Saturday 23 November 2013

IT HAPPENED THIS WAY....


IT HAPPENED THIS WAY..

He was always the restless one in the class. He never really paid any attention to me, trying to teach him Creative Writing. It was a batch of about 16 people and this boy was most fidgety and was always staring out of the window or staring and yes I mean staring at me with an engrossed look, wriggling in his seat and playing with whatever was available near his hand.

I would look at him and then try to include the whole batch in my sweeping glance and start speaking. Of course I would be nervous and a bit uneasy. But then I decided to continue with my instructions and concentrate on the rest of the class.

There were ten girls and six boys whose parents had entrusted me with their wards to groom their literary senses in 12 sessions of ‘6 successful ways to Write Creatively’ workshop. Parents wanted to keep them engaged and I wanted to open up a new world of creative ideas to them. Our school thought that as an English teacher and with couple of journals tucked into my belt, I was their best shot at facilitating the summer workshop. 

Needless to say the money was good and our principal Mrs. Sethi had immense faith in me.
‘Ma’am, do we really have to draw a real tree or it can be anything’, Alok was looking at me in askance.

‘Not really a tree Alok, a tree which you can make to look like, say...a tiger’ I gave a beaming smile. Alok had a baffled look on his face. “Think it is a tree but draw it like whatever you want.” That managed to satisfy him, “Oh! Ok ma’am”.  I picked up the worksheets and turned towards the window. There, now he was at my back and I could ignore him successfully.

However, throughout the three hours session I could feel his eyes on me. Tarun. Yes, that was his name. Fair, chiselled features, tall (being a 5ft-err myself, I always liked look up to people) but Tarun was an exception with his black staring eyes and  beady looks, a lanky boy of 17. Everyone in the group was in their XIIth standard, and that included him.

At the end of the session, he would just move quietly out of the room, without saying even a courteous ‘Bye ma’am’ like others did. Every Tuesdays and Thursdays this ordeal continued. I would feel his eyes following me to every corner of the room, but I seldom maintained any eye contact with him. Only fleeting glances and to check  if he was really writing anything. This was the only way to tackle this intrusion. I was quite happy with my problem solving expertise!

What irked me most was the manner in which he sat in the class. Legs outstretched and an arrogant look on his face. He would not talk to anyone and neither would he acknowledge any one greeting him. How arrogant! Obviously his parents were very rich and had pampered him to distractions and hence no courtesy or social skills!

Truth was, his glances made feel gauche like a teenager. I was never in the habit of grooming myself. A nice haircut, a nice and comfortable non-critical pair of jeans and loose shirts and my fancy footwear with sunflowers on them was all the makeup I ever needed. But I had ‘all that I would need for makeup if I was going to a party’, in my tote bag. I had even put in couple of accessories to be on the safe side and of course wanted to fit in couple of shoes but when the right loop of the shoulder strap started giving away, I stopped myself. 

The word ‘hair’ had always spelt trouble for me. First the spelling (hare,here,hiar ..and I had been punished for every one of them till class 2) and the uncontrollable unruly thatch that I have on my head was independent enough to spell a lifetime of trouble. I actually left it to take it's own decision and that was as far as I would go to ‘groom’ them.

But now I really wished, I could make a bun and be like other women of my age and look a tad more beautiful than me. His stare! Uff, it was killing me. It made me feel very self conscious. Something about it gave me an unexplained feeling and I would turn and look at him, time and time again. I turned around in a mode of combat and looked directly at the group, “Today we will borrow ideas from each other and develop them. Please write your ideas in a chit of paper and give it to the one sitting next to you”. I was a genius! This would surely make them talk to each other and brainstorm some new ideas. 

However, I crash landed back to the room with a piercing shout coming from some alien source “Ma’.....am, Tarun pushed me” it was Alia Nazeer. I looked with horror as I found Alia on the floor and Tarun looking at Alia with a murderous look in his eyes.

“Stop it both of you! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself behaving in such manner? Tarun , Alia come here at once” I was shaking with a mixed emotion. Fear anger and something I cannot describe now all rolled into one big ball of reaction. And that stare.

“I said COME HERE” I just hollered at them.
Both stood up and came towards me. I looked at them and quietly said “What’s the matter with you both? Why are you behaving like toddlers?”

“But Ma’am, I am not at fault,it was Tarun who hit me first” Alia let out a squeaky wail. I looked at Tarun hoping to see a brewing protest, but he just looked down and refused to say a word. I was really angry now. How dare he not defend himself! Standing there as if he didn't care! “Speak up Tarun, why did you push her?”

“I didn't. She had snatched my pen.” As if that explained everything! He still would not look up.

“What do you mean? How dare you push her! Don’t you have any manners? What have your parents taught you! Pushing a lady!” I was fuming and onto my ‘sermon others’ mode. “Your parents must think you are smart, but believe me you have rotten attitude. PUSHING A LADY! My God if I want, I can get you arrested. What arrogance! I say look up!”

Tarun refused to even budge an eyelid. The boy, who had stared at me for full three hours during the workshop, would not even look at me!

“I will have to report it to your parents!”
“No, don’t!” He said.
“What don’t? I have to!”
“No they are not there.”
“So what? Who is in charge of you now?
“No one, I am staying with my uncle.”
“So I will meet him, give me his no.”
“No, please don’t.”

I was now quite pleased with my assertive self. “Nonsense, Give me his number.”
He now looked up and gave me a quiet look. He took out his mobile without moving his glance from me. Something in his glance disturbed me, but I was on a roll. I made the call and reported the whole incident to Tarun’s uncle with a word or two about how values in children should be instilled from home etc.

I was still quite disturbed at the manner Tarun had behaved. It was as if he wanted me to make the call. Anyway I was quite satisfied with the steps I had taken and so was Alia. We all went home, quite happy with the outcome of the day.
For next two sessions Tarun didn’t come to the class. I was a bit uneasy but chalked it up to his arrogance and the way I had ticked him off. But something in his glance had a compelling message. I was quite upset by the end of the day. I had a record of the students’ phone nos. and decided to give a call to his uncle. The man sounded quite understanding and promised me that he would make sure that Tarun would be there the next day.

I suddenly remembered that Akash lived near Tarun’s home. On my way home, I stopped at Akash’s place. He was quite surprised to see me. I called him out and asked him, if he knew anything about Tarun and his absence from the class.
“Ma’am I really don’t know."
"Did you meet him?" 
"Ma'am he has been staying with his Uncle, since his parents' death 2 years ago. That is all I know.”

“His parents are dead! But ..” I could barely speak.

“Yes ma’am. They had died in a car accident about two years ago. Tarun used to be a very jolly fellow. He would often play with us in the evening, but after his parents’ death he stopped talking to anybody in the locality. This house is his and his Uncle and his family came over to take care of him. I don’t know anything more than that.”

I was now feeling quite hollow now. I was stunned. I hurriedly thanked Akash and came out of his house. My natural impulsive unruly sense urged me to go forward and visit him. But something stopped me. May be the memory of those stares were they trying to say something to me? I decided to go home. Needless to say I could not sleep that night. Tossing and turning I remembered his look when I was lashing him with my emotive speech. His eyes! Oh God I had to stop this.

Next day, I left a bit early and stopped at Tarun’s home. I was now quite sure that I wanted to get to the bottom of this matter. It was a two storied house with a beautiful garden in the front. As I knocked on the door, I found my hands were trembling. The door opened “Ji Boliye?” I stared at the old man who had opened the door.
“Tarun se milna hai” I croaked.
“Ji, aap kaun?”
“Mein uski Teacher hoon”.
“Ji Baba to ghar pe nahi hain.”
“Aaur koi hain ghar pe?”
“Saablog Dilli gaye hain”.
“Thik hain, Tarun ko boliyega ki main ayee thi”. I turned to leave and walked my cycle to the gate. But something made me turn. I could feel that glance again. I looked up and saw a shadowy form at the window. I tried to make out but I already knew who it was. 

I parked the cycle at the fence and rushed back to the house, impatiently pounding on the door. The door opened and I just pushed the old man aside and tried to locate the stairs. “Aap ander nahi ja saktey” ,the man shouted. I just glanced at him and asked “Sidhi kahan hai?” and then noted the old iron staircase by the French window. Taking two steps at a time I reached the second floor and tried to guess which door would lead to Tarun’s room. I barged in....
“What the hell!” I could barely speak. He was staring at me with muted eyes. I moved towards him and touched his shoulder. He flinched and moved away.
“Who did this?”
“No one”
“WHO DID THIS?”
“It’s none of your business”.
“Good, when did it happen?” Had he not been so badly injured, I could have hit him myself for the silence.
“Tarun, either you speak to me or I call the police.”
“I love you." Holy God! He was trying to act cheesy.
“That’s good, now shall we try again?”
“When and how did this happen”
“I fell down the stairs.”
“Bull, how and when?” His cheek was swollen and so were his eyes. One side of the neck was blue and black. His right hand had numerous scratch marks and was swollen below the wrist. It was not a fall, for sure.

There was a long pause. I stood up went towards the door.
“The day you complained” I whirled around, my heart pounding and hands went clammy.
“And?” I whispered.
“This is ok. I can live with this” He was staring at the carpet.
“Of course you can.”
I looked at him, “How often does this happen?”
He looked up then. His eyes had lost its glare and had a shine to it. He again looked down.
As I slowly mounted down the stairs, I saw the old man standing at the base and wiping his eyes.
“Baba ko bacha lijiye, woh mar jayega.” I looked at him and just nodded unmindful of the words as he kept on with a stream of expressions, now crying profusely. As I walked towards the door, numerous thoughts were racing through my mind.
I took out my cell and dialed  Mrs.Sethi’s number and then made the second call to my brother at the police station.


*****************




Today,Tarun is working in an IT farm in Pune. He is scheduled to leave for Germany this week. I always have a smile on my face as I keep down the phone after talking to him. He still maintains that he loves me. So do Geeta and Ruman,his wife and their six year old son.  

Sunday 1 September 2013


Of Park Street and late nights

Late nights? Not really 11:30 at night will not really be considered ‘late’ by many, but well my story has always been quite different from what always is to ‘many’. 
To come back to ‘late night at Park Street’...I might have looked ‘about to topple over’ the edge for some time, when one of my flamboyant and well known colleagues decided to ruffle my feathers up a bit.

‘Mohua, let’s hit Park Street- Someplace Else, good music good fun’ that was what she said, and yes, it was a ‘she’ and that was a mild crisis. However, I decided that enough was enough and I should let my hair (or whatever is left of it) down and paint the town red (or green, one is rather confused nowadays as to which colour should be picked from our city’s different colour codes).

So there I was, in Kolkata at Park Street at Someplace Else. Yes, you have the right picture. Loud music, low light, few scattered heads in the shadow , 2 LED screens with mismatched views (this is an irritating speciality which comes with CCD type set up) and the glittering bar, with a small side dais for performers to churn out soulful music as the evening gets drunk with an intoxicated  will to ‘enjoy life’.

The place has ambience, yes, it decidedly has an ambience. So in keeping with the image of what you should be when you visit a place with ‘ambience’ , I whisked out my Aparna Sen glasses( unless she has decided to change her ‘I am impressive’ style) and pretended to be someone of importance as everyone around tried to do just the same.

My distinguished colleague looked just as important and impressive, and that set the theme of the evening errr......night, ‘to be distinguished and impressive’. Now it is quite a different story when one is trying ‘to be and not to be’ different and distinguished when almost 80% of the gatherers are trying to be just that and wearing different and almost same versions of the colour black with black heads (Indians),black eyes, black glasses, black stockings/socks, and albeit black shoes. I realised that we indeed had really set a very tough task for ourselves.

I just loved the music as I recognised almost all the pieces that they played. You see, that’s one of my worst fears- not being able to recognise the music at a party....psssst( I do lie at times and pretend that I am a regular ‘Linkin Park, Justin Bieber and Spice Girl’ stuff, and try to look suitably interested when my teenage children are talking to the ‘Yo, Mummy’ image of mine), and here it was, right in midst of Park Street, they played Glen Campbell, Pete Sieger, Eric Clapton and I knew those lyrics) It is an intoxicating feeling without  any true source, when you can sing as you please without being corrected about the lyrics or the notes (who would bother, above all that din!). But I sung my heart out , swayed with the beat as there never is much space to do more, and just let myself go with the flow, incognito.

Well that was just going great and I did great until  my well known colleague was identified by couple of other well known people around, there was nothing really  I could do except smile an enigmatic smile and tried to look suitably impressed by their round of chit chats or bang bangs (over the din dins J). I happened to notice few activities around me and almost banged against a ‘phorener’ standing still as a wall with a tablet written ‘Passion Lemon Drink’. I asked for her forgiveness , as she was really doing her job well standing on  6.5inch stilettos, and in pins and toes about the ‘Passion’   bit.

And then there was this aged man who was quite ‘high’ & mistook me for his ‘girl’ couple of times, and tried to be familiar but again one glance at my ‘holier than thou’ looks and he did an 80 degree turn and took after someone else. Well, that is me, even when I chill out people call me ‘Ma’am’.

Well the night wore on with lots of photographs of my colleague and her old flames and new patients, a well known doc with his latest IPhone and new car (this particular doc I know well is also a ‘Motivational Speaker’, who charges quite high for his ‘motivational Public Performance’). To give him some credit, he did look well motivated and quite willing to motivate others with this other way of life. In front of me, there was one very tall guy blocking my view of Nondon Bagchi performing on dais, three well rounded ladies giggling on top of three not so well rounded lads, a mixture of young and old, fearful and bold, kind souls and all with an unified feeling of ‘let it flow’. Mast !

I did enjoy my time thoroughly, and just flew with the rhythm, with lot of calls and FB updates. My distinguished companies were clicking photos and telling to no one in particular that those pics should never go to FB, how nobody should know, as they were so well known and how people would talk if they knew how ‘well known’ people chill and no journalist should get a whiff of how well they looked as well known people and on and on and on...........

As I was coming out of the hotel, I noticed the completely silent Park Street and my favourite places with their shutters down. The city had always carried an aura with its unique combination of tradition and modernity and wrapped in lamp lights and starlight, it just reminded me of a very old song:

Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and gray
Look out on a summer's day
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul
Shadows on the hills
Sketch the trees and the daffodils
Catch the breeze and the winter chills
In colors on the snowy linen land

Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity
How you tried to set them free 
They did not listen, They did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now

As my car crawled into the night, I just relaxed and stared at the road ahead. A bustling city by day ,put to slumber, a few cars here and there, the street dwellers rolled up in bed covers rested in front of the closed shutters, a few dogs keeping a strict vigil over the city streets, and the hoardings with bright lights superimposed over the narrow shops,I whizzed past the roll shops, CCDs, bedding stores,restaurants, malls, cafes,offices,showrooms, houses,flats... and clean and silent street, I just fell in love..........

Friday 22 March 2013

YATRA: Mumbai Mirror: Part 1


YATRA:
Mumbai Mirror: Part 1
The first thing that hits you about the city is the smell, a damp smell of garbage dump. For a second you start thinking that it is a city full of only garbage and that awful smell. Your sense of smell leads you to notice only shanties and garbage pile ups by the street. Then as you enter the city limits,the rotten smell recedes and you slowly reconcile yourself to the fact that nobody would notice you in the milling crowd, even if you walk stark naked on the street, except for maybe some political moral police with loud protest against your ‘Haute Couture’ sense of dressing. Then you realise it is a city where- ‘sab chalta hai’ and offers a complete sense of independence and that feeling of ‘The invisible man’ being rewritten all over again by Mr.Wells.

People:
Business, business, busyness! That is what you see all over. People walking, running, talking, romancing (oh, yes Mumbaikars are quite exponents as far as public display of hand holding, necking type 'PD' of romance is concerned. Maybe the absence of space in houses and of course bedrooms, push them to streets, parks and malls). Yes, it is a very loving city and it loves being busy. Nobody has time so they understand perfectly about ‘do call and visit’ relatives, appointments and value of reaching on time.

The wonders are the traders. I mean a simple visit to a vegetable market with my ‘Mumbai savy’ spouse, introduced me to the fastest swiftest and loudest breed of humanoids called ‘Bhajiwalah’. They have this astounding capacity of selling ten different varieties of vegetables to ten different customers and bargaining, weighing, packaging in the flimsy looking plastic bags and handing you back the exact amount of changes...and guess what? All within a span of 2 mins 30 secs (I had the audacity to consult a stopwatch). See that is what a busy city is all about. Time is money-the faster you make it the better.
Mumbaikars do not shout inside their houses and flats. The quiet neighbourhood drove me to think that Mumbaikars do not have undisciplined adolescents who refuse to obey the righteous parents and in turn get preached (as in- using the same decibel level in talking to a large mass!), they do not have bothersome neighbours or mother in laws and thus a reign of peace resides all around. But the fact is they have all the above but what they respect in others is the personal space and to let it be. They pretty much keep their opinion restricted only to those who would want to hear.

Mumbaikar teenagers and adolescents- sizes vary from ‘xs’ to ‘xxl’ and to the utmost delight of this author, huge range of designer clothes for the size ‘xl’ ! Svelte fashionable teenagers and designer model youths are splattered all over the city, yet a big mass of middle-aged stylish ladies with matched sense of style make you feel so much at home. Yes it is a city which embraces all in a most disenchanted yet a loose hug.

People understand the value of money, so even in biggest arcades you will find stores with vast range of goods catering to every income group. The business and service community   are very quality conscious and strive to serve better without being irritated. Thus you have 4th hand colour TV sets being sold for a paltry amount and with ‘after sale service’ (my better half possesses one...although now, after a tortured life, it has breathed its last, and left me wondering, if now it will be treated with ‘Warranty period service after death’! ) 

And it is a place with people and people everywhere, milling in and out of the buildings, rail stations, malls, hotels, restaurants, houses, subways,footbridges, shops,crossing roads, on treetops and drains! (that was a bit far fetched). But yes they are everywhere , a city full of people to keep you company.
( This post will be followed by Part 2 &3)