Struggle

He stepped out hurriedly into the outside world, trying to step faster but the city cold air impeded his aging knees inflicting with great pain. Pushing the bamboo cane mercilessly on the jagged road, he paced toward the end of the street. He coughed harder, lungs aching with each fit. This is what eats of half of his time in the morning. The coolness of early morning as freshening in the village as it is harsh in this city. He missed those days in village. He missed them more as he had no way back to there. He had to come with his only son and stay with them. Literally it was worse than any other phase of his life.

He pulled his wife’s sweater tighter around himself, pushing his gnarled hands deeper into the pocket only to having the middle finger slip through the hole in left pocket. He reminded himself to be careful with his wife’s last piece of tangible memory.

It took him bit longer to reach at the temple. By the time he reached people were starting to gather up. It was Thursday which means there will be more visitors today than any other days. He bent down to touch the temple entrance as usual to worship and entered praying Goddess.

Suddenly the temple priest came to him. “Where were you till now? Again late.” He hollered holding the arati thali.

“Not his fault. I have been getting late these days. ” He thought silently getting to his place near footwear stand.

“You know it right? New temple management committee is really strict. If you continue to do like this you will this job also.” The priest continued.

He looked at him through his wrinkle clouded eyes. It was harder to see his face properly even from that distance. He needed a reading glass, he knew it well but he kept delaying it thinking in next more salary he will get it. Now if he loses this job also, where will he get his food from? He doesn’t have any emotive strength to tolerate the accusal glances from his son or daughter-in-law and he has no other place to go after selling his home in village.

“I will come earlier.” He softly answered him.

“Okay. Okay.” The priest left him to work.

He nodded and started arranging footwear into the stand.  People came and wore their footwears and dropped one rupee in his hand. He clutched the money in his hand and evaluated that he has to collect at least hundred rupees regardless of what happens. He dropped in the pouch from where at the end of day committee will collect money happens and headed towards another day of struggle to keep his job secured.

Where We Are Heading?

Okay! I agree that the title is more fashionable for the post you are going to read below. After reading the post, you may think I am someone left behind in the fast paced life and writing this in frustration. But this is what I genuinely experienced and this is a place where I get to be what I truly am. Hard and rude it may sound to some but I am here to write the way I feel or see the world, not the way it fancies some individual.

It’s an experience I had recently, while traveling that out me into many to and fro with questions. I had to travel to Hyderabad for some purpose which needed my urgent leave. For the urgency and lack of time I had to do the travelling through bus as trains were fully booked. Before the journey I hadn’t slept well for two days. Hence I less expected this journey to be any exciting even if this was my first time long journey in bus. Even after providing all amenities including the leather bed they couldn’t offer the comfort to give me a goodnight sleep. Every time the bus would jerk a little and I would get up violently. Even if a handsome boy was travelling next to my seat, I was too exhausted to lay an eye on him. In a word I was despicably worn out to do anything.

I arrived in the morning in Hyderabad relaxed that I had no such fuss to regret later like vomiting through out the night. Hyderabad’s clear sky and filtered air was no new to me. They welcomed me warmly kissing my cheeks with the early morning warmth. Then I asked some people who generously helped me with route to HiTech city from the place. I never trust secluded public transports in unknown cities. No one should too. I took a bus and then got at a place from there took another bus.

On the second bus, as it arrived and before its wheels stopped people were running towards it. Most of them were school and college students. Luckily I got a seat in the front. I sat there securely cramming the luggage bag under me feet and trying to breathe some fresh air among the people who were half hanging and half leaned over me. Then all of sudden a heavy school-bag thumped on my lap. I was startled with the sudden action. I looked at them strangely as the girl who had thumped the bag on me zig-zagged in the crowd to her friends group. I might not have told anything but I could barely manage the journey without vomiting and getting choked in crowd. Over to that I had my shoulder-bag and another luggage bag. So I called the girl and asked to take the bag and said sorry for my inability to help her out. She took back the bag with a grim that didn’t affect me much.

I relaxed with lightness which lasted for two minutes barely as after that another bag, heavier than previous was almost flung on me which fortunately missed my newly stitched wound on face. I was more horrified and dumbfound. I sat there silently thinking what I should do. I gently looked at the school girl and told her, “Give her to someone else, please.”

She looked at me like she is my principal and I am defying her task. Then she took the bag with a loud “hun”  and dejectedly curving her lips in vice. I sat there prudently expecting something worse to happen as these days my fate is showing up with a black face only. Then I heard that school girl asking loudly to a friend standing next to me, “ Who is she? How rude?”

“Not from our college.” Her friend answered.

“Whatever. Aaj kal toh bus mein Samaj-seva hota hi nahin hain.” Then she elbowed her friend indicatively towards me, may be for next dialog. Then they whispered something to each other and laughed loudly, high fiving. Their gesture was clear toward me. It was bullying me in the bus.

My mind told me to get up and answer them well. But would have that changed anything in them? NO! They would have got more provoked and back-fire me which would have been totally stupid and unnecessary. So I plugged in some music and listened to it.

But the point of rambling 745 words is where our youth is heading to. Clearly I am five to seven years older than the girl as she is still in school where I have already completed my graduation. My experience and knowledge are as obviously better than her. Even I stand around half a foot taller than her. With her behavior she looked any intelligent than cow. Above from that she even doesn’t have manner to talk to elders. Elders don’t imply only people with graying hair and wrinkled skin. Elder means anyone who has the years in his life which counts more than yours. And you should respect them and their experience. Standing next to them, cracking jokes and gossiping about them won’t make you any modern. At least it won’t in my eyes. Instead it will make you imbecile and brute. I am not saying we shouldn’t help each other but we shouldn’t bully anyone in the name of help.

I have also seen the world, have stayed in fancy places that you can dream of, have used gadgets that you have barely heard of. I have Bachelors in Technology in Computer Science which means the thing that you proudly use everyday naming advance technologies, we have studied them. Don’t you think I am modern? I write boldly, about crime, love, relationship, sex and awareness. Am I not modern? But flanking behind the modernity at least I don’t cross the line. I know the limit. But do the young people know it?

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Perfect Deal

She sniffed a puff of the scent tightly clutching her husband’s shirt to her chest. For a moment all her resentment dawned into ecstasy. Expensive. The word rang in her mind like bells in hillside temples, far yet conspicuous through the perimeter. After years of saving a few rupees with discounts at some mart across the city, to where it takes her one hour on foot, all she could think of was how much the perfume might have cost? May be the whole ration of the month could be bought with that money. Or may be of two months as this was the most exotic thing she had ever smelled in her mediocre life. No doubt her husband was lured by this lady.

Then the second thought that flashed to her mind what would she be looking like? Must be like some top class model with brand name hanging even from hair clips. She must be ethereal. For a while she couldn’t blame her husband. How could she even? What did she have to offer than services of a maid and a tattered body torn and scavenged twice for two children? She never even smelled this good, not even in their wedding. And what’s the benefit of even confronting her husband. If he accepts the illicit affair and says that he wants to go with the lady then where will she go? To her mother who is in knee depth of debt with her father’s treatment? And what will their two children do? Where will they go? What about their education?

The ringing of phone brought her back from the complex land of bi-headed questions. She took the call and it was from her mother. She talked to her for ten minutes and from there she came to know that her father’s health is deteriorating and doctors are planning to start a new treatment. This new treatment was going to be very pricey with no doubt and she had no idea of how her mother will manage the money alone.

The tension seemed to weigh some mountain on her head. She didn’t know how to put everything in order. She wished, like a five year old girl that some magic will happen. But her rational mind denied it. Her husband’s question broke the silence in the room.

“You ironed my shirt?”He asked rubbing his body to dry after bath.

She handed him the shirt she had clutched the whole time.

“This one, I wore it yesterday. I told you I need my white shirt today. What’s wrong with you? I am getting late for office.”

She smiled at her husband and the impatience and obedience for that lady. “The shirt” She paused. “It smells good. Is she your boss?”

Her husband stunned into a stone statue there and his handsome face going pink to purple. She watched him carefully taking breath and framing the answer. “I…I don’t know what..” Her husband stammered before she rested his words with a firm hand.   

“It’s okay. I understand, at least I try to.”

“I am sorry.” His eyes were lowered with shame when he spoke these words. “I was to tell you. But..”

“But you were concerned how your family will react when they will get to know that their ideal son has done something like this.”

He nodded.

“Well. You don’t have to. We can keep up like this. I don’t have a problem till your pay the house bills. I just have one condition.”

“What?”

“That I need some more money now. Around twenty to thirty thousand.”

“But this is a big amount.”

“The lie I am going to cover up is also bigger than the truth of our marriage.”

“But why do need the money?”

“Don’t worry. I don’t want it to squander like you. Doctors have asked to start a new treatment for Baba. I need money for that. “

“Oh.” He spoke stressing over the word.

“I need it now.”

Her husband marched toward the locker and took three bundles of rupees and threw on her that slapped on her chest and went on to take out the white shirt.

She gathered the money and put it in a brown bag and headed out for her mother’s place.

A Bad Day

He trudged to the tail of serpentine line before ATM machine that seemed to snail 

like ages there only. He rubbed his hands and ensconced in the underarms but 

the hairy roots instead condensed more warm moisture. He looked at the people 

standing at them and was returned upon with a judgmental disgusted stare.

 “Not their fault.” He thought to himself upon their loathing glares.

He was wearing a vest that was torn and smudged in patches. His hands were dusty and his face was distorted. The few hairs on the crown those could be counted with fingers whistled in the swift breeze like tails of kite. His nose was numb like all other part of his ballooned body but he was sure that he smelled 

anything but pleasant.

After waiting for long time, gazing at the different shoes, heels and chappals, his 

bare feet finally moved into the ATM counter. As the line of people peered 

through the thick glass with impatience for their turn, he inserted his hand into the front of his pants. A repelled hiss seeped through the thinnest gape between doors.

  He sighed and slipped out an ATM card from inside of his pants.

“Secret pocket! Now I understand the importance.” He thought to himself while 

inserting the card and punching the numbers. A stiff note of thousand rupees fell 

from the wide mouth.

Grabbing the money from there and folding it inside his grip we came outside. 

The same kind of disgusting stare accompanied till he vanished into the city 

crowd.

He went to a small shop where it was written STD & LOCAL CALLS on an old hoarding. A much corpulent man was sitting munching on some more snacks and watching some daily soap on TV. He went into the stop and handed the man the 

thousand rupees bill.

“No change!” The shopkeeper’s voice seemed coming far from a cave travelling 

through the layers of fat.

“It’s urgent. Whatever you have I am fine with it.” He grunted thinking even one 

thousand rupees is not worthy for making a call here.

The shopkeeper stared at him like some reptile intruding into his shop and inched away the phone towards the man who looked pretty much like some 

street beggar. May be got a clean hand on some rich! The shopkeeper thought to 

himself and kept silence.

The man looked at the number pad where the buttons were faded. If they weren’t arranged mannerly, they might have required some archeologist to unravel the 

numbers on them. He thought for a while trying to remember a number. These growing technology has thickened their skin so much that after people got 

hundreds of contacts saved into a small portable machine they even don’t bother 

much to remember any number.

He remembered his home number but there is no way he could do that unless he 

want more whirling ordeals circling like vultures on his head. He tried harder and after three trials he succeeded in calling to the desired contact.

The first call went unanswered as the second did too. On the third time call was answered with a persistent voice.

“Hello.” The irritated corporate voice answered.

“Hello, Viswas.”

“Hello, Boss. You were calling. I am so sorry. I didn’t know it’s you. So sorry.”

Viswas has always been humble, polite and more apologetic. That’s why he thought he could trust his secretary. Why to pay them for if they can’t help you out in a situation.

“It’s fine. How did the meeting go?”

“It was fine. The French clients were impressed and signed the agreement too. I tried to call you on your number after finalizing the deal but your number was out of reach.”

It’s out of reach from me too. He thought for a while. “Okay. I need you do something urgently.”

“Yes, Boss. Tell me.” His secretary answered promptly.

“Trace my call on GPS. Drive there as soon as you can but alone. And while coming bring me a Harris Tweed jacket along with shirt and trouser of my size. Right there.”

“Got you, boss.” The line went blank after that.

The man stared at the old phone again. The shop was small and smelled more like old and sticky fries.

Fifteen minutes later a sleek black limousine appeared before the small shop. The shopkeeper stared at car like some spaceship had arrived.

As the vehicle halted on the road, the man marched to there and slipped into its backseat. As per his instruction his secretary had came alone and the Harris Tweed jacket along with fine linen shirt and tailored trouser lied in there.

The secretary tried to tie his tongue but couldn’t stop asking the question. “Boss, you don’t look well. Are you okay? Anything happened.”

“Nothing just a bad day I guess.” The man answered as the limousine maneuvered through the crowd.