needed any something else to eat. I replied in the negative and asked if he was new to this place and work before he left the table. He said that he had joined the hotel a week back and is new to the job. He replied to my few more questions and said that he is a Nepali. For a moment I felt for this young lad of about 17 or 18 who did not belong to the majority, though he was doing his work properly and carried himself with a certain air of stressfulness which is very marked in any newcomer.

I didn't have the courage to ask anything more to this boy as the picture was very clear to me. He needed to work like everybody else but was stuck in a place which would never allow him to earn his livelihood with dignity and that he would not be accepted in that set up so easily.

I finished the food and before I could eat the last piece of Roti, he came and asked if I needed tea. I asked for the bill and again this boy was standing at the cash counter for a long time before the cashier could write the bill to him. He came with the bill; I paid him and asked him his name. He said, 'Dill' . I asked again to be assured if I had heard him correctly; 'Dill' is a word which means 'heart' in Hindi but didn't know that somebody could be called by such a name.
I smiled, stealthily placing a tip in his hand and said in Hindi, "Dill, you are working fine, and are strong; Keep working, things will change'.

I don't know if there was anything else I could do for the boy other than infusing some positivity in him.

As I climbed down the stairway of the hotel, I remembered my first few months at my work-place where acceptance took a long time to arrive and when it did, I had already gathered the strength to live alone and courageously in an insensitive world.

Somehow, it is a struggle - for some it is easy, for most it is not so easy; A new job can be a difficult one, just like the breakfast I had today.

Intersection of space.

Marriages - we need to give a part of ourselves to receive in abundance. Sometimes we receive more from it than we expect and anticipate and sometimes we give more to it than we ever know we could. But still it is in ourselves to decide what to give and what to receive.
I remember, a couple of years ago, it was a Thursday night and I had been married for about 14 years. That night it was already half past eleven and the kids had gone to bed, I was watching a movie, when I suddenly asked Huma, if we could go out to a nearby restaurant for tea. Surprised by this sudden desire though not much shocked by my peculiar gesture, she looked at me and said, 'Now ? The kids are sleeping. How can we leave them alone and go?". I remember, Kaleem was about 12 years old and Mummu & Ibbu were just 5 and 4. Leaving them alone in the house and going out was not a good idea. But then I said, 'Its good that they are asleep, they've slept an hour back and are in deep sleep, they won't wake-up and we will come back in an hour." She hesitated for a minute and then looking at the sleeping kids and then at the wayward desire on my face, she agreed and said, 'OK, let's go.' I wrote a note on a piece of paper and left it on the dining table for Kaleem, in case he woke up.
She wore her veil and we left the home to head towards the nearby restaurant which is just a 10 minute walk from our house. We walked together, and it seemed quite odd while walking without the kids and while doing so it hit me, that it was probably the first time in so many years after my eldest son was born that Huma and I had stepped out of the house alone. I also noticed that there was hardly anything to talk while being alone. All these years whenever we went out, the kids were there with us. And it is so natural that we monitor our kids while we are out with them. Now being alone, we walked quietly to the restaurant and had our tea. I told her that while the kids are not with us we do not have much to talk about ourselves. She gave her consenting smile to this and said, "'Yes, see we talk about our space but we don't realize that most of our space has been taken by our kids. We have been lucky to forget ourselves in accepting them." Barely had we finished the tea, she asked me if we would want to wait there more or head back home. We returned home and while walking back home, I said "Isn't it strange, we cannot enjoy being alone now even though we know they are fast asleep, we still keep thinking about them. I don't know when this happened but I have realized it today, when they are not with me"
We looked at each other while entering the house and found the children sleeping peacefully in their beds. Since then there hasn't been a second such moment in our lives as I know that though we, as wife-husband, had our respective space, there was a third space that was a common one formed by our intersecting interest and it was larger than the one we had to ourselves. It was the space inhabited by our very own children.

They breathe life.

Blessings come in many forms. It came to me in the form of Umaima, my daughter.
I call her blessing because she came into my life at a time when stagnation had set in my life. Both me and Huma were working laboriously towards our living. Kaleem was 8 years old. Life had somehow turned into a routine and a mundane affair. I felt like a person who chases something which he doesn't know if he needs it at all but somehow couldn't stop running behind it. I needed a break but I didn't know this at that time.
One fine day Huma disclosed that she was expecting and that news set the ball rolling. The next nine months, we prepared for the change that life was going to bestow upon us.
I remember vividly each moment of that day when she was going through her labors. I was next to her witnessing her deal with patience and grace the agonizing pain that she was in.
We had left Kaleem at home with his play-station. In the hospital, couple of teachers from her block had come to see her.
I was sitting just outside the room waiting anxiously for the doctor or the nurse to come out and tell me about my wife and the baby when I heard the first cry of the baby. Few minutes later the doctor came out and told me that a girl child had been born. I asked the doctor how my wife was. She nodded in consent and said, ''Fine. The pediatrician is checking the baby.'' I grew curious by her last statement and waited for the pediatrician. The pediatrician called me in and gave me a hand written note addressed to another hospital seeking their assistance as it seemed the baby had swallowed some amniotic fluid during birth. I took the slip of paper and rushed to the ward where the baby was kept. I could see her lying bare in front of me while the nurses clothed her up. She was choking due to the fluid she had swallowed and I rushed to carry her up in my arms and bring her close to my chest and ran out of the hospital to cross the street to enter another hospital where I could get the required medical attention. In the mean time I saw that the baby's finger tips were turning blue which is an indication that she was not getting enough oxygen as her breathing had worsened. This troubled me no end. There was a long queue and it would take a long time before I got the registration done and the baby was attended. I feared for the worst and sought the assistance of the hospital staff to help pass through the queue as it was a matter of urgency and the routine documentation and other trivial matters could be dealt with once the baby is attended to. I entered the section where emergency cases are dealt with and noticed that my worries were far from over. I gave the note that the pediatrician had given me and tried to explain in whatever words I could express myself. The doctor refused to accept the baby and said that I have to come through proper channel and that they cannot touch the baby in the basis of that one note. I was also asked if I was the father of the baby. I got hold of the situation and told the doctor that I was ready to sign any document and declaration to exonerate the hospital in case of any unfortunate outcome. I made myself very clear and literally begged that the baby need to be attended and I am ready to do anything to see that she gets the immediate medical help that was needed. While I was talking to the doctor, I saw two nurses walk towards me and take the baby from my arms and provide her the required medical attention. They cleaned the oral passage of the baby and luckily within an hour's time I could see the baby breathing normally with no signs of any imminent danger or relapse.

The nurses gave back the baby to me and told me that she was just fine now. There were tears in my eyes while I thanked the two nurses and left the hospital as the other important matter on my mind was Huma as she was alone in there. I came back to Huma and kept the baby next to her but desisted from telling her about the harrowing time I had in the last two hours what with the clinical emergency the child had to go through. I told her she is fine and that I had taken the baby for a check-up to the pediatrician. The moment I kept the baby next to her, my eyes fell on the baby and all I could see was her radiant, serene and beautiful face, her eyes shut without any concern as she slept like a 'baby'. I kissed her forehead and then looking at Huma expressed a silent thanks.
That was the day my life changed because that day anything could've happened, along with with the baby's cries for survival was also my cry for help to my child struggling for life, which luckily came at the right time.
Today when I look back in time, I see only one thing, that nature blesses and treats every life equally. Yet we tend to discriminate those blessings by defying nature. Life, breathes.

Remarkable people !

Circa 1984... The summer was fast approaching and so was the heat, as I was getting ready for my tenth standard final exams, Board exams as it is called. For almost all of us it is an experience which is always there in the deep recesses of our minds and come to the forefront once in a blue moon with some memories of those days.
And today is one such day, a memory of those exams and a person who is attached to those memories, have come back to me.
I remember that day, as if it has happened only yesterday, I had gone with Baba, three days before the exam, to check the Examination Center which was in a place called 'Vartak Nagar', a place I knew existed in Thana (which was still Thana and not Thane) but had never been there as my daily routine to school was from Kalva bus stop to Jambli Naka and vice versa. I had never treaded anywhere else till then. We saw the Center, it was quite far from my home and there was no bus from Kalva to Vartak Nagar then. Auto rickshaws were not readily available and there was no question of walking to it either. Majju Bhai (my eldest brother-in-law) was in India for his vacation and was also on the look out for another job as he was about to leave DAMODAR BULK CARRIERS. He was tired of the sea life and needed a change. Discussions pertaining to the examination center arose after dinner and Majju bhai asked if a bicycle could be arranged...' Agar ek cycle mil gayee to main drop kar dunga Mama (as he always called me) ku'. A cycle was arranged from our neighbour Aslam for a couple of hours till the exams finished. The first day of the exam arrived and we got on the bicycle and Majju bhai rode me to the school in Vartak Nagar, it was an odd 25 minute ride and by the time we reached he was already sweating due to the heat. He came to my class room with me and sat next to me as the seat was unoccupied. The invigilator arrived, a young and charming lady, who, I don't know why, wore a disheartening look as we greeted her. Majju bhai looked at me and said in my ear..'Mama, iney to Babita ke vaisi hai.' A reference to an Hindi film actress who was a favorite amongst the youngsters of his time. He wished me good luck and said that with this invigilator in the hall the paper has to be excellent.He wore his trademark smile, which is yet to be matched by somebody else's. There you come close to him Junnu. Nonetheless, he had the best smile in the whole world and is still very much famous in the family. He came to pick me up and rode me back home, asking about the exam and how I had done it. The next few days were the same as he would perspire due to the constant cycling but it never dampened his spirits. He would always keep smiling and made the difficult to-and-fro trips convenient for me. The last two days of the exams were very testing as we had to write two papers in a day.There would be a gap of 2 hours after the first paper finished and then in the noon we had to write the 2nd paper. It was impossible for me to make it for lunch back home. He made it possible as he would come again in the afternoon with the freshly prepared home food and also saw to it that I ate well. Exams finished and I relaxed, even he left India for Saudi Arabia, in a couple of months, for better fortune.
So much time has passed since then. And exactly after 28 years ...today my son, Kaleem, is writing his first board exam paper. The worry was palpable and I could see Kaleem arranging his clothes and bag, the night before. Today I got up early and woke him up and saw to it that he ate well, called up his van driver stresssing him to be in time, put some more money in his hand in case the need arose for it. It was certainly rush hour today and the teenager kept him a bit worried. I asked him if he had kept the hall ticket with him to which he nodded in the affirmative. He sought my blessings and left. I saw him sitiing in the van and the the van was out of my sight as it took the last turn to the right. Somehow my eyes became moist as I felt Majju bhai standing next to me and saying...'Mama, don't worry, he will be there in time.' I wish I could call him up and say that I was remembering him as Kaleem is going to write his first board exam.' RIP - Majju bhai !

Dreaming...Shores !

It is said that you are the person you always dream of becoming. My dream is to get to a shore and this one mirrors it.

"It was a bright noon and the sea was calm. Beyond the glittering and shimmering oceanic waves as far as my eyes could see, there was a horizon which was clear and buoyant. I was there on the deck of a white yacht which was moving against the wind cutting the waves which came in contact with her draft. Somewhere near the stern, a bit far away from me was my family enjoying the moment at sea. I was lounging around doing nothing listening to the squawking of the seagulls amidst a very lonely ocean. Every now and then this silence was broken with the cackling laughter of my children. They were running around the boat and at the farther end was my wife standing and looking into the sea. Somehow, the scene changed abruptly and I could feel water hitting at my feet. I, who had fallen into a deep slumber awoke to this unpleasant feeling and saw that the sky had turned dark there were dark, furious clouds threatening to hit the boat. The sea turned violent and was ready to consume us. The boat rocked incessantly while still trying to contain us. I crouched my way to the other end of the boat to get near my wife and kids. I reached them and we hugged each other in unison to ward off any force which was at work to tear us apart. The ocean had turned merciless and I sensed that her fury was not going to ebb any time soon. I gave a reassuring look to my family to make them feel that we would make it despite the fear that the ocean will somehow engulf us into its eternity. It then started raining and it rained like it had never before. We were without cover and without respite from the dreadful night. We called out to our Creator and asked Him of his mercy. Though mercy was yet to arrive, I heard the boat hit forcefully to some solid rock-like thing and the boat stopped with a thud.
The night passed away and so did the clouds and the perilous wrath of the ocean had subsided and returned to its lyrical silence again.
I opened my eyes and saw that the boat had hit a shore and wrecked and was not seaworthy any longer. My family remained unharmed and we still clung to each other. Away from the shore I could see people of that alien land busy with their lives. They were not looking at us as if we didn't exist or a boat wreck was a normal sight for them. I knew I had at last reached a place which though was alien would allow me shelter. We disembarked the boat and stepped our feet on this ground. I walked few steps and before moving ahead silently turned back to look at the wrecked boat and then at the vast ocean which was looking back to me in silence."

I opened my eyes as the journey of a dream was accomplished and I smiled that the ocean had given me a shore.
More often we may live our lives in shadows combating our own demons, but we know that there is no escape from the storms which we face and hope that our fate will provide us that one shore someday. Till then we dream of those shores provided we are ready to pass through the storms.