 
An Unsung Song

\- by Sidharth Vardhan

# Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Part II

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Part III

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Epilogue

About the author

Contact the author

#  Acknowledgements

I will like to thank my mom and grandmom for raising a devil like me.

My honorary sister and the best friend, Dee Dee, for being the first person to read it. And seeing the worth in it, when I, myself, was full of doubts and was thinking of trashing the book.

My kind friend, Lizzy, for offering and doing the editing of this book, which given my terrible grammar and punctuation must have been a herculean task. It was very difficult for me to find an editor. Leave alone one who will do it for free, and make the offer on her initiative.

To Khaleesi for being just annoying enough to convince me to go through another editing session (you are adorable when you are angry)

And, all my friends and readers who have given this new author a chance.
"Either this forbidden flame shall be expelled from my heart, or if I cannot effect that, I pray that I may first perish, and that when dead I may be laid out on my bed, and that my brother may give me kisses as I lie."

  * Ovid in Metamorphosis (Byblis' story)

"Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet."

\- Plato

Like a white stone at the bottom of the well,

One recollection lies inside of me.

I can't and do not want to fight its spell:

For me it's both – my joy and agony.

It seems to me that anyone will sense it

While gazing at my eyes with disbelief

And instantly become more sad and pensive,

While harking to the tale full of grief.

I've heard about gods who would endeavor

To turn men into objects with a mind,

To make these wondrous sorrows last forever.

You've turned into this memory of mine.

  * Anna Akhmatova

# Part I

# Chapter 1.

Our eight-year-old Bulbul was suddenly awakened in the middle of the night - the fear of being late for the next day had disturbed her sleep. Instinctively, she turned around to have a look at her mother. In the dim lights, they used at night, the largeness of her mother's face in particular and body in general (in comparison to her own little self) had always seemed to become more obvious to her - something which would provide her with a certain sense of security.

Normally, she slept like the child she was, except on nights when she was haunted by ghosts from the movies she was sometimes allowed to watch before going to bed. When this happened, she would normally look at her mother or hold her hand to fight her fears away and it almost always worked. Only rarely she would need to wake her up to have the support of twinkle of her eyes, and her verbal assurances in fighting those ghosts away. She loved the way her mother would spoon her while falling back to sleep during those times.

It was really important to her that someone should always be nearby, in case, just in case, something scary happened. You never know.... And so she often felt bad for Mr. Cute, her pet dog, who had to spend the night alone in the garden, for he was never let into the house.

This time, though, she wasn't scared. She was excited, more excited than when her mother took her to the children's amusement park for the first time. And it was all because next day; or rather later that day, since it was already past midnight, Gulab was coming.

She had been waiting for this a whole week and each day of the week had looked as long as a week to her - but tomorrow, tomorrow her brother was finally coming to live with her. She had not seen him for five years.

It is always kind of good to have a sibling, she thought. She had many friends who had siblings. Siblings, who would play with them, fight with them, bring them things and so on. You could gossip with them about your friends and be sure that they would always take your side, you could ask them the questions you can't ask older people. An elder sibling, so much better.

It did get lonely at times when you were alone at home - yes Mr. Cute was always there but you could never talk to him. It is good to have her old friend Sally around. Sally, her friend from the States had followed her here. Though, she didn't show herself until one day when Bulbul was weeping in their garden – for she had no one to play with. Her mother didn't allow her to play outside.

Bulbul had soon noticed that her mother and her uncle couldn't see Sally, but she had long stopped asking herself questions. Bulbul had grown up conditioned into idea that difficult questions, thoughts, and wonderings were best suppressed. She had more of a 'Close your eyes and pretend it is not there' kind of attitude. She had never asked her mother why they were no longer living with Gulab and papa, why she was always so ill or why her uncle liked drinking that alcohol thing which made him do all those bad things.

And so it is no surprise that she didn't wonder about the strangeness of the fact that Sally should suddenly be gone, be invisible every time someone was around. Those self-delusions and denials were her ways of dealing with problems, a part of her nature, her cognitive response - or whatever you chose to call it; not a result of thought process but just a default instinct.

Every day, as soon as Bulbul came back from school, Mr. Cute would come running to greet her. Bulbul kissed him as he licked her face and then she would go and see her mother. Her mother, if she was awake, which was rare, would ask her how her day was and then bother with her no more. Only rarely was she present for her. Most of the times, she was asleep or not in a mood to play, and so Bulbul would just go out in the garden and return Sally's smile who was sure to be there and smiling whenever Bulbul felt alone.

They would often go running around in the garden of the house. They would play with soil - building small hills of it and putting little sticks with leaves tied on them uptight as trees, with Mr. Cute looking at them standing close-by, wagging his tail all the time. Whenever I remember her playing in the park, it is always with her humming herself in that beautiful voice of herswhile doing so.

Everyone told her she had a beautiful voice. Her mom, her teachers and at times even her uncle, who never was a friendly type of guy, would request her to sing for them. And she would sing, often feeling annoyed since people would keep correcting her whenever she mispronounced lyrics. She would frown whenever someone did that; a frown so adorable that sometimes her mother would keep correcting her lyrics just to see her scowl. Over time, she had learned to bargain a price for her performances - a candy, a toy, anything she wanted.

She was stubborn at times but her demands had never yet been difficult. Her mother was too conscious of her inability to be a part of her daughter's life, especially as much as a single divorced parent; and so in her guilt, was too willing to fulfill her daughter's little wishes.

Bulbul didn't yet know her mother had any kind of guilt in her. However, she would sometimes see a darkness in her mother's eyes which made her feel uneasy. She could have liked, if she could, to snatch this darkness away and comfort her mother, but it scared her. She would hold her arm or neck at such times for a few moments and it did seem sometimes to console the mother - just as her mother's hugs made her feel secure against all the movie ghosts.

Sumitra had told her about her brother's coming to live with them a week ago. She had told this to her, going down on one knee to be at her height, and in a tone some people take when trying to tell something they think is difficult for the child to understand. This was another of those things that annoyed Bulbul. Contrary to all Sumitra's fears, she had accepted the news jumping with joy. Sumitra had smiled in relief seeing the little happy dance she did.

All the last week Bulbul had kept pestering her mother, asking her about how many days were left before Gulab would arrive - even showing her indignation on learning that the number of days hadn't changed since last she asked that question a couple of hours ago. Was he coming by plane; could she go along with her to receive him at the airport - please! please! please! I will behave, I promise, please! And this chain of pleases went on till her request was granted.

On her bed, Bulbul turned around in excitement, time wasn't moving at all - she had seen the clock on the side table like hours before and its minute's hand had barely moved from eight to nine while the hour hand had hardly shown any movement. Was it not working? 'Maybe' she thought, 'time slows down in the nights and people just don't notice it because they are all asleep'. She felt happy at the discovery and felt important – for, she alone in the whole world now knew the truth, it was her secret.

She loved secrets.

Still restless, she turned back to where her mother was sleeping; a smile ran on her face as she saw her in the peace of sleep. It was so much more beautiful without worry lines that seemed to eat into it whenever she was awake.

She contemplated for a while whether to wake her to have someone to talk with - for she herself didn't feel sleepy and time went so slowly just when you wanted it to go a little faster.

Instead, she put her head on her mother's forearm, hugged her elbow and closed her eyes trying to go to sleep, knowing she wouldn't be able to.

Soon she was quietly lip-syncing a song that kept repeating in her head).

# Chapter 2.

Sumitra was surprised to see her daughter up at the very first call. Usually, Bulbul needed a lot more persuasion for that - especially on Sundays when there was no school. This time though, even the fact that it was a Sunday didn't make a difference. Sumitra knew that Bul (Bulbul's nickname) was excited about meeting her brother - she had been anxious how her daughter would receive the news since Gulab had kept on refusing to talk to his sister for years now.

"Go brush your teeth." She commanded her daughter after exchanging good morning kisses.

Until now, her fears were mostly centered on Bulbul. Devoid of the rest of her treasured family, she had held on to this last jewel so much more tightly. Moreover, her daughter was too innocent, just too innocent, too simpleminded she was sure, to survive in this world. She was always afraid for the child - how, just how would she ever protect her from all the evil in the world?

Often when feeling alone, Bul would come to her and want to be held and hugged - as children often do, but when Bul did so, you could see in her eyes and see what loneliness looked like. On those occasions, Sumitra would feel scared for she believed, and not at all incorrectly, that Bulbul was losing too much of her childhood because of the lack of a more attentive parent.

Life for Sumitra had become a constant war with migraines, leaving her very little energy to attend to her daughter. When she was not suffering from headaches and felt rested enough; she would play with her daughter, listen to her stories, cook for her etc – but that didn't happen often enough.

It wasn't that she was always sleeping, but it was impossible to form a routine. By now, she was used to finding herself awake in the small hours of the night every other day. At times, she would go through the whole night without sleep. If that happened, she found herself active but alone in the middle of night, with nothing to do. To engage herself, she would cook for her daughter – even though she had a servant who normally did the cooking, it was satisfying to think that she was doing something for her daughter.

"Properly." She commanded, as she was standing, leaning on the bathroom door and had just noticed that Bulbul was rushing through her tooth-brushing.

And just how could you not worry about Bulbul? She was such an innocent thing. What tormented Sumitra the most was that she never asked questions, considering the things she had gone through in her little life, it must be hard on her.

Yet she wouldn't ask any questions and lived in her own world. If only you had seen her when Sumitra read her some children's story books as she sometimes did - the way she would sit bent over a book; already lost deep in the world of those pictures. Sumitra was sure that children weren't normally that full of dreams.

No, Sumitra repeated to herself yet for zillionth time, she was too innocent to be left all by herself.

Her maternal instincts, she believed, were the result of the knowledge of this innocence; and the protective actions she took in not allowing Bulbul outside the house without adult supervision, only resulted in preserving that innocence. But before you judge her you must know that Sumitra's fears were not entirely about her Bulbul's innocence.

She didn't like the country she lived in - she had tried to run away from India. She hated it. There was something in this country's air which seemed to teach women to live their lives in constant fear. You were always hearing news of children being kidnapped and women being raped – that was all you read or heard every time you picked up the newspaper or switched on the television. And Sumitra could just feel it in her guts that kidnappers were on the constant watch out there, just for her precious little daughter - a single minute out alone in the street and she was bound to end up in their hands. She actually followed this kind of news with a strange kind of interest, finding a kind of joy in the fear it induced in her, like people who love watching horror movies that they are scared of. While watching tv, she always listened to this kind of news with a lot more attention and it was the subject she was most likely to introduce when talking with people on rare occasions she left the house. It was as if she enjoyed that kind of news.

This apparent enjoyment was actually a kind of satisfaction she got from the fact that it gave her something to do for her daughter. She couldn't spend time with her daughter but by keeping her indoors, she was at least protecting her.

Her love, which couldn't find the more usual outlet in form of her giving time to Bulbul, had thus formed itself into a paranoia. Thus Sumitra ended up dooming her child to a kind of house-arrest. Bulbul must not leave the house except to go to school.

Sumitra knew that this made Bulbul feel lonely; Manohar would leave early in the morning and would be gone until evening. The servants - an old man who maintained their park for them, cleaned the house and looked after the dog and a maid who cooked and cleaned the house - would stay only as long as their work required and they didn't like being disturbed. And so when at home, Bulbul had almost no one to talk to. 'Now that Gulab was coming', Sumitra hoped, 'it will change.' Even if that doesn't happen, she would have him with herself. Whichever way you look at it, Shikhar's marriage was still a blessing in disguise for her.

At least, Shikhar was sorry, thought Sumitra as she combed her daughter's hair after her bath; Shikhar was scared as to how she would react to the news when he told her about his plan to marry again. 'Like a child' Sumitra remembered now with a little smile, 'who has made some mistake and is scared to confess his mistake to his parents.'

"What?" Bulbul asked as she saw her smile; instinctively smiling in response.

Sumitra shook her head but went on smiling – now, only to tease her.

"What?" Bulbul asked again.

"Nothing," Sumitra said still smiling, pulling her cheek.

"Stop that, Stop that" Bulbul frowned; which was exactly the reaction Sumitra loved getting from her.

...... And it was hard on her, separation and divorce, how could it be otherwise - six years of living with someone and then finding out that it was not meant to be? Nothing! The smile was gone as suddenly as it came.

Bulbul replied in kind upon seeing her mother getting all serious, she had long been used to those mood changes from her mother. She was patient in waiting for the treasured moments when her mother was in a good mood and equally patient when those moods died sudden deaths the way this one had.

Sumitra inwardly cursed herself for carrying those childish notions of soul-mates, for divorcing him so easily and for still nourishing the stupid wish that they would still somehow end up together even after the divorce. She inwardly cursed all those movies and novels for putting such crazy ideas in her mind - or perhaps she was just crazy enough to believe in it because marrying him had changed her life for better so quickly. In no time, she was away from her wife-beating father and her mother's restrictions. Hadn't she long been wished to run away from them for years before she met him? Perhaps it just made it easy for her to love him. But why was she foolish enough to think it would last – just as another teenager in love would have want to believe it? It was too good to last.

Sometimes she could convince herself it was entirely his fault. She would think bitterly of him at times and shut herself in her room, not even talking to Bulbul. Those times, Sumitra knew, were hard on her daughter – but knowing didn't help her angst.

Those hysterics were always followed by heavy moments of guilt and patching things up with her daughter.

Most of the time, though, she believed the separation to be her own fault. Her migraines had not let her take care of the children, but that could be worked around; it was her absence from society, from parties, from social gatherings that Shikhar had to attend with his wife that had been the chief cause of the fights that lead to their divorce. Shikhar couldn't bring himself to tell her that he was angry about her being absent on those occasions - knowing it was a wrong thing to say but he started letting out his anger by complaining about trivial matters. For a while she let him do so patiently - understanding his frustration, but her own patience had a limit....

'It doesn't matter now'; Sumitra shook her head on this line of thought, as she picked up her own towel. Now Shikhar could have a wife that would be there with him in those parties. As for her, she had her children.

Maybe a part of her, for all it was worth, still loved him. She still loved the way he told her about it, that he still called her by their private nickname Sumi. He had over the years kept communicating with her, always asking after her health and had always sent gifts for Bulbul.

'A perfect gentleman', Sumitra thought, that was what attracted her to him. 'He is a good man,' Sumitra thought, 'he could have kept his promise but... ' the 'but' she had left undefined here contained all those other implied assumptions. The assumption that person marrying should remain prepared to face the world smiling – she already had to quit her job because of her headaches, she didn't want to be a liability. And he couldn't afford to carry on with her. No, he wasn't a bad man, just not equal to the test put to him and it was an unfair test. Just as she wasn't prepared....

Still, he was a perfect gentleman. Sumitra's Indian breeding refused to listen to anything said to the contrary, her definition of a gentleman was still one she had assumed from her childhood days– a man that doesn't beat her wife and he passed that test well.

Even in telling her about his decision to marry again; he had been a perfect gentleman. She loved the way he told her, and.... Well, it hurt more on that account. Had he told her without a show of such concern; almost as if he was asking her permission; or better still, had he got married without talking with her beforehand; she could have shown disgust and that could have made her feel better - but the idiot couldn't do a thing right.

And after all, how could she react except by accepting her fate. Should she have asked him about his second wife? Should she have congratulated him? At that moment, nothing of the sort came to her mind. For a moment, the walls seemed to be closing in towards her and she just nodded silently, though still confused. It did hurt, for a moment, when she was able to absorb it enough, later on, she wanted to reproach him for destroying her life but she couldn't. It didn't matter. What could it have changed? And anyway her own guilt for the migraines had meant she couldn't blame him entirely.

It was more than a silver lining that she could now have her son for herself.

'My son, My son.'

She shivered in her shower at the thought of Gulab - how little she knew of him. Yes, she knew he was a bright student in school, a very good athlete and pretty handsome - but that wasn't like knowing him as a mother should. An indifferent acquaintance could be aware of these things.

No, she thought as she got dressed - that wasn't knowing him, that wasn't knowing him at all. She didn't know what made him smile, what made him weep, what made him frown, the food he loved, the food he hated, the things he did in his free time, the things he loved talking about, the music he listened, the songs he sang along, the stories he liked to tell, the kind of jokes he laughed at, whether he believed in horoscopes, whether he watched a lot of movies ... No, she didn't know him, didn't know him at all.

And this thought scared her, it scared her.... Bulbul had eaten her breakfast, Sumitra decided to skip the meal... It scared her, it all must have been hard on him - his father's second marriage. Was he close to his father? She wondered. He didn't seem an introvert like Bul.

Still, it had to be hard for him, and she was but a stranger for him in such hard times.

No. She decided as she started her car that she would, she must be taking his care. She knew she would be asking him a lot of questions. She bit her lip with doubts that had troubled her all this week. 'Would he be as excited to see her and his sister? Would he smile when he saw them?'

# Chapter 3.

'Hypocrite' Gulab couldn't help uttering that word, if only under his breath as he sat down on his seat in airplane. Hypocrites! As if coming to drop him at the airport and asking him to take care would take care of everything. But he (his father) must keep the appearances.

For ten-year-old Gulab, all gestures that were supposed to show somebody's love to others had become hypocrisy. And that, he believed, was how it should be. For all tenderness was either stupid or faked.

Perhaps he won't have felt as angry if it wasn't for his father's attitude towards Ajay. For though, he thought all shows of affection to be hypocrite, he himself felt a sort of affectionate protectiveness towards classmates like Ajay who were simpler, innocent and who could be easy targets for bullies. Ajay was his best friend who wanted to see him off, the only friend whom Gulab had told about his father's decision to marry again. His father had replied to Ajay's greeting (one could sense Ajay's naivety in the very way he greets people) with a smile that, Gulab thought, was mocking the naïve boy. Ajay couldn't see it, of course, but it was enough to make Gulab angry enough to be cold to his father's goodbyes.

Gulab believed his father won't have been this cold to Ajay if it wasn't for Ajay's melancholic nature. He was always sad and he never hid it. Gulab admired that and though he knew one can't survive in this world with such honesty, he liked Ajay for being only person who wasn't hypocrite.

But he also knew that is exactly why his father didn't like Ajay.

The first and foremost thing he had learned from his father was that one must maintain appearances. Appearances of being happy. Even if one is being destroyed from inside, has a life-threatening disease, has a strong desire to hurt or kill oneself, one must never let it show. If there must be injuries or wounds, than it is better that they be on parts of body easy to hide under clothes.

It has always been a matter of pride with many families of upper and upper-middle classes. People actually start feeling insulted if someone was to be given a reason to believe that they are not happy. They feel the need to hide their sorrows, disorders etc. To look happy has become more important than to be happy. And this delusion is not only created for others, people have learned to convince themselves into believing that they are happy as long as others thought them to be. 'And isn't that right?' Gulab thought 'If people were to know your worries, they would start sympathizing with you; the sympathies which are disgusting, useless, stupid and unasked for.'

No, one must maintain at least appearances of happiness.

He knew that that was what caused his parents' divorce. His father could have done without people talking about his wife. That again, was why he was marrying again.

The idea of the marriage still disgusted him - not because of his mother for whom he had, again to his disgust, only compassion. Not because he really loved him. Yes, it is impossible to live with someone and not form even a little affection, but that was it. Not the strong bond you could expect between a child and a parent. If his father was to die tomorrow, all he would feel was little nausea - at least so he believed. Yet he felt wronged, insulted - in some way unknown to him when Shikhar told him about his marry again, and to go away from his father was the only revenge he could have; but what about appearances? He could have liked to live alone... away from them all, if only he could support himself. He didn't want any parents or family. But he couldn't live by himself at his age – his dependence on his parents was a handicap. Why did they ever marry? Why would anyone marry? Can't people understand that people are not meant to live with each-other? Not for long anyway?

And so moving to India was his only chance. He had been to India, had visited the country twice a year to amuse his parents. Hypocrisy again. 'As if that could make up for the loss resulting from their divorce. '

Yet, he had amused them, especially his mother who would cook those Indian dishes, Paranthas, for him - he would tell her they were delicious even if he was choking on spices. Not having experienced such gestures of affection at his father's house, it disgusted him how she felt compelled to put her hand on his cheek or kiss him. She would ask him about his health, studies etc.; he would answer briefly. Soon they would run out of subjects for conversation.

But in a formal way, he was always nice to her. It was difficult for him to like people, but he was adorable. He could act like a gentle-man – mature for his age, never raised his voice or cursed – it is all about appearances. In states, he was one of the best both in studies as well as sports. Liked both by teachers and students. Always helping his friends – and never asking for any in return. If he disliked something about someone - and he always found something to dislike in everyone; he wouldn't show it. This made it easy to be friends with him. Moreover, he wasn't half as dry as people with who put pride and honor so high a scale often. He had a plenty of jokes and something good to say for all situations.

In this same way, he was nice to his mother.

However, he had refused to meet his sister ever since the separation of his parents He felt wronged by his parents and his anger at them helped him keep his distance from them even after all that 'hypocrisy'. However, Bulbul had never wronged him and so he lacked the kind of anger he needed to keep his emotional distance from her. The mere sight of her weakened him, he knew, like the child he now refused to be - and so he refused to talk to Bulbul, to be around her. To have sentiments was to be weak - and to be weak was humiliating, not an option for him.

He thought he could stay away from her and now, that he had to face her, he felt foolish for thinking so. He knew she could not be much more mature than his own friends, who were all stupid and clueless about what he thought were the 'realities' of the world. In fact, she was a couple of years younger and so probably stupider.

He still remembered the day she was born. In his mind, he could still vaguely recall the image of an infant Bulbul covered around with a blanket. The memory made him feel all big-brotherly, already mature. He felt a craving in himself to weep – he fought it away; crying was for feeble people. No, he must be strong, especially now that he was going to India.

He wasn't scared about living in India and was even a little excited. There he might start over, outdo himself. He knew he could create that old aura of respect around himself again – the way he had created at his last school, where all boys of his class respected him.

At least that was what he believed.

To him, the most important things were pride and honor. To be the best among them, nothing less. People should salute you as soon as they see you.

This belief made him feel better than his peers. He was ten but he looked and acted thirteen, frequently lied about his age - telling people he was older than he was. His fellow students from his ex-school respected him and were in a certain way scared of him. He would scorn in anger when someone would treat him like a child.

The truth is he was and would remain in some ways much more mature than his age, but much of his imagined maturity was an illusion. Maturity in humans is always an illusion. Those we called adults are just children pretending to be adults because they found themselves in an adults' positions.

But he, he frowned at the smile the air-hostess gave him when he was getting out of the plane – for it was the kind of smile you give to a kid. The kind you give to a weak, inferior person (in his mind there wasn't much difference between weak and inferior) to make them comfortable.

Yet, there was one thing which ate him from inside. He wouldn't admit it, admitting it could be a weakness, rather he avoided thinking about it cowardly. That thing was a need, a yearning for something to hold on to. Perhaps that is why he needed some simple friend like Ajay – even if it somewhat spoiled his appearances. Someone like Ajay reminds one that world is not entirely full of hypocrites. And he needed someone like that.

When you consider all love to be either hypocrite or stupid, you stand the risk of being alone, terribly alone - even if you are in the middle of a party that is all about yourself. Even if all of them 'respected' you. Mere respect without love will create a rather bad company. It is such a distancing sentiment – we always say respectable distance, never respectable intimacy.

He knew it at some subconscious level - he felt it, felt it like a little snake crawling just under his skin, as he walked out of the plane. That he was alone.

And he _was_ alone.

And yet there was this subconscious desire to have something to hold on to; something, someone he could go to; and that was coupled with a fear; a fear as if of the approach of some unknown storm. No, he needed something - just for moments like this - when the disgust this world created in him got the better of him and made everything look so meaningless. A little something. Not too much. Something simple, something trustable. He didn't know how to put it in words - he didn't know what it was, that he sometimes found himself thinking about. He didn't know it existed; no; not till he saw her. Bulbul. The child he was dying to talk to for years and had constantly refused to.

There she was, holding the banner of his name in her hand. And quickly he found himself losing to that weakness of emotions.

# Chapter 4.

Now ladies and gentlemen, the importance of the next scene can't be overstated. It must be told as thoroughly as possible. I should like to begin by telling you a little more about the little lady in white since that was what our Bulbul was wearing that day. An all-white frock, which she hated, because although her mother thought she looked pretty in it, it was a little uncomfortable; and because it was white, she had to be extra careful to keep it clean; a ribbon in her pig-tailed hair, which if it was not for her mother, she would have rather throw away. And a bright smile which showed a missing milk-tooth.

Unlike her brother, Bulbul was the kind of child that always looked and acted younger than herself. Whether that was because of her innocent face, her relatively small height or because of her nature, we can't say. But it was one thing that all seemed to agree on, even her uncle Manohar, who as we have already stated, was no cheerful guy.

It was not only a motherly bias Sumitra had about Bulbul when she found Bulbul too innocent even for a child. Bulbul, to give you one example, loved showing her love with kisses. Kisses to the mother, Kisses to Mr. Cute, kisses to her teachers – also, kisses to Manohar uncle too if only rarely in times when he happened to be in a good mood - and, at least a few times, kisses to her friends. There was a calm ignorance in her, an ignorance of what the world she lived in really was.

Just how will I ever tell you how innocent she was? She would cover herself with mud while playing, she liked lying on the ground for hours looking at the evening skies with dreamy eyes.

Just how will I tell you that a single sight of her smiles could beat the realities of the whole world out of your mind; or how she looked like a tiny miracle of innocence when she was doing her homework, sitting on the floor - she wouldn't listen to her mother's commands for her to use sofas, chairs or bed. She preferred floors; bent over her notebook putting her little effort in each letter she wrote, as if each letter of the alphabet she wrote was a victory; or how she hated clothes – always having to be dressed well, or how delightful was that delighted little laugh that formed itself on her face when she was given a present as simple as an ice-cream.

And most particularly, how she joined her little hands in prayers to those useless, meaningless, stupid gods in a faith, that was all love and no fear - love for somebody who had made it her/his duty to make everything right. All she had to do was to wait for one of these god-people to receive one of her prayers. I did tell her many times, that those godly things never do anything for anyone but she wouldn't listen. I guess after some time you have to let your characters make their own choices, even if you know better.

And for Bulbul these gods were just another result of that habit she had undertaken of blurring those boundaries between her imagined worlds and the real world. She believed in gods and when she felt alone and sad, she often looked up to the skies; so hopeful of seeing an angel, who was to correct everything, that you would think that the said angel had arranged a rendezvous.

It is not that the possibility of there being nothing out there didn't cross her mind. After all, her little life was a powerful argument in that case. However, as yet, that didn't make her question her beliefs. She was like that, she believed in Santa Claus, even when knowing there was no real Santa Claus; if she was to see an oil-lamp lying out there somewhere, you can be as sure as you are reading this that she couldn't help but try to rub it. For her truth and reality were merely incidental and anything which gave her happiness – be it a fairy tale, a dream or a lie; it didn't matter; was to be believed in.

But they must, Bulbul was told by her mother in one of those few moments she was available for her, have a lot of customers; these gods, and angels - with this kind of population explosion; one would think they could recruit new gods to meet the increasing demand. Moreover, they lived worlds apart so it must take time for prayer to reach them, for them to check whether you have been a good girl or not (at this point the mother would pull her cheeks to make her frown) and then send one of their angels to set things right.

It took them really long, but Bulbul didn't fail to thank the angel who was finally sending back her brother whom she was now about to receive.

Maybe it was because unlike her brother, she wasn't so realistic; that she could manage to maintain her innocence - we have already noted her self-delusional methods. These days, one need to create an imaginary world of one's own to hide her/his innocence because of the fact that retaining innocence in our world, with people like you and me around, is impossible.

Even all these things I have just told you have probably made you imagine an innocent child, but I don't think I can explain to you that innocence, that purity of heart which made her stand out even among children of her age.

Bulbul, Bulbul had this aura of sweetness around her that made you adopt her quickly. After being with her for like fifty-eight seconds, you won't be able to say no to her - whatever she may ask you. And in her innocence she was bound to adopt you quickly as well - and don't worry, she wouldn't ask you something too big. It looked like even God couldn't wrong such purity; yet, we know God has a way of manifesting his/her power in all the wrong ways.

....And if she could adopt a stranger, how much more would it be true when she had a cause, when it was her own brother we are talking about. Yes, my dear friends and critics, it must not surprise us if she ran up to her brother, when they saw each other; if her brother too, being taken in by that sweetness, finding it not possible to call the excitement in her eyes hypocrisy, may pick her up and receive her with an unexpected smile, the most beautiful of all kinds of smiles, and accept that kiss which she gifted on his cheek.

There was a delight in the moment for him - as if he was suddenly being uplifted from an abyss of darkness he had long found himself falling into – with a pleasant force he could barely recall having experienced before. At least for the moment, he no longer felt that perpetual disgust he had been carrying in him. It was this sudden cheerfulness, of which his face glowed naturally, that made his mother smile and bold enough to make her displays of motherly affection.

For the time being, he let Sumitra have her take - he answered, even smilingly, her questions; kept telling her that he hadn't grown weaker after all; while waiting impatiently for Bulbul to say something. He even asked after health of his mother – whether her migranes were less severe now?

Bulbul, who as he knew was looking upwards at his mouth as they sat in the car; all three of them in the front for Bulbul refused to sit in the back seat, him sitting in the second passenger's seat and Bulbul in his lap while their mother drove. He still couldn't understand what had made him behave so unlike himself, but he wasn't asking – he just went with the flow. He didn't even notice how natural his smile was, not at all forced the way it normally was with him - when Bulbul broke into their mother-son conversation to show him her school as they passed it on their way.

Bulbul was trying to strike a conversation with him. She suddenly wanted to talk a lot with him but how could they strike a conversation when they knew nothing about each other's interests? In her own eight-year-old mind, she had sized him up and instantly knew they would be the very best friends. And just the way people who have adopted a pet dog will go on watching it with admiration as it barks, tries to catch its tail or whatever other stupid things it may do; she admired his poor Hindi, his strange accent, and his laughable shirt.

Neither Gulab nor his mother talked about the things that were at the back of their mind. Sumitra was able to suppress her instincts of asking him about his step mother. Although initially there was an excitement which had kept the conversation going, soon this self-censorship dried it up.

Gulab was shown around the house and his room. He waited for his mother and sister to leave before he started unpacking.

"Will you play with me?" Bulbul was back with her question within two minutes having changed her clothes and was standing at the doorstep, almost hugging the door.

"Of course I will." He answered after getting over the unexpected pleasure he felt in being asked the childish question.

"Let's go."

"Not now. I'm tired."

"When can you play?" She said with a little disappointment.

"In the evening."

"When in the evening?"

"Four O' clock? Five O' clock?"

"Four it is."

"Deal"

"Do you play Pakdam-Pakdai in Amrika?"

"What was that pakk .. thing?"

She explained.

"No, we don't."

"I shall teach you."

"Okay, but later now I've to sleep."

"Okay," She said and left, still disappointed.

Alone, he turned to his bed with a smile realizing he hadn't felt this happy since ... forever.

A single look at the bags was enough to make him feel tired. He decided to leave the unpacking for later and was looking for his pajamas when Sumitra was back with a glass of milk. Being in a good spirit, he didn't say no to it – and took it silently and put it on the table in his room.

"How do you like your room, Gul?"

He hated being nicknamed. "Later... mom" the hesitance, because the word still wasn't comfortable to his tongue due to lack of regular use, "I am tired now."

"I understand. Just drink the milk and then take some rest." She replied smiling and left.

He sat back on his bed and sighed. So, this was going to be his room for now? Not bad. After taking a few moments to sort his mind, he turned to milk.

That desi milk. It smelled.It took some effort

# Chapter 5.

Bulbul had a lot to talk about with Sally that day, and that was what she did till four when she was yet again in Gulab's room. Gulab was initially angry at being woken up, but the sight of her was enough to melt his anger. He got introduced to Mr. Cute and entertained Bulbul by playing the strange games she wanted him to play.

Later, at dinner, he met Manohar whom from the very beginning he didn't like much.

Manohar was a fat man with a mustache, who had long forgotten to care about his appearance. He asked him random questions – which were often impolite both for him and Sumitra. Gulab believed that it was a good thing that Bulbul didn't know of her father's second marriage and that it should stay that way - but Manohar didn't have the sense enough to not ask those questions about the subject at the dinner table.

And here let me use the chance to tell you more about Manohar.

A fat man with an egg-like face in his late thirties, Manohar knew himself to be a failure in life and made no bones about it. One could say he had no fantastic abilities or luck to back him up. That shop he ran was something to fill the void in his life and contributed little to the family income. Over the last decade, the family was living on proceeds of the sale of an ancestral land.

When his wife had died three years into their marriage, people had repeatedly suggested him to marry again. He was.... shall we say too grieved at his wife's death? It was a difficult thing for him to define since he, honest as he was with himself, knew that he wasn't that strongly attached to his wife in an emotional way.

His wife was nineteen when they married for his twenty-six, and twenty-three when she died of a sudden heart attack. Marriage was arranged on the simple old principle - she was beautiful, he was rich. We might also add that she was more or less happy with their marriage despite the fact that many saw it as ill-advised. Manohar despite his drinking, bad company, and bad temperament was essentially a good man and had treated his wife well, whom at times he found a little childish in her habits. He kept on ignoring her advice to develop his business and other kinds of good-wife advice coming from her quietly till her death.

She was essentially a small creature, and the reason for his grief, as he later discovered after thinking about it a lot, was essentially the sex. It was actually the fact that he was attracted to her which had led to their marriage despite the fact that she was from a poor background. Sumitra had married a couple of years later. And after another couple of years, his father passed away and his mother had died a year after his marriage.

With three deaths within four years of marriage, the house was left empty. His friends advised him to marry again but all in vain, for he rejected all the proposals. He never gave his reasons for doing so, but over time he had come to realize, to his embarrassment, that he had found all the suggested candidates for the position of his new wife too old for his taste, their bodies too developed - their ages averaged around twenty-five.

He was over thirty.

Finally, all his friends and relatives got tired of him and left him alone.

He degraded to newer levels in his vices. The quiet in the house seemed to come to bite him every time he entered it. He hated the loneliness but he also hated the presence of his servants. Even his few friends seemed to take advantage of his miserable position - but he was too used to their presence to throw them out.

Then one day, Sumitra came along with her child and he didn't know whether he wanted the change. Either way, the change was there and it proved to be a good one. As a little girl, Bulbul had the same effect on him that she had on others - merely watching her play around was a relief to his eyes.

He was amazed at the way the presence of a child could influence the whole atmosphere - suddenly the house was not burning with old silences, a cool breeze of life blew when Bulbul was around. Merely looking at her gave him a sweet glance into the worlds that were still far away from the maliciousness of life.

He too had silently adopted the girl - he didn't usually make any gestures to display his paternal affection for the simple reason that he wasn't in the habit of doing so; still in his distance kind of caring he had adopted her.

And that was something that he couldn't now say for the boy; in Gulab, he saw that maturity – a maturity, which was just the same emptiness, a faithlessness which he found among most people of his own age including himself. So the boy never held any interest for him.

Rather, he saw in Gulab a strange competitiveness; Gulab was not wild – one could see that, but still he was one of those who won't be afraid to use all the tricks to rise up in their lives. Sumitra was tired of life and lacked the ambition to rule the house. Manohar was tired of life too, and he too didn't care about ruling or anything - but he didn't want to be ruled either.

However, Gulab looked liked one of those people who have to have everything on their terms; who would want to be the head of the house, when he grows up – and want to control, take decisions for others. Manohar's machoistic ego had suddenly shown itself. He felt that he must create a strong impression on this boy from the very beginning. This wasn't a well-thought reaction – in fact, all these observations and conclusions were made at a subconscious level and the result showed as an instinct. Thus, he ended up asking those questions that he had no intention to ask – causing some offense to both Sumitra and Gulab.

# Chapter 6.

Anyway, by the time Gulab entered the scene; Manohar had to fight another of his own demons - a demon that made him hate himself. He didn't know what the demon looked like and he didn't want to look at it, but it scared him anyway. It had first made his presence felt when he was going back home one night and he saw a girl of around sixteen running just in front of him, probably in a rush to be somewhere. Her swift movements, her braid moving to-and-fro behind her back, caught his eye and on sight of her back moving away from him swiftly, he heard a whisper.

Grab her shoulder.

The whisper scared him - he could feel his heart beating loudly in his chest, which felt heavy as if it was where the imp was seated, and cold drops of sweat on his forehead. His tongue came out to wet his lips a little, it went back having failed to do so. He stopped on his path - quickly realizing what he was telling himself to do was wrong; he could see it was a teenage girl but... _go after her, that street is dark and she would be alone._

Shaking his head - something which needed a lot of effort, he somehow managed to change his route. He stopped to rest only when she was out of sight and found himself trembling.

After a couple of similar incidences happened over the next few days, he was forced to consider the nature of those whispers. And while I use the word 'whisper'; we all, you, me and him, know it was no demon and there were no whispers. He himself wouldn't use the word - but it was the closest to what it felt like to him; something, someone inside him whispering those ideas because they came on their own accord and without any warning – as if coming from some sort of another being, a creature who had long been inside his chest but that had been so far growing without his knowledge.

If he was to have his way, he would have willed them away. But how can, he would wonder, one fight such a thing? He had no real friends and how could he talk about such a thing anyway? And it was the natural goodness of his heart - but I use those words too freely.

What I mean by using word 'goodness' for a person with such instincts? The truth is, ladies and gentleman, he lacked one necessary defect that is an essential part of all sexist people, wife beaters, rapists etc.

And this defect he lacked was that he didn't put people into categories - he didn't think that women or, for that matter, any perceived class of people in society deserved to be treated in a particular way for belonging to that class. Maybe that is why he never hired a prostitute, even when some of his friends suggested, despite the fact that it did occur to him that it might cure him of the imp; he wasn't even tempted. He didn't think that women should necessarily dress in a particular manner - not because he was a feminist; he wouldn't defend a woman in crisis. He wouldn't be defending women's rights. Many of his friends talked about how they beat their wives - he felt no need to advise them against it; still, he wouldn't easily insult any woman unless he would have insulted men for the same reason.

Maybe he was good, maybe he was not - but when he became aware of those whispers - those sudden instincts that he felt no control upon and which always caught him off guard - he knew that those were criminal, sinful thoughts and he must fight them.

They were most powerful when he had a chance to be alone somewhere around a girl walking on her own, which mostly happened when he was strolling on one of those less visited streets on a solitary walk or late at night - and so he tried to reduce those chances, staying with men a lot more and staying away from girls. It also was one of those reasons that he had kept his distance from Bulbul. Although the demon hadn't whispered around Bulbul so far, he had subconsciously acted on the doubt that it would start someday. He was right with those doubts, although it wouldn't be for years yet - and we must remember before he became a monster he was human. All this time he had some seeds of paternal affection in him – but we are getting way ahead of ourselves, we must retreat back to our eight-year-old child.

#  Chapter 7.

Having not slept properly the night before, Bulbul fell asleep instantly the night of the day Gulab arrived and it was same for next couple of nights. But soon, there came a night – as it often did, when Sumitra declared it was time for sleep and she didn't felt sleepy at all.

On such nights, when she couldn't sleep, she would lie in her bed with closed eyes pretending to be asleep. She would use that time, as many of us do, to hold important philosophical discussions with herself. This time her thoughts were, as is easy to guess, around her brother. Try as she may, she couldn't associate the boy they had picked up with the one she had seen years ago - on that evening.

That evening about which she didn't want to think, for when the memories of that day haunted her, her mother's presence beside her scared her further instead of relieving her of her fears.

Her parents used to fight a lot back then – when they all live together in States. The two children, her and little Gulab, were just playing with their toys with a somewhat self-imposed focus while internally scared at the noise of their parents shouting at each other; Gulab's eyes used to spark in that dark manner during those times, expressing knowledge of something too scary to exist – that strange, absurd idea that happiness might not be the natural state of things. Already at four years, he showed a concern for her; a desperate desire to make sure that what he felt must not be felt by her. In those times, he would try to make her focus more on whatever they were playing, take her outside, away from them on some pretext or other ...

What made that evening scarier still, scariest and most unforgettable of all her memories, was when mother came in and picked Bulbul by the arms – there was a roughness in the act, making Bulbul weep. Even now when she was lying in her bed, the image of her mother's hands approaching her under-arms to pick her up, of that anger in mother's face, made her shiver a little. The children had wept while Sumitra next moved towards Gulab - not knowing why but with a presentiment that something terrifying was waiting for them....

Bulbul heard the door open and knew that her mother entered the room. She waited for Sumitra to close the door and enter the bathroom to have a shower, knowing her mother's habits well. She didn't resume on her thought lines till she heard the noise of shower going on.

While Bulbul couldn't recall the words exchanged at the scene; what really happened was that her mother was moving out - and wanted to take the two children with her but her father had objected "You can't take them both."

Sumitra, herself furious, had instinctively opted for Bulbul, believing latter needed her more than her elder brother. Bulbul remembered staying at Aunt's house, an aunt whom she knew because she used to visit them in states. They stayed with her for a couple of days until they finally left for India.

Another question that Bulbul kept refusing to think about, and it was more difficult not to think about it now that Gulab was around to answer it; was why she hadn't seen him ever since. Her parents often video-chatted and her father often visited them but why wouldn't Gulab come home or online and talk to her?

Her parents used various excuses - he was busy with studies, he was off with his friends etc, etc. Often contradicting each other. Still, she had accepted those excuses on face value and tried to believe in the things told to her as if she was the naïve child they thought she was; because that made her happier than otherwise. And she knew she won't touch the subject with her brother either. And even now, Bulbul wanted to focus only on happy thoughts.

And she tried and tried to remember happy memories from her past - ones not tarnished by any bad things; so that she could backdate her bond with her brother. She had liked her brother over these last few days - and an old relationship, so ran her foolish unconscious assumption, would give her a sense of security about their friendship.

She heard Sumitra coming out of her shower. 'Now', Bulbul anticipated, 'she would kiss me believing me to be asleep'; at times she was actually asleep. She waited for her mother to kiss on her forehead; it was difficult at times for Bulbul to not laugh of the delight she felt when her mother did so \- though she tried her best not to. Her mother would feel guilty for waking her up.

This time though she didn't feel like laughing, she had something else on her mind – Had mummy kissed Gulab now that he was here? Who kissed him when he was in States? Papa? What if no one did? At the last thought, Bulbul felt sorry for her brother. No one feels a sense of injustice like a child does; they are still not used injustices of the world – perhaps one never should be. She tossed around a little in her bed to her mother's side. Her mother was, and Bulbul was aware of this too, lying there awake on her back looking at the ceiling waiting to fall asleep. Bulbul knew it could be hours before she would finally fell asleep.

Bulbul waited for this moment of unease to pass, meanwhile making sure she doesn't give in to the urge to toss around too much as this would make her mother suspicious, before pushing herself to the old train of thoughts – trying to remember the old days back when they lived with her father.

... but it was difficult; it wasn't only the fact that she felt sorry for Gulab – for whom her affection had suddenly increased; that was distracting her but there were other thoughts too. She had heard that conversation at the dinner table that night between Gulab and Manohar – and had guessed that papa was getting married again... to someone other than her mother, but it was unimaginable - who will be her mother's person then? It was one of those thoughts that just refuse to go away, was so impossible to fight away. She believed that everyone's life had a pattern - everyone had a person all to her or him and mother and father were for each other and since they had had children, it can't be a mistake. No, her papa's second marriage was a mistake and he will return to mom, all stories (fairy tales) had it that way - things get sorted out in the end. And the women papa was marrying? She will find someone else. There is someone for everyone.

Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts.....Like everyone else she thought with her brain, but it was her heart that decided where to direct the brain's thoughts. And feeling uneasy at these new ideas, it dismissed them and made her brain cast its net in the sea of her memories wishing to fish out a happy memory – to give to her to carry to sleep.

And so what did she come up with? Before she fell asleep; a few blurred images and nothing, in fact, solid enough except for the fight scene just mentioned, a few flashes of a game in a mall, a few times her parents took them out to a restaurant - but could neither recall the name or taste of food they ate and yes - a detail she didn't know what to make of.

Their mother used to bath them together; she once noticed his peeing thing. She noticed the difference. She never was curious, curiosity often lead to sad thoughts, so she had put the thought away in some secret file in the black hole of a drive of her memory to be recalled later if needed. The thought had sprung up now - when she type-searched 'Gulab' in her mind's memory and she quickly ignored the file once again with a slight disgust. The same thing - this memory showing up and her rejecting it will happen every now and then over next few years till ... till she found a use of it.

Bulbul felt her mother's hand patting her head lightly. She decided to wait for latter to stop this before she resumed on her thoughts, but before her mother stopped she had fallen asleep.

# Chapter 8.

The next morning Bulbul woke conscious of having dreamed about a song. She didn't remember anything about the dream. There was not much she saw in dream except the consciousness of herself listening to some song that she was hearing for first time and yet, it was like, she had always known it. (Do you ever listen to a song for first time and find it so close to your soul's music, that even listening to it feels like meeting an old friend?).

Once awake, she tried and tried to recall the lyrics of the song while her mother rushed her through morning routines – making sure she doesn't lose to her day dreams. Bulbul despite needing several calls from her mother and not being fond of routine activities was a morning person. Being reminded every morning of the reality of her own existence by the sounds of birds in their garden, the relatively cool atmosphere and warmth of her bed would fill her with joy.

She would kiss Mr. Cute goodbye before going to the door with her mother to wait for school van. Her biggest disappointment in those days was not getting to see Gulab in morning before going to school – for, having no school, he won't be awake for another hour.

Gulab wasn't to join school till next session which didn't start for another four months and so he stayed at home \- and having no other friends, he would sleep till nine o' clock.

He would go down and sit at dinning table for his breakfast where her mother would serve him food – preferring to do it herself. Though Gulab had told her that he can heat his food himself, Sumitra preferred doing it. When she had heard the news of Gulab's arrival, she had herself cleaned his room – went shopping for an almirah and air-conditioner for his room. And those little things had kept her busy for days and left her satisfied with the feeling she had done something for her son. Now though she had not much to do for him and still had all free time when Bulbul was at school and she wasn't having her headaches. Serving him meals was one of few things she could do.

She would then sit next to him while he eat and would try to indulge him in conversations.

"How did you sleep last night?"

"Want some more daal?"

"What will you like for lunch?"

"Wanna go buy some sweets from markets?"

"Let me buy you new clothes?"

His answers to her questions were polite and brief. "Yes mom" (though he did sometimes have trouble with houseflies, he hated them) "no mom" (he hated daal) "No mom" (why do these Indians love sweets so much?) "maybe sometime later mom".

If she was to insist, "But you don't eat anything" "Why not go shopping now that you don't have time?" – his face would show an irritation, and his answers would grow curt "I've had enough" "I'm not in mood"

The first couple of days she excused him on ground that maybe he is tired from journey. But he persisted in his short replies and, she gradually learned not to insist. She would talk to him about all the kidnappings of children, molestation, especially child molestation cases in the country and how it all scared her so much for Bulbul and he would nod politely in reply to such talks. But she could perceive that the politeness was for form's sake.

She had given birth to him – he had lived inside her for months and yet, he seemed as much a stranger as next boy.

She still yearned to know about his interests, hobbies, fears, insecurities, strengths, weakness, the very sound of his heartbeat. But asking her own son those questions and thus showing her ignorance about same, embarrassed her. And she knew, even if she was to overcome this embarrassment, his short polite replies won't be satisfying enough.

She hated this wall of politeness he had created around himself. For once she wanted him to overcome this wall – to be angry, even if it is at her. To curse things even, anything but this polite secrecy of his.

Now that he was done, he would either return to his room to sleep or sit in lobby and watch television. Sumitra knew that all the while he was waiting for Bulbul, at least that one thing was going good – her two children were close to each other again like... like from back when she and Shikhar were still together.

# Chapter 9.

Her heart still skipped a beat whenever she thought back to those times.

She knew she had dignified thing when she had not let her anguish show when he had told her that he was about to marry again. But over next few days, she had discovered that there was now forever in her this need to talk about her worries and sorrows, and if she didn't talk about them only then it was only because she had realized it won't help her. She wanted to talk about them with Gulab, but could see, he wasn't even remotely interested. And perhaps he wasn't the right person either. So, she tried it with her ex-husband

Then one day – about a month after Shikhar's second marriage, she could bear it no longer and called him, still believing she was doing it to have someone to talk about her worries. When she called him, it was just to have someone to talk about her worries.

"Hello Sumi, how are you doing?" He had said as soon as he had picked the call, not waiting to hear her 'hello' in return. And just like that, she felt her self-control draining out herself. Names have power – and the way he still used her old nickname, made her conscious of the power he still held over. She realised even after he had deserted her (she always thought of it as him deserting her though it was she who had asked for divorce and left the house); she still felt pathetically bond with him.

"Fine."

"How are your migranes?"

"Same"

Shikher had just one more question in the few safe topics of common interest they could talk about, "How are children doing?"

"Good. Gulab shall join the school in about a month. Bulbul is doing good."

"Has he adjusted to life in India"

"Yes. He is doing well." After this a pause followed in which neither of them said anything having run out of subjects to talk about, "I'm still afraid of letting Bulbul out of house, it is not safe in this country, you know?"

He knew about her fears and didn't try to challenge them, "I understand."

"No, you don't understand." She said anxiously, "You don't know how bad it is. A woman can't be safe here, not even a girl..."

"I understand, Sumi" he repeated reassuringly.

"You understand? YOU UNDERSTAND? YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND A THING." She shouted, "IF YOU HAD UNDERSTOOD, YOU WON'T HAVE LET ME COME BACK. YOU WON'T HAVE DIVORVED ME. YOU WON'T HAVE..."

"I'm sorry, Sumi."

"No, you are not sorry" she said no longer feeling the need to shout, "No you aren't. You still don't understand what you have done. You don't."

"I'm sorry, I guess I let you down." He said trying to calm her down.

"You don't know what the word 'sorry' means. I was ills and you.... You..."

"The conversation went on in same vein – her reproaching him by repeating statements like "it was wrong", "you should be ashamed of yourself", "you should have stopped me.", "Why I should suffer though I never wronged anyone?" and so on. And he listening to reproaches quietly and murmuring apologies every now for not being loyal to her and then trying to calm her down. After some time, she felt comforted enough – believing that now that he realized his guilt and had apologized, she could forgive him easily. Thing were now given a proper closure. She even made a casual joke about his life with his new wife before cutting the call on rather friendly terms.

# Chapter 10.

The dream of that new yet familiar song became a recurrant dream for Bulbul – she was sometimes puzzled about it and would try to recall its lyrics unsuccessfully. One thing was sure though, whenever she had that dream, she would wake up next day, extra cheerful – dancing and singing to herself through out mornings and barely controlling herself during school times.

Coming back in her school uniform, Bulbul would greet the three - Mr. Cute, Gulab and Sumitra each with kisses on cheeks. Gulab soon started growing a little embarrassed at this particular habit of hers.

Bulbul would then spend the afternoons doing her assignments, often taking his help now that it was available and talking to him about anything and everything that happened at school – about her friends, games she played with them, her teachers etc. - helping him with his Hindi while doing so by telling him meaning of Hindi words she used which he didn't know. She would pretend to be his Hindi teacher and take his tests. They spent the evening playing in the garden. Gulab taught her tennis. She would take him along, lead him to the candy shop to let him buy her candy (their mother let them, there is rarely any news of two children being kidnapped together and there was a new candy shop not two minute's walk from home) and told him about different places that fell on way.

She was surprised at herself, at how easily she could talk to him. How easily he had filled those empty hours of after-school, something which Sally had failed to do. How he never tried to interrupt what she was saying. How – unlike her mother and uncle, he always was there, when she wanted him for something. She knew having a sibling would be good, but she had no idea it would be _this_ good. She even secretly loved the way he called Mr. Cute 'son of a bitch' (though she would feign shock going 'hooo', putting palm on her mouth and suppressing a smile) or ask her to 'stop acting like a girl' whenever she acted in some way unlikable to her.

It didn't occur to her – that she was doing far more to him. That Gulab's days were emptier than hers - he had nothing to do at the moment except what involved her as he didn't go to school. She was the only diversion he had in those days. That it was she teaching him Hindi, she showing him places when he was new in country, his contact to the rest of the world.

This is the thing with people like her – that is, people who form best of the human race; hers was not a passive love. It was an active one – she was one of those who liked putting her effort in relationships; for her, the family wasn't something that just existed and could be taken for granted. She was one of those who would be on a continuous lookout for the ways in which she could help the ones she loved; instead of waiting for them to ask for it. The fact that there was something to be done for their benefit was enough motivation for her to do it. And, it was a never ending process, the more she acted in that way – the more emotionally invested she was in them.

It was for this same reason that she would sing for him. He loved her voice and would often ask her to sing for him the way elders request a child, for the prize of a chocolate or such-like - for, in his mind, he was a grown up. He need not have bargained for it though, Bulbul loved singing for him anyway.

# Chapter 11.

Gulab's way of looking at the world made him lonely even when he was with his friends. But solitude was worse. It seemed to eat into him. He would spend the day watching television when Bulbul was in school to kill time. And so was glad to have her around when she came back from school.

That is why even though he found all the stuff which she enjoyed - things she would talk about mostly childish, except for tennis, but he did go along with all those 'childish' games to humor her and could feign being attentive enough when she talked to not keep her from suspicions. Still it was something of an achievement that he should make a pretense. She was the only person he felt close to and wanted to preserve her innocence, something which everybody else seemed to have lost and, if they were anything like him, were trying to salvage through her)

But she wasn't enough. He asked his mother to get him a computer – which she happily did, it was the first thing he had asked from her and would play games on it on days as he hadn't joined school yet. Bulbul would sit there - watching him play and asking questions about things she didn't care about.

Gulab used to get excited while playing video games, the kind of excitement he didn't show otherwise. He loved talking about games and always answered her questions. She loved seeing him in that happy excitement - her eyes would glow with an affection that, to an onlooker might have appeared paternal.

He even cursed a couple of times upon losing his game which made Bulbul go "Hoo" while putting her hand on her mouth, not without a suppressed smile. Another kid could have been afraid of being complained about but he no longer cared - and Bulbul would never complain.

"You shouldn't speak like this."

"Oh, Don't act like a girl."

"But ..."

"I said don't be a girl!"

"okay" she would say and become quiet.

While he could pretend to attentively listen to all the stupid stories that Bulbul would keep telling him, he was indifferent to Sumitra – always giving her short and often curt answers to her questions, never caring to carry a good conversation with her. Mostly the questions were about his life in America, about what he wants to do with his life and other such little stuff which annoyed himher. Or it could be something similar regarding Bulbul – her habits, her delicate nature etc or how they must protect her from all the kidnappers and rapists in the street. It annoyed him how she never could talk about herself. Why won't she see herself in mirror once in a while and tell herself that she too existed? Why won't she try to have a life of her own? He remembered those days when his parents had separated better than Bulbul. And he hated her for leaving like that. He knew his father could never ask for divorce. But she was just excited to make the stupid sacrifice. He didn't like her for sacrifices she was making for her children. He felt it was pathetic of her. His father was disgusting when he pursued his own happiness at cost of his family's and his mother was pathetic for sacrificing her happiness for his family.

And because he was too nice to tell her how pathetic it all was, he acted indifferent and tried to ignore her.

One can for once fight hatred with love. But wildest winds of love must sooner or later bow to indifference. Soon, Sumitra grew reluctant even in asking him simple questions and learned to be weary of his moods. His conversations with Sumitra were now limited to necessary household things – if he had eaten food, where were clothes laundry etc. Both of them now had only one person to talk to – Bulbul.

# Chapter 12.

Bulbul was increasingly becoming aware of troubled relations between her mother and brother. She didn't know why they... her brother disliked too much but the fact that he did so was obvious by something (Her child's brain couldn't figure out what) in the very mannerisms when he talked to her (the words and tone were always polite – too polite to be used with a person one loves – as if seeking a respectable distance) And the sight of all this made Bulbul feel sorry for both her mother and Gulab – and while she was always able to recover from bad thoughts, this thing made her love them both even more.

She hated loneliness – whether in herself or others.

That was one thing that Bulbul had, even as a child, fought against. Loneliness - Sally was only one thing; in her, there was a need for company, a good company. There was a very strong need for something-to-hold-on-to, in her very nature. And this need showed up in her whole personality. Even if we forget the kisses once, she was always hugging her dog or mother, she used to hug her mother's arm when sleeping or, if not people or pet, she would still be leaning against a wall or pillar or hugging her stuffed toys.

Bulbul was social enough in her school, had enough friends and was likable to all. She wasn't too bright, though, she was what in our uni-dimensional educational system is called 'mediocre' student.

That loneliness which had given birth to Sally was limited to the time spent at home only. So, we must not be surprised if before Gulab's arrival, she didn't dislike school like many kids of her age are prone to. She even enjoyed it, at times she didn't want to come back home. It was those long vacations that she detested.

And loneliness, like all other things, is felt all the more if one knows what its opposite taste like - love is felt more when one has seen indifference, peace is felt more when one has lived through a war, rich is all richer if they have seen poverty.

Bulbul had felt it all the more too – and the knowledge of very fact that someone was lonely was enough for her to love that person.

# Chapter 13.

Gulab was one of those people whose see their self-worth only in terms of how much others admire them. Loneliness is the biggest curse for them - for it shows them how dependent they are in opinions of others.

Moreover his already weak relations with his mother had hit a new low when he had once heard Sumitra talk to his father one day. She was sobbing and reproaching him repeatedly for ruining her life. Her ex-husband on the other end must have apologized for she had retorted "Of what use to me are your apologies?" Did he asked her what was he supposed to do? For she had answered "I don't know what you should. All I know is you ruined my life and now you should make it or get suffer too in turn. He had not been able to move away and saw her repeat herself – what was point, he wondered of saying same thing again and again? The whole thing was so repulsive – how could his mother act like that?

She did calm down after a while and apologized for having made those reproaches again, that she truly had believed that she had made her peace with her fate last time she call. So, it wasn't first such call? Now he was filled with idea of having such a pitiable woman as mother. He would have liked to have to do nothing with her ... or at least, as little as possible.

Fortunately, Gulab's routine was already changing in a few days when he started talking with other children in the street. He learned cricket, a little from boys of the neighborhood and rest from watching cricket on television with his sister. She knew a thing or two about it and loved telling him.

He grew a little obsessive about the game - and proved to be quite a good player. He started going out to play with boys from the colony.

Gulab, as we can see, was doing a perfect job in being 'normal', if anything he was being too good, growing far beyond his age. You may not be surprised given that he had grown with distant father in his initial years if he frowned when his mother tried to show her affection for him. He was easier with Bulbul because he, or rather even he, wouldn't bring himself to hurt her. From before his innocence was destroyed by the divorce of his parents, he had felt that somewhat paternal responsibility for her which he wasn't able to shed away with other things he considered soft. In future, he might have felt similar responsibility and hence similar tenderness for his own children if he was to have them but the rest of the world was forever to be a bunch of foxes, hypocrites and idiots for him. The fact that Bulbul was only one for whom he felt any tenderness made him highly dependent on her as that something he could hold on to – but he didn't feel this need for someone to hold on to as strongly as Bulbul did; he had lived for years without such someone and had a social life. And dependence too thus wasn't to a point of fault.

# Chapter 14.

But what about Bulbul? Was she acting normal?

Bulbul was growing without leaving behind, her child-like innocence. Had she been in more society than the protected environment she was, had she not been used to veil herself in those delusional worlds the way she was - she too like rest of us would have already dug a grave for that child in her heart; that activity we call growing.

However, you must not think that there wasn't any progress.

Already, she felt the good days to be over again - What with Gulab going out to play cricket and leaving her alone – telling her to 'not act like a girl' when she asked him to play with her instead.

Thus, Bulbul was left to play with Sally again \- and she did, though she was realizing that something was missing in Sally. Something, she couldn't yet put her finger upon but she knew it was something important - and of her habit, she refused to give the thing a thought. It may have been the first hit, though a small one, on that castle of illusions she had been building around herself. Playing with Sally was no longer as enjoyable, Sally was no good with tennis, which Bulbul had come to enjoy.

She was no longer able to avoid the fact that Sally is but a piece of her imagination. 'It doesn't matter' she would tell herself.

Maybe it didn't, but then why then would she hide her imaginary friend from others? Earlier, before she had Gulab, in those rare moments of bliss when her mother was in good spirits she often mentioned Sally, "Sally said so-and-so" "I won't talk to Sally again." "Sally taught me a new game today." Making her mother assume Sally was a school friend

Now though she had not mentioned her for a while and it even prompted her mother to ask for a couple of times about Sally. She made up something about her leaving the city.

Still, she continued to feel the need to talk to Sally. Though now she took special care to make sure she...they were alone when doing so.

We might say it was because of Sally that she learned her first acts of deceit, though altogether harmless these acts were to anybody - these acts show that Bulbul had subconsciously learnt most important lesson one learns in growing up - that one must hide one's inner worlds and must live to wear a mask of the so-called 'normality'.

She no longer wanted to play with Sally. Often she would sit on the rooftop and just watch him play in the street, waiting for him to come back.

# Chapter 15.

Bulbul loved it when Gulab finally joined the school. They would sit together in school van while going to school and back, she ignoring her old friends for that. And here we must remember that they are still eight and ten - although one seemed and acted too younger for her age and other too old for his.

And now I must generalize his school life a little for next few years. Another year and he had joined the club and before one more year, he could force Sumitra to buy him a mobile. Add two more years and he had a bike.

Bulbul, on the other hand, was still not let out of the house alone, because of her mother' paranoia over the girls being kidnapped all over the world of newspapers. You can thus understand her wanting to accompany Gulab around. Also, it was her only chance to be out of the house. She started demanding that she be taken along to watch him play cricket with her friends and after some protest, her mother and brother let in.

However, Gulab didn't like being kissed after every small feat he achieved. It was the pleasant personality and smallness of Bulbul which didn't let it become obviously embarrassing.

Bulbul, the child she was and secluded from people, was still untouched by that social conditioning which causes embarresment.

Should we fail to understand her if Bulbul is more attached to the little she has?

No. We don't.

We must surely understand when our house-arrested child, and I insist a child, is desperately waiting for Gulab who is being out more and more; so often asking her mother when was he coming back or if she tries to make most of it when he is around.

And much like Mr. Cute, she is all ears for his footsteps; is faster than the dog to run to her brother and, in the ecstasy of the moment, give him a kiss.

Or are you questioning the appropriateness of things already?

For, all she is feeling is love, she has no idea of what form it is, has no reason to question it and is not used to asking herself such difficult questions anyway.

And, how much it could have been easily a case of siblings' affection! How was she to know the difference? Look at her when he is busy as she tries to get his attention by playing a prank on him, keeps on teasing him till he is forced to chase her down and having run around the room for a while, she is at top of her ecstasy when she is finally cornered .. or when he pulls her hair.

"Sorry ! Sorry!! Sorry!!!" she would go on still laughing - until Gulab would finally turn away, smiling to himself.

# PART II
# Part II

# Chapter 16.

And so, it is about a dysfunctional family.... A dysfunctional family, just the kind of vague, distant word we love, don't we, and in doing so, excuse ourselves from further probation. A whole lot of lives lived in constant awareness of an ever irredeemable loss – hour after hour, day after day, year after year carrying an ocean of darkness while treasuring every dew drop of a smile that may fall their way... and the reason behind all this suffering – a dysfunctional family. Hands don't tremble in using this kind of phrase, eyes run softly on such phrases and tongue uses them without feeling any sad taste. It doesn't excite any compassion and so keeps us safe from any act requiring emotional expenditure. No... that is just the thing we need ... A dysfunctional family it is and all that is happening or will follow is the fault of this dysfunctionality and tell us nothing about us, society at large. And having eased ourselves of any kind of moral responsibility we can safely resume with our story.

Sumitra, as we have mentioned before was too conscious of her absence in her children's life - and, so was too happy, to see the little of their life she got the chance to, to be able to notice the directions their lives took and we already know the reason why Manohar stayed away from the children. Moreover all she could with her time was making it sure she doesn't become one of those people who are good for nothing except talking about their own misery.

But there was no way of letting out that anguish which would keep building inside her – the fear that life was just passing her by. There was so much she had wanted to do when she was a teenager – wanted to see the world, know lots of people etc. Dreams that won't ever come true now. Her whole life had become a long realization of her own miseries. Then there was the less than perfect atmosphere in which her children were growing. Bulbul growing in a country where rapes and kidnappings were everyday occurance and Gulab, growing one of those emotionally distant people, like Manohar (perhaps arguments among parents does something to boys), people who never seem capable of being happy. And there was nothing she could do about the boy.

All this made her misery and, being angry at someone is most common way out of anguish. And needing someone to be angry at, she would target Shikhar whom she would call, when she could no longer resist it, with a fresh stock of reproaches every few days. Forgiveness, she was realizing, was not a one-time choice \- one must choose it every moment, as long as the memory of the wrong; the pain and injustice it caused; haunts the person. And she wasn't strong enough to do it every time.

And it went on for months. Once it had already happened a couple of times, she asked herself - what was it she had wanted? She didn't want to punish him and he had acknowledged his guilt, then what were those reproaches for? She had already said during her first phone call what she had to say, why this need to keep repeating it? It was as if his repeated acknowledgment of his guilt was a pill that gave her a temporary relief from her pain. But the pain, like her headaches, always returned - the anguish won't die but would raise its head again, and she always had to get another pill.

# Chapter 17.

Thus the only person who could notice any strangeness in Bulbul's behavior was her brother who we have seen couldn't help letting an occasional frown escape despite the sensitiveness for his sister's feelings.

You may say, he could have told her that it is 'abnormal' and on a later day, he did try saying it in sheer anger. If he was not doing so now than it was because he didn't want any stain on his relationships with her.

Moreover like a frog in water being boiled, he too was unaware of the crisis that was slowly building around him.

Do we tell our children these things? Mostly they learn from the environment - okay, maybe, at times we do, but it is too much of a responsibility for someone who despite his trying with some success to be otherwise is still an eleven-year-old.

And so kisses continued - good morning kisses, good evening kisses, goodbye kisses, hi kisses, kisses for no reason. Her smallness and innocent heart kept it from getting obstinate; and we can safely state that still there was no, what society calls, 'crime' in her mind. Gulab, though, was doomed to get a little more frustrated whenever there was any show of intimacy – and this frustration was accumulating inside like lava in a volcano, about to erupt at any moment.

To avoid showing his irritation, he started spending more and more time in his room and no longer sought help from his sister in his study of Indian languages.

Bulbul, on other hand, saw in him the only way to fight loneliness - for a conversation with Sally was no longer as gratifying. She took to him pretend problems in her studies - loved looking at hardening features of his face while he explained to her how to solve them. As if by coincidence if there was a type of problem which Gulab found it difficult to solve, Bulbul would bring more of that type of problems. Sometimes it irritated him, made him cold when she pretended to not have understood something he had explained many times.

She couldn't stand him cold, and fear of his making him angry would make her reluctant in using the excuse for too long at a time. Thus she was forever calculating in those moments – how long could she stay without annoying him? And these calculations would exhaust her in a way she couldn't understand.

Bulbul would always award him in her usual way \- the gesture was something that even the stated reluctance on his part won't hinder her from pursuing. If Gulab tried to avoid her by pretending to be busy or was angry, she shall keep requesting with limitless rains of 'Please', 'Pleaasse' and 'PleazePleazePleaze'.

# Chapter 18.

Gulab was able to achieve 'average' results, Bulbul on other hand was no longer able to concentrate on her studies. Sumitra was forced to act upon seeing her falling grades and for the first time, and at risk of cardiac failure for his mother, Bulbul was allowed outside her house beyond school hours to have tuitions. This would reduce time not spent with Gulab further but now she could make him take her to her tutors and back which was compensation enough. And Sumitra was only too happy to see her take her brother – for, as we have established, there are fewer cases of siblings being kidnapped and harmed.

By now ten-year-old, our Bulbul was almost consciously seeing time as divided into two divisions - the time spent with Gulab and the time spent in waiting to be around him.

The time spent around him was reducing and was now mostly limited to breakfasts and dinners and a couple of hours at night spent watching television and studying. At times she would demand that she be allowed to watch tv for another half an hour at night and since her brother was usually up till much later, Sumitra would allow her.

Even meals were cherished times for her now - she won't feel hungry when he was not around. And if she already had eaten, she would serve him - pretending to be helping her mother. She loved watching him eat, she could have loved to make him eat with her own hands.

Wait, did I just wrote 'she loved watching him eat' and then (gasp!) 'could have loved to make him eat'? Why my dear friends I think I did. Do you find it hard to believe? Do you think this there was the line and she should have checked herself now? But she is only eleven. In a certain way, she thought it was her right – as if he was her creation or at least something she contributed or was contributing to the creation of.

Do you get it? You don't. I don't blame you. It is a too easily observable emotion but is difficult to put in words.

To explain what I'm saying let us regress a little. When our Bulbul met Gulab for the first time after all those years; didn't we say they 'adopt' each other? And 'adopt' here is the key word, friends. I think you too must have had adopted someone in your life

There are times we suddenly adopt someone - someone from a party, a complete stranger a few moments before, only now introduced to us – or not even yet introduced, and yet suddenly we know we will like to and will have that person in our life - not always as a life partner, oh no, but as a friend, as a guide, someone whom we intend to guide, as a very good friend, maybe because of some particular gesture, or some particular thing that he or she does or just because of an intuition that tells us that the particular person is a good person and is incapable of hurting us; or because we know these people are going to be around us for a long time, or just because we are lonely and looking, consciously or unconsciously, for someone to company or we feel, see other person's loneliness or... a thousand other reasons.

All of a sudden and for no good reason, we want this person to do well more than we ever care for the rest of humanity. It might be a silly thing to deduct so much from a few moments of acquaintance but then, let us face it, we are all naturally silly creatures.

Arranged marriages of India where the couple know so little of each other are examples of such adoption – though not necessarily to Bulbul's degree. A new wife who doesn't much know her husband will find some sort of joy in every little habit that her husband has - his favorite movies, his favorite food, whether or not he drinks etc. The Same thing can be said about men in arranged marriages except they don't try as hard.

And what is the love for one's children? An expecting woman as soon as she learns she is pregnant will adopt her child and bring herself to love the unborn, something yet lifeless, something that is not yet somebody, something that she hasn't set eyes upon - just because it shall be hers.

The thing is when you have adopted someone; you make yourself love her/him. And with time, you come to know the person so well that you start behaving as if you somehow had a hand in raising the person - you won't say so, you may not think so but that is how you act. And if there is still some excitement left in you by that time than you can just sit back and enjoy your creation. You may like to show off and, at the same time it annoys you that others should partake in your creation - we call it jealousy, we shall see it exemplified soon ...

..... I apologize if it was too obvious an emotion for such a large regression, I also apologize if even with such a regression I have been unable to explain myself.

One thing that is left unanswered if we apply this theory is why it worked so well in our case. The answer is - for the same reason it works so often with wives in arranged marriages.

Bulbul, like those new wives, was forced to spend a lot of time either alone or with him around - her innocent heart hated solitude, and once again can you blame her? And so she wanted to hold on to the only company she had around. Children in particular like holding on to people (and things), they feel a special kind of security around the people they have adopted - whether or not such person is an adult. Have you noticed how the young ones will start crying when picked up by strangers and are only comforted when in arms of people they know? When people say, as children often do, that they are afraid of dark, it isn't darkness that scares them - it is the fact that they are no longer able to see people who presence reassures them, and that is why being able to physically hold on to something, someone's hand reduces fear as the idea of company that was lost by sight is now regained through touch. Darkness has nothing scary in it except the fear of possibility we might be alone, a fear to fight which we need constant sensory evidence to contrary.

Our Bulbul had only one person in her life who was this fully available and it was only natural to want to embrace that person or kiss him. The fear that he was slipping away made her hold on to him tighter - and this very act increased her fear of losing him further - and thus starting a vicious circle which worked only to increase her torment. Hers was a castle of sand - being constantly torn down by waves of time; she wanted to stop the time; may even take it backward a little. Already she didn't want them to grow, although she doesn't realize it, for that would mean that he would marry one day, may go away.

Was it unnatural? Let us first see definition of natural. Natural is what is created by nature or to put it another way not created by humanity. Do you know an example of an emotion created by a human? Emotions are felt by humans, not created - and almost always, as in this case, without a conscious choice.

'Unnatural' was the imposed house arrest on a little child because her mother didn't feel it safe for her to go outside. 'Unnatural' would be the efforts to suppress such emotions \- whether it is Bulbul who tries to suppress it or society.

Love is never unnatural but, artificial restraints; the boundaries put on it always are....

#  Chapter 19.

I think I got carried away in the last chapter in lecturing and moralizing. I apologize - it is a bad habit, sometimes I just can't help saying the truth. I know it is a bad habit, I'm working on it.

Anyway, to get back to the story, I guess you can now see why Bulbul was so much interested in Gulab. She had nothing else to be interested in but Gulab was too busy living his own life.

Gulab developed a taste for action movies and with time developed a habit of watching movies in the cinema. Bulbul insisted that she too must be allowed to watch them with im. Gulab thought it only fair to take her along - knowing she won't be allowed otherwise.

However, Bulbul was now developing a taste for romantic movies – she had always loved the romances of old fairy tales but now the romantic movies had suddenly started to excite her in a new way, which surprised her but also left her wanting to have more of same. It was the idea of sacrifice that caught hold of her – what made those lovers give up everything they had just to hold on to their lover.

Gulab refused to go with her to those 'stupid' movies, and so she must wait and watch them only when they were shown on television. Her insistence made by continuous utterance of the word 'please' would be met by his usual retort 'don't be a girl' – she tried her best not to, it wasn't easy.

As a sort of experiment, she tried first to write a dairy and then to write a novel – but in both cases, she discovered that she was introspecting her feelings too much. And that made her uncomfortable.

And so yet again, she was left to herself – with no better ways than biting her own hair while watching television as she waited for Gulab to come back from wherever he happened to be gone.

It didn't occur to her to challenge her mother's curfew laws but, it was around this same time that she started growing moody, extremely moody with mood swings at almost no prior notice about some other things as we shall discover in next chapter.

# Chapter 20.

Just another day, he was out all day on a school trip. He was seeing photos when Bulbul out of habit sneaked into his room. He was in a rather good mood to mind. He started showing them to Bulbul.

"Isn't she good looking?" He said pointing one of the girls in a group photo to her.

The question shocked Bulbul. She felt as if something had suddenly stuck in her throat. Unable to use it, she just nodded - not knowing why she hated the fact that the girl in the photo was, in fact, beautiful.

"Imagine her to be your brother's girlfriend." He said it with that smile which showed he was just joking.

This did it. She gave him a punch in the stomach. There was a certain joy which she got from doing so which cooled her temperament as quickly as it had risen.

"Why are you hitting me? Okay, look at this one. What do you think?"

She nodded suppressing her desire to scratch the girl's face out of the picture.

"How about me?" she asked, "Am I beautiful?" It was too spontaneous a question even for herself -as quickly on lips as was in her mind. She had never before given a thought to her own self - looks, attitude, as a sister or anything. Now, that she found herself asking the question, she could sense something so wrong in it, that she immediately decided to avoid asking herself what lead to the question, just as she had been refusing to think of so many other questions till now.

Gopal looked at her for a moment and then said as if remembering something, "Of course, not. You look like a monkey with a red face and black nose."

Now, although she knew he was just kidding and this wasn't for the first time he had made such a joke; it still pained her and too deeply- so much that she couldn't control her tears and ran to her room weeping.

"What" Gulab shouted after her "Bulbul ! Listen! I was joking."

He was shocked but didn't go after her.

# Chapter 21.

After she had cried herself out and found some sort of peace, but no, from now on - there would no longer be any peace in her – for first shadows of the night of maturity had always been imprinted on her soul; some sort of quiet in her; she came back to his room. Gulab was now preparing to leave for his club.

She came and stood leaning against the wall.

"What happened to you?" Gulab asked seeing her.

"What is your business with that? You go to your girlfriend?" Her face had an expression it never wore before this as she reproached him - everything in her little face seemed to be a little pulled towards her nose as she said it.

"You know I was kidding when I called you a monkey with a red face and a black nose?"

She nodded looking down to the floor.

"You knew it?"

She nodded again, continuing to use the floor as intermediator.

"I mean you obviously don't have a black nose. You are just a monkey with a red face."

She punched him again, this time on his forearm. Though this time the joke wasn't anything as painful as it was last time.

"Come on, don't joke on!" she said finally picking up her eyes, "Am I good looking?"

"Yes Bul, in a monkey sort of way, you are beautiful."

She started kicking her ex-intermediator, that is, the floor to show her irritation. Gulab smiled seeing her childish behavior

Her insistence bothered him. He was not used to flattering anyone if it didn't serve him a purpose. Whatever had got into her. "You are such a kid!"

That word 'kid' again started in her that old pain as if poked by a sharp pin, however, this time she was bent on getting the answer and so she controlled her tears.

"Please!"

He returned to his usual retort "Don't be a girl."

"I _am_ a girl." She answer rebellious and loud – as if challenging some unmovable laws of universe.

"Are you?" he said, looking at her as if noticing it for the first time, "I must say I'm highly disappointed in you."

"Shut up and tell me!"

"How can I both be shut up and tell?"

"Please!Please!Please......"

"Okay!" He said finally to calm her, knowing her long her train of pleases can go; "you are not beautiful; you know why. You are my sister."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Boys tend to see their sisters as if they are monkeys. It is a brotherly thing."

"Drop it now!"

"But I'm speaking the truth."

This time Bulbul nodded, too exhausted to carry on, and for the first time in her life faked a smile.

"Now go play with that son of a bitch," Gulab said as he left for his club.

# Chapter 22.

We can say that our Bulbul grew a lot in above scene. To love someone is to make the person irreplaceable in your life. And if something is irreplaceable is lost; it leaves behind a void, a big black hole in your heart – and to love, was for Bulbul, to live in a constant and anxious fear of this potential void; making her try holding on to Gulab more tightly. And if he was, say, to marry ... He would grow distant which she couldn't allow. It frustrated her to no end, that someone else should have more right on him when it was she who had ..... but she didn't know by what right was she wishing monopoly over him. She didn't know what it was which had given to her right over him, but she knew something had even if her right was not obvious to anyone. The truth was because she had been contributed so much to his creation ever since she adopted her - the words 'adopted' and 'creation' used in the sense we mentioned earlier; she won't let anyone else take the person she had invested so much in. And so subconsciously, she wanted to make sure it won't happen.

No, Gulab must be for her to keep.

But the same relationship that had brought them this close to each other; seemed to prevent them from being closer – and, so she slowly started detesting this relationship. It was from this day that she started hating the words 'brother' and 'sister' - it all started slowly. Initially, she would just have a pinch of bad feeling as soon as the words were used in their context, and slowly the fact made it to her consciousness. She knew that the bad feeling she got from these words was one that one gets when one is offended, but the question was why she should be offended.

Next, the festival Rakhi was really hard on her – it became the worst day of the whole year, although she could keep up the appearances but it was getting harder and harder running away from these questions. By now, she knew there was something weird; her denial was growing weaker and weaker.

It was also from the day of the last scene that Bulbul, the same girl who hated the idea of having to be properly dressed on all occasions, now started growing conscious of her looks. She would spend several minutes looking at herself in the mirror – twisting her cowlicks to the desired angle, happy at having done the pigtails away. And when still twelve, she had all the types of cosmetics on her dressing table and a dressing table to put them on ... And a personal room to put it all in, dresses she started wearing, dresses she learnt wearing, dresses she told herself she would grow to fit in; her hands were manicured, her arms and legs were waxed, her feet pedicured, her face facial-ed; and a thousand other things which aren't being mentioned here because of your humble narrator's inadequate knowledge of cosmetics.

And yet all this seemed inadequate – she wasn't as tall or had features of her mother - who, for most part, was her ideal of a pretty woman just as Gulab was that of a handsome man. She unconsciously compared other people with them when she wondered whether they were good looking. And thus her obsession for these things kept on increasing and Sumitra was only too excited to teach her about all that stuff – as it gave her a chance to show her love for her daughter.

It was when she was once checking herself being decorated in this manner that one day, that Manohar saw her - and heard a bitter laughter in his chest. So it had started. He feared it all along. Sweating he turned away and went to the roof – seeking solitude to calm himself.

He sat there on the roof too scared – scared of himself; scared on behalf of Bulbul and those other girls. He detested himself so much that he couldn't look at his own image in the mirror without loathing himself. Yes, he was positively scared of growing into a monster. Of late, he had started feeling angry at everyone - more often at women, he had even succumbed to misogynist remarks in anger while insulting the servant who came to cook for them, after she had been absent without notice for a few days. There was now so often a strong desire to abuse someone in him. Already children seemed to be scared of him – even if that demon didn't speak in his heart.

Bulbul wasn't like that – and he wanted her to stay the way she was. He didn't expect her to love him as a child would love her uncle – knowing he did nothing to deserve that but he also didn't want to be hated by her; to worry her in any way. He sat there, looking at the empty street on the rooftop – for the first time in years, tears managed to escape his eyes.

But that was not to go on for long. He couldn't afford to be found weeping.

# Chapter 23.

... And coincidently it was also the day Gulab started suspecting Bulbul. It so happened about half an hour later that day. Bulbul was waiting for her brother as usual, she had a habit of biting her hair looking towards the main gate while waiting, she ran and gave him the customary kiss, Sumitra who happened to be passing near the door and who was in one of her good moods, commented with a smile "you can't live without your brother, can you?"

And a never-before-seen expression of guilt or embarrassment; but neither is the exact word for she could have found nothing to be embarrassed and guilty about - formed on Bulbul's face, her cheeks reddened and she felt them hot as if she had brought her face close to fire, her arms - she used to hold Gulab's head still with her hands wheh she would kiss him; dropped and she silently walked away as her gaze fell on ground as if in fear that; something she should be guilty about - she didn't know what; could be read in her eyes.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, how to tell?) Sumitra had gone to the kitchen without waiting to see her daughter's reaction but Gulab, who was embarrassed his usual amount before the comment, had noticed the reaction especially the dropping of arms and the big blush that had shown on her face and was scared. An unbearable suspicion formed in his mind, but there was no way to confirm it – could it be? How could .. don't be stupid. But still.... What if...? He couldn't ask her if it was true; what if it wasn't? Wouldn't that be embarrassing? And OH MY GOD, What if it WAS true? What would happen? What would he do?

He didn't go after her, he walked away outside his house into the garden to contemplate in solitude the misery his twelve-year-old sister might be suffering from. For how long had she been suffering? Why had all those things had to happen with him?

Intimacy didn't come naturally to him ever since his parents' separation, it had for him, fears that he didn't understand and refused to acknowledge. And though he let Bulbul have a soft spot in his heart never given to anyone else all his life - it was still hard for him to accept her kisses. Even without kisses, some of his unease would have been there. He couldn't stand the idea of being vulnerable to anyone, and to quote Freud, we are never so vulnerable as when we are in love. And his jokes, often at her expense, and his way of talking to her, which was mostly as if she was unimportant to him, were in fact just a way of ensuring that she shouldn't realize the power she held over him. Sometimes he had wished that she should take an argument with him so that they might develop a few differences - that would have let him get rid of his vulnerability in anger, not knowing that now there was no way he could rid of the vulnerability - no matter how angry he got.

And now here she was with all her hold over him and asking for unacceptable. The very idea filled him with repugnance - and that, he believed, was the only honorable reaction to the situation.

And he started remembering how she had sometimes seemed to be flirting with him, even if one was to ignore the kisses, but he had always thought that it was just her nature and that she was like that with everyone because of those romantic movies she was into. Was there something more to it?

Seeing the gardener working in the garden, he went to rooftop instead. It was in stairs that he saw his uncle.

Manohar could see that the boy was scared – for first and the only time he felt for him, "What happened?"

They rarely talked to each other. Manohar was as much surprised at his question as Gulab was.

"Nothing," Gulab said without stopping.

Manohar knew too well how worrisome those 'nothing's can be.

# Chapter 24.

Gulab's only reaction to the situation was his further distancing himself, as much as possible without his being seen doing so, from the only person he ever felt any closeness for.

Bulbul against all evidence chose to deny elephant in the room. It was too grave a thing for her to find acceptance - in her child-like innocence, she still wanted to believe that things would sort out themselves. A happy ending must take place, it couldn't be otherwise. How could it ever be otherwise? Optimism is a general rule among young people in general – they all think that great things are in store for them and for her it was at particularly high levels.

Thus after the last incidence, Bulbul had just waited for this anxiety that had got hold of her to get over, hoping Gulab wouldn't come after her.

And she continued to act just the same in hope of a future when things would sort out themselves. She hated being called sister - or as was the case here 'sis' or 'siz'; it gave her just the same frown that she had sometimes seen on his face when she was kissing him - she had explained it to herself in that he was just like that and hated intimacy. And she felt lucky that he generally preferred calling her by the nickname 'Bul'.

Even when she had finally demanded her own bedroom, separate from her mother, it was out of this fear - she knew it was a stupid fear but that didn't help; that her mother would read her unease – she hadn't yet started associating it with what she felt for her brother, but she felt the need to hide it from everybody. Even as she moved in her new room - a big sign that she was growing up, she didn't ask herself why she had continued to kiss him when she no longer kissed anybody else except her mother and Mr. Cute who, by the way, was getting really old now.

What was she hoping for? Did she expect to be united with him? No, sirs and madams, she believed, she still believed it was a love for siblings - maybe, she explained to herself, maybe she hate those words because words like 'brother' and 'sister' had lost their shine, their power; being overused all over the world and thus couldn't describe the special bond that they had. It definitely felt like that, she was being denied something, like being asked to settle for something less than she deserved and desired. It didn't seem anything wrong to her, or made her feel guilty – though now after the big blush incidence of last chapter, she had realized that her affection for her brother was related to the unease she had tried hiding from her mother when she asked for her own room, it didn't still occur to her that it could be called guilt.

And so she saw nothing wrong in asking her brother's approval when she would repeatedly ask him how she was looking in her new dresses which had, unknown to her, continued to raise his suspicions. He didn't know what to do with them but they were there - staring at him, challenging him to look back; he was too afraid to.

# Chapter 25.

Are you blaming her, friends, her - still a child at heart? You shouldn't. If you find a fault in her than it is a fault in writing of this amateurish author who couldn't do enough justice to her. Blame it on me, but under no circumstances should blame on her.

.... But perhaps all this, all this writing, is useless. Perhaps you are already judging her. You are already feeling nausea, a disgust. Aren't you? How do I ever write for people who have already make up their minds as to what they are going to read?

I don't know what to do but, as of now, I'm going to continue on the task I have undertaken. There is no anguish like an untold story. The ghost of her character, now that some muse has given me this story, won't let me rest until I'm finished.

We know she had been going out for tuitions for a while now and upon her insistence, her brother was forced to be the one who drops her for tuitions centers and take her back. You may be wondering, and we all could have crossed our fingers and hope, that she may have got attracted to a boy and get over the crush over her brother, however, all such hopes are fated to be lost.

The fact is her sweetness was no longer as obvious, she was no longer as universally loved as before. Under so many layers of make-up she liked putting on when at home, the innocence of her smile was no longer as obvious to the people of her world who had so far felt easier just by her presence in it.

The thing is, ladies and gentleman, we all have different amounts of psychological energy, which is needed to deal with emotional aspects of our life. Most of Bulbul's psychological energy was lost in maintaining that world of illusions and denials that resulted from her family problems and frustration arising out of unmet hopes, and it left very little for anything social or academic. By now, some of her classmates had started seeing her as arrogant - the same classmates who had this far considered her most innocent soul even among themselves. And they weren't in any way to blame, for a darkness ruled forever her eyes – even when she smiled for them, she smiled only with the lower half of her face. You could tell that she was only smiling for form's sake.

And though not yet, an arrogance and rudeness soon found a way into her....

# Chapter 26.

It is difficult for us to pinpoint a single moment when we stop being children – mostly it is a gradual process just as her father visiting and talking to them less frequently had made Bulbul increasingly suspicious of her Disney World assumptions of soul-mates and happily-ever-afters, she still held fast to these ideas but those doubts were showing a true world, a world of uncertainty.

Still, in art, we look for dramatic moments, and if I was to earmark one such period in time when she lost part of her child-like innocence more than any other moment, it shall be around the time of the events that happened rather close to each other in her thirteenth year on the cursed planet.

The first of these three events was a fear - a fear born of that new knowledge; which she had been slowly conditioned into by those movies and some words of her friends and which she now understood to be the reasons behind her mother's putting so many restrictions on her - the knowledge that feminine half of human population was somehow so much more vulnerable; that her honor was not only vulnerable to her own words and deeds but that of others too; that women must learn to fear; that she could be, should feel humiliated even if she is being looked at in certain ways, if there was mistake with her dress letting showing even the slightest hints of the body parts which must be kept hidden, how she must doubt almost any man's intention that may happen to be around her.

This ulta-consciousness of surroundings that has been built in her over all these years had suddenly become all more powerful – with a chance observation; she had caught her uncle staring at her. In her innocence, she couldn't be sure if what she feared was true. Maybe he was just looking at her of paternal love, she knew that somewhere inside him was a good man; but how could she be sure?

And now she had started catching other eyes staring at her all the time - the thing was that except for a few times, the staring didn't scare her at all; the truth is she wouldn't know that she was supposed to be scared of men staring at her if she was not told to be scared. But at such times that it did scare her, she did felt being put into an unfair position, a position where she was made so vulnerable to men that she had to fear even their eyes.

It all made her grow up (growing up here mean getting used to injustices of the world), especially given that person she was supposed to be scared of included her uncle as well. She didn't felt secure even at her home, and anyway, it stops being home if you don't feel secure in it.

It all contributed to her moodiness which brings us to the next chapter.

# Chapter 27.

The next thing worth our notice happened when, one day, Gulab brought a girl home. Perhaps his suspicions had been partially responsible - but there is nothing sinister in his bringing a fellow student so that they could study together in his room.

Bulbul didn't like the fact that she was definitely good looking, Pooja, he offered her name in a customary introduction for Sumitra's sake. Pooja had come to study with him, he took her to his room.

Sumitra knowing about his American upbringing and charming personality decided to check on him on the pretext of offering tea but Bulbul wanted to be the one who should serve the tea. Sumitra knowing how stubborn her daughter could be when the subject was related to her brother and since she was always a little afraid of making her son angry, allowed her to.

Bulbul's fears were not that of her mother. Her only fear was that they could be enjoying their talk.

They were at least sitting at the table, to Sumitra's satisfaction; and not laughing to Bulbul's satisfaction. The door of the room was open.

Bulbul remains standing there after putting tea on the table, her hand on the top corner of Gulab's chair. She was staring at Pooja as Pooja and Gulab picked up their cups. Pooja noticed that Bulbul was observing her; thought that the little child was scared of the stranger and ignored her.

Bulbul was so lost in measuring her rival up that she couldn't pay attention to the conversation. Gulab must have said something, for Pooja laughed lightly. Had she have her way, Bulbul could have bitten her lips right away.

"What?" Gulab asked Bulbul seeing she hadn't left even as they had finished tea.

Pooja was more beautiful than she was - she hated acknowledging the fact even to herself.

"You girlfriend?" she asked her sister forcing a smile on her face.

You see how Machiavellian people can become when in jealousy. She wanted Gulab to say it was nothing like that. She knew she could feel better on hearing this.

Instead, Gulab finally remembered that he hadn't yet made introductions:

"Bulbul - Pooja. Pooja - Bulbul" he said moving his hands to-and-fro between them.

Now Pooja's next remark just goes on to reinforce the fact that Bulbul looked so much younger than her age \- "Your sister is so cute!" Bulbul suppressed a strong desire to make a face to her.

"She can fake appearances." - He joked not knowing how true it was.

Pooja laughed again, hiding her lips with her hands – 'witch', cursed Bulbul inwardly consoling herself by hitting Gulab on back while feeling like breaking Pooja's teeth. Oh! the injustices of the world, she didn't have a hammer in her hand!

"You two talk. I shall be back," he said picking up the empty cups to drop them in the kitchen as he didn't want his mother to join the party.

And why, you ask, didn't he ask Bulbul to take them away? This is to his credit, despite the fact that his mother is somewhat afraid of talking to him and another hundred faults, that after years of living in India; he still hadn't got used to expecting women to do all the house chores. He didn't like depending on others as long as he could help.

"So what class are you in?" Pooja said moving her face closer to Bulbul and in a voice that you use while talking to children.

And friends, we all know, love never shows itself more visibly than in form of jealousy. The more the love, the more the jealousy and the more the jealousy, the harder the punch - just as Pooja learned when; as hard as she could, Bulbul punched the nose on the face that had been presented to her with Pooja's last question. It was an impulsive thing, Bulbul could swear that the nose so presented was pleading to be punched with most persuasive voice possible.

Pooja took a moment to recollect herself but she wasn't of the kind to take one lying down. There followed a fight - not exactly pillow fight.

Gulab came in running to find a cat fight going on in his room and was left standing stupefied. A couple of moments later his mother too came in, and it was she who separated the girls.

And, then, the accusations.

"She punched me."

"She called me nosy buffalo first."

"No, I didn't."

Go guess!

"You did."

"No. I didn't you lousy little rat, you pig .."

"Don't you dare say a word about my sister?" It was Gulab who like everybody else was looking at Pooja. Bulbul checked Pooja's face for the reaction.

A scarlet mist of emotions had formed on her own face when she heard that single sentence - a desire to give Pooja an evil smile which she suppressed, a happiness for being so defended by Gulab, more happiness on the fact that he was turned against Pooja and that old frustration she always felt upon being called sister.

# Chapter 28.

Just for the record, let it be said that although Pooja was a good fighter and much bigger, she was no match to our Bulbul's ferocity, especially when taken by a surprise and a punch of second-mover disadvantage. And although Bulbul got injured a little too, it was nothing compared to the damage she did- even if you were, for once, to choose to ignore that first punch which had made Pooja bled.

She was trembling with fury when her mother who was now checking on Pooja's injuries made Bulbul apologize and instructed her to go to her room. Pooja soon left cursing under her breath but not before she had done her heartfelt duty of telling Gulab that his sister was mad. Gulab had received the information with a fallen gaze and tried to repeat his mother's apologies about Bulbul's behavior but it was useless.

It was a while before Gulab finally knocked at her door. Gulab was caught into a strange indecisiveness. Who had started the fight? Why would Pooja do such a thing? Why would Bulbul? Oh no, he didn't want to think of the only reason that suggested itself to him. He knew he would be on his sister's side anyway.... Gulab had no idea what to think.

Also, may be Pooja was responsible, you can never tell with these women. Now that was a happy thought. He had often been felt guilty for having such doubts about his sister - he had no way to confirm them; and out of this guilt he would often end up making some big gestures to show his brotherly affection to his sister despite the fact he was otherwise constantly trying to alienate himself from her and would then feel guilt for having made the gesture since, it would occur to him, that his gesture might have contributed to increasing the feeling he suspected his sister of having. His state was always changing to and fro between suspicions and guilt and back – and it showed itself in interpreting everything done by her.

They fought over it as Gulab blamed Bulbul and told her that she had _no_ right to walk in when they were studying. Bulbul with genuine tears in her eyes said she was doing what mother asked her to do and that maybe he deserved someone like Ms. Seven Pimples – oh yes, she had counted, and ...

The fight went on for a while and with each retiring in the end in anger. It was Sumitra who consoled Bulbul that day – it was a good thing she didn't have those headaches that day.

As we have mentioned Gulab was continuously swinging between suspicion and guilt. Moreover, friends, he was not unlike Bulbul when she didn't want to be left alone once again - he may not have been as connected to her as she was to him but that connection was too important for him to be broken from their first real fight. And so you must not be surprised he went to patch things up with her next day.

She had been alone in her room all this time, holding Mr. Cute in her lap, wondering whether he would stay angry at her long enough - and it kept her restless; though every few minutes, a smile would come on her lips as she would remember how Gulab had defended her.

"Did she really call you buffalo?"

"You think I'm lying. Go ask her." You see how good our little Bulbul has suddenly become in lying.

"No, I mean it was so rude of her."

She didn't reply.

"You shouldn't call a blind person blind ..." He had to stop mid-sentence as he captured the pillow thrown at her.

"Okay ... okay ... I'm sorry."

A few moments of silence as Bulbul considered and silently accepted the apology

"You know, you don't know how to judge people. I knew from very first glance that she was such a ... If you had asked me my opinion, I would have told you."

"Okay," he replied with a smile "from next time onwards, I shall seek your approval first."

"Promise," she said offering her hand. He was obviously joking - and Bulbul knew it but pretended to think otherwise.

He, not wanting to raise her anger again and feeling guilty for his suspicions, had to accept the proposal.

"Promise." he said trying to smile away the guilt of the fact that he could have such suspicions about his sister.

"You know, how much I love you." She said finally smiling and kissing his cheek.

If only she could stop that! He thought as he left her room.

# Chapter 29.

In completing the description of this episode, we must note the aftereffects. Both Bulbul and Gulab had to suffer some character assassination from Pooja. However the overall effect as far as our Bulbul is concerned was positive. We know that 'Ms. Seven Pimples' somehow.... somehow got popular in school and stayed so even when the seven pimples in question were no longer there. Pooja's parents had visited Sumitra to have a word.

Moreover, our Bulbul suddenly turned into the arrogant, manipulative girl that she was so far wrongly assumed to be because of her moodiness. And once she did become such, no one called her so. In fact, she regained her lost popularity - it turned out she could fake being an innocent soul well enough if she tried to.

But was her innocence really lost? Is a rose stained, even by blood, really any less of a rose? Does it lose any of its beauty? Isn't its beauty still there, only is now hidden? Will diamond loose it shine if you cover it with mud or will its shine be only hidden underneath? If I'm to paint a white sheet red, wouldn't that white color still be there underneath somewhere? What Bulbul in pretending to be innocent did was put a mask of another white paint over that red blot thrown on her white innocence. Increasing the number of masks that you wear – perhaps that is what they mean by growing up. For after all, as we have suggested the possibility, we are all children but some of us pretend to be like adults because our circumstances, both external and internal, force us to do so.

And she had been trying hard to hold on to her innocence; it was just that now it was becoming difficult. Even that recurrent dream of the song was unable to improve as her moods as much as it once did. Her inability to recall the lyrics, in fact, frustrated her at times. How difficult it was not to be curious! Not to ask questions!

Especially as yet another incident, which happened just a few days after the previous episode, made it impossible to deny the nature of her love.

But before we go into the scene, we need to regress a little to cover some developments missed by this inexperienced narrator.

A couple of months ago, her class teacher had asked all the boys of class to step out - and locked the door. She had then told the girls something which we need not go into details of. It was from the mentioned source that Bulbul learned about the thing. She was quiet and slow to develop her reaction which kept changing over months - first fear considering it filthy and then feeling curious, and then guilt for being curious. Until, by the end, she was a little desperate; for it seemed a little late in coming - which was followed by guilt for desperation; but are you innocent enough to ask why the guilt?

Almost all of which are called adolescent problems are the result of a civilization grown to an ugly form. Our Bulbul had been entering a new world; or rather learned such things about the old world she lived in, that it made it appear to be the new one. She felt unprepared during those days, for while they were taught about menstrual cycles; nobody seemed to care enough to tell them about sex. They wanted to think that you don't know about it. They actually go on to tell you it was a bad thing - without telling why and the value of their advice is also discounted by the fact that they; including one's own parents must have done the same thing now being called bad. This fact also leaves that frustration - for your parents have kept secrets from you (children don't like being treated as children) and have actually done things considered wrong.

The children are however learning whether or not you chose to ignore it - the sexuality won't go away; and if our great culture is successful in creating its impact than we can be sure that every new change in her or his body will bring our teenagers a new reason for guilt.

This guilt could have killed Bulbul earlier than the actual time of her death if she was not as emotionally strong as she was. Mostly she could just deny the need to feel guilt - even in punching Pooja, who in her mind rightly deserved it. However, even she couldn't help guilty about the incident now to be described.

# Chapter 30.

One night she was in her bed waiting to fall asleep lost in her thoughts. She no longer needed to keep her eyes shut pretending to be asleep, now that she didn't sleep with her mother.

They were talking a lot about sex those days - she and her friends, a few of them had their boyfriends. So far, she had been silent but a very attentive listener to those conversations with a combination of sometimes curiosity and sometimes disgust in her silent reaction.

That night, she was thinking about the thing her friend had said a few days back about her boyfriend - something about his Adam's apple being so prominent while using a lot of exclamation marks in her poorly worded comment. The thing had left mark on her and now, when she was trying to sleep, had sprung up on its own.... and almost quickly, Gulab's Adam's apple sprung up in her mind which wasn't that prominent ... Did that make him less attractive? No, of course not, it was a ridiculous thought, his was... a scene played itself for her – a scene repeated in zillions of Bollywood movies; where the hero bestows a long line of kisses starting from tip of her middle finger and not stopping before the point where her neck and shoulder meet, it was Gulab who was the hero but she didn't realize the identity of heroine until the kisses reached the shoulder blade, at which point heroine feeling tickled closes her neck to that shoulder - and this is exactly what our Bulbul did, and in doing so realized that it was she who was the heroine in this personal re-play... but it wasn't right... (And yet, she was too much excited to stop and think over morality of the thing for long)..... In another moment, she was undressing in her thoughts while sweating all over in real; something which meant she was unconsciously rubbing herself in the silly place.... she had seen him bare chest several times ... But what was there under his pants ... And like an old friend, that childhood memory image of his silly thing had shown (there was suddenly an unpleasantness in this strange experiment, but she ignored it easily in the sensual pleasure she felt - as if she was about to discover some joy of life)... The thing was small.... but it must have grown over time ... then she too was there in that image...

She couldn't go further- for an ecstasy was achieved, and beyond which she neither had inclination nor energy to go and she felt something dirty all over her bed, she didn't know how to go on anyway - 'maybe I will learn' she thought.... after lying in ecstasy of the moment for several minutes she stood up and removed the bed sheet, deciding not to tell her mother about the dirty sheet till next day. Then she threw herself on sheetless bed feeling nothing but exhausted and happy; and covered herself with blanket. Her brain refused to give anything a thought while she let her heart shower her with this delight for a few moments before she fell asleep...

# Chapter 31.

The next morning, the sound of birds chirping in their garden, brought back with itself the knowledge of right and wrong; which were so easily hidden in the darkness of the night. She woke up full of guilt and fear - how, just how dreams can become scarier after you wake up? She was sweating of fear even as she first opened her eyes after waking up, it was a good thing her mother no longer woke her up - given all that sweat and given those silent drops of tears that wet her eyes.

She still had her head under the blanket, being scared of loneliness that was the only way she could sleep - now that she had her own room and her mother's reassuring presence was no longer there. 'But why was it more comfortable under blankets?' she had once wondered, What kind of (psychological) satisfaction is driven from it? 'We surely aren't much safer under blankets.'

'No, we aren't' she had concluded after giving it some thought 'but through the warmth of blankets we fool our bodies into believing we aren't alone.' The only true misery, the only true fear for her was being alone.

After staring absentmindedly at almirah which happened to be in front of her as she sat up - quite unable to recollect her thoughts; she raised herself weakly from her bed and moved absentmindedly to dressing table - for some subconscious reasons beyond my guess. She raised her head to look at herself and found two scared eyes looking back at her - yearning to look away, away from all this, away from herself, away from all life, away into an escape into.... into some black box, by living in which she could shut the world out.

Yet those two eyes in the mirror were drawing her in – telling her the realities of the ground she was standing upon, in a tone which moved to and fro between taunting and sympathizing.

This was the point when she first realized she might be on the wrong path in regards to her feelings for her brother, till now she had managed to lie to herself, to bring herself to believe that there was nothing dirty (Indian word for 'sexual') about her love for her brother.

Suddenly that absurd, unseen concept of 'society' that existed only in books like... like potassium nitrate or ozone layer or Babur or cyclone; had now shown up, springing up its ugly head in her life. No, 'society' was no longer that intangible thing that people talk about while it still stayed subtle; for now, it showed itself, though refusing to be understood and understand. Never listening to Bulbul's begging but commanding, forever commanding her on rights and wrongs.

It would from now on show itself everywhere in her thoughts, even as she sought to work the question out in the privacy of her bed; it showed itself and told her it was wrong; WRONG, WRONG, WRONG, it cried .... but why? And it, the society, won't help. It won't answer the whys. What was she to do? But she knew she couldn't even consider what this social opinion, with its god-like control over her life, would suggest her. It told her whom to love – love people but people that are not too far from, nor too close to you. Your love to a person should belong to the category prescribed.

'But does love come in categories' she was later to wonder, 'Is it not one same love showing in different categories for different people? The same quality but in different quantities?'

In her small and locked room, a young girl of an innocent age was forced to start looking, again and again, for answers to questions which generations of the wise people had feared to face. But when has head ever satisfied heart with its answers? Of course, she was doomed to fail each time.

She decided to think about this later, and from whom, after all, was she to seek advice?

We don't know which pair of eyes - those belonging to our Bulbul or those belonging to the girl in the looking glass, which pair pitied the other; but both of them wept.

She reproached herself and reproached herself again after reproaching the world for a change. Why wasn't there anyone to help her; to warn her? Why was that fall so natural and how could something so natural, so beautiful, be evil? Yet she hated herself for having those feelings. Years of that conditioning that you and I call socialization and which she like each of us had gone through, had created in her those very same illusions which whole society suffered from.

A war was going on inside her and she felt sick. Maybe, she wondered, this affection was sickness; she felt something being sucked out of her throat, she fell on the bed once again in pain - it lasted only a few minutes. It was a disgusting thing – what happened last night..... but she liked it, wanted it, more of it ... Was she a disgusting person? ... She felt her body too hot as if she was in a fever.

Somehow she recovered and, at that too, within a few minutes; enough to at least put up the appearance of a healthy person.

# Chapter 32.

She showed her mother the sheet, still afraid that later would read through her crime, and now there was no joy to accompany it. Sumitra made a stupid face as she patted her daughter's face - thinking about how to handle conversation and feeling guilty she hadn't already told her about it.

"Don't worry, I know ... My class teacher told us." Bulbul said relieving her and deciding her mother was a bad person to talk about her feelings for her brother ... but then with whom would she talk to?

Thus there was a feeling of cluelessness - She and her friends would often talk about the things amongst themselves but each of them was hardly better than the other. To add to that is the fact that you have always been taught not to follow your instincts if they 'look' bad - not to even talk about them.

Bulbul also fell into the moodiness of her age-group; now angry, now happy. There were moments when she felt alone - terribly alone even though she might be surrounded by people... It is the quality and not the quantity of company that matters - a single person with whom you can share what is in your heart is better than a thousand with whom you are to merely maintain appearances.

Sally was a welcome listener but she never had any advice to give - other than to ask her to do what she really wanted to do (as against what she herself did to keep up appearances). And now Bulbul had long realized that Sally was a mere imaginary person - it was now only out of habit that she talked to her.

With whom could she really talk about it? Not her family, not her brother, not her teachers. The world is a stage, she realized, and they are too busy playing their roles - if you want to talk about the things they won't advise you what they really feel but what they as parents or siblings or teachers are expected by the society to advise you.

That leaves friends but we have seen that they are as clueless as you are - and they must be hiding things too, just the way you are.

Secrets make you lonely.

A little later there comes a stage when grown-ups stop assuming that you don't know about these things - and want you to behave in a particular manner, very much against your instincts. Although now it is too late; the fact remains whether or not you consider teenagers' obsession with sexuality right or wrong - you can't choose for them. They will choose for themselves.

And if you can't stop them from making choices, the right thing obviously is to help them make informed choices. It is a crime to be responsible for children - whether as teachers or parents; and not to guide them with an open mind. As to informing....

But hey, I'm deviating again. I don't even know at what point did I left her thoughts and started moralizing like an idiot. I must stick to the case in hand.

Here, it must be noted except for one obvious difference that her love, her only love, was more forbidden than others; there were not too many other differences in her when compared to others of her age who were in love.

The forbidden nature didn't alwayd worry her as much as much it could have - for, as we know, since her parents' divorce she had developed a natural habit of avoiding the questions that didn't please her; and most of the time this habit was effective in this case as well. It had grown into being an instinct. Of course, the questions you ignore grow into demons, which over time slowly eat into you. These demons keep on growing bigger until there will come a time when it is impossible to ignore them.

We have seen her turning moody, we have seen her becoming manipulative, and we have seen her turn arrogant.

And this restraint was not perfect. She was already finding it difficult not to question those emotions. She would have fits of hysteria - she would retire to her room, trying to keep everything secret - not answering anyone for some time, much like her mother had been doing all these years. Sometimes she would offer an excuse of studies or headaches, at other times she just stayed silent until people would give up asking. This wish to be alone could be prompted by very little things that sometimes didn't even involve or mention Gulab.

The kisses that this far she enjoyed giving suddenly became painful; a pain she nevertheless loved having - there was also that another bitter pain, one that she felt when she would notice the frown when her brother failed to hide the repulsion at what she was doing. She would put it down to his bad moods or his general dislike of intimacy. At times he tried to stop her mildly but she simply ignored him.

Moreover, the servants had started talking - Bulbul had noticed, they must be talking, telling each other how wrong it was. She could almost see them talking in her mind. A couple of times they even advised her, telling her that she was no longer a child. 'WRONG!' the ugly the ugly head of society would yell to her in them.

She now made him take her to the temple far more frequently than before. She would pray to God to make things happen - but how was even God, assuming the oldie's existence, to solve the problem? She didn't want for these feelings to go away, no, that would not be, she loved having them - and yet just a few moments later the very thought was disgusting to her.

Now she was praying her palms brought together in front of her breast; but even as she did so some image, some endearing memory relating to Gulab would show up in her mind, she shut her eyes more tightly as if that could fight those images away, but the image won't be fought away, and she would feel week, finding hard to make sure that tears shouldn't show on her cheeks because she won't know how to explain them – for Gulab was standing not too far away. "Bul" she heard Gulab from behind. He was getting late.

"Come on, we are getting late" she heard him say. How close he was, yet how far. She could kiss him on cheeks and yet his lips which she felt a yearning for, were too far – out of her reach. She nodded and managed to say 'yes', as she opened her eyes now in some control. She looked at her god still scared – half reproaching and half pleading with her eyes in a melodramatic fashion before she turned away.

The idols saw her do all that. Impossible as it may sound, stones didn't weep.

# Chapter 33.

We must note here, until that first fantasy, there was nothing sexual about her love, or at least she wasn't aware of it. After that, it became too late. let us then question ourselves, since we, here, are all so used to be drawing that line between right and wrong, when, exactly when her love had grown something to be guilty about? At what point in time she became criminal if that was a crime?

After that first fantasy, she had tried to fight the next ones but it was useless. She couldn't sleep without dreaming one first – some scene from some movie or something; and if she wouldn't sleep, her thoughts would still wonder around him.

It had grown to have a personality of its own – this idea; this love. It made her beautiful, the love did – if beauty is defined as an attribute of the soul rather than the body, it did. How am I to describe the beauty of Psyche raised by Love's first stolen kiss?

Even in her case, where it feared its name, its very existence – love refused to stay submissive all the time. At times it troubled her, tormented her with questions; at others it asked, pleaded to be denied, rejected, killed by the beloved – for it found a death at hands of lover much more bearable than living when ignored by beloved.... And there were times when like a great friend, it would just ask her hand – she was always too delighted in those moments to refuse, and make her dance. The dreams it whispered in her ears and the tender tingling with which it so frequently made her laugh were enough to make it all endurable; at times even more than worth the pain.

And those fantasies were just a part of this dance.

Her heart gave her joy, society gave her fear.

And let it be said friends, no matter what the guilt, worries or anxieties she had to go through; she always - except for a few moments of despair, loved her love story.

In trying to justify herself, she told herself that she wasn't hurting anybody with those fantasies and so she can't be wrong in having those dreams. And perhaps she was right in thinking that. What she didn't know was that it was a slippery ground she was treading upon and we all know how much she loved skipping steps.

...... Moreover, this justification still didn't answer those inner torments. We thus have a stage where she felt a need a whole back story for those dreams. Since it is always a bigger joy to be found by your lover rather than seeking her/him, she dreamed of a scene when Gulab would come to her, madly in love with her and confess it while fearing her reaction. She, of course, would be the greater person and accept his love telling him she didn't care about society as long as he was happy.

Although she always knew she had constructed those dreams; a few real life elements that were changed for dream construction stayed in her mind in changed form. She thus believed that she would accept his proposal if he, instead of her, was so madly in love for other. This hypothetical observation gave a great amount of relief to her – as she thought if she could, he would too.

However, our mind works in strange ways. The observation became so central to her actions over next few years, that there would come a time when what was there only in her mind and what was real would jumble up badly – when she would act on the subconscious assumption that Gulab was aware of this hypothetical observation.

This assumption was instrumental in her confession to him. However we are getting a little too far ahead of ourselves –once again, we must go back and track the developments we have missed.

# Chapter 34.

It took some time for Gulab to rebuild his reputation in school. However, he was foreign returned, with an American accent, tall and handsome. And he did compromise with his habit of helping the naïve ones – starting to believe that anyone is as old as he is, should be able to understand that one can't live in this world without being hypocrite. Moreover, he was a womanizer.

He did though keep his promise with his sister. The problem was that no girl in the whole planet seems to fit Bulbul's high ascetic standards. Radha had a weird nose, Sameera had a funny tooth, Sanya talked too much, Rekha was gossip "and don't even get me started over Aditi"; whom he had praised most before introducing her to his sister.

No one is perfect as saying goes but with each passing day, Gulab's faith was losing more and more, giving more ground to that suspicion that had shown itself to him.

In Psychology, there is something called the Westermarck effect, or reverse sexual imprinting, the reason because of which people, who live in close domestic proximity for the initial few years of their lives, become desensitized to sexual attraction towards each other. Perhaps the fact that Gulab was older when they separated meant that he was desensitized before they were separated, but Bulbul wasn't. With Gulab, this effect and fear of loss of social honor were in full force to bring that old disgust that he was always feeling. He was never to be able to think of such an idea without repugnance as most of us might feel.

And this suspicion and uncertainty were combined with his unease at being so close to her. It must not be forgotten that he was coping with his own teenage problems. He was curious about sex but couldn't stand the idea of emotional closeness to another person. Thus, he was attracted to girls who thought likewise - who seemed to be seeking an adventure rather than one of those romantic girls dreaming of their happily-ever-afters. He avoided these later as the idea of someone being emotionally dependent on him was as disgusting to him as his own dependence on someone else. All the options he had suggested to Bulbul were of girls who, like him, were seeking a sexual adventure \- and all those flirtations were just means to approach the end. If he was to get into a relationship with any of them, they both would secretly know that the promises of being together, which they were reciprocating every other moment, were lies and that very soon one of them will probably desert the other.

Anyway, it was this unease of his at closeness that caused the next argument.

It happened when, by then, sixteen-year-old Gulab finally made up his mind and told her to stop those kisses. "But..." she started, tears in her eyes - those kisses were the only consolation left to her in her own uncertain world. "No" he interrupted in a furious voice; wondering how quickly can she bring on those tears. She looked at him as if wounded, expecting him to take his words back. He didn't answer but looked away.

Finally, she replied in a disgusted "Whatever" and left.

This fight didn't last long. Yet again it was he who initiated the effort to patch things up, a couple of hours later when he couldn't bear the fact that he had cause pained his sister.

"We are grown up, you know - it must stop now."

She had her back to him and insisted in a weeping voice to "go away" And buried her head into Mr.Cute's neck who was lying submissively in her arms, dog's fur had wet spots created by her tears. She was glad she had him – fortunately one never gets too old to kiss a dog.

Gulab repeated his last statement.

"Why? Are you embarrassed if your sist ... I kiss ...." but she was too ashamed herself to put the thing in words. The act didn't embarrass her - it was pure, natural, even poetic but when you were made to put it in words; that, that is when she felt ashamed. There is perhaps a culture of shame embedded within languages we use.

What she was saying was, in fact, truth - as far as Gulab was concerned; and he had felt guilty just because of this - when put that way and more importantly in her innocent desperate voice; it sounded like a just accusation. Yet again the guilt started suppressing the suspicions.

"But it is not seen as appropriate." He said trying as much to reason with himself as much as with her. It was an argument with some substance. He knew people had started frowning upon this habit. He particularly didn't like the way he had observed Manohar staring at them while she was doing so.

"Then go to hell. I won't talk to you."

How did that follow from what he said? "Bul, try to understand."

To keep it short, despite his trying hard to convince her she stayed stubborn - and, in the end, he had to give up. And the meeting ended with another kiss from her.

The whole argument produced no direct effect except that it did occur. Bulbul who couldn't afford lose her most precious moments decided to cut on them anyway - as a precaution.

Her precautions were useless. By next year, he found a way to avoid her anyway - by joining a college in a distant city.

# Chapter 35.

Gulab was now out of the city for two weeks at a time - home only for two days every other week. He was out for twelve days at a time. And each of these days had twenty-four hours in them, each hour had sixty minutes and each minute had sixty seconds in them. Out, without him, our bulbul waited a whole life in each of those seconds.

It was almost two years now from when she had finally come to accept the fact that her love for her brother was not the type that it was supposed to be like. And the fact itched to move over to her lips, to be told to his ears which seemed so large whenever she kissed his cheeks.

Yet, she controlled herself, afraid of that shame she had learned as a part of her growing up. And although it was Gulab who had objected to those kisses, she too had been feeling a certain pain in them - they were like life support given to a patient with no chance of recovery - and thus only serving to increase her pain. And yet, some strange hope, some strange momentum which keeps us all living despite everything, kept her going too.

It was not that she didn't think about suicide \- such choices had to be made every time when she felt guilt just after she had fantasized about him after waking up every day. She kept rejecting these thoughts for she didn't want to hurt him and Sumitra by doing so. 'How could I?' She asked herself about her little acts and found no answer. All she could do in such moments of guilt was to toss her head and bury it into her pillow, trying so desperately to get him out of her mind ... Or cuddle with Mr. Cute, and holding it was a big consolation for her.

Sometimes she considered this whole feeling a mere disease but then, by what definition and in what form, was love, not a disease'? In fact, she did catch a physical fever very much like love or was it rather one of the love's off-springs?

It happened a few days after Mr. Cute's death. The dog had died of old age after staying sick for a few days. Bulbul had cared for it like one should for a good friend, constantly praying like a child for it to get well, kissing it more often. Unable to see her in such torments, Sumitra made its Veterinary doctor to give the dog the 'injection of death'(Sumitra's phrase) – secretly when Bulbul wasn't present of course, for she would never have allowed.

Bulbul had wept over Sumitra's shoulders since Gulab was not there. The grief of the death in addition to not having Gulab around was way too much for her. She remembered how Sumitra bad gifted it to her and had given it the funny name for her when she had failed to decide on one herself. Soon she got ill.

She caught this fever and it went on growing inside her - without coming to her notice, as was the case was with her love. At least for a while, she had put on a brave face, as when she had to accept the idea of Gulab being out of the city. It may sound strange to someone with our knowledge of her secret life, but no one would have thought during those days that she was missing her brother.

When she finally noticed weakness, in herself, she still first chose to ignore it; and then to fight it out all by herself - all things similar to that larger disease but both fever and love got better of her. Soon she was unable to move from her bed. Medical help was taken. Her body temperature had stayed high for days giving her massive headaches.

The doctors ran a scan on the head and found nothing. They were unable to locate the root of disease – the thing is that they were far up North, off the mark by a foot. Had they scanned her heart they might have found something - but she didn't tell them about its pain and why would she? She needed neither injection nor oral medicine; it is through eyes that we get medicine for the heart.

And she did get it. Gulab came back home three days earlier than usual, the concern about her health showed on his face as he asked Sumitra about Bulbul's health. She could hear them speak – as they were standing at the bedside. Even Manohar uncle was there looking worried, thus completing the little family union. (Bulbul had actually felt something like happiness for a moment, when she had seen her uncle worried about her.) She was pretending to be asleep not wanting to speak to Manohar.

In his worries and of guilt for being suspicious, Gulab's voice came out as too scared – an observation Bulbul enjoyed but that was nothing to what happened next. For caught in those torments, Gulab made a rare gesture of affection as he went ahead and kissed her on her forehead believing her to be sleep.

Oh! How hard she restrained her smile, to maintain the appearance of being asleep. It might sound like too romantic but the fact is that inflamed by a certainly stupid optimism brought by this unexpected gift, she recovered quickly over next couple of days.

She was happy in that moment, yes, but now all her happiness had been strained by the knowledge that it would end.

# Chapter 36.

Let us now pause for a moment and take a look at our Bulbul - but there is something that you must understand. With all that you come to know of her; you would wish to start judging her - and I don't blame you. Reading back, I see those words have may give enough reason for you to justify any of your judgments of her nature, she is beyond judgments.

Even with all those tactics she had been using and would go on using - in fact, let me go out and say it, till the very day of her death; there shall remain in her an innocence. I use the word for lack of better one. Let us assume innocence to be shiny moon like a plate which is corroded by the atmosphere of reality and life; until it loses its shine. Now although it is a true reality had hit her harder than rest of us, it is also true that her innocence was so far shinier than rest of world that ever till the day of her death, a part of her shall always shine of that innocence. This innocence shined out in mornings even when that big ugly mouth of society made her feel guilty. For though she slept to the music of fantasies about Gulab, she would walk up with consciousness of that redcurrant dream of song which she had by now subconsciously started associating with Gulab.

She was growing a little, although not much; she stopped at five feet one inch (or as she would insist, it was five feet two inch) - we already know she had grown very particular about her looks, she is not particularly beautiful, to be frank, is, in fact, skinny, but she was good looking enough and had a beautiful singing voice. Although she would no longer start singing suddenly to herself absentmindedly while focused in her work and had long stopped sitting on the floor, skipping steps or dancing madly as she did before – she trained her limbs not to lose themselves in the music. There was no longer that music in her or perhaps that music was killed by discipline forced by life, as often happens with people.

Still, she had started taking singing classes upon her mother's insistence who thought his daughter needed a diversion away from her dog. She enjoyed those classes. She loved how music, a certain note, a certain phrase thrown musically into the air could fill the whole atmosphere with what you feel. She found the whole thing delightful, empowering in some fashion. It would kill her loneliness for some time - for loneliness she realized wasn't only lack of company but a hostile atmosphere as well, and music had the power to change the atmosphere. Music, to her, was general indiscipline of notes; created by a rebel –wishing for an anarchy. And anarchy, even its vague suggestion in music, brought her a false hope that present ordered state of things didn't. At times, she would actually get excited with this hope. Her innocence showed up in such moments of excitement and in those moments she even made a friend - Divya.

Divya was four years older than her - and gave music tuitions. She herself didn't have a great voice; had made her peace with the fact that she won't ever be a great singer but this didn't stop her from living in world of music as far as possible. Her family was not resourceful and so she took to teaching musical classes in the same institution she had learned from.

Even when she first saw Bulbul, Divya could see hiding somewhere deep in her heart, a sorrow too big for her tender self. Divya would have adopted her even if she didn't have as good a voice - and here is my evidence, my dear friends, that when Gulab was not at the stake and when feeling some relief, she still retained her child-like innocence that made people quickly caring for her. That cat fight was more of an exception, not something you expect from her.

Bulbul had the best voice among Divya's students - as enchanting as Bulbul, the bird; and the movements she could bring in her voice so easily, Divya believed, could only be captured with a lot of mechanized practice or a deeply, really deeply felt sentiment; a feeling almost surely of loss; for when did fulfillment, a satisfied heart ever created those shivers which Divya found naturally, almost playfully occurring in her voice? Those shivers could only be created in cold atmosphere of a heart that had an ocean of tears in it.

No, 'playfully' is not the word, Divya thought to correct herself - those movements might have been created with ease of someone playing with her voice but she never saw Bulbul singing playfully, as is the habit with girls gifted with a singing voice at her age. Instead, she wore a no-nonsense face when she sang which always grew more and more gloomy when the song progressed; she would seem to get better every second in each of her song; putting more and more of her life's effort in – no, not in singing. Her face would make you think she was putting in a lot of effort – as if trying to solve a strange riddle; her eyebrows contracted with a worry line bisecting her forehead and her eyes looking oblivious to the word around. There were no moments of hands as is the case with singers trying to stick to right notes – her hands would stay held in front of. Her face was the only thing that registered the efforts and expressions; the rest of body would be still – as if deserted by her..

The effort was there, but not in singing; her singing was as effortless as that of a bird. No, the effort, Divya had seen on her face was not about singing, and she knew it – in fact, it so seemed that song was only a side-effect. The question was what that effort was about. What unfathomable thorn she was trying to pluck out of her heart with such effort? What was she trying to do when those songs left her lips? What was this that was troubling the child?

After she would be finished, she seemed exhausted although a lot more cheerful - she would even give Divya a tired smile. It was in those weak moments that Bulbul allowed herself be attached to Divya. After relaxing for a few minutes; and Bulbul would become excited and talkative. Divya asked her what kind of music interested in her in one of their meetings.

"instrumentals."

"instrumentals?" Disvya laughed, "but you are a singer. And there is no singing in instrumentals."

"I Know." Bulbul replied and wanted to end the conversation but carried on politeness sake. "They seem to have got something right – I mean the best of them. The best of them are far better than best of word songs – for they leave one with the feeling; without restraining one's thoughts by talking about particular subject and thus limiting one's thoughts to those very words." And on seeing Divya was all attention but unable to understand, Bulbul continued, "It is like they know music are not about words or people or stories, they are about feelings. Focusing on only lyrics does to music what translation does to poetry"

"But you are a singer" Divya replied, measuring her each word, not wanting to seem argumentive, "all you can give to music are words."

"I know." Bulbul said, "but I want to do it such a way that words don't inhibit songs to meanings or do it as little a possible. Rather I want my words to be servants to the music; helping it enhance the feeling."

"So you are saying" Divya said after a pause, "that is should be instrument players who should be center of attention and singers should be in background?"

"Yess" Bulbul said excitedly "You can say it that way. Conjuring of feelings is what I want, not just beautiful phrases or lines."

Divya smiled and already they were friends.

They talked about music everyday. Left to herself, Bulbul would have only sang sad songs of unrequited love, but Divya using authority of being a teacher and friend forced her to try different type of songs. Her best, though, continued to come out in sad songs only.

Bulbul discovered to her surprise that merely singing a song filled her with the feeling contained in the song – assuming, of course, it was a good song. And singing other than sad songs needed lesser effort. And she was grateful to Divya for this discovery, they would spend the evenings talking about the music long after Divya's classs was over

They became good friends, although Bulbul always kept her secret from Divya. Divya; despite knowing that she held in herself a secret; never tried to get it out.

And yes, the voice seduced with its pain - when on Divya's and her mother's encouragement; she sang, against her wish, in front of school audience; she started getting her admirers.

# Chapter 37.

There were, in fact, confessions of love by her classmates - and why shouldn't there be? She was fifteen now.

Gulab, who now supported a goatee, had kept visiting Bulbul frequently over the days following Mr. Cute's death And her illness. He felt weird calling the dog son of a bitch after its death. If it wasn't for Bulbul he wouldn't have believed that anyone can mourn a pet's death so much. She mourned, mourned as in easily vulnerable to weeping, for a whole month even after she recovered from her sickness – it was a good thing that it was vacation time.

Even though he always knew his sister was the only person in the world he cared about, Gulab was still amazed at heights he could go to, just to make his sister smile. He used to make several jokes, play pranks to cheer her up.

However, once Bulbul came back to her good moods; his suspicions returned too. Those suspicions had kept eating him from inside. And the negative effects were showing up. Over next year, he stayed lesser and lesser at home. He had become heavily addicted to smoking and drinking. His health deteriorated and he even failed to make it to the college sports teams.

For almost one whole year, Gulab kept persuading himself that even if it was what he feared, it was a passing thing - and that as long as it wasn't acted upon or wasn't put into words, it wasn't a crime - and after all he loved his sister and wanted to see her happy; he eagerly waited for that time in future to come. He even tried his best to make it come sooner.

He would ask her in jest if she had a boyfriend positively wishing she had; and when that didn't work he would mock her for not having one, wishing she would take it as a challenge – "I thought so, with your monkey like ways, I didn't have much of expectations." And you had to be a fool not to notice the sadness in that smile when Bulbul threw whatever happened to be in her hand at him.

However; none of this worked. Those kisses were still there to be and his disgust was building too. He couldn't now help cringing at the very thought which suggested itself every time Bulbul wanted to kiss him; until at one point this disgust made it to his lips, "BUT WHY WON'T YOU STOP?" She was quick to throw her gaze down; but even as she did so something passed from her to him; something that shouldn't have passed - so Gulab thought; something that was a world destroying failure. And his disappointment only served to further strengthen his anger, he pushed her away.

He left the house and she ran to her room sobbing - they both knew there was a finality in the argument this time; too much was exchanged in those silent moments for the things to remain the same any longer – and, at least for the moment, neither was trying to keep the appearances.

# Chapter 38.

It is true that for four and a half months he hated her, actually hated her - didn't take her calls, ignored her messages. He even stopped visiting home during holidays and became extremely moody. His studies were so affected that he could have been thrown out of college because of his low grades. It was only because he wanted to stay in the college and thus away from Bulbul that he studied.

It is in this period that he had first sexual adventure of the kind he was long seeking. He had taken to frequenting Disco clubs, the music in such places was too loud to be music and became just noise. And he loved noise as it overshadowed the noises in his mind that seemed to be loudest in the late evenings.

She met Alisha in a Disco club and, from very first moment, he knew that she wasn't looking for more than a fling. So much that the customary confessions of love and vows to live together seem redundant – why, he wondered, one must go through all the lying? The relationship was of no interest to him and was just meant for fun, and yet he found himself in frequent arguments with her. Except for first couple of days, it seemed more exhausting than fun.

Yet, when she deserted him for another guy, there was a big argument in which the two exchanged curses. What made him so angry? Partially because his ego was hurt upon being deserted, even though he intended to desert her himself - that was the obvious reason. Partially, he realized later when thinking of what had made him so angry, it was because he had always hated her \- and she hated him back, the hatred had developed when they were telling each other lies and not trusting what the other said. And he understood that the only way he, or perhaps anyone, could be close to someone, have sex with her while trying hard not to fall in love is by developing hatred for her. Not the active, conscious hatred - but the kind of mild hatred that one has for competitors. For the act of sex involved passion, a strong emotion to fuel it. And thus you must be the one deserting the other person or your ego will be hurt. It is better that you are the one hurting the ego of another person.

And so, that is why, he realized, his friends who were adventure-seekers like him, always talked lowly of their girl-friends, ex-girlfriends, and ones they could like to have a relationship with, behind their back. It just made it easy for them to have sex without having the emotional bond. The realization didn't worry him - because he was always going to be only dealing with women, who given enough time would have done the same with him.

The last reason for his anger was his suppressed frustration over the Bulbul issue which took outlet of anger over his one-month girlfriend. And that is why he wanted to find another such girl soon – go through all those exhausting arguments all over again, anything to keep his mind away from her.

# Chapter 39.

Bulbul? it was a miracle that Bulbul survived this period despite having everyday considered option of killing herself.

She survived because she told herself, she could get better of it, her love - but wait, from among a thousand feelings that this single word may be used to describe, we must figure the strongest meaning that explains her feelings because only then we will be able to understand how her next actions affected them.

It wasn't a mere crush, for she never got over it. Maybe it was a desire to possess, or rather a desire to retain possession. She had turned to lowly tricks when she saw her possession first threatened in form of Pooja. Yes, she had very little in her life - no father all her childhood and a mother who was hardly around for her. Thus she had become possessive of what she had - not only people but also things. Her room was full of toys she no longer played with, clothes that she had grown out of years ago, books she hadn't liked reading even when she was taught through them in school etc. She hated parting from things, even the things she hated. They were valuable to her simply because they were hers.

The problem is that we have come to consider being possessive as something of a wrong quality - but what is being possessive? Isn't it merely inability to let the things go because you are emotionally attached to them?

That is the problem with words - they are all a bunch of clichés and always attract a prejudice.

No, let me tell you the truth. The possessiveness, in this case, was an effort to save the world as it was - Gulab lived at its roots, and even slightest change in his position was enough to shake her world. Over time, he had come to be the air she breathed in. She loved him, loved him, and loved him so completely - the shape of his hand, the tight cheeks, his laughter, the way he looked down at her smaller self, everything. She loved him when she was angry at him, she loved him when she hated him. She had started loving him before she knew the meaning of word 'love'. If he was to slap her and she was to look back at him in pure spite; even that pure spite would not be an ounce other than pure love. Even if she was to kill him of that spite, she won't want to part from the dead body.

We can thus conclude that even when she knew that he hated her for those few months, and when she decided to try and get over him, whatever means she would have used would themselves be full of her love for him, and inflame it more. It was a pure business of fighting fire with fire.

Still, she positively tried and tried with all her energy. By the end of a month, she had a boyfriend.

She had rejected them all, the proposals she had got till now, amid all her confusions but now purely to get even with Gulab, she accepted one.

# Chapter 40.

All this while, Bulbul's secret had isolated her in her school too. What if a single quality, a single emotion defines you so completely and yet you can't talk about it, can't mention it to anyone? Can you have a real friend in such a condition? Bulbul had actually kept her classmates at arm's length fearing if she let them too close, they might guess her secret. The days when Sally visited her were long over. Though there were a few girls you could call her 'friends' if you are liberal with the word; Divya was her only real friend and she had become a friend because she was more like an elder sister and because she only talked about music with her.

And there was no Mr. Cute. We do not agree when some people claim that animals are the perfect company, for although we never have to doubt their love and faithfulness, or fear being judged by them, yet conversations with them are not perfect. When we talk we expect a reply, and animals though they may show their concern by, say, licking your tears as Mr. Cute obediently did; can't talk, can't reply as we might expect only from humans, even if not always and not from every human. Still Mr. Cute was the best company she had in those troublesome moments and now that was lost. Even the recurrent dream about the song she could never remember gave her no pleasure. She discovered that though she could still hear that song in her dream, her dream-self no longer sang along that song. It seemed to her a big loss – the inability to sing in one's dreams. Was it because Gulab was so far away now? She knew she must make an effort to move on.

After her mother's death, she got freedom to go outside on her own ever since Gulab had joined the college. The independence had meant little to her initially, but it became handy once she decided to be in a relationship.

Some boys held her fancy but it was always in the proportion of how similar she perceived them to be like Gulab - sometimes she did so consciously, sometimes subconsciously. A single powerful instance of the difference between the boy and Gulab was enough to kill her fancy. And comparisons were so marked that she couldn't later refrain from noticing herself making them.

She took a boyfriend - name Amrinder, who of pure coincidence, had that athlete like the body of Gulab - same voice, height and above all clean shaved tight cheeks she had grown used to kissing. On the other hand, he wasn't a sportsperson, nor was he too bright in his studies. He was a Sikh and wore a pagdi.

She kissed him, her open hair drawn in front of her left shoulder for the effect - her first lip lock, telling herself that she was kissing Gulab; standing on her toes - the way she had done with Gulab in her fantasies. Almost quickly she took her lips back; his lips didn't taste same as she had imagined Gulab's would but taking a moment to recollect herself she went on anyway.

Amrinder, it is enough to say here, was an average boy of average intelligence - perfectly ordinary. While he did saw something had been wrong with her, he never asked her any questions while she was giving him everything he could have wanted.

She was very bossy when around him, dictating everything. Still, Amrinder would consider it quite a fine first love-affair all his life. He brought her, her first cigarettes; brought first drinks she would ever drink, gave her presents of teddy bears, clothes, roses - none of which ever made her happy.

She, on the other hand, was very generous with him as long as he knew who the boss was. To Amrinder, she actually seemed to have spent hours planning things she wanted to do in his car; there were things even Gulab didn't have. She might have over-thought it because he found a lot of those details very strange.

Not only his lips but his cheeks didn't felt like Gulab; despite being so similar in appearance. She hated the observation and she hated the fact she was still comparing. The later fear prompted her further; she forced herself to through the thing.

And yet ...

# Chapter 41.

Moreover, Amrinder proved unimaginative; she was sure he watched those videos, all boys watch them, the videos that she had taken to seeing upon her girl-friends suggestions. Still, he proved unimaginative, she needed to direct him, all he seemed to know about was those last parts of jobs.

No matter, how hard she tried in coming days to tell herself that she was happy, invariably there would be a moment when the thought of Gulab would come up. The moment that forever present fact showed itself, she would feel repulsion, a repulsion that she had never felt before. She first felt this when they were first doing it; her repulsion started with those sounds arising out of moments of his body as he entered her.

She closed her eyes but couldn't avoid the two streams of tears running out of her eyes on opposite sides of her eyes the first time she did it – the relative darkness in the car had meant that he didn't saw her tears. She checked herself quickly, she couldn't afford for him to see her weeping – she felt that her tears could give her secret away.

And that was one of the reasons, she was the bully in her relationship with him. She had made him think that she was a strong woman, who could carry her own – and she didn't trust him enough to let him know how weak she was. There was in her that paranoia that so many people are found to have of the opposite sex. This was why she didn't want to let him see her weep, to talk too much to him; for she may end up showing her vulnerability. And she feared, one might add rightly, that power in the relationship would corrupt him. To her scared mind, it was better to be a bully, than run the risk of being bullied.

She was strict with him, too strict - they did have a lot of sex – and even that was on terms dictated by her, but when it came to talking; he had to work really hard so much as to get a smile from her.

He would sit there laughing stupidly at his own stupid joke, lost in his own utopia. Could he not see her scorn? In one of those moments, she realized she hated him; hated him – there was no denying it. She positively hated him – so much that she wished him dead.

Although, Amrinder wasn't too clever to do anything to make her happy - everything he did, had an opposite effect on her. His compliments were to her like curses - because they didn't come from the right mouth, his gifts were all like poisoned strings; every gesture from him only made her scorn more and more. He had a boyish ignorance – he assumed since she was with him, she was happy with him.

While the truth was every single moment she saw him, contributed to raise her silence hatred – she even came to hate the very act of sex. There were girls in school who had wanted to be with him – if only they knew how empty he was!

The whole world is empty for those who do not find in it the only thing they yearn for.

Still, it was in her nature to stick to her choices. She didn't change her boyfriend despite better alternatives being out there. Her studies were affected even further and we know she never was bright. Also, her behavior seemed questionable to her teachers and thus she was no longer favorite with anyone in the school.

# Chapter 42.

Bulbul's teachers complained to Sumitra; telling her about her daughter's affairs but Sumitra took it lightly. If anything she was revolted upon discovering that the teachers should concern themselves with their students' private lives. When will these people learn to leave each other alone? It was in moments like these that she regretted coming back to India, although she didn't have a choice - she couldn't have afforded a rented house and domestic help in States, at least not without getting a job, which she was no longer able to do.

Sumitra believed in letting her children live their own lives - and if she had no control over her son, why should she not give equal freedom to her daughter? She felt annoyed that teachers should be making such a big deal of such a little thing. Even now as she is driving back, after politely taking her leave from them, she was still annoyed - not perhaps at teachers only but over all the miscellaneous things that worry her.

And there was nothing to get it out on. She remembered how a few years back she used to call Shikhar and be mad at her. How pathetic it was? What was I thinking? As if reproaching him could solve any of her problems. She would wonder wonder. There was no way he could have accept this treatment for long. After only a few months, he had lost his temper and an argument had followed. They didn't talk for months. It was during this time that she realized that the closure she was seeking won't ever be there as long as misery, the migranes were present and she was realizing they won't ever leave her. So why bother spoiling someone else's mood over it.

And so, once again, this time feeling devoid of any other option, she took to silently accepting her fate. Shikhar was paying fewer and fewer visits to his children after their last argument. She knew that he too couldn't bear the awkwardness that had developed between the two of them.

Her son seemed to show no affection for her - and whenever she remembered the fact; she felt heaviness in her chest, a heaviness created out of self-pity. This behavior of her son after her Migraines and divorce had tamed her so much that she could no longer be strict with her daughter for fear of losing her. Bulbul had developed a habit of locking herself in her room and since Sumitra herself had done similar things, she could see the kind of torments that made people behave in that way. Moreover, she had recently noticed that the two children were not talking to each other. She had tried asking Bulbul about it, but to no avail.

And it increased her worries further because now the two children only had each other. If they had a fight, it must have been too hard especially on Bulbul who loved her brother so much but, try as she may, she couldn't make Bulbul talk about it.

She wasn't going to make it harder on her daughter.

She accepted it all silently.

Anyway, she saw nothing wrong in the fact that her daughter had a boyfriend – and she died before she could know that her daughter was smoking and drinking as well.

She had died - for no good reason on the dining table, it was noticed when she suddenly fell from her chair dead while they were eating her breakfast.

Bulbul, who was present at the scene, would remember it for rest of her life. It all seemed to have happened in a rush, as if in a dream. Manohar came running in from his room and after checking Sumitra's nerves declared her dead. Bulbul had felt irritated by what looked like the indifferent attitude of her uncle, who was now making calls but she was too scared to be able to say anything.

She had been dreaming death of her mother several times over past few months - she would see in her dream, herself weeping over her mother's dead body and Gulab would come to console her and thus the two would patch things up. Of course, she was in habit of keeping her dreams secret and so she didn't share it with anyone.

Her dream probably shows her wish, that Gulab should start talking with her being fulfilled on the pretext of her mother's death, but in her innocence, she interpreted those dreams to mean that she was somehow wishing for her mother to die.

Moreover, Bulbul had a couple of arguments with her mother in recent times as later had kept pasturing her with questions as to why she was not talking to her brother.

And all this guilt increased her grief further than the actual loss when her mother did actually pass away and the dream came true.

# Chapter 43.

Gulab came back to attend her mother's funeral. He had a feeling that might have been what others call sorrow - how do we know others mean the same thing when they say they feel happy or sorry? Or do we all feel those things in different ways? Gulab wasn't attached to his mother in any way - he despised her, considered her a failure, then why did he felt like crying out loud when Manohar informed him about her death over the phone? First the dog, now her - he was shocked at his own sorrow, discovering his affection to others only when the sources of those affections were no longer there.

As one can expect, the train of his thought quickly took him to Bulbul. He knew she would be broken – one need to just remember how she much she had mourned over her dog's death. Should he start talking with her once again, if only temporarily, while she recovered from the loss of mother? He couldn't decide on this question till he was already home.

And the answer seemed obvious as soon he saw her – sitting near the dead body, looking thoughtfully at its face. She was quiet, not weeping at all but started shedding silent tears as soon as she saw him approach.

For all his fears and suspicions, he could not see Bulbul in such terrible misery and not console her. Moreover, he realized, that in that moment she was all alone, all by herself \- he was terrified at the mere sight of her, her eyes full of tears for her mother. And, though that alone should have made her run out of tears; there were tears for what had happened at their last meeting too.

Gulab knew that there are miseries no one should be allowed to suffer alone. Manohar uncle was not kind of man who was good in consoling people, her friends didn't know what to say despite being genuinely sympathetic and Papa had told them not to wait for him as they completed the last rites. No, she couldn't bear it all alone. He couldn't allow that to happen.

As if in a silent understanding, neither of them raised the tabooed question. He put his arm over her shoulder for a moment to console her. She looked up, with a question in her eyes, but it wasn't the expected question. The question she seemed to be asking was why they should be so miserable. He didn't know what to say; however, she had almost quickly looked away – not daring to wait for an answer; she looked down once again at her dead mother's face and for several minutes neither of them spoke.

He sat beside her and too, looked down at the dead body, felt his heartbeat rise – and an awkwardness. What kind of sorrow was that? –no, it wasn't sorrow. His throat was heavy; was it guilt? He felt sweat drops forming on his face. The air-conditioner was running, damn it!

He looked at her not knowing what to say. There was this heaviness in the air, the room was filled with the past.

Not being able to take it anymore, he looked away, away from his mother, from his sister; towards Manohar who received the guests directing him to another room. Gulab felt disgusted – how could this man not be broken for the loss of his sister? This disgust was comforting after that guilt he had just felt.

A few moments later, he was relieved enough to start the conversation, he knew he had to speak first – how much he hated apologizing!

"Bulbul, it will all be alright." A stupid sentence, he felt idiot even as he said it – in no scenario that he could imagine, it was going to be alright.

She had simply nodded slowly, still looking down.

"You hear me, you will be all right." He repeated not knowing what else to say.

She looked up and gave him a weak smile. That smile, do you know that smile? the smile you force your face to make to suppress your tears and threw her gaze to the corpse again.

"How did it happen?" He had heard the 'how' from Manohar, the question was only a conversation starter.

Bulbul looked up, repeated what he already know – in a voice that could be seen as trying to hide the emotion in it. He acted his part, showed his annoyance upon hearing about the lack of emotion showed by their uncle.

This subject too died its natural death. They stayed silent for another couple of minutes. There was no reason to wait any longer. Gulab was home, soon they would be taking the dead body to the Shamshan Ghat.

A woman entered the house at this moment, she was mourning loudly as if the dead person was too close to her. She was annoyingly loud and almost seemed to be enjoying it. Neither of the two had seen this woman before and they were sure their uncle who had come out to receive the old woman and who seemed embarrassed when she caught him to mourn on his neck; too knew nothing about it. The siblings would never know who she was but the sight was so hilarious that they couldn't help catching each other's eyes as they swallowed their laughter.

"I will make you some tea," Bulbul said, saving the moment of their shared mirth - there were so few of them now, as she rose to leave without waiting to see him nod.

# Chapter 44.

There was a chance to snatch upon - and even in her worst sorrow, Bulbul couldn't afford to miss that. Next day, she telephoned Amrinder and asked him to come quickly to attend the last rites.

During another function from mourning days when she had recovered from the initial trauma, she introduced Amrinder and Gulab in a pretended excitement. In Gulab's presence, she would hold Amrinder's hands, even occasionally brushed her head on his chest - all the while keeping out a careful eye on her brother's face to catch some hint, even a single hint could do, of jealousy. She hated to see Gulab being so happy for her.

The fact was Gulab too was up for snatching on chances for hope now - and although he knew that the suspicion would remain all his life in some corner of his heart, he took at highest possible value, whatever evidence there was against that suspicion.

And to seal the thing, he said he too had a girlfriend in his college.

"And why didn't you ask me my opinion?" She said those words with a what-seemed-not-at-all-mock anger.

"You didn't ask mine either."

"Ya but that wasn't the condition and we were not talk..." but she stopped suddenly in mid-sentence having found something more interesting, "Why? are you jealous?"

"No. Why would I be jealous?" he felt a risk in those questions now - but felt his need to show ignorance.

"Tell me about her."

He described her _a_ girl.

"No way, you can have that good a girl!"

"Why can't I? What? Is there a problem with me?"

"No, I think you just made her up."

"I haven't. There is actually is that girl in my college. I can show you the photo." He conveniently forgot to add 'She just isn't my girlfriend.'

"When shall I get to meet her?" Bulbul had looked away as she asked the question.

Gulab had noticed her reaction and had quickly felt the need to check her back, "Soon, very soon; my little sister."

The stress on the last word was felt so heavily by Bulbul that, just for once, she looked sharply at him - and in that single slightest moment she let escape a question from her eyes that might have destroyed this mutual effort at creating new appearances; why would he be so cruel?

Taking a moment to recollect herself, she told him that she had just remembered something and had to go.

# Part III

# Chapter 45.

This last effort at reconciliation worked for a few months till when the final catastrophe hit their lives. This is the thing about families - since it is just going to be around, no sweet-bitter feelings among any two members can be called permanent. As long as the members are alive, all permutations and combinations remain possible.

The rules and dynamics for the new relationship, which was experimented upon by the two in that silent agreement, were clearly established - first and foremost, no more kisses. Bulbul wouldn't even dare. It was a compromise she knew she had to make; like someone who has recently met a fall in wealth. Having been completely deprived of everything she would take whatever fell her way.

A second condition, of course, was that they both won't speak about what has not been spoken about as far. Also, Bulbul had to keep up the appearances of a good sister. Initially, Gulab had checked any advances she might be making in the other direction, by calling her 'sister', with stress on the word, just as in the last conversation we described. And it had somehow spoiled the pleasure she might get from conversations and made her suffer more from it. Besides being the very word she hated, it also seemed to have contained a threat - a threat that Gulab will withdraw again if she didn't behave. And so she had patiently continued acting like a good sister until a time when she realized that Gulab was no longer strict with her.

Bulbul was allowed to keep her mother's mobile after latter's death. She now used to chat with him on regular basis. Gulab's now-ever-calculating mind allowed this as a way of compensation to the fact that he was rarely home now.

Initially, Bulbul was happy in her new position. An occasional joke every now or then, a small moment, a little word of affection - that she could interpret in her own way was enough for her to live on. Small moments, small injections of happiness, very little things were enough to make her regain her own pleasant nature, even where the big questions remain unanswered.

She would tell him about stage singing shows that Divya had organized for her. She could even get him to be among the audience for a couple of shows. She actually felt excited about them; though he no longer asked her to sing for him; she often would do sing to him on mobile anyway. She somehow believed music was the weapon that god had given her to fight all her problems. When she would talk about music, she could almost see Gulab happy on the other side.

Just to keep those little moments, she was too careful in the beginning to keep up appearances of having a boyfriend. She talked a lot about Amrinder – when, in fact, she had already broken up with him only a few days after her mother's death. Still, she kept alive the illusion by occasionally mentioning her fictional adventures - dinners, dances etc with him. They were things she would have loved doing with Gulab, she knew she couldn't tell him that – yet mere talking about them with him gave her some sort of satisfaction; his knowing anything about them seem to make it more real.

And so she kept on telling him about her dreams as if they were experiences; while making it sure that she use third person pronouns instead of second person ones. She actually managed to do so while rarely mentioning Amrinder's name, even though he was supposed to be her companion in all this - she just hated his name for same reasons she hated other words like 'brother', 'sister', 'Pooja' etc. After some time, she told him that she had broken up with Amrinder and now had a new boyfriend - Dil. Dil was no real person, and so it was easier to talk about him \- she pretended to herself that it was her own secret nickname for Gulab.

Still, sometimes these conversations could suddenly become painful – due to a certain turn of phrase that would bring back the consciousness of uncertainty of her condition; and yet she knew she couldn't do without those conversations.

Gulab's love affairs, on the other hand, had actually turned from fiction back to reality. Though not as excitedly as Bulbul did, he did occasionally talk about them. Bulbul mostly did a fine job in hiding her jealousy on those occasions, even when he would frequently cut their conversation, telling her that he was talking to his girlfriend. She even paid back in kind by letting him wait and when she would have enough of her revenge, she would answer him and apologize for letting him wait – her excuse she had started chatting with Dil instead.

She was so good in all this that Gulab had started thinking that if there was something in her mind once, it was over now. And it was thus that he no longer used the word 'sister' threateningly which seemed to stress her. It was always difficult for him to do that, and he always felt guilt in using it in that way. Once he no longer felt need to use it as the threat, he didn't use it at all as it had been tainted by guilty memories for him.

# Chapter 46

Breaking up with Amrinder seemed most natural thing to her.

She had come to understand that the relationship she had with him was doing nothing for her - it was her last effort to get over Gulab and it had failed. It happened at the farewell party of her school. Amrinder was relieved. It was strange how she managed to not look beautiful despite her good looks and make-ups; a frown; a scorn had become a natural expression on her face, the natural pleasantness that she used to carry in her personality seemed to be gone forever. Shakespeare once said that grief is beauty's canker and he was right as far as her case was concerned, it was eating her alive. The loss showed all the more under the heavy make-up she put on.

She did it rather quietly, told him at the end of the day, it won't go on. He pretended to protest – but now she seemed so plain to him, that he couldn't try hard.

She wasn't house arrested anymore. None of the previously mentioned reasons for her continuing to love Gulab held true now. However 'love' is a very sticky habit- it sticks even when it offers no advantage and despite everything.

Bulbul's father would send his two children a monthly allowance. He hadn't visited them after his second marriage except for once, a few days after Sumitra's death. Because of obvious emotional confusion, not much was made of the meeting - except that it reminded them, all three - the father and the two children of another hole in their lives.

Bulbul did make full use of her independence after the death of her mother and now she was in college, she started just this year. She was slowly growing to be an emo and a loner, it was only her singing voice that brought her any friends. Many people weren't afraid to call her a sociopath or weirdo; her inability to care in any way about other people's lives was just too obvious. She never played any pranks or anything but, at least to the eyes of her college mates, she could never look at the world beyond herself.

She was skipping lectures, sitting in canteens, hanging out with friends, staying out in nights etc - and she did all this with a very natural carelessness; it was an effort to find the world beyond Gulab – but it was a very poor effort. Only music could take her mind off Gulab and she did submitted to dictates of music; letting it carry her to pleaces in her own heart she wan't conscious of.

Her professors assumed that she was a spoiled girl - and they were wrong as they usually are. Those who look like too careless to the world are often the ones who are in constant worries – often they are just so much worried about one aspect of life, that they have no time to care about its other aspects. However, that one aspect might remain hidden from rest of us - making rest of us assume that they are careless.

There were times when those chats with Gulab on mobile were not enough for her - and, wasn't she the one always craving for good company, family or friends? Her secret was killing her. If she wasn't to have Gulab, she could have made use of a person, any person could do – with whom she could share her secret; share, talk about her tragedy. None of old relationships or friendships was strong enough to bear that secret and she had no courage to build new ones.

She did find some consolation in form of Divya. Divya was the one trying to get her album released. She was the one responsible for Bulbul's rising success as a singer. She had carried her through all the formalities of the thing; presenting herself as Bulbul's manager – and drawing a share from her profits. Bulbul consented to all this –in an effort to find a life away from Gulab.

Despite being only a few years older in age, she had almost grown to be like a mother figure for Bulbul. In her worst moods, Bulbul would contact her, they would often hang out. Divya had over time learned how to deal with her. She no longer asked what was troubling her so much – and would talk about some random subject or other. At times, Bulbul would bring in her car – she would drop Divya at her home after their outing. Divya would insist that she should come in and meet her mom, but Bulbul had always refused, saying she would do so "some other time". Bulbul had several times considered sharing her secret with her but Divya's seemed to have a conservative mind and she didn't want to lose her only friend.

# Chapter 47.

The house had, at times, infinite of a silence about itself - even when Sumitra was around, Bulbul would often feel the heaviness of silence, however back then it was a silent silence - her mother's presence kept it quiet. And if Gulab happened to be around, there was even a spark, a music in the air. Now that neither of them was around; the new silence was a noisy one - it constantly shouted, reminding her of the good, the bad and ugly of her life.

Like her uncle, Bulbul too constantly ran away from it - always finding shelter in crowded places; she had learned to fake smiles. Divya, since Bulbul couldn't bring herself to share secret with her, was just someone to shut the silences that followed the end of her song.

Had she read Odyssey, she would have considered Ulysses lucky for having found the home even if only after all those struggles – lucky, lucky to have a home at all. Hers was this hell waiting to produce that sulphuric mist of emotions in her. She yearned for her old house, the one she could call her own. That is one of the differences between two of us; she thought, all I want is a home, a life of happiness, to stay surrounded by people I love; for Gulab it is always a question of winning the world, gaining its respect.

Earlier at least Mr. Cute was there for her. She remembered how when she was a child it would seek her attention suddenly begging her to play with it. It was her best friend; the only creature she adored, for whose attention she didn't need to wait, fight – like she had to for that of her mother and brother.

Moreover, she was starting to be afraid of her uncle. The problem was she could never be sure of his intentions - he never tried to touch her or come close to her except once when he patted her head steadily when she was weeping standing near her mother's pyre to console her - and it seemed that he was genuinely sorry for her. Ever since he did try to start a conversation a couple of times about her education but that seemed to have been done purely to start a conversation. Maybe it was all groundless - she had caught him staring at her a couple of times but he always seemed to be full of guilt himself - and here friends, is another proof of her old innocence; that instead of feeling disgusted, she actually felt pity for him.

Though, she still tried to avoid him as far as possible.

She still did have to be at home sometimes - and she couldn't talk to Gulab all the time.

And there she was lying on her bed one evening \- something she did almost all the time she was at home. She went online on her mobile and started checking her brother's profile - there he was. Standing with a girl. The great goddess of jealousy told her it was her girlfriend. The girl looked like a model, and on the other hand, she was but a little girl. Why would he love her? In an experience by now too familiar to her, she felt her heartbeat rising in what she knew would be another hysterical attack. She threw her mobile in fury and wept some heavy tears.

Having wept a little she stood up to pick the mobile up and, of caution, she went and locked the door of her room though she was alone in the house.

Next, she was taking her clothes off and looking at herself in the mirror. She looked at her image in the mirror, trying to find a clue that she was not as simple looking as she believed, she tried to cup her breasts telling herself that they seemed small only in the mirror - but it was all useless. She fell to picking her clothes again and put them on, in order to hide her disgusting body.

This is why, she thought, he keeps ignoring you. You are just too simple, how could you interest him to be involved in ..... incest. And here was that word finally used; like the big heavy dark metal log that had to pass through her throat (though she didn't utter the word). And just because the word was there a single word; the whole thing seemed to have suddenly grown bigger than it was.

It was a new word (the English word) she had learned - though she was aware of concept; she had come across the English word only in the morning newspaper. She googled the word, it said it means 'sexual relations between people too closely related to marry' but how could you be too closely related to marry? Wasn't marriage supposed to work better if people were close? And how do you know how close is too much? who gets to decide? Wikipedia told her Egyptian royal class used to marry siblings. There! She told herself. The awareness of the fact had somehow managed to make her feel a little less lonely – as if those dead Egyptian princes and princesses were actually there in her room now to console her.

Then she remembered another word she had learned in the same news - 'Gotra'; the news said a newly married couple was killed because they belonged to same Gotra. Bulbul searched the word and found that Gotra means clan - it is the name of some ancient sage you are supposed to descend from; because obviously every Hindu is born of an ancient sage. And if people belonging to same Gotra get married, they were liable to be killed. (That follows, somehow.)

She felt a chill as she understood how the world put fences around hearts. Was it anything other than disgust that turned people against a willing act of incest? If she didn't mean or caused anyone harm, how was she a criminal?

Bulbul now realized there was no hope for her; how would the world let siblings marry if it won't let people supposed to be descending from some ancient sage marry? Even if Gulab agreed the world wouldn't - and she couldn't risk his life.

She must just limit herself to her dreams.

# Chapter 48.

But by now you must have realized that hoping against hope was her world. An occasional happy word from Gulab was enough to raise her spirits. She had turned from dreams to reality and back too many times - and every turn was tiring. And yet, she must go on. The real world though necessary scared her and dreams were comfortable, and thus it shouldn't surprise you if one day she failed to check herself from entering dream world while chatting with him.

When in world of her dreams, she was caught in an inexplicable ecstasy; she would develop a reasoning of her own and dream the world, a country or a single house where living in the only way she could live was not a crime. They had inherited money from their mother. It all would suddenly seem possible in one of those optimistic moods - assuming he said yes, which he must, after that all she had gone through.

She had told herself that she would keep separate her fanatasies and the real world. Normally she made it sure that she broke away from her dreams while talking with him - to keep up appearances but this one time she failed.

They were chatting as usual when her dream world suddenly showed its presence to her – don't be shocked, it had to happen sometime. It happened through a sudden flash arising from the fact that Gulab had mentioned that he was going on a college trip to a hill station. Their home, in her dreams, where they lived together was on a hill station – in some remote place, away from preying eyes of society which haunted her imagination every waking moment. Strange how the mind works, in a flash that dreams world showed itself – some small hut with triangular shape roof on a hillside – she didn't try to, couldn't have recalled the source of the image. (It was a wallpaper on somebody's computer she had seen.)

It was as if it, this image, had tip-toed into the room quietly and had put its hand on her shoulder – and she had committed the error of looking back into it. Once that world of fantasies was there, she found it impossible to resist.

Her first reaction was that of shock and yet it persuaded her – she must walk the talk, there was no other way. And what if he said no? She asked herself and then the 'herself' answered the question - it would still be better than this uncertainty. Anything will be better than this uncertainty. She wanted it one way now; one of sleeping beauty's extremes of fates - either a life equal to death or redemption through the kiss she wanted; and hadn't she suffered long enough? Now that she had forgiven him so much (she meant his girlfriends)? Showing her Indian-ness she even cursed herself for losing her virginity.

Suddenly it all made sense to her.

He had to say yes, her heart told her so – he must, he must, he must, must, must, must.

And so she will confess. Now that she had taken the decision, excitement took place of despair.

And thus she wrote her soon-to-be-cursed message, a rather long one after an hour of useless chit-chat had passed and the message was totally different from subject they were discussing or rather Gulab was discussing as she went through this hell; sending him occasional nod of a message to let him go on.

She wrote her message – forearm raised on an elbow to support head on her palm, the curtain of her hair falling behind it. She wrote it, rewrote it, read it, reread it, corrected it, erased a phrase, rewrote that phrase, replaced a phrase with another one then changed it back - her fingers first trembling a little, then dancing uselessly over the screen of her mobile in ecstasy as she tried to think. She tossed first to this side, tossed then to that side in excitement. Now she tied her hair to give herself a pause as if she felt compelled to keep her hands busy while she thought or they might send the unfinished message in excitement.

She read the final draft, untying her hair again. Then, after about twenty similar desperate minutes of more editing; she hit the 'send' button.

A message in which she told him how much she loved him - there is no point in going into the exact message as it wouldn't have done justice to her love.

She never was good with written words.

# Chapter 49.

And then she waited.

Her heart beating faster and faster with every second, she would steal a look at the mobile screen every other moment and then tell herself to relax, to at least let him time enough to type it; she looked at mobile again – but it was still quick, let him think it over. The thought of him thinking about it raised her anxiety, in her dreams, he didn't need to think in her fantasies. She looked at the screen again to check whether there was something wrong with the network.

She read her own message. Suddenly it looked inadequate. The words were not powerful enough. Even the word 'love' – with its four letters seemed incomplete, empty. The language seemed to have failed her – she felt frustrated at not having written it better.

No reply still - though she actually didn't wait for a reasonable time before she sent him another message - that she would forever be thankful to him and be a slave to him all her life.

We tend to judge people by what we see of them and are often unable to see the sense in them because our external worlds are so often at odds with internal worlds. Externally, Bulbul was showing an excitement for no reason; but internally her castle of illusions, dreams and fantasies were getting torn to pieces and her actions were a desperate response to that crisis.

She was now walking up and down in her room. How stupid I am, she thought, not to have told him face to face –that way, he could have seen her face and it would have been far more persuasive, he would have realized how much painful all this was for her.

Still no reply.

She sent a third message telling him if he didn't wish to marry, they could just have an affair. They would keep it secret if he was afraid about his social honor. 'If even that was too much', she wrote while feeling the warmth of tears on her cheeks, her hands trembling, 'a single night could do. And then she would never show him her face.' - for when he would leave, she didn't mention this part, he would be taking away her life with him.

Still no reply.

A few moments later she felt exhausted, tired as if she had worked hard whole day and sat down, feeling feverish and empty.

His silence was killing her. She tried calling him repeatedly but all her calls were quickly rejected and then his phone was switched off.

She waited frozen in her position. She felt the anxiety-reducing now that there was nothing for her to do, to say, all she could do was to wait. She felt her heart calming down as she continued to send him question marks and a few more pleadings asking for the reply ... but it was useless, and she knew it, his mobile was switched off; there was no fighting the lost cause.

Finally deciding there won't be a reply, she went to the kitchen looking for a knife.

# Chapter 50.

But oh the cursed fate! A few minutes later half-drunk Manohar entered the house. He saw her - poorly dressed because of her hysteria; he saw in her hand, the knife which she couldn't bring herself to cut her wrists with. He saw that she seemed to be disturbed – no, 'disturbed' wasn't the word, traumatized. He called her by name a couple of times but got no reaction. She didn't even notice his arrival until he took the knife out of her hand - and even then she merely gave him a single glance before being lost where she was lost before.

He wasn't, until this moment, worried about her or felt anything, just a bit shocked - so far, he had done everything as if in reflex, even with a kind of detachment but now...

_Slap her._ Came the whisper all of sudden \- and since it looked socially acceptable to slap her, given her condition, he couldn't control himself.

And she, in her delirium, enjoyed being slapped. She looked at him and laughed bitterly– as if telling him that she expected it of him and then looked away again. Provoked both by the voice and that bitter laughter, that had seemed to mock him, he slapped her again – getting the same reaction.

She laughed and laughed each time she was hurt; she wanted pain, she wanted the physical pain to get over emotional one and it even pleased her – and her laughter only served to make the whispering voice more powerful for Manohar; two of them showing two ugly faces that suppressed desires take.

And yet fate was still to show her last card - for this was the moment when the phone gave the message alert. Suddenly she was back into the world looking in direction of her room where mobile was lying - no longer enjoying the slapping treatment.

Intrigued by her interest, her uncle now, too much into role of a sadist, was too quick to react and quickly reached the mobile while she called after him realizing what could happen, "please uncle".

He read the message - and couldn't believe only thing it could have meant. "Please Uncle!" she pleaded wanting her phone back. Read it to her. And so he read it to her - Gulab's rejection; telling what a disgusting thing she had said, that she was not to call him again - ever, that he was ashamed of her; and that from now on he had no sister - if she knew what the word meant.

The last phrase and the look on Bulbul's face - as her gaze fell down seemed to confirm Manohar's suspicions. He read the previous conversation – and got confirmed in what at first looked like an impossible suspicion. His eyes widened as he read her messages; for incest to him; he, being your socialized less-than-animal human; was disgusting. And this disgust was a reason he had been able to fight so successfully with his whispers in the case of Bulbul. He had even taken care of them like children – had felt sorry for Bulbul after Sumitra's death; had personally tried to keep guests away from the siblings in the moments of their grief etc.

But now, this same disgust was helping that demon inside him; its whispers completely controlling him.

"And so you love him, huh!"

She didn't say anything. Truth is even while he had taken knife out of her hand, she hadn't seen him - his existence was immaterial to her in that moment; when he had slapped her, he started existing for her but not as himself, but as someone else - as that ghost, the invisible presence, that phenomenon we call 'society' which had haunted her all these years. 'WRONG' yelled the ugly face of society in him, now as it had with the first slap, as it had done countless times all these years. He slapped her again, again – she fell down on ground, waking up from her shock. She was no longer enjoying the pain.

"You know he is your brother."

"Please uncle!" she said, her cheek against the floor - no longer knowing what she was pleading for, but just doing so because it was expected of her because she felt it had become a part of her existence.

Even though she was calling him 'uncle' -it was out of habit, all she could actually see was the ghost of society - when he was reading the message, when he was asking her questions, all the time, it wasn't him - it was the whole society asking her questions, shaming her, humiliating her. She had been haunted about the occurrence of such a thing all these years and now it was happening.

Her lying low and pleadings only served to further strengthen the whispers.

"Does that mean anything to you, the word 'uncle' - You, who do not know the meaning of word 'brother?"

WRONG! WRONG! WRONG!

"Please, uncle! I beg you. Please give me my mobile."

"'Please uncle' - yes you are going to please your uncle." The words were spoken instinctively - as if spoken by the imp rather than him. The imp was, as we know, always the culprit instinct and it seemed separate entity only as long as he was capable of reflection on his own instincts. Now though once the words were spoken, he was no longer capable of such reflection, he had given in fully to the instinct by making a commitment through these words. The disgust at what Bulbul did had, for him, given some kind of justification for what he was now going to do to her.

... but Bulbul was, once again, no longer listening. She suddenly seemed to look right through him as a new thought seized her. It no longer mattered - the thought ran, she couldn't be happy either way. And then for a moment or two, she was letting herself be away from all this in her mind - she was trying to imagine a life without Gulab and after having let herself be raped by her uncle. All she could picture was herself sitting on some floor somewhere in dark, weeping as she hugged one of her legs, another image picked up from one of those Bollywood movies.

She laughed again, this time in self-pity at this picture that had suddenly painted itself in her mind - and this laughter, unlike previous ones, was malicious but not bitter, so out of place that it shook her uncle for a moment and, in that moment, the strange spell he was in was suddenly broken, it broke the fever her uncle was in; the whispers seemed to be scared into silence.

What had helped him fight this imp all these years was a paternal affection, which any sensitive human feels for any child even when he or she has seen the child for the first time. In the case of Bulbul, this parental affection was far greater than in other cases, and thus he could fight back the imp even from this committed situation – something he would have failed to do if it was some other girl. Bulbul's last laughter - its difference from the laugh she once used to give him when he would surprise the six-year-old Bulbul with an ice cream; a laughter mere memory of which had helped him fight darkness of his life so many times, this difference had told him that the new malicious sounding laughter meant that she would never be laughing in that old innocent way which he had loved, a loss unbearably huge for him and along with this realization of loss; the guilt that he was being a part of what was causing it, was enough for him to overpower the demon.

(And this difference, this loss would have been obvious to anyone who knew her. Perhaps had Gulab heard that laughter, he too might have been tempted to change his mind.)

And he trembled. He trembled and fell back - he moved his hand left to right and back in front of his eyes as if trying to clear his vision, and then a similar moment but with arms half stretched forward as if asking something to go away. A couple of moments later, he was able to speak again, "run away, Bulbul; run away, Bulbul; BUL RUN AWAY; BULBUL"

It was on this last call that brought Bulbul to her senses. She still needed to be told once more to, "run away" along with the sight of movement of her uncle's arm - to realize what was expected of her. She stood up and ran away. Even as she rushed out of the door, she heard him moan, as if in heavy physical pain, which scared her enough to make her run faster.

Behind her, Manohar had mourned - but the whispering demon was no longer there, Manohar knew that there would no longer be any whispers but it didn't matter now. He had let it win - even if only for a few moments, and he had come so close to destroying an innocent life. He had told himself that since he wasn't acting on his instincts he need not feel guilt, although he still had felt the guilt anyway. Now he couldn't tell himself that. Those whispers had done their job, he cursed himself for his acts - his tears mixed with his sweat. What he felt was not much unlike what Bulbul was feeling when he had arrived.

Now one could expect a scene, may be police any time now. He looked at the door in anticipation. Nobody came and he was too tired to wait for long. Everything is finished, he thought- he wasn't afraid of scandal that he couldn't live with the memory of this incidence. He turned his gaze away in dejection to find on the floor, that knife Bulbul was holding.

# Chapter 51.

Bulbul found herself too weak as she ran - a lot of almost random thoughts, random images were hitting her mind and she felt her head shaking; at times she would look back in fear of being chased - and it is only a miracle of socialization that in all these fears and anxieties, she actually checked her clothes to a make them, as far as possible, decent (whatsoever it means) to be out.

Gulab had rejected her - he hated her - she had tried to kill herself - her uncle had tried to rape her - had then checked himself at last moment - she had even noted a concern for her in his voice when he had asked her to run away - she had run away - why had he changed his mind? -why had she run away if she no longer cared for her life? Gulab hated her. Why should she care to run away? What would uncle do next? Gulab hated her! Where would she go now? It was now that she realized that suddenly she had lost both whatever remained of her family as well as that of her home.

Tired she sat down on the side of road – to catch her breath. She could feel many eyes on her, but could no longer care. It was taking all her effort not to burst out crying. In fact, till now her confused thoughts had meant that her actions following her failure to commit suicide had all been performed in a somewhat subconscious dream like state. She had been driven around by circumstances without stopping to think and make a choice – her inability to choose and strangeness of events had given it a dream-like nature. Though she had felt pain when her uncle had hit her – she couldn't bring herself to care. She had run away, she realized, because that was what was expected of her, not so much because she was afraid - though she was afraid, but it didn't seem to matter at that time. Only now that she stopped to think, the gravity of thing made her feel it all. Gulab hated her – would he forgive her? But no, she knew this time she had gone too far, she silently cursed herself for being such a stupid creature.

She shook herself of this stream of thoughts, knowing it must wait for another time. At the moment, she needed time to think and sort these things out even if next thing she would do was to kill herself.

Too much had happened for her to think properly but her subconscious mind seemed now to grow extra-alert in such situation; quick to provide whatever information might come in handy now. And even now as she stood up and waved to stop an auto only to dismiss it a moment later, realizing she wasn't carrying any money; she knew where she was heading.

It was strange to feel hungry in such a situation but she couldn't help being conscious of an empty stomach \- and this consciousness actually stimulated her tired feet to walk fast for what she calculated was a forty-five-minute journey to Divya's address. She had never walked this much in her life.

# Chapter 52.

Bulbul ate a lot - and Divya noticed she seemed too tired. Bulbul had first intended to tell her about Manohar but knew she won't be able to talk about it as soon as she saw Divya's face who seemed pleasantly surprised upon seeing her. How far removed was Divya's world from the one she had just been suffering in! It was difficult enough for Bulbul to make an excuse as to how come she had suddenly decided to visit them – having denied their request so far.

Divya lived with her widowed mother in a very small house. The old woman must not have been much older than what Sumitra would have been, however, poor age faster and she was already having problems in walking. Divya seemed embarrassed about her family's poverty.

Normally Bulbul, despite her supposed rudeness and ego, would have made a reassuring gesture without seeming to do so – which would have put Divya at ease. She was good at such things but today she could not participate fully in the scene that was happening around her.

Bulbul could see they were not used to, could not afford to have many guests – and also the efforts they seemed to be putting in to receive her in a proper way. It was almost dinner time and Bulbul didn't refuse food. She ate more than she usually did, although she couldn't bring herself to complement Divya's mother about how delicious food was, which it was – despite knowing that it would have pleased the old women a lot.

The other two kept talking, it was mostly the old woman who carried the conversation, Bulbul couldn't take part in it - although she managed to throw a couple of week smiles and poker-faced as a listener to whatever story her friend was telling \- enough not to raise any powerful suspicions.

After dinner, the old woman refused to let her go and wanted her to spend the night with them. Bulbul agreed easily – as you could expect.

That night Bulbul closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep ... till the sleep actually came, like she did when she was a child. But she still couldn't bring herself to think clearly.

Bulbul would sleep too soundly till almost noon next day at her friend's house. Since it was Sunday, Divya didn't mind. Divya had seen on her face something which had made her realize that it was the right thing to let her sleep on.

Bulbul spend the whole day till the evening at her friend's house; she looked for whatever moments of solitude she would find - while taking bath, when Divya was busy cooking etc; to work things out and deciding on what should she do now. Due to some reason, she didn't feel like killing herself for the moment - and she felt it strange that memory of Gulab's rejection invoked no feeling at the moment. In fact, nothing did. She couldn't bring herself to feel or think of anything that had happened last evening.

The events of last evening seemed to have happened to somebody else and long ago. She was aware of the fact that she must decide about her reaction to her uncle's action last night – should she go to the police? but try as she may, she couldn't bring herself to think of it long enough.

This must be what it feels like to be dead, she thought, to be above your fears, dreams and emotions; to be able to look upon yourself, reject yourself, as if you were someone else.

But she was not dead, she had just managed to distant herself from her past for a while - as happens to all of us in some rare beautiful moments, but from experience, we all know how quickly we would be pulled back into that black-hole of reality. For Bulbul it happened when Divya, who was at the moment talking on her phone, told her that her uncle had died.

He had killed himself.

# Chapter 53.

She arrived at her heavily crowded house half an hour later to see her uncle's body lying on the floor with one of his wrists cut, with the knife held in the other hand. The floor on which she once sat with her books was covered with drying blood. The police were just removing the body for post-mortem when she arrived - only to vomit at the sight of the dead body. A lady officer was there to aid her, she got him a seat.

She looked at the knife lying there – it was the same knife she had held only hours ago when she had wanted to commit suicide, the blue color of its handle had seemed darker to her (it would later amuse her, how much more clearly she remember the knife than of other more important things) and yet now it seemed different, another one, unknown to her.

The police officer asked her where she was last night, she told her the time of her departure and that she had gone to Divya's concealing the other details. The officer read to her the words on his suicide note and asked her if she knew what it meant - how would she not know what those words meant when she knew he had written them for her:

'I didn't choose to be what I became.'

Bulbul's eyes glittered as a new idea took hold of her and a shiver ran through her as she understood what those words, written in badly formed Hindi, meant. Fortunately, the inspector confused it to be one of the effects of seeing the dead body.

Bulbul pulled herself enough to make a vague statement - that she couldn't be sure but it must relate to his drinking habits and his having the wrong sort of friends.

Inspector nodded and said something, however, Bulbul didn't hear her. She was repeating the words in her mind - I didn't choose to be what I became, I didn't choose to be what I became, I didn't choose to be what I became, but why what had he become? A pervert? A rapist? But he did make a choice there, didn't he?

It was such an obscure thing to say.

Was he apologizing? Had he felt guilt? Yes, he had felt guilt. She felt sure of that.

But suddenly she wasn't thinking about him. Suddenly, those words, they weren't about him. Yes, he wrote those words about himself but when she read it, that chill she had felt was due to a different reason. Those words were something else for her. They seemed to describe her. They seemed to be exactly the words she had looked for all this time - the words which should prove her innocence.

I didn't choose to be what I became. I didn't...

why? yes, that was what she was always trying to say. I didn't choose to be what .... the important word was 'chose', there was the question of choice. Do we choose to be what we are?

It confused her - all this existential stuff was nowhere around her cup of tea.

And yet those words seemed to be saying to her what she wanted to say. It was as if her thoughts had found an echo in dark chambers of another person's heart.

You know how some people can't help walking around when they are struck with something thought to provoke? Bulbul had subconsciously taken a walk away from her crowded home.

Was her uncle talking about himself? No, she decided, he was trying to excuse himself. Would she forgive him?

But those were irrelevant questions. For the moment, one must ignore them and focus on the message itself that kept dancing in her consciousness, seeking all her attention wanting to say something to her.

but what?

I didn't choose to be what I became... I didn't...

'but what have I become?' how would she describe herself - so that a single sentence, a single phrase, a single quality could describe her being (she felt it should be brief) - as perfectly, as perfectly and as completely as possible.

A singer? But that wasn't true, it didn't satisfy her, at all. Most of the time she didn't even think about singing. It couldn't be her identity.

'What if a movie was made on my life, a book was written about my life; how would they describe me? Assuming they know all my secrets. Why of course as someone who loved her brother' she felt that old repulsion at the word but she had learned to ignore it - as someone who loved Gulab. Gulab's lover - she couldn't help smiling, luckily no one noticed; yes Gulab's lover that describe her perfectly .... but, no rather, it could be improved – something, as yet seemed to be missing.... And then it struck her, 'love for Gulab' - that is me. After all, what I'm but love for Gulab through and through?

It all seemed so poetical to her. She felt a passerby staring at her. Since it was a man, she felt insulted. She looked ahead and pretended not to notice.

but did it matter? After Gulab's reaction last night, would he ever talk to her now?

This question had been sitting at the back of her mind with its head low. Despite knowing what horrors it hides within itself, she had tried to poke it without any success during her failed efforts to mentally develop a plan at Divya's. Now though it raised its ugly head making her uncomfortable – no, she discovered, she wasn't yet ready for the question.

No, she crossed the street and took a U-turn; as if the act of checking the two sides of street or change of her path could change the road her thoughts had taken. Normally it wouldn't have worked but at the moment she had another gripping thought asking for her attention.

I didn't choose to be what I became ... Did I?

Did I choose to fall in love with Gulab? Do we ever choose to fall in love? Can we ever choose what to feel? No, of course not.

Isn't it always the case? People discover that they are in love, rather than chose to. And she, she was loving him before she knew what the word meant.

No, she didn't choose to - of course not, she didn't. She hadn't made a choice. She hadn't.

This realization that she hadn't made a mistake in loving Gulab actually made her more uncomfortable. For she herself had assumed in some corner of her heart that she was somehow wrong in loving Gulab, or why was it considered wrong by everybody? And she had always taken the position of the prosecuted, if not the culprit - even when she confessed her love, she now realized - it had come out as if she had made a mistake and she now wanted him to amend it for her.

The realization made her uncomfortable because she now understood she didn't deserve all that suffering. Why do I have to suffer? If I didn't do anything wrong, why should I be punished? Why should Gulab be so disgusted? Why should anyone ever be disgusted by it? Was it this ugly?

No, it wasn't ugly, how could it be ugly? It wasn't ugly. If there was one thing she knew - it wasn't ugly. No, it wasn't. It wasn't. If anything, it was the most beautiful thing she had ever known, felt. Just how could any form of love disgust anyone?

She entered her house. The place had now been opened to all.

No, it shouldn't. She didn't do anything wrong \- and still, she suffered; still Gulab was disgusted by her. The awareness of the fact that her suffering was unjustified made the suffering all more unbearable. Yet again, tears were breaking patience of her eyes.

Everyone thought she was weeping over the loss of her uncle.

#  Chapter 54.

Gulab was forced to come back for his uncle's funeral, although he completely ignored her and wouldn't stay the night. He had excused himself on account of some assignment, he was about to take exams of last year of his graduation.

Bulbul couldn't bring herself to talk to him. He didn't talk to her even though he was curious about Manohar's death.

Bulbul matured wonderfully in next few days - living by herself. Gulab didn't visit her anymore. Her arrogance kept any acquaintances at a distance.

Though she did go to college, she no longer paid even slightest attention to her studies. She did gave the regular two hours to singing, and it did serve as a distraction, but if she had not started ignoring those two sessions yet, that was mostly to avoid any explanations with Divya.

She was successfully able to live alone. She fired the servants and did all house chores herself to pass time. And yet she had free time - wanting to kill it, she would watch television, most of the times she would fall asleep on the sofa in front of it, it would stay on all night. What she had learned on the day of Manohar's death was that any free time she allowed herself would bring in uncomfortable thoughts - and that is what she wanted to avoid.

And yet, something would happen, something tiny, something insignificant - some phrase she heard on television, or a song on the radio she played on high volume to shut the silence; which would put Gulab back in her mind. And it was always followed by hours she spent on her bed trying to weep but by now she had run out of tears.

At times, it was only the locked door of his room, a visible evidence of his absence. In fact, the whole house was full of those absences. Now that it was so much harder to weep, she would often look at the door of his room for minutes absentmindedly, run her hand on the knob; force herself to weep. That was another truth of life she had recently learned – a gloomy heart gets addicted of its tears, often keeps on asking for them even when eyes are too tired to produce them any longer. 

# Chapter 55.

It wasn't as though she no longer lived. She had tried to kill herself on the day she had confessed her love and had failed to get over that reflex which protects you from knowingly harm yourself physically. However, the events that had followed it – what Manohar had tried to do and her musings over his suicide note – had all somehow made her decide against killing herself or, at least, postpone it for a while.

Her uncle's death had made it to the newspaper – a small bit in the middle pages. She had marveled at phrases thrown in – 'widower', 'suicide', 'dysfunctional family' etc. What would this news, these words mean for a stranger? Nothing. She marveled at the powerlessness of languages – how useless, how meaningless it was. The biggest failure of humanity – failing to produce words human enough. All there were but dead words – more easily breeding indifference than compassion. Suicides, unrequited love – they weren't a one-time event they were there to remain forever as those voids, as those lives that could be. The lives that could be but weren't - like, like... like unsung songs. For what could be a bigger loss than an unsung song? And then she remembered that unsung song of her dream. Its being left unsung seemed to burn her with that ... The word she couldn't think of was 'anguish'. Does every one carry similar songs in oneself which must be sung? And must one suffer like her if the song remains unsung? But if that is true, then most of people must be suffering same way. Why wasn't anyone doing anything about it?

No wonder her message failed to show him purity of her love. How was it ever supposed to succeed? Her passion was alive – how could it ever find expression in those dead words. The words were of no use except in talking about trifles, anything beautiful, anything alive could never be be expressed completely – and a half-expressed truth was worse than lie.

And that is why the world needed music.

In fact, she thought, songs and music succeed where language failed – in raising compassion, they may not always tell you about feelings but they will make you feel them. And that was the thing – feelings weren't supposed to be told but be felt. The world needed music, for what was not music was noise; the noises that were ruining lives like they had ruined hers.

Bulbul felt like telling this to the world. She felt disgusted at all those gossips, back-biting, discussions, idle talks etc. Why open your mouth at all if you won't sing? But even the silence was same as noise. What was not music, she repeated to herself, was noise. Noise! Noise! Noise! People who won't sing were to be pitted, she pitted Gulab, she pitied them all. Even those who sang bad songs were better than those who would just make noise.

And it was just to make sure that the world knows the value of unsung songs that she continued to live longer. These ideas made her work on her singing with a renewed energy. She started writing her own songs. And they were all so beautiful and sad.

Meanwhile, she tried, yet again to start a new life. She tried to divorce from her past, doing away with all those useless things she no longer found the use of – things she had kept because she didn't like being separated from anything that was her own. The stuff no longer mattered, after all that she had been forced to part with – all that scrap was useless to her.

She kept all rooms except her own closed as if to shut away the people who lived in them.

Yet, in this completely locked house – she would have trouble sleeping during most the nights. First, because she was no longer able to fantasize about Gulab. Second, even as she would lie in her bed, a shiver would run down her spine as she would think that she had just perceived a shodow – as if someone had walked into the house despite the locks and everything. After all, they did know she, a young girl, lives here all alone. And what if they were also to somehow discover her secrets? Won't they feel excused to violate such a fallen woman as she was?

And even when she did sleep, she would wake up in middle of night of some nightmare or other. The nightmares were not vivid in detail – one of them was a feeling of a hand moving up her legs; another had voices calling her names as her secret was out, in a third one her mother was alive and was telling her how she (bulbul) had failed her, another had her uncle chasing her pleading forgiveness, another had Gulab – only his face full of hatred for her, and he wont talk to her despite her pleadings; in yet another she was running in a street with consciousness of some people chasing her to kill her.

Even that old recurring dream of the unsung song no longer reduced her suffering – it did, however, made suffering enjoyable in the way that sad songs often do.

She would wake up all sweaty from these nightmares and then would spend rest of the night working on her songs, whiling the time away which went so slowly – she remembered how she had once, as a child, observed how the time goes slowly and had naively enjoyed having a discovered a secret.

How pathetic she was!

# Chapter 56

She tried to improve her singing, wrote songs. She developed an obsession for writing songs. She didn't write them in huge quantity but she would still spend hours writing them even skipping her meals as she chased them in tunnels of her memories. Shutting the house as well as her own room, she would undress herself freeing herself of bondage of clothes which she saw as another form of chains which society had put on her. And then try to be herself. Try to discard all the assumptions, society had bound her with – and try to imagine the various phrases of her own love – the caring, the jealousy, the anger, the anguish everything and try to imagine the music to go with the same (according to her, bbeing able to imagine proper music was first step in writing a song, words by themselves meant nothing) and then write words that would go along the music.

Needless to say some of those memories would get better of her and send her in a state of anxiety for hours but that didn't deter her from trying again and again. And she did write some most beautiful songs.

Because of her carelessness, she kept on growing weaker and even started facing difficulties in singing, at times even in speaking, but whatever she wrote had a sad beauty about it that no other songs had. And when sung in her voice; they melted the hearts who did not know the source from where that suffering had begun. Bulbul would shake her head at people, she was doing more and more stage concerts, who wept at her songs in disapproval - what did they know of suffering?

Yet she liked stage concerts, for they gave her a distraction and she didn't like staying in the house all day – for the house seemed to have a personality of its own. She would go out on drives – with no one else up at home, she had the car to herself. Driving on highways gave her a much better solitude than her house ever did.

While driving, she could even be happy. The seasons in love, she wrote in one of her songs, are not as extreme as they are portrayed – sometimes you get to smile in winters, sometimes you have to weep in springs. While driving, she was sometimes able to pick up one of her favorite memory and live it again. In those moments she could smile, at times even laugh. Those few memories were all that was left to her; she no longer dreamed.

It was those happy moments that would give her a phrase or two – which ensured that her songs were not all darkness.

She rarely talked to anyone. She had sold her mobile and bought a new one in its place. The old mobile which was once in her uncle's hand and which she hadn't taken along when she had run away from him, she had later found in almirah - all messages and conversations deleted; except for a draft of message saved, "I'm sorry" it said – it didn't mention the 'To' and 'From' – but Bulbul understood it anyway. She tried to imagine how nice it was for her uncle – who was about to commit suicide, to think of saving her secret.

She wasn't able to feel anything for or against him. She thought about how much guilt he must have felt, still without sympathy, and realized that she wasn't the only one with a secret. Obviously. She must have already realized it long ago - as back as when as a child she would find that darkness in her mother's eyes, she had realized that there were things the later never talked about with anyone. But she was so engulfed in her own sufferings over past few years, that she never thought too much about it. Now, though, she wondered what secret lives, what untold stories died with her mother? Which ones were still there with Gulab? With her father? Divya? Had she not been emotionally exhausted, she would have been filled with the sympathy for the whole world. As it happened, she only found humanity to be pathetic, for creating the world where everyone must live the life of a half-shadow of himself/herself. And she didn't even have pity to spare for such a world.

# Chapter 57.

About a month after Manohar's death, Shikhar visited them. He wanted to organize a get-together, however, it so happened that Gulab was too busy with his exams - at least this was what he said. So, Shikhar decided to see them separately.

After seeing his father off, Gulab cursed aloud, not caring his roommate would hear him. Anyway, he was about to leave the place after the graduation and his roommate wasn't a really good friend. The truth is that he had no real friends, only acquaintances.

He had now started feeling disgusted even at sight of people, particularly those of his family. It seemed to him too strange a coincidence that Manohar should commit suicide on the very day Bulbul had proposed those disgusting ideas to him. Those disgusting ideas! But did he hated her? Yes, he did. For loving her too much. Why won't people understand it? To love someone beyond a certain limit is to depend upon that person for the very idea of your existence – and that also meant you burden them with your existence. He hated Bulbul for crossing that limit. He refused to carry that burden. He wanted to be free to be able to pursuit power – power in his opinion was not something that corrupts you as most people seemed to think - just the ability to live one's life on his own terms. And it was a jungle world out there; very few people will be rewarded with such power. And power loved good appearances; one must carry good appearances – drinking, smoking etc; all such vices were okay with those with power. But power had never gone to the different ones, weirdos, loners, unlikable people. The very social model of his own college showed how such simple souls had to suffer bullying. He felt sorry for them but no longer tried to defend them like he once did for Ajay. One just have to come to terms with jungle rules. The only person he did make an exception was Bulbul. She was the one good thing in his life, and he would have protected her against the world if only.... If only she had got over that obsession of hers, for, it was nothing more than obsession. He hated thinking of it in romantic ideas. He cared for her, yes, he felt responsible for Bul, she was the person he loved the most. But even she couldn't be allowed to cross that limit.

After reading the very first message, he tried to think it over – he wanted somehow to correct the wrongs, he wanted his rejection to be soft; it was too precious a bond and he still wanted to save it – he realized that times he did talk to her had been far better than times when he had tried to cut her off; he realized that there was some beautiful essence in him that made life worthwhile and only she could bring out; he wanted that essence. For a while, he had believed Bulbul's infatuation for him had ended and he had been able to bring his life back to track – including quitting smoking, limiting drinking, improving grades etc. He had discovered her being in his life improved his happiness greatly and he still wanted to safe her from poisions of the world but each of subsequent messages had managed to increase his disgust further and further.

Moreover, he wasn't alone at that moment – he was in his room and so was his roommate. Upon reading the first message, he had got anxious – and had subconsciously started walking up and down the room – much like his sister had been doing at that moment. It must have shown on his face, for his roommate had asked him if anything was wrong. He had shaken his head – what he couldn't have given to be let alone at that moment. He had continued his previous motions.

He stopped when he received his second message and was now positively furious. He left the room slamming the door behind him. One of his classmates who happened to be passing by asked him why he was so angry.

Not caring to look at the questioner – leave alone answer him, he told him to mind his business.

He had typed his reply sitting alone on hostel's roof, letting his anger and disgust direct his words; and had remained sitting there till the small hours of the night, cursing the world every few minutes – after deleting all the conversation; and switching his mobile off to cut the world out.

# Chapter 58.

Having met Gulab, Shikhar was now on his way to Bulbul. He perceived himself as a man who had raised his station in the life, Shikhar - a tall man with a charming personality, he had married well and it was a successful marriage; he never loved his second wife like he loved Sumitra. Lately, he had increasingly come to see his fault at the time of their separation. He was a jerk and he made no bones about it. If he was to tell you his story he would even have called himself jerk - however, he probably wouldn't tell you his story.

Yes, Sumitra, he loved her. The whole world would tell you it was an arranged marriage but they both had understood even before they exchanged greetings that it a happiness beyond measure was looking at them in the face. Perfection wouldn't have come to define it, their chemistry and their dedication to the relationship. It was a thing too good to be true. Too good. Perhaps, too good to stay true for long. And suddenly, for no apparent reason; she was having migraines.

But why, he would ask, why it had to be. Because truth was that while God may accidently throw a gem in your way; you must be careful since he would forever be trying to take it back.

And wasn't he himself to be blamed? Shouldn't he have been more patient in those days that were so hard on her? But no he was to act like a jerk.

Yes, he was a jerk in those days; he still considered his behavior in those days wrong, even sinfully wrong - but he couldn't realize it in those days. Or could he? Yes, maybe there was a voice telling him what he was doing was wrong, and this voice got stronger when his anger would cool off after their argument

... But when he was angry, no voice came to reason with him. For a long time, he had kept this anger within him, waited patiently for Sumitra to recover. When it finally started showing itself, there was no taming. In the very same way, his resolve had failed when Sumitra had started calling him with her reproaches and he had decided to give a patient ear every time she may decide to do so.

Another truth is that it was Sumitra who demanded the divorce, though he had always wanted it. If he couldn't bring up the subject, it was out of knowledge that what he wanted was wrong. When Sumitra finally asked him, he couldn't even pretend not to want it. He had nodded, simply nodded that day looking down; failing to look into her eyes despite his anger; when Sumitra who... he always cursed himself whenever this detail was recalled - Sumitra who was at that moment suffering from one of her severe headaches; had tried to take both the children, he like the jerk he was, had dared to ask her to take only one.

Perhaps it wasn't as unexpected. Sumitra was never one who would advise you to stay in a failing marriage. Her father, she had told him, used to beat her mother. It had disgusted her against all that was her childhood – her parents, her country, everything. Perhaps that was why her brother was so foolish a fellow. 'Perhaps', he wondered, 'we are all reactions to our parents.'

And Sumitra had always put very high value on Independence. He was prepared to take her as a housewife but she was resolved to find a career and that she had managed wonderfully. And the dignified way in which she carried herself, the energy which she used to show ... she was more than he could have asked for.

...... But it was unbearable - that angst in him; and those fights hadn't done anyone, anything good. It wasn't like he sat down on a chair and thought about it or spent sleepless nights thinking about the thing. All he had done was to wish for it, that frustration he felt when she wasn't available on account of her migranes, to go away. It didn't. And, when the moment came, this same frustration made him go the wrong way. He divorced her, most crucial decision in lives of four people - and neither of them (he knew Sumitra couldn't have wanted It - she had just decided to free him of responsibility) had thought before choosing for divorce; and had let momentum created by circumstances guide them.

Perhaps it would have been better if she had taken Gulab too. Some very wrong kind of notion, seem to spring up in that boy's mind - his competitiveness, aloofness. In the beginning, he thought that Gulab was maturing well, this was exactly the kind of attitude that was needed to succeed in this world. Though never discriminated against, he had always felt like an outsider in States - who must constantly show himself worthy to be accepted. He had thought his son must learn to pass the test too.

However, over time, he realized how damaging this notion had been to his childhood.

What concerned him even from the very beginning of separation was the fact that he wouldn't even talk to Bulbul - Shikhar wanted them, his children to stay close to each other. He tried to talk to him about that but.... he realized that he was terrible in this children-to-father talk. And even now when he saw his son in such miserable silences, he had blamed himself for his condition.

He was secretly pleased when Gulab refused to live with him upon hearing the news of his second marriage. Perhaps, he thought, the boy would do much better living with his mother and daughter. Moreover, he couldn't imagine Gulab living with Chaya, his second wife. Was it an effort to justify this second marriage? Should he have married again?

Is he happier in this pale marriage? That is just the word that could have described his thoughts about the marriage. 'Pale' - no heat or color in it, no energy.

Chaya's ex-husband had died in a car accident and left three children behind. She wasn't a looker either but she was a good cook - he met her at a restaurant where she was the chef. And a friendship fostered. They were just two people too tired and bitten of life to have any energy in it; who discovered that life would be far more bearable if they are togather. He always knew there never would be that energy in their relationship like one he had with Sumitra but there was definitely a certain harmony.

Then one day Sumitra died. Just like that. Due to work reasons, he couldn't even see her dead body for one last time. And though he had seen his parents' death; it was this death that had made him stay up all night to think about his life - and realize what a wrong he had done in divorcing her.

His three step-children, one may add, seemed to be doing much better in their lives than Gulab and Bulbul.

# Chapter 59.

At seven O' clock in the morning Bulbul wakes up – still feeling tired though she hadn't done much work for days, absent-mindedly picks up mobile. Nothing. Whom am I even expecting? Gulab had nothing to with her – a thought which makes her heart heavy again. Was feeling relaxed just moments ago – sleep, sleep was good; restful, peaceful – like death. No nightmares. If only it was same every night. She forced herself towards the washroom, looked at herself in the mirror. Death, death, death – why not die? Why pretend to go on living; every passing moment a new pain? Why? Why? What is the point? Why? Why? Why?

She washed her face. Is this the face you assumed you could have Gulab with! He hates you, hates you, hates you...

The door bell rang. Bulbul opened the door expecting the milkman. She didn't like him, he was taking an awful lot of interest in her life ever since her uncle died. It was also true for the plumber she had to call and local shopkeepers as well. They had all grown a lot bolder ever since she had started living alone. It wasn't the milkman.

It was her father.

These last few days she had yearned for some real company, someone on whom she could throw herself and weep - the only real friend she had was Divya but Divya was too bad at consoling people, especially consoling them about things she herself didn't know. She had even tried and failed to recall Sally.

And so you would have believed when she saw someone as good as her father, she could throw herself on his shoulders and start weeping. And believe me, were we to remove the event of Gulab's disgust and its effects from her life; she would have done exactly that - she did exactly that when Sumitra had died but now, now everything had changed.

She was no longer the ever-adopting child that she was when she had adopted Gulab after six years of living separately. She was someone else. When she saw her father, it was just one island looking at other - very little of conversation was made between two.

She could read the emotions in him, he was worried about her - it showed on his face. She had long realized that Gulab was so disgusted by her confession - that he won't ever mention it to anyone; it could destroy his image - and so she wasn't surprised when she discovered that her dad was clueless about her secret after having met Gulab.

The disgust shown by Gulab was eating into her, even when she was consciously trying to avoid thinking of him (she had removed his photo from her room); she had grown weak - almost skinny; her face had grown pale. She could bear rejection, Gulab was in his every right to do so but it was disgust he had shown which ate into her - as if she had done something filthy. The visible distortion in her physique was what worried her father.

He wasn't showing anger because he believed he had lost his right to do so, yet he emphasized his open offer, the one he had made to both his children at Sumitra's death - offer to take them to states. He actually pleaded her to come with him - she felt sorry for him but there was no accepting that offer. She excused herself on the pretext of her studies. Now she could finally be alone in this house and she wanted that. To be left alone. People never want you – they want someone else and they make you be that someone else by looking at you in some particular way, talking to you in a particular way. Ever gaze, every sound that falls on you is a bar of that cage which society builds on you.

She asked him to stay although not in an insisting manner - but he intended to. He was in India for a week and intended to be with them for two and a half days. She showed him around the city -wherever he wished to go, however, their time together was interrupted by the few hours she spent attending college as she told him. The truth was she hadn't attended college for days now, had now gone to college to avoid him and had returned without attending any classes.

# Chapter 60.

She didn't go with him to the airport. He reminded her of his offer yet again as he said goodbye and hailed for the taxi. It was only after taking his seat in the taxi, he finally brought himself to ask what he had failed to ask Gulab and what he now almost failed to ask her - if they were hiding something.

He knew by personal experience that everyone had secrets - and the bigger the secrets are, quieter the air around you. They had some deep hidden secret or grief which was eating them from inside – in Bulbul's case, he believed it to be her mother. In Gulab's case, he thought it was some love affair. He couldn't have thought their secret was a shared one.

He felt that they were too young for all this – perhaps he couldn't bring himself to ask them about it because of distance that had developed between him and them.

Now though he could no longer avoid it. His question had made Bulbul looked up into his eyes - a significant look was exchanged between them. Her eyes seemed to weep without shedding tears. He tried to read it out, but couldn't get anything.

She shook her head and stepped back to let the taxi go. Maybe, just maybe, had he come out and repeated his question; he could have extracted the answer. One can speculate over his reaction if he had known his children's problem. Instead, he stayed in the car and nodding to her briefly, asked the driver (who seemed to have enjoyed the little scene) to start.

She saw him wave his hand as taxi faded away in distance, she tried to wave back but found no strength in her arm. She waited till the car was out of sight, before she went back to the house, closed the door - and with her back against it gave out a loud cry.

She fell down on the floor and kept lying down there, her face on her arm which was stretched upwards; feeling the floor to be cold –finding no courage to rise up, having no reason to. She didn't care that she might be spoiling her clothes.

Sleep. Must sleep. That is the only way to avoid pain.

.... Even with the risk of nightmares, it was better to try sleeping than staying awake. But how would she sleep, in such pain? She wasn't sleepy just then, she had just woken up from a long night of sleep a couple of hours ago. And yet, she must sleep. That is the only way to get away from this pain. For there was nothing to distract her from that constant consciousness of his rejection when she was awake. Nothing except... except, there was this day-dream, a kind of scene she would imagine to herself – her favorite; a kind of secret corner in that palace of make-believe she had once created and which had now been crushed by reality. That corner though was still there, that dream she created for herself was still there - made real by details she had given to it, it had survived the long years of reality. A dream in which he comes back for her. It was in this place that she would hide in moments like these when nothing else worked ... but it didn't always let her entrance. It didn't this time. Strange shape – she wandered noticing for the first time the shape of the foot of a sofa that was in her living room for years. Should she try to enter that day-dream again? She wondered having nothing else.

She decided against it. This time she was afraid to go to that corner, afraid she will find more pain than relief in her favorite dream. Why go on living when he hates you? Why go on suffering? She didn't know why. Everything is ruined. Everything is ruined. Everything is ruined. Everything.....

# Chapter 61.

I do not have much energy left to go on to finish this sad account. And suddenly I see no point. It seems like a communication failure, I'm afraid you are still judging her; are disgusted by her - but how do I tell you, friends, that it was no fault of her. There was a barren land, friends, a barren, desolate land? with its hot winds that bellowed all day; barren land you understand - life was hard and there were 'rules' as to the way to life, even for flowers, flowers of love, had to grow in well-defined rows if they are to find nourishment

... but one day a flower had the audacity of growing on tabooed lands. In innocence, it looked up even smiling, to the cruel skies - not knowing, how and when it got stained by blood, and how it was only destined to be crushed.

Such rubbish! I wonder how I will ever make you believe, perhaps I can't. If that is the way it is to be, so be it. Anyway, I can't possibly explain to you the suffering of a heart for whom life has become a constant choice – and death has become a stalker, every moment more seductive with her question, "Will you kill yourself?" "Now?" "Now?" "Now?" "Now?" "Now?" never tired of those 'no's knowing that single 'yes' is all she needs.

Bulbul dropped off studies and continued to live alone. Her father would send her money every month - she had always told him that she was looking for a job. She never looked for any job but soon her music album hit the market. She even started earning from her albums.

Was it worth it? Yes, at times she felt like she couldn't bear it, but she had realized it had to be. It always had to be. What is more, she wanted it to be that way - she won't have it any other way, oh, no she won't. Of all her story that I have told you, she won't change a word. She won't have the world where she didn't love Gulab, she won't have the world where he wasn't her brother and she won't have the world where he would be anything different than what he was. Even the social prejudice against her passion seems to have empowered her passion by challenging it constantly - and it wouldn't be the feeling she defined herself with if prejudice wasn't there. All of this must be. Must be, must be, must be, must be, must, must, must, must.

She rarely talked to anybody except Divya. Divya tried to help her recover whatever she was suffering but it was useless. Bulbul would lie whole day in front of television lost in her thoughts. The sad state mentioned in the last chapter was her usual state, though occasionally she would get out of it. Twice she got into optimism and tried to talk to Gulab, she even tried to visit him first in his college than the place where he started his job. Let alone talking to her, he would leave the place upon mere sight of her.

If you have had some form of unrequited love, do not judge her by it. For her, her love for him was her very existence. If only he would so much as talk to her again, she could have something to live by, but the awareness of the fact that he was disgusted by her mere sight devoured her from inside - so much had this thing held her consciousness, that the shock of her uncle's rape attempt or her own mother's demise had not much impact on her when compared to it.

She stopped doing stage shows due to weakness - she was now skipping meals regularly.

About a year after his visit; her father phoned her to talk about Gulab's engagement. He seemed to have assumed that she already know about it. So, he (Gulab) won't tell me even about this - she thought suddenly ending her call; it had to happen someday.

Just a couple of weeks after that, there was a preplanned recording - Bulbul's songs had got her popularity by that time.

Divya seeing her condition wanted to cancel but Bulbul, to Divya's amazement, insisted. Divya, despite her most honest and good-hearted efforts, had failed to understand Bulbul. Even in her best of moods Bulbul would only talk with her about her music and refused to pay attention to or talk about any other subject.

Divya had a key role to play in Bulbul's survival this far - she regularly paid her visits, the only company Bulbul had in those last days.

It was during this recording, Bulbul had herself written the song - and so, it seems strange that she should suddenly stop in the middle of recording the song; as if a phrase in it had caught her attention and for one last time tears rolled out of her eyes. She didn't sob, didn't move, just wept silently. It all happened with studio people and Divya watching her, they called her - and ran to her.

Within seconds they had reached her but except for tears that continued to stream out of her eyes, there were no signs of life in her. Her body was cold and numbed; her eyes didn't blink, were large as if she had seen something horrible and she could have been called dead but, to the great shock of everyone, she continued to weep even after her death.

Struck by strange phenomena, people took her to the hospital where doctors declared her dead. It was only when a dumb-struck doctor finally closed her eyes that tears stopped.

Divya took the paper from her hands – it was a song, a song about unrequited love. She read it, no particular details were to be made out of it. It was a song about an unsung song, about a woman dying as she lived her life waiting, her eyes set on the road. She had chosen to wait and now she was dying tear by tear, realizing she wouldn't be loved, wouldn't be a wife, a mother, the happy worlds were not for her - her lot was to wait, and die like an unsung song as fate wanted her to.

# Epilogue

Bulbul's story should have ended with last chapter itself and yet, I know you are interested in fates of other characters. The pen must go on, even when the heart will have it stopped ...

Some might consider it a minor victory in that she did manage to have Gulab visit her if only at her funeral. There she was - her body as soft as rose petal being turned to ashes by ever hungry fire; and the sight broke Gulab down. And it scared him, not the fact that she was now dead which now seemed to be written in fates to him but the dead body itself.

While he heard his father saying she seemed to have regained her lost beautiful innocence; Gulab who had not seen her for a while now saw something else. Lying in the pile of wood logs – her skin glowing in fire, she didn't look at all like herself; there was something.... something artificial about her, like the dolls she used to play with – even her skin, it seemed to him, though he wouldn't know why it didn't seem to him human; but an artificial replacement. It was as if somebody, who?, had taken away real Bulbul and replaced her by a double –an artificial humanoid. In fact, he wanted to reach out and touch the body for one last time to make sure it was Bulbul's.

He had wept before in his life but it was for the first time, that he was really broken. And though he soon stopped weeping for her, he would never really manage to get over her loss. All this time he had felt disgusted by her, even his engagement was a result of this disgust but where was that disgust that had made him hate her? If only he could have his old disgust back, he could feel better, but now that the source of disgust was gone, the disgust was gone too and all that was left was the loss – he felt that his rejection was responsible for her sudden death and the guilt was now to rule the rest of his life and the very things that he hadn't taken for granted, which had caused him to reject her would now be visited by doubts - wouldn't it have been better for both of them if he had agreed? Won't her happiness be worth all that it would have implied? Society? People? why should he care what they think?

He married the woman to he was engaged to - he had proposed her simply to be able to put off any hopes Bulbul still might hold for getting him but now, he married this woman in same uninterested way he will live the rest of his life. He did get a high earning job that put him in power over other people. Only to discover that there was no joy to be gotten out of power; but it was too late to change himself. He stayed emotionally distant, became a work-alcoholic and committed suicide eight years into the marriage, still childless.

Their father, having survived the death of both children, took retirement and loved to a very old age. His step-children did well in their life, he felt no special attachment with them.

Bulbul's songs are still popular, many singers would give their right arm to have a voice that could pierce hearts like that - but what do they know? A right arm was nothing when compared to cost she had given to that pain.

Divya would often wonder what had grieved her friend this much, at times she felt like asking her father or brother about it - but she respected her friend's life too much to go around asking those questions. Business from Bulbul's music albums had got her enough money to start her own little music school; last I heard about her, she was doing rather well.

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# About the author

Hello, friends,

I hail from Punjab, India.

I'm a textbook Case of INFP personality type with all its stereotypical anxieties and pessimism. I'm a big loner who avoids parties and gatherings; is quite shy around girls; often get lost in my thoughts; is a miserable dresser, don't like combing my hair or shaving – can go through months without bath; as you can see I'm terrible in introducing myself; am socially awkward to put it lightly; though I still have some gems for friends. Another weakness is that I can't live in any sort of routine – and so have no fixed time for meals and going to bed. And so, not very healthy. Also, currently unemployed.

I read a lot, as in a lot, as in 'buys books before clothes' type. I often end up missing my meal, too lost in reading. Another reason that I skip meals is because I hate cooking – no doubt I'm not too healthy. Reading is an addiction and I'm almost always reading many books at the same time. Another addiction is music and I have headphones on all day.

In fiction, I mostly read only widely acclaimed books. I like learning about cultures and so try to read more from parts of the world, I've been to. In non-fiction, I've interest in Economics, Psychology, Philosophy, Marketing science, history, journalism, political thought, religious thought etc.

I think it is relevant and so I will mention it – I'm an outspoken skeptic on the question of religion with a very heavy leaning towards atheism. I hope to see an apathiest world, where 'God' and all religions will become something that can only interest historians.

There is not a lot on the plus side – except my friends say that I'm knowledgeable, have some fine analytical ability and can be witty. Although I think they are just flattering me.

Beyond books, I love American comedy and sci-fi serials (special mention for Doctor Who, Sherlock Holmes, and FRIENDS.); among movies ones from Christopher Nolan, Rajkumar Hirani, Disney, Pixar, Marvel comics, DC; dogs, also chess, chips, coke, and chocolate. My diet was heavily affected by that ban on Maggie – one of a few things I know how to cook.

# Contact the Author

At rds.sidharth@gmail.com

on Goodreads, I often write book reviews there.

My website. There you will also find some of my short stories.

My Smashwords profile.

Thanks for giving me and my book a chance :)

