She Knows Me

Her heart was pounding fiercely against her chest, and why wouldn't it? It was the first time that she had had a gathering this huge. Being an orator had always been on her bucket list, and to make her one, on mine. It wasn't that she wasn't a speaker who'd instantly attract your attention. She was. All that I wanted to do was to provide her the stage, this very stage on which she was about to step foot. The ceremony was big, the guests of the occasion were highly influential people, which meant that none of the commoners were allowed anywhere near the stage. So, I had to watch her realize her dream from a distance, but it was okay. For finally, I could see her eyes beaming, I could feel her lungs soaring for air as she was about to go live; live for her first talk show. All those years of hosting events, going for debates, reading novels and writing notes had finally started paying dividends. Those kohl rimmed eyes spoke of much more than just happiness. They spoke of struggle, they spoke of the hardship that had deluged her life, to be precise, our lives. Fiddling with her papers five minutes before the commencement of the show, she was totally oblivious of the strand of hair that was dancing around her cheeks, and her nonchalant act of picking it up and tucking it right beneath her ear was all but creating a butterfly effect.

I had managed to find myself a seat with a proper view. At least the billboard that read 'Zindagi, Aapki aur Humari' was clearly visible. I had a front row seat, yet it was a few meters away from the stage, the distance sufficiently large, which made it impossible for me to notice if there was any nervousness on her face or some pride in her smile without using binoculars. And I had brought a pair of them too, it was just that I didn't want to look like a complete desperate idiot. And despite that, I would have used them had it not been the way things unfolded that evening. The stage was set, all eyes fixed upon her, and being completely undeterred by the crowd and its gaze, as has always been the case with this brave, brave woman, she began-

"Today, at this hour, my life has started making sense. And it had to, for it had tried and tested me since the moment I had opened my eyes for the first time. And it still does, and perhaps, it always will. But now I know, that no matter how old I grow, there would always be someone behind me, pestering, pushing, encouraging and inspiring me to excel in each of those battles. The hoarding behind me reads Zindagi... Aapki aur Humari, and my first guest, on this talk show, which is aimed at the lives and its stories that people carry within themselves, often unheard or unspoken, is, well, my own self. For I believe that before looking into others' houses, you must build your own home. And I have built it, and the person whom I built it with, I'm sure must be sitting somewhere amongst the crowd."

"I know, that you've would tried to ask the guards to let you in, and if not sit, at least allow you to stand anywhere near the stage. But you won't even think of bribing them, and the moment that they would have refused, you would have walked back disappointed, without even trying to persuade them in any manner. I know that you're not a diplomatic person, and are the one who always differentiates on the grounds of morality, and it's okay. You don't need to change. Now I know the reason behind your sudden urge to buy binoculars hours before the commencement of the show and I'm really happy not to find you using them right now. Trust me, you would have made a complete idiot out of yourself, not to mention that you already are."

"Ladies and gentlemen, the lady you see here on the podium would have been just another woman doing the dishes, cooking meals and would have already pushed out a kid, if not two, had it not been for the decision that I took five years back. Life was a mess back then. I was a crazy, unsatisfied, impatient and a heartbroken woman, who had the talent, the hard-work, and the aura to achieve everything that she wanted to, but had no inner peace. And that was what pricked me the most, that kept me troubled even on brightest of days. Now that I have it, I realize the havoc that I had created in your life, and now I realize how bravely you've dealt with everything."

"For five years you have craved, and don't you think that I didn't notice it, it was just that I was too merciless to pay any heed. For five years you waited and waited for a loving touch, a caring word and a shoulder to rest upon, but you never got one. But you didn't give up. I remember the brutality with which I had yelled at you the day you'd brought me home, that it would never be you, and it would always be him. Yes, I loved a person, and that person loved me back, but we couldn't be together, and I was frustrated. It was the belief I had adopted that if it's not him, then nobody else.You and I, well, we were friends, best friends perhaps, but I never saw you the way I see you now. Now I realize the reason behind that look in your eyes when I craved for something. It was as if you'd trade your life even if that gives me a probable shot at achieving it. Not even a guarantee, just a shot. That is how madly you've loved me, and I have repaid you with pain and disgust."

"For you, it would have been like living with a room-mate or a business partner. Sleeping on separate beds in separate rooms, eating as per my schedule which was more like a luncheon interview than a dinner and seeing each other's faces not more than three times a day had become a normal routine for me, but I've heard your silent sobs, I've seen your red eyes and the uneaten food in the casserole, which you cooked with all your heart, so that when I return from work and head straight to bed, you could push a bite or two through my mouth, which I would often refuse bluntly. But then, time heals everything, and yes it healed and things weren't as bad as they used to be. That frustration phase subsided in an year, as has always been the case with me, but peace was far from coming."

"Since my birth, there have been incidents that have made me strong, but perhaps they have made me so strong that at times, I stop feeling and behaving like a human. I've behaved as numb and cold as frost and you've put up with everything. But this life has also taught me to get up and move on no matter how badly it hits you, and I've done that every single time. But each time, a part of me has been destroyed and I've had no one to heal them. But now, I do. I got up, and we were friends again. But friends, only. And by friends, I mean that I had started talking to you, like I used to, but never with the same warmth. I had started sharing things with you, but never reached that level of openness. But perhaps, you never needed it."

"For an year of storm had not only made you immune to pain but it had also made you an expert at reading my mind. You knew which books I had to read, the places I had to travel to, the courses that I wanted to pursue or heck, the kind of coffee I wanted. While I was busy in living a life that I had always wanted, fulfilling my ambitions and desires without giving a damn about the rest of the world, you were busy working your heart and soul out to make sure you walked those paths before me, plucked out the thorns that could have hindered my journey, and replaced them with rose petals, only for me to crush those petals beneath my feet like autumn leaves and walk over them indifferently and nonchalantly. Yes, as nonchalantly as I tuck the strand of hair beneath my ear that makes you drool every single time. Don't you think that I haven't noticed it. My each act of indifference was like the crushing sound that those crumpled leaves make when crushed beneath the feet, and with each such sound, I broke your heart into a million more pieces."

"Had it been your way, you would have imposed vegetarianism on the entire population of this planet. But given that I couldn't cook daily, now that I had started sharing the kitchen, and courtesy my constantly deteriorating health, you brought home something that you hated to see, washed it, cooked it and served it to me, so that I could eat what I loved the most. I ate and I liked it, but I was too selfish to let out a word of appraisal, too self centered to even think about how you would have cooked it. I have sinned, not erred, but sinned. I could see my own life and nothing else. I was hungry, without having the slightest of ideas as to what I wanted to satisfy it. So I became relentless, greedy and evil. I knew that a man would cook for me, would wash my clothes, would even sweep and clean on days I don't wish to. All I used to care about was my life and its ambitions. Nobody goes for writing classes at night. I knew it all the way that you went for cooking classes. And when I'd look at those wounds on your fingers which you had gotten while chopping onions and vegetables, I presume, you'd laugh and say that you got them while shaving. Shaving gives wounds on your face and not on your fingers you dumb. You suck at making excuses and telling lies. And you know what? I love that thing about you."

I had already left my chair and had grabbed a corner in the lawn next to a tree and hugged the trunk tight, because I couldn't go on stage and hug her. So I held on to the trunk and let out all those streams from my eyes that I had held back and had reserved for this very day. It was the first time in five years that she had used the words 'I' 'love' and 'you' in the same sentence, and I knew that this day would come. She continued.

"Your book-of-the-month initiative in order to bring me every novel that was there in my bucket list wasn't a surprise at all. No one makes a check list of the gifts that you intend to give and leaves it on the study table. You are that dumb. And I won't blame you for this, after all, I never paid any attention to any of your belongings. But at times, I did, you might not know, but I did. The travel agency doesn't launch discount packages in a running season, and you thought, I'd believe you when you told me that they can plan my trip to London at half the rates. You still don't have a wrist watch, you still wear formals and I don't remember that last time that you had bought anything for yourself. You have saved each penny so that I could live my dreams. And I feasted on them like a hungry witch."

The moment she used the word witch, I wanted to run to her and seal her lips with mine. But I couldn't. I wanted her to come to me now. She was sobbing now, but she knew she wasn't done yet, so she spoke.

"You know, that day at the airport, when I was leaving for London, I wanted to ask you to come along, but I couldn't. I just couldn't. I don't know what stopped me, but I couldn't. I turned my back and walked away while you waited and waited for me to turn around, but I didn't, and left you with six months of loneliness. London gave me almost everything that I had expected it to give. That dream of travel and living was turning into reality and I was busy relishing the moment, without giving a shadow of a thought about the man, who lived and died each day so that I could live the life I'm living right now. On those rare occasions that we spoke on phone when you'd call me on weekends, I could feel the lumps in your throat which had developed due to hours of crying, but I just couldn't care to empathize. I often wondered that now, that I am away, what would you be doing with your life? You wouldn't be having anyone to cook for, to clean for or to live for, rather. But then, idiots like you are hardly found."

"It had been three years when I returned from London, and there you were waiting at the airport with a box of sweets and card in your hand. It was the third Anniversary, and yes, I remembered, but I couldn't care to pass you a smile. But it didn't matter, for you were satisfied the moment I took the card and ate the Gulab Jamun. This was perhaps the first act of kindness that I had bestowed upon you, and I know that it had made your day. My ambitions had reached their threshold but satisfaction was no where to be found. The only thing that was left was my MBA. Yes, Pounds convert into a hefty sum when translated into Rupees but hey, the same teacher taught us Mathematics in school, remember? How did you expect that I would be weak at it and wouldn't notice the extra amount in my bank balance? I have no idea about what you did to earn that amount but I would like to know tonight. Because tonight, my love, we'll talk."

"The moment has come. I'd read in your diary that you wanted to see my expressions the day I confess and reciprocate your feelings. You can use your binoculars now, and look at me, for at this moment I dedicate the rest of my life to you. From this day forth, my life would make sense, because I have found the satisfaction, I've found inner peace. And after travelling across oceans, states and rivers, I have discovered that it lies in your arms. And I would feel it the moment we get home. You remember, on our first night together I had dared you not to touch me and I still remember your reply, "For me to make love to you, you need to fall in love with me first. Until that happens, I won't touch you." It's time to make love, my love, for finally I have fallen for you."

I never thought that the audience would pay any attention to this one sided love story that she narrated, but to my amazement, everyone was listening in rapt attention. They were searching for me in the crowd, but I made sure that I stayed away from the spotlight. I never liked being in the limelight. I went and stood near her car and was waiting for her, but I had to wait a little longer. She continued for one final time.

"Now, you people might be wondering as to what made this bitch turn into a fairy all of a sudden. Well, I don't know. It just happened. I know it doesn't make sense without a proper reason, but then as he says, 'girls are never meant to make any sense.' Maybe after all the wandering and travelling and going astray I have realized where my home is. And I'm heading there right now. Have a good day. May love be with you!"

With these words she stepped down from the stage to a standing ovation. I wanted to wipe those tear drops off her cheeks, but I remained patient, because now, I had my whole life to do so. The show was over, the formalities took an extra hour and soon I saw her walking towards her car, wondering where I might be as I had seen that she had started looking for me the moment she stepped down from the stage. She saw me from a distance, our eyes met, and for the first time, we shared a silence. Within seconds she was right there two steps away. I knew that she had spoken enough and she had lumps too, so I cleared my throat and spoke,

"Your car or mine?"
"Our", she said and walked towards the door.
"Allow me, Mademoiselle", I held the door for her.
"Oui Monsieur", she hopped in.

While changing gears she placed her palm on mine for the first time in five years.

Because, for the first time, in five years, my wife was in love with me.

Her bucket list wasn't done with. A month later, we left for Paris.

P.S.- It is a work of fiction.

Title Courtesy- Bryan Adams. 

The Fifth Street

PART-1

Her day began with the usual noise,

Terrifying would be an understatement, as it caused her heart to poise.

Hot tea on some days, boiling water on the other,

Would be splashed mercilessly on her mother's face, that too, by her own father!

The sound of the alarm was overshadowed by the breaking crockery,
Where the former was a sign of beginning, the latter- mockery.
With numb feet and pounding heart she used to walk towards the room,
To find her mother begging for mercy from her two month old groom.

Second marriage wasn't much of a choice, it had to be done indeed,
For this world was too cruel, to provide an illiterate widow for her needs.
She missed her father, the real one that is, the kindest man she had ever seen,
Who used to tell her, that if you're kind, this world is a beautiful place to be!

"The world's not good Dad", she uttered to herself, "and I miss you so much"
"That monster leaves scars on Mom's body, with every impinging touch!"
Her father, when alive, was an illiterate blacksmith, but made sure that she didn't share the same fate,
For she passed out from the nearby school, that too, with excellent grades!

She knew science, she knew math, but more that that, she knew the world now,
As her father used to say, "Once educated, you will never have to bow."
But the world, as they say, is a filth in which you have to dive,
Which was too good for a sixteen year old girl to swim and survive!

She worked at the restaurants, call centers too,
To save herself and her mother from the monster's woo.
Despite this, it was either lunch or dinner, she still had to choose,
Because her earnings were snatched for the monster's booze.

She was cheated, she was robbed, she was only sixteen,
Too old perhaps, for this world, to pay her some heed.
The wounds of her mother sent ripples to her soul,
Very soon she knew that she couldn't take it anymore!

She tried hard to earn a living, toiling, be it dusk or dawn,
But couldn't cater for her mother's need.
Finally, to overcome the monster's bitter scorn,
She had to resort to the fifth street!


PART-2

He saw her first near the druggist's shop,
Standing with an umbrella, at the bus stop.
She wore pink that day, with a matching turban,
Heavy make-up, looks suburban.

He saw her again, the following day,
Wearing purple this time, with a tinge of grey.
Anxious eyes, as if always in a haste,
Drops of sweat trickling down her waist.

Day after day he saw her at the same place,
Waiting for the bus, with open hairs and sweaty face.
"Your face is so red", he once walked up to her and said,
"The burning sun is giving you pimples on your fore-head."

She stared back at him, as if she had seen a ghost,
Her eyes broadened, which were as bright as a lamppost.
She didn't utter a word, on to the bus she hitched,
Unaware of the fact that by that one look, someone else was bewitched!

Desperately he tried, to listen to her voice,
But the girl was too stubborn to make an easy choice.
Flowers of all kinds waited for her all day,
Only for their aroma to slowly fade away.

One fine day, he suddenly was not to be found,
She was surprised, and did look around.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a photograph popped up in her hands,
The sheer beauty of which was like sparkles amidst sands.

"Am I really that beautiful?", she asked herself,
"For I look like a fairy here, but in reality, I am an elf."
"Yes you are", he quickly replied,
Her eyes broadened yet again, wondering, how could he read her mind?

"Who are you?", she spoke for the first time, "How did you do this?"
"A photographer, you may say", he replied, "And yeah, it wasn't an easy click!"
Her glaring eyes now had more questions in store
But she had a bus to ride aboard.

"What is your name?", he yelled from the window, "Where else can we meet?"
"There is nothing in the name that would like to know", she replied, "I live on the fifth street!"



PART-3

She leaned on the window, when suddenly she heard a familiar grin,
She turned around immediately, to find that it was him.
Her eyes ballooned, which was a familiar sight now,
"I've skipped my exams to sit here next to you", he said, "Please tell me your name now."

"Why are you doing this?", she said, "You don't know who I am!"
"There is nothing that I can offer you, for I have a cursed charm!"
"You're one stubborn princess", he laughed, "And you're only sixteen."
"Open up a little, because there is a smile which this world desperately wants to see!"

She wasn't the kind who would succumb to cheesy lines,
But his words had started their magic, in time.
She didn't reply but leaned against the window grill,
The sunlight filtering through her face, confirmed the partial grin.

That smile was all it took, for him to take the next step,
Ecstatically he asked, "You haven't told me your name yet."
"You need not know my name", she replied, "And it's very fair and just."
"And you won't follow me any further, once I get down from the bus!"

His heart sank for a moment, but he did not give up,
"At least, I can sit here next you?", he pleaded, "Everyday, with a coffee cup?"
"As you wish", she stubbornly replied, "But there is one condition though!"
"You will neither ask me where I live, nor ask me where do I go."

He nodded in approval, thought his heart broke a little,
But he knew that she was good at heart, only outwardly she seemed fickle.
He rode with her everyday, sitting by her side in the bus,
He poured out his heart to her everyday, sharing the coffee cup.

He told her why he hated to study,
He told her why he loved photography,
He told her about his first bicycle,
Riding which he had hurt his ankle.

He told her about his daily chores,
Music, Cricket and a lot more,
He told her about the languages he spoke,
In a nutshell, he showed her his raw soul!

Her heart had started feeling the magic,
On days, when he was late, she did panic.
But she knew, that they were not meant to be,
As her home is and would always be, the fifth street!


PART-4

It was almost an year now of this daily schedule
Along with coffee, flowers had also become a rule.
But somewhere inside, he wanted to know,
Who actually is this girl, and where does she go?

For he has been in love with a girl, whom he, frankly, does not know,
He always wondered what is it, the she doesn't want him to know.
For he had showed her his naked soul,
And expected the same from her, nothing more.

So one Friday, he decided to cross the line,
When she stepped down from the bus, he hid himself for a while.
He waited for her to move away, as he couldn't afford to folly,
He followed her with inaudible steps, just like a creepy-crawly.

She walked through many streets and alleys, he wondered why is she walking so much,
If the distance was really that large, she could have taken another bus.
She walked through some muddy streets, and suddenly stopped in front of a gate,
On the other side of which, the world seemed to be a completely different place.

That place was dimly lit, with streets which seemed pretty busy,
By now, he had a feeling that something here was fishy.
He saw men, he saw women, but he saw no kids at all,
He wondered at those high heels, which made those women look really tall.

He saw them smoke, he saw them drink, and suddenly lost his concentration,
He bumped into a woman, who was already dizzy on intoxication.
The woman's breath smelled as she yelled out,
"Get outta here, teens are not allowed!"

The noise was enough for her to turn around,
And realize that she was been stalked without a sound.
He saw her eyes swell, for an umpteenth time again,
But this time, more than anger, they spoke of pain!

"I am sorry, my dear", he cried, "But I had to do it"
"For I needed to know what's hidden in your heart, because mine beats for it!"
"I know I have broken my promise, and I am ready to endure your wrath,
But I love you, my princess and I desperately want us to last!"

Tears had already started to leak from her eyes,
The mascara which followed, made it a pitiful sight.
Her lipstick laden lips parted, but couldn't utter a word,
For she was afraid that her words, may mark the end of his world.

Someone had been spying all this while on them, and suddenly appeared on the scene,
A man who would have been of twice her age, with an evil smile and face-obscene.
With one hand on her breast, and the other on her butt,
The man whispered in his ears, "She is a slut!"

She burst into tears, being devastatingly helpless,
For she knew that she'd fallen for him, a guy whose love was selfless.
Eyes met, tears spoke,
Not a word was said, he knew that he'd fallen for a whore!

The man carried her away,
He died a little more inside, but his love never went astray.
He came too far for love, he was too innocent, only sixteen,
He came to a market of human flesh, he came to the Fifth Street!


PART-5

The next morning it was a lonely ride,
And this time, it was her who died a little inside.
She missed his coffee, she missed his talks,
She missed a part of herself, with him which was lost!

She'd seen this coming, she knew this would happen someday,
Because for her mother's smile, there was a heavy price to pay.
She reached her place, the place of daily disgrace,
When she saw a new customer with a familiar face!

"And I thought you loved me", she spoke, disgusted by the sight,
"Only yesterday you spoke of us, and now you want to fuck me with all your might?"
"You know, I fell for you last night, and I thought I had found the one
I wish I knew that you were no different, that you too were a bitch's son!"

Her words drilled a void inside his heart, but he kept his calm and spoke,
"I am not here to touch your body, I'm here to heal your soul."
"I don't know why you do this, but there must be a reason good enough,
And I don't really bother about the reason, because I love you so much."

"They abuse your body, they abuse your soul,
You fight with yourself everyday, the reason why you speak no more.
Talk to me my princess, tell me your griefs,
Tell me your secrets, tell me your needs."

"I am only sixteen, and an orphan too,
There was no one in this world for me, until I met you.
I'm a loner, and you're lonely too,
Let's speak our hearts out, let's ease the pain through."

"The world's a cruel place, and one day it will all turn to dust
Because of man's cruelty, greed and lust.
In this anarchy and chaos, there is only one thing that's just,
And that is, out of all things that you do, love should be a must!"

She fell on her knees, eyes broadened, and there was no need to guess, 
For the very first time, they spoke of happiness,
Though he couldn't take her away, neither could he bring the world at her feet,
But still she knew, that she'd found her man, right here on the Fifth Street!

Voids

Your hair fell partly on your face covering your left eye as you looked down, and that was all it took to take me back to the time when I had first seen them flying as winds kissed them on their way. I saw those eyes, that would broaden every now and then whenever they found magic around them, unaware of the fact that I was the one bewitched by the spells, still trying to decipher what exactly were they trying to say. And to top all that, your lips, that smile, both the partial pleasure grin, as well as the full fledged display of your dentition, which would fix my gaze almost permanently until they were disturbed. You were happy, or at least, you looked so to me. Poor me, for I still have a hard time differentiating between the actual ear to ear grin originating right from your bosom and the formal restrained one. Poor me, I thought, for I am still unable to read my girl's eyes, when suddenly, mother reality whipped me. She isn't my girl.

That one sudden moment took everything away in a flash. Every memory that was imprinted a few years back had already finished its job of poking holes into my heart. I would like to call them voids, because that way, perhaps you would know the state of non existence of my soul, perhaps that way you would know how desperately I want those empty spaces to be filled, how badly I want you to see those vacuums not as mere defects of my poor self, but as places to put your love into.  I want you to kiss my wounds and see how responsively they heal. But till then, till the time I make you realize that I need you to make a life out of my existence, I need to find ways to constantly keep those voids at bay. I need to stop them from spreading their roots at the bed of my heart because the more I allow them to dig deeper, the easier it will be for them to eat me from within like termites, as they have already been doing. If I don't start filling those holes, I would end up being a log of wood which looks rock solid from the outside, but is actually hollow and vulnerable from the inside.

In all our lives, we're left with voids. Voids created by our own mistakes, or the ones deliberately gifted to us by God, or the ones imposed upon us by others, all of them contribute to the pain, which in most of the cases, we are forced to live with and in some cases, are forced to make friends with. Pain consumes you from within, it makes you weak, makes you susceptible to threats which at some point of time you thought you were immune against. And in time, it becomes your master, it starts controlling you, your dreams finally succumb to it and your life becomes its slave. Each of those voids now look like huge craters or like those magnanimously deep wells in which, if you fall down once, it becomes an uphill task to climb out of it. At those times in your life you must find ways to fill those craters with mud or to cover that well with a cap.

We all have things that we love to do irrespective of the fact whether we're good at them or not. And during these times, those things are the ones that come to our rescue. We call them hobbies. Apart from that one column to filled in the Resume, we really forget to think about the importance of these small things which are actually not that small as we think of them to be. Use them to your advantage. Use them to fill those voids and tell your master that there is a lot of life left in me still. Go sing, go speak out your emotions, dance off your miseries and knock your mistakes out of the park for a six. Read books and sooner or later you would find that world amidst pages much more interesting than the actual one in which you have to fight. Read, re-read and then write. Write about your joys, your sorrows, your worries and your loved ones and you would be relieved, at least for the moment. Sketch out the love of your life, fill her with colors and keep it next to your pillow with the hope that someday, you don't just have to sleep with the sketch.

In a nutshell, we all come with an emotional baggage which is the major cause of pain, but then, the key is to take that baggage and try to unload it one at a time and convert it into something beautiful, something that you've always loved to do. And very soon you would find that all those debates, all those on-stage performances, those dance moves, those books that you read and the notes that you wrote were the fillings that you needed to make those immense craters look like tiny rat-holes. Though none of these can permanently ease the pain, though you still might need to cry your heart out in the darkness of the night, but they can for sure keep you busy each and every day of your life, and I don't really need to substantiate on the fact that there is nothing better that a busy life. As this song goes-

"Take that rage,
Put it on a page,
Take the page to the stage,
And blow the roof off that place."

Follow your passions, your hobbies, if not on a big scale, small ones would also do. It would make each day of your life worth living and well spent and as the time flies, we find that it were those days that made us who we are today.

Do this, so that one day when you get into your dream company, that happiness won't just be utilized to fill the voids because you've already filled them to large extent. It can be used to make yourself feel that you're not dumb, that you deserve it, that you have it within you and that now you would see your parents smiling and you would know that the reason is you.
Do this, so that one day, when she comes back to you, she would have to spend lesser time on your wounds and the entire eternity on your lips.
Do it, because there is just one life and you are bound to make it large!

The Cargo of Life

It was the last evening of 2013 and luckily I was at home. This is one of the few boons of studying in a college like mine, which gives you a one day holiday for Holi and Diwali, that you get to be home every year for the new year. It was already dark, as expected during winters, and I was returning from the grocer's shop when I saw a man carrying a huge cargo of brand new empty sweet boxes on his rickshaw. The load was really huge and there was no one to supervise or deliver it except the man himself who had to pull the rickshaw through the rough, bumpy Gorakhpur roads, some of which are really a pain in the arse. Additionally, he had to ensure that the 'out of the capacity' load that he was carrying doesn't fall off from his vehicle whose probability of happening was very high. No sooner had I entered the kitchen to place the stuff on the rack, than my brother came yelling, " Dada, kisi ka rickshaw palat gaya... Jaldi chalo" (Someone's rickshaw has overturned, come soon, he needs help)

I had guessed the culprit by then. At a road junction in my colony, there lies an uncovered drain at a certain slope, such that any vehicle has to undergo an irregular and an uncomfortable bump to cross that junction, which makes it very difficult for a heavy vehicle, as well as, thin-tire broad vehicles such as a rickshaw to pass. For years, attempts have been made to cover the drain using bricks, concrete pavements and what not, all of which have been nullified by the careless rough usage and impatience of my own neighbours. Putting that aside, I rushed to the venue to find that the front tyre of the rickshaw was in the air as a consequence of the heavy load as well as a huge pit at the junction which was again too sloppy for the rear tires to cross. The body of the rickshaw was on the ground with those rear tires still stuck in the drain. 

As expected, there was a commotion created at the site with different kinds of people looking at the situation indifferently. We tried to lift the rickshaw, but the load was heavy and there was a probability that the frame would break. Unloading was the only option, as a bulk of sweet boxes were dropped on to the ground, after which, we lifted the frame and it was restored to its former state. Though, the sweet boxes were still lying on the road, suffering occasional stampeding by the pedestrians. As is the trademark of a typical Indian crowd, people started their own retrospections on the event telling the man how to take precautions while delivering, which road not to take, how to load and unload and which road would take him to his destination, all of which, he already knew. After greeting him with their expertise, which in their opinion, would have been of great help to avoid future occurrences of something which happened merely as a consequence of people's carelessness, they left leaving him alone with his rickshaw and those half dirty, partly destroyed scattered sweet boxes. I too was about to return, when out of the blue, a second thought struck me I went back to him.

It was then, that I had a first decent look at the man. He was old, to be honest, probably pulling rickshaws at this age to cater for his family needs. He might have been the sole source of income for his family, or probably he didn't even have a family, or he had the kind of family with an old father working out of his skins provide for his wife and un-married daughters. I didn't inquire about any of that but I had a prolonged stare into his eyes and they spoke much more than his lips would have ever spoken. I saw pain, helplessness and worry. Pain, probably because the fare tendered wasn't enough, or should I say, has never been enough, which meant, probably a chapati less or none for his little son or daughter. Helplessness, probably because he had a whole lot of partly destroyed goods scattered all around the place, the proper delivery of which, was extremely necessary for him to earn the night's food at least, and he had no one to help him out of the situation. Worry, probably because he was afraid as to what would happen when the owner of the sweet shop comes to know about this. Not only will his pay be cut off remorselessly, but he would also lose the daily contract, if he had any with the owner, which meant removal of another daily source of income.

I walked towards him as I saw that he was unable to reload the boxes by himself. I stood there for a moment trying to decipher how to put these boxes back and asked, "rakhwaa de?" (Should I help?)

He looked at me for a second and then with a low, regretful and disappointed tone replied, " rakhwa dete to accha hota." (I'd be grateful.)

We started loading the boxes again, at the same time, taking care that the pile doesn't fall off again. Those boxes were supposed to be tied by a rope which unfortunately was broken and required replacement. I was picking up the boxes and placing them on the frame while he was continuously instructing me to keep them in a symmetrical manner so that they don't fall off. We almost kept all of them back leaving a few completely destroyed ones and now they had to be tied. It was then that he decided that he needed to call the people who had first loaded it, probably the manufacturers. He might have thought that they would help him out here as it was their stock as well which was at stake. But at the same time he was afraid of the consequences, and that was why he turned around and said, "maalik to bulaa ke laate hain hum, rickshaw dekhna babu... yahi rehta hai paas me... babu jab maalik aaye to ye mat kehna ki rickshaw palat gaya tha... ye keh dena ki rassi khul gayi thi." ( I will have to call the owner now who lives nearby. Look after my rickshaw please until I come back. And when he comes, don't tell him that the rickshaw overturned. Lie to him that the rope broke-off)

With these words he left and for the next 20 minutes or so I had to look after the rickshaw during which I came across certain realizations. What I just witnessed, was very similar to what we face, at times, in life. We all find ourselves at the crossroads of oblivion where we're all like the man with the rickshaw, in pain, worried and helpless. Despite having hundreds of people around you, all you manage to do is to look back at the cargo that you have been carrying through all these years and think how different it would have been if you took another ship or carried a little less just like the man would have thought of taking another route or carrying lesser boxes. Despite having everyone, of every kind who keep telling you everything that you already know and need to know, all you manage to do is to think, think and re-think about what you want to know, and not what you need to. 

While I was waiting, another man, probably with his family came across on a motorbike and stopped his vehicle near the mess, as those boxes were acting as roadblocks, and asked me if the rickshaw was mine. He then asked me to push aside the boxes so that he may drive his vehicle through, to which I responded by carefully picking up the boxes thereby clearing the way. He asked me to hurry up by kicking the boxes at one go instead of placing it one by one by hand and I gave him a disgusted stare. I didn't listen to him despite his regular requests, but cleared the way nevertheless and he left. I thought of replying him back, that for those few boxes that I kick, a poor man may lose half of his pay and probably a day's food if not anything else. But then I kept quiet, as the realization dawned upon me-- 'Such is life'. No one here, cares about your cargo, no one! Trust me. We live in a world where people know that you're amidst a mess, they know that you're having a hard time cleaning it up, yet they would prefer to kick that mess aside and make way for themselves. And when you don't get the much needed help when you need it the most, you eventually succumb to the world and become one of them, not because you want to be, but because life's easier for you that way!

In a nutshell, the one thing that goes begging through this rat race and the so called 'my life, my rules' attitude is that very feeling that everyone needs but refuses to give in return- 'kindness.' Be kind and you will get kindness in return'- the phrase has lost its meaning not because it is actually meaningless, but because we have stopped looking for meaning behind the words. Kindness goes begging when an old man travelling from the south, who has been to Calcutta for the first time, is being stopped at the Howrah waiting room, just because his next train is from terminal 1 and not terminal 2. It goes begging when you refuse to offer your lower berth to senior citizens despite knowing that they would be unable to climb. It goes begging when you fight with your batch-mate over a petty issue despite knowing that its your mistake and in the process insult and humiliate him beyond limits, bringing into light his mistakes from the past, not realizing that even you or anyone for that sake, has a past, and not everyone like you loves to hurt back after getting hurt. These are many day to day examples where we get self centered, not because we're really that bad inside, but because we have been moulded into someone which we never really were.

It was about time, as I saw the man returning accompanied by two other men, who, as was expected, were blaming him for choosing the wrong route along with other accusations. I don't know what happened thereafter as my mom had been yelling furiously at me to come back. What I do know, is that everyday in this world there are a million people, travelling with overburdened loads imposed upon their shoulders, be it hopes of a hungry wife and children, or hopes of your own parents, or hopes of a disabled mother, or the responsibility of a father with two daughters, or just a struggle to survive for another day. Everyone here has a cargo tied behind his back, and this world would have been a lot better place to live in if we could lend our shoulders to unload or unpack some.