

Coper
**T** **hese beautiful lines by Wordsworth are enough to understand the value of love in our lives.**

She gave me eyes, she gave me ears;  
And humble cares, and delicate fears;  
A heart, the fountain of sweet tears;  
And love, and thought, and joy.

**And with these lines, I hope that this collection of thirty-three short stories of which few are on my blog and e-magazines and some have seen the light for the first time here involving love, despair and life will amuse you.**

Image Credit, David Niblack, Imagebase.net

**Atul Sharma.**

**Blog: lifelongstolive.blogspot.in**

**Email:** atulsharmasharma@yahoo.co.in

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, events or locales is purely coincidental.

Copyright: Atul Sharma. All rights reserved

Reads

  * Coper

  * Fruitarian

  * Freed

  * Red Sweater

  * My Granny

  * Goodbye

  * Missing

  * Watch

  * Machar

  * Wrongdoer

  * Revolt

  * Last Walk

  * Good Story

  * Patient

  * Original Ticket

  * Last Bath

  * That Night

  * Offer

  * Balcony

  * Perfect Picture

  * The Other World

  * Dream

  * Cry Of Sorrow

  * Friday

  * At Peace

  * My Chandu

  * Maa--The Fortune Teller

  * Trickery

  * Diwali

  * A House Of My Own

  * The Test

  * Karma

  * Portrait

Coper

My Uncle invented a way to talk to his gone wife.

Tantriks said, "He sees her ghost."

#  Psychiatrists labelled him, "Schizophrenic."

People called him, "Mad."

And I saw his state as a way to end his loneliness and thus finding a reason to live.

He cried all the way from Amritsar to Chandigarh in the ambulance. A journey of six hours in which he was packed like sardines with the body of my aunty in a Maruti Omni Ambulance. Imagine the scene; you have the body of your life in front of you. You can't quit weeping; you have no one to comfort you, no one to provide some solace to you. Even a brave heart could not help himself in such a situation.

And my uncle was not a brave heart, he was a gentle soul—a soft man. His eyes had swelled. We had to peel him off from the stretcher. The stretcher was laid down in the veranda of his house. He fell on his knees with heart wrenching shrieks. Aunty was lucky to have a man love her so much but my uncle was unlucky to have my aunty who left her alone. We can't blame her. She loved my uncle more than her life. A sudden heart attack defeated her love. And she said goodbye to my uncle.

The sky was clear that bad day with the sun shining bright. But the brightness in my uncle's life had gone. Tents were erected for people to sit under its shade. My uncle sat under the sun. The sun's stinging rays did not bother him anymore. A man who never left a breath without A.C was today immune to savage July Sun. Cars passed with people in them casting a curious look at the tent and on seeing many people wailing inside it, moving on. I stood in a corner leaning against the tent's pole watching helplessly my uncle's plight. By evening aunty made herself one with flames. People left for their homes. Uncle was left alone with his only son in U.S.

He came next day and left in a week after fulfilling his duties of a son.

"God has been unjust to me. I have no faith in him," complained my uncle every time I met him.

He looked sad very sad. His eye bags told his misery. My Uncle could not sleep. Even sleep refused to provide him comfort. The silence of night seemed so harsh to him that he got up with a shriek and wailed loudly for long hours all alone.

"He has lost his sanity. He beats his chest at night, throws things, and wails so loudly that even our hearts weep with him. He fills the whole neighbourhood with his shrieks. Take him to an asylum," his neighbour Mr. Mehta pleaded to me.

His hair did not see comb for days. His never ironed clothes sang their own woes. He had become bony and always wore a sheet of gloom on his once shining face. His hands shivered when he ate often allowing the morsels to fall on floor. He and his flat smelled bad. He had become a living corpse.

"Life is now a burden for me Arun, I want it to end," this had become his wish, which he conveyed to me almost daily.

One evening uncle came to my house. I lived alone in a rented flat in Chandigarh studying at Panjab University for my masters in English Literature.

"I am going to Haridwar. I may not come back. I just wanted to meet you."

"Your job uncle?"

"I resigned."

And he got up and dashed out of my flat leaving his half finished tea on the table. My heart wept for him.

Two months passed without any hearing from uncle. I was worried always thinking about him. And one day I got a call from him.

"Arun I returned. Come in the evening," Uncle asked me.

To be frank, I had no hope he would return. I was happy.

In the evening, I went to see him. I was expecting a dishevelled hair, poorly dressed man but to my surprise uncle looked dashing in his red T-shirt and black trousers. His eyes had lost their pain. They had gained a spark. A spark to live. He got a cool hair cut too. He hugged me and took me inside. I sat on the sofa and saw a cup full of tea in front of me. I picked it up to take a sip as I was in desperate need after my gruelling office.

"Nah... Arun it is your aunt's. Put it down. I will get a fresh cup for you," shouted my uncle.

I was stunned.

A cup for my late aunty, sounded insane to me. Still, I played mute. He appeared from the kitchen with a fresh cup, poured tea from the kettle, and handed it to me. I took a sip it was delicious.

Uncle was staring at the sofa seat by my side and smiling softly. Yesterday your aunt and I went to Rose Garden for lunch. I prepared her favourite Rajmah-Chawal. And your aunt even did not touch the plate. Her hunger has disappeared somewhere. She eats and drinks nothing nowadays. I have to finish her eatables. Like this tea and he took the cup and drank the tea in one go.

I was scared of my uncle now. I knew he had gone mad. And he started again.

"Tomorrow I have called the contractor. Your aunt wants me to renovate the house," said uncle as he did a handshake in the air by my side.

I stood up and rushed out of the house. My eyes became moist. I knew I have lost my uncle. I went to my home and could not sleep properly that night.

The next day I received a call from him during my lunch time. He sounded excited.

"Arun I have bought Honda City for your aunt. We are going for a ride to Solan. Do you want to join in?"

"Huh... No uncle some other day. I have a deadline to meet," I excused myself.

"Okay my boy," he replied as if my not going made him happier.

Worried, I consulted a psychiatric. After giving a patient hearing and charging a bomb, he labelled my Uncle a Schizophrenic. "Bring him to me, he needs urgent care," he suggested.

"Schizo... what?" I tried to grasp the term. It was a new thing for me.

"He has become delusional," the psychiatric cleared the air.

I nodded and with a lighter purse came out of his clinic.

I knew a Tantrik from my college days who gave me something for memory increase. The something worked or not, I can't be sure but my marks were good. The same Tantrik gave me some mantras written in a neatly folded chit for my uncle. "Say them in his ears during night," he instructed. Now that was also difficult for me as I had become afraid of my uncle during day let alone the idea of night.

Some people of my Uncle's society who met me in the street advised me to take him to a mental hospital. They had seen him talking and laughing with no one in the street. "He seems so happy to be true. He talks in the air and then suddenly erupts into a roaring laughter," said Mr. Mehta. My faith wanted me to take him to the psychiatrist. I fell for my faith and threw the Tantrik chits in the sewer. I knew I needed to act urgently. I called up his son and told him about his father's plight but he was too absorbed with life to get concerned. He advised me to take him to the psychiatrist he would pay the bill. "I will pay the bill," his words echoed in my ears for long. This is what has happened to our relations nowadays they have restricted themselves to paying bills.

In the morning, I got a call from uncle in office.

"Arun come home during your lunch. I have ordered pizza. Your aunty wants you here," insisted my uncle excitedly.

And I determined to take my uncle to the psychiatrist, reached his flat in the afternoon. The door was open. I stepped inside the hall. There was no sign of my uncle. An eerie silence lorded over the house. During aunty's time laughter ruled over this house. I called for him but got no response. Then I heard Uncle's voice. I knew he was in the balcony adjoining his bedroom enjoying the November sunshine. I stopped at the bedroom's door. I could see his side. He was sitting in his favourite rocking chair wrapped in a grey shawl. A cushioned wooden chair was placed opposite to him. And the pizza was resting in its box placed on a small stool between the chairs. Uncle was reading a poem. After aunty's death, he had become fond of poems. I tried to hear it closely. It was Wordsworth's. He was reading it loud in a clear voice and I heard him say:

She gave me eyes, she gave me ears;  
And humble cares, and delicate fears;  
A heart, the fountain of sweet tears;  
And love, and thought, and joy.

I sat on the bed watching my Uncle in a delightful state. The sun was serving me warmth through the window. But it was the warmth of my Uncle's love that touched me. My eyes welled up. Here I was viewing an eternal love. I sat for a long time on the bed hearing my uncle read many poems one by one. My lips played a smile. I sighed softly. My troubled heart was now calm. I rose to go back to my office. I did not want to disturb my Uncle and Aunty. As I was climbing down the stairs poems kept ringing in my ears. A smile was still on my lips. I was not troubled for my Uncle anymore. God had provided me with an insight. I needed to do nothing. My Uncle was happy. He needed no help. He needed no treatment. I tore the psychiatrist's card. I saw my Uncle not as sick anymore.

I saw him as a Coper.

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Fruitarian

Once I had the pleasure... Nah... Un-pleasure of knowing a fruitarian. Now you will wonder what a fruitarian is. To make the story easy for you let me first tell you what a fruitarian is.

A fruitarian is a person who eats a diet that includes fruits, vegetables, nuts, and seeds. A person whose diet comprises seventy-five percent of these elements can be considered a fruitarian. Now that may seem perfectly normal to you. It seemed perfectly normal to me too until I met a hard-core Fruitarian. A hard-core fruitarian is one who eats only fallen fruits, vegetables, nuts and seeds as they consider plucking these as killing them. And killing is bad.

I was once engaged to a hard-core fruitarian. Now the incident, I think to call it an accident would be more appropriate.

"I am a fruitarian. I can't eat these," she declared as she pushed the plate away towards me.

"What's that," I asked puzzled as I heard the term for the first time.

"A fruitarian is a person...," she continued.

She gave the definition of the hard-core fruitarian. I have shared with you the normal definition also.

Anyway, I stuffed my self with the whole plate full of cut fruits. And the whole time she stared at me as if I were on a killing rampage. As I took the last fruit in she left a sigh full of sadness. I smiled. She threw her glance outside the salad bar.

"Let's catch a movie," I suggested.

"Which movie?"

"Any... On fruits," I laughed.

She threw an infuriating look at me. I smiled softly looking down.  
The movie was Chennai Express. A good one indeed. She was giving a suppressed laugh like she was uncomfortable in the theatre. She had not rested her head on the chair.

"Any problem," I asked concerned.

"Huh... I think the chairs may be germy. I can get dandruff from them," she said in a whispering tone.

The lights came back in interval. Then to my surprise, she pulled a big impeccable white towel and spread it on the headrest of the chair, took a long sigh and ordered cheerfully to me, "Let's have popcorn and cold drink."

I raced out of the hall with the whole hall staring at me saying in their heads, "What a weirdo?"

I lingered for a long time at the popcorn counter. Then gathering courage, I took the tray and saw Bhavana coming out with the towel under her arm.

"I feel dirty inside. So many people breathing together. The air is polluted."

I said nothing. I was feeling... I do not know what. We sat on the sofa opposite the popcorn counter and she popped popcorn and drank Pepsi without asking me for once.

"Are they not germy? Look, the counter boy he is not so clean," I shouted inside my head.

"We will meet tomorrow at your home. It has become so dirty outside."

And we departed without seeing the rest of the movie. She was a fan of Shahrukh Khan but he should have taken care of his fans and made the theatre germ free. Poor Shahrukh Khan, he lost a fan to germs.

The next evening she came to my home, her eyes widened on entering the sitting room and you won't believe it the first thing she did was to fish out a hanky out of her purse and she dusted the table with it.

"There was so much dust on it," she said with an air of accomplishment.

I stood with my head down with shame like a culprit.

"Let's go to my place," she offered.

"Why?"

"Hmmm... It is cleaner there."

I wanted to slap tightly on her face but I did not want to make her face germy. So I pardoned her for the filthy remark.

"Some other time," I said in an annoying tone.

"Okey Dokey," she said and ran like a prisoner just released from jail.

I took a big sigh.

And my mind started to produce thoughts of how to get rid of this germy? No one would have believed me anyhow so the idea of approaching parents was out of question.

The next evening I met her at fragrance garden. The sun was throwing an unbelievable golden hue on the marigold flowers and they were looking marvellous. I spotted her sitting on the grass cross-legged. She was meditating. I too sat with her although with jeans I found it uncomfy.

She opened one eye, saw me, and rejoined her eyelashes.

"Hello," I greeted.

She said nothing and kept on sitting in that posture for fifteen minutes. I was getting angry. The sun was getting angry too so he dimmed his light.  
She opened her eyes.

"Hello," I tried again.

She kept a finger on her lips motioning me to keep quite. She did not close her eyes this time. She kept on watching people in the park. The next fifteen minutes killed themselves.

"Are you a crack head Bhavana?" I asked exasperated.

She smiled and said, "I was talking with myself."

"Why? Why? Why? Why the hell you need to do this?" Now she was driving me crazy I pulled out some grass and flung it in the air.

And the crack head quoted Swami Vivekananda:

"Talk to yourself once in a day, Otherwise you may miss meeting an excellent person in this world."

"What wonderful thoughts?" she exclaimed.

"Yeah. What wonderful thoughts?" I agreed with her.

"Never marry an idiot," I added.

"Who said it," she asked so innocently that I wanted to slap myself for being with such an idiot.

"I."

I got up with a roaring laugh and she closed her eyes to start her meditation, after all how could she miss meeting an excellent person.

reads

Freed

Manchanda Uncle walked alone in the silence of noon. The July sun was at its best to squeeze energy out of him. It looked like the sun was hell bent on taking some revenge from my Uncle. He saw a peepal tree. He sat under it. The peepal tree realising him as old as itself asked help from the wind and passed a breeze to him.

The shirt wet with sweat provided him extra relief. He felt as if the nature switched on a.c for him. He mopped the sweat from his forehead, took a sigh, and put his head between his knees.

His old fatigued body wanted rest so he closed his eyes and waited for sleep to take over his body. And sleep arrived only to go back in a few minutes and he again had to face the tormenting reality.

Reality stung more in his age.

At seventy, my Manchanda Uncle had never thought that this could happen to him. He was sure that by age relations grow stronger. Whole his life he had toiled so hard for her, just for a few moments of comfort with her. From being a refugee from Pak to an owner of three garment shops in Delhi, he thought he had conquered the world. He handed the bigger shops to his two sons and kept the smaller one for time pass. But for a man like him who found rest in struggles peace held no value.

'Let's find a guru and spend the rest of our lives in the shelter of religion,' he suggested to aunty one evening over tea.

Aunty added a small smile to his. She knew one who cannot find peace in these wonderful times of good finances, health, and cool grandkids will never be able to find it in any guru's ashram.

Still she did not want to deny him any piece of happiness. After all, he had toiled so hard in life.

She said, 'Find one and we will go for a few days and live there'.

'Not for a few days but for the rest of our days,' asserted Uncle.

'Okay as you please,' answered aunty without any worry. She knew Uncle would not be able to live there even for a month. His shops will pull him back.

The next week passed without any mention of guru by Uncle. Aunty thought Uncle got over it. And one evening Uncle proved aunty wrong by coming with a pamphlet in his hands of a place somewhere in Madhya Pradesh near a small town Ashoknagar.

'I bought a two b.h.k flat there for us. Do not tell the kids,' confided Uncle in a tone overflowing with ecstasy.

Aunty said nothing. The next day Uncle declared to his two sons, their wives, and his four grandkids about his going. Everyone knew he would come back in a few days. So no tears were shed.

This time Uncle booked train tickets.

'We are sanyasis (ascetics) now we won't travel by air anymore', announced my Uncle. The crowd of the Delhi railway station imparted my Uncle a scare and he took aunty to the Delhi airport. There he was happy.

'It is our last journey, we can go by air this time,' he excused. Aunty only smiled.

They reached Ashoknagar in time. Then travel of an hour by taxi brought them to guru's ashram.

The place was a sight to behold. Every building stood tall and wide with European style domes. Every structure eye met was made of marble. The ashram was spread over a wide area. Many small villages had sacrificed their existence for the Ashram. It had its own farmland, powerhouse, and water supply. It was like a small city with private government. Every local politician made beeline here to garner votes. The Guru mostly travelled by air. And he had even got a specially transformed train compartment for himself. His compartment was latched to the train by which he desired to travel such was his clout.

Thousands of devotees resided there permanently. The old shunned by the younger lot sought refuge here, the younger ones here were mostly orphans, and a few of them were so much fed up by life that they decided to reside here to seek spiritual competence.

The Guru was not an easy man to meet. He was in his mid seventies and many diseases were living in his physical body. He made his appearance only on special occasions like festivals and his birthday.

My Uncle and aunt tended to a routine. After all, they were sanyasis now. They woke up at four in the morning, took a bath and aunty made tea for both. They have not brought any servant with them.

Do your work yourself was the motto of my Uncle here. It was easy for him to say, as he knew aunty was always there for him.

At five, the Ashram's bus took them to the temple called Puja Hall. They stayed here till eight, praying and singing bhajans. The Puja Hall was always jam-packed.

They were back by nine. Then they did a quick breakfast of milk and rusk. By ten, they reached the Langar Hall where aunty made rotis and Uncle served them. They got free by four in the evening. Uncle was tired by then, very very tired.

The time of four to six was devoted to the meditation centre called Shanti Hall. And six to eight disappeared in a revisit to the Puja Hall. When the clock announced nine Uncle and aunty went to bed. Sometimes filling their stomachs with dinner and sometimes with empty stomachs as aunty was too tired to prepare and our dear Uncle was too tired to ask his jaws to work.

In this manner, a full week was reduced from their age. Uncle was happy with the routine and aunty was finding it difficult to cope.

Then as the second week made its presence felt. My dear Uncle became restless. The worry of his shops started to haunt him. The numerous hours of labour spent to make them exist troubled him.

'Children are careless. They will destroy my life's labour-- my shops,' worried Uncle.

On the other hand, the face of aunty received the glow of tranquillity on it. Her heart was calm and at peace. She started to ignore the ever-whining Uncle. This was a shock for Uncle, as he only knew the loving and obedient aunty.

After one full month brimmed with restlessness, worries and ignorance Uncle declared to aunty.

'We will go back tomorrow.'

Aunty made no response.

'We will go back tomorrow,' repeated Uncle.

Aunty only nodded.

In the morning, bags were packed for departure. Uncle picked his and went out of the door. Aunty did not pick her and declared:

'I will live for the rest of my life... here.'

And the door was slapped at the face of Uncle, startled he stood at the door for a moment. He pushed it and went inside. There he found aunty sitting on bed cross-legged, eyes closed and chanting the word of the guru. Uncle's throat developed a lump, tears rolled down his eyes and he could only call aunty's name Sudha and nothing more. He stood for a quite long time waiting for aunty to respond. Nevertheless, Uncle knew her Sudha well. After waiting for a long time Uncle forced his body out of the door, leaving aunty with her newly discovered spiritual world, which had freed him from its shackles only leaving my Uncle with his shops.

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Red Sweater

Sitting in a corner of the Kashmere gate bus stand in Delhi, Ramu's eyes noted all children about his age --- twelve.

He sighted a boy in red sweater. And his feelings kindled regarding the red sweater. His eyes brightened up on imagining himself in a bright red sweater holding the hands of his parents. Alas! It could never be true. He loved red colour. It brought immense joy to him. And he loved a sweater in this colour. It brought a kind of thrill to his heart.

Then the rash honking of horn by a Haryana roadways bus and a rain of abuses by its driver brutally dragged Ramu out of his lovely daydreaming. He pushed his wheel cart to a side on which he sat cross-legged to allow parking space for the bus.

He looked at his clothes that were in tatters. A grey sweater so old and full of holes that its existence proved futile in the harsh winter of December. His bare feet collected the entire chill in its surrounding, transmitting it to his head and giving it an ache.

He pushed his cart to the tea vendor Kishan, held his steel glass in his hands with his hungry eyes searching for any signs of mercy in the eyes of Kishan. Kishan fed Ramu as per his mood. Sometimes he seemed to care too much for him and sometimes he bombarded Ramu with choicest of abuses.

Kishan threw a look at Ramu's begging bowl and seeing a few coins in it asked:

"Hand me some."

Ramu did not budge from his position, maintaining his posture as he knew soon leftover tea in the Kishan's kettle will make its way into his glass.

Soon it happened making the glass half-full. Ramu took a small sip; he wanted the tea to stay longer in the glass so that he could savour its taste and warm his hands for a long time.

"Now bugger off," shouted Kishan as Ramu was blocking way of his paying customers.

Ramu gulped hurriedly the last sip and pushed his cart to a side.

His eyes fell on Kalua, his boss. Kalua had many beggars like Ramu under his command from whom he collected earnings in the afternoon and evening.

Soon he found Kalua standing in front of him. His skin was so black that his black moustaches were nearly invisible and his white eyes always looked distinct from his face.

"Bastard where were you in the afternoon," demanded Kalua.

"I was... was here," stammered Ramu.

"Don't you dare lie to me."

And a cheek freezing slap made its way to Ramu's face. The force of the slap stung Ramu. It was very cold and a tight slap was only going to aggravate the situation for Ramu.

"Never budge from your position," ordered Kalua as he bent down to collect all the coins in Ramu's bowl and moved on.

Ramu's eyes became moist but he looked heavenwards to contain his tears.

Again, the sight of the red sweater made Ramu happy.

This time a kid around two was wearing the red sweater who was with his parents. The kid had a fair colour and the red sweater provided a faint red glow to his cheeks. The parents were finding it difficult to control the kid's enthusiasm in the bus stand.

"It might be his first trip," wondered Ramu.

The kid was running here and there giving his parents a tough time. Then the kid stood before Ramu. Ramu gave him a big smile. The kid showed his teeth in return. Ramu's hands automatically touched the red sweater and he could feel the softness of the wool. It was a brand new sweater. The kid's mother with a jerk brushed off Ramu's hands and she hurriedly picked up the kid. The kid gave out a loud cry. And the mother, frightened by Ramu's appearance placed a soft slap on the kid's face.

Ramu felt bad for the kid. He felt himself responsible for the slap.

"I should not have touched him," regretted Ramu.

But he knew he didn't did it deliberately. He was just a slave of his instincts at that time. He always wanted a red sweater but he knew no parents other than Kalua. And Kalua could never afford to have a clean and good looking Ramu as he was supposed to beg, to stir pity in the hearts of those who looked at him.

"One day I will run and wear a red sweater," decided Ramu.

Kalua could think far ahead of him and he had made sure that Ramu could never be immunised for polio and this resulted in an invalid Ramu fulfilling the requirement of Kalua.

Kalua stole infants from anywhere. He even stole one day old from the hospitals. Some of them, the good looking ones were sold to couples desperate for a child and the unfortunate ones like Ramu were destined for bus stands, traffic lights, railway stations and crowded markets.

The mother made herself comfortable on a wooden bench with her back towards Ramu. The father went to buy tickets. The red sweater baby placed his chin on the mother's shoulder facing Ramu. Ramu was relishing the blessed scene from a distance. The mother was lovingly patting her son. And every pat released a full smile from the boy spreading joy in the world.

Just then, Ramu's whole body went into a kind of paralysis. His stare froze. He saw Kalua leaned against a round pillar. He was standing a few steps away staring at the child. The mother ceased to pat her child. She was now sitting erect hugging the child more tightly. A sense of anxiety spread on the child's face. A rush of passengers who had just alighted from a Punjab roadways bus blocked Ramu's vision. They were all loud and cheerful. And they were supposed to behave in this pompous manner as they were Punjabis and moreover they had a newly wed couple accompanying them.

After a few minutes of restless waiting all the passengers walked ahead providing Kalua with a hindrance free vision. The scene was same with Kalua still staring at the baby. Kalua's eyes for a second changed their course, took a full round of the bus stand and then stopped midway to meet Constable Hari Ram's. Kalua winked at him. And the bastard Hari Ram who beat Ramu frequently for fun and when drunk even snatched his earnings, disappeared into the washroom.

Now Ramu became worried. He knew what was about to happen? Ramu's forehead created beads of sweat on it in the chilly weather. He knew that after a few minutes the child would never look so pretty. The child will always yearn for a red sweater. The child will become like Ramu for the rest of his life. And he prayed frantically that none of this should happen.

As Ramu was busy with his thoughts, Ramu heard a frightening loud sound. A tyre may have burst. But it looked like many tyres have burst together. Ramu's eyes ran all over the bus stand and he saw that the Punjabi's had lighted a few crackers. They were clapping and their joy knew no bounds. But this created total chaos in the bus stand. People panicked, ran for their lives. Babies cried for their mothers.

Ramu's eyes searched for the red sweater kid. He was safe in the hands of his mother but the father had not arrived yet and the mother was frantically shouting for him.

Ramu saw the disgusting Kalua run towards the red sweater kid. He gave no time for the mother to act, a fist blow in the stomach of the mother, some wails, shouting and the kid was in the hands of Kalua.

Ramu shouted for help as he saw Kalua escaping with the red sweater kid. And he knew that another kid has lost his red sweater forever.

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My Granny

My granny died in the morning and in the evening, she came to meet me in my dream. I was excited to meet her. We talked for hours about my marriage, which was due next month. In the morning, I had found her dead, cold dead. Her motionless body gave me shrieks collecting my mom, dad, and elder brother in the room. My mom seeing me in unbearable pain took me out of the room. After a few hours relatives started to pour in. Old, young, middle, all they came. I was shattered.

She was sixty-five, hit and fit, without a trace of any illness. Always getting up at four and walking to the Temple, which was at least five kilometres away was a part of her routine. She never missed her Temple visits. I often accompanied her to the Temple. And in this temple I met her. She was sitting at her usual place, a corner of the Temple from where Lord Rama could be seen. She counted beads as she talked to me. Her counting paused when she talked and started when I spoke. The whole atmosphere was so divine that my heart felt calm.

My mom shook me. I woke up saying, "Granny." My mom hugged me.

"I met her... I met her," I told my mom frantically.

My mom swept her hand on my head.

"I met her in my dream."

Worry lines appeared on my mom's forehead. She said nothing but I could understand she was worried. The next day I again told my mom, "I met her." This time my mom was scared.

"You talked to her?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"What about?" she investigated.

"About my marriage."

"Marriage... What about marriage?"

"She promised me she would come," I confided.

"Come ? Where?" This time the worry lines were deep, real deep.

"To my marriage. Granny promised me she would come to my marriage."

My mom was deadly scared. She dialled her mom. After a few minutes of talk, she got up from bed, went straight to the kitchen, and came back with two chapattis on a newspaper with pickle on them.

"Give them to Bhiku," she ordered me.

Bhiku is a sweeper.

"Why?"

"Do not question me gal. Do as I say?" said my mother irritated.

I got up and gave it to Bhiku who could always easily be found sitting under the mango tree in our street. He was an old man always busy sweeping the street and when free he loved to smoke under the mango tree resting his back on its big trunk.

"Granny came to meet you?" inquired my mother as soon as I was up the next morning.

"Yeah! but blurred. We could not talk. She seemed disturbed," I said in a sad tone.

My mom was happy. She broke the news to dad who said thank god with a sigh.

At eleven as Bhiku arrived to collect garbage, I again handed him two chapattis with pickle as asked by mom. That noon disturbed about not being able to talk to granny, I slept to calm my troubled mind. And it worked as granny arrived. She was weeping in the cremation ground. I felt afraid and I told her so.

" Don't be afraid I am with you Ruchi," she tried to comfort me.

"Why didn't you come last night," I asked annoyed.

"You gave chapattis and pickle to Bhiku."

"So what?"

"Oh! my dear child. You are so innocent how will you manage at your in- laws. You are nineteen now, learn some things about the world."

"Granny tell me now," I persisted.

"If you give chapattis and pickle to a sweeper we spirits can't come to meet mortals in this world."

My jaws dropped. So that's why my mom gave them to me.

My mom woke me up.

"Drop sleeping in the day you are getting married. Your in - laws will taunt me," she was worried more about herself.

I saw a scheming mother now.

"They won't mom," I yelled to her surprise.

"You met granny again," she asked.

Why the hell moms know everything.

"Yes," I yelled back.

Mom made a short trip to the kitchen and came back with chapattis and pickle.

"I won't," I moved my face aside.

My mom sat at my feet, her tears met my feet, and she said, "Then meet me also in your dreams." I was now under full emotional pressure. I rose and gave them to Bhiku, "Granny please do not stop meeting me," I begged to Granny in my heart.

Now it became a routine to give chapattis and pickle to Bhiku. He was happy at this new source of food in his life. He even made me to see his two front broken teeth sometimes when he smiled. The next full month Bhiku was happy.

The night before my marriage granny came to my dream, "I will come tomorrow." And she was gone. She was standing in dark. Only her face was visible to me that too faintly. I was up panicked. It was two of night. Everybody was asleep so I slept again.

The hotel was decked with flowers and full of guests. My eyes just wanted to see granny and in their search, they met moms.

"Do not look for her she won't come," her eyes said to me.

"She would," I challenged her.

My heart sank as I was about to take my last phera---circumambulating the fire. I stopped. I saw her in a white sari smiling at me. She was wearing a divine radiance on her wrinkled face. I smiled too. I could hear murmurs of my parents asking me to complete the last round. I could not, my feet were frozen. She was standing at the door. Then she started to come towards me. She was not walking. Her feet were just a little bit up from the ground, they were not touching the ground. She was kind of floating on the ground. She came near and passed me taking a full round of the small pandal---fabricated structure and got out through the door. Now I heard pleas of my relatives to move on.

I moved on.

I looked at my mom. Her eyes asked, "Did she come."

I nodded to say, "Yes my granny came."

Thirty years have passed to this meeting. Granny never met me again. Now my mom meets me in my dreams. She says, "She will come to her granddaughter's wedding," which has not been scheduled yet.

And I want my mom to come to bless her granddaughter.

reads

Goodbye

Deeply soaked in the cold waters of Sukhna Lake their feet fought lovingly with each other. Some ducks came near their feet; Sushila moved her leg, and frightened, the ducks took flight.

Sham gave a hearty laugh for a few minutes and his eyes fell on the suicide point. The authorities have closed it for the public many years back.

Many couples tortured by the society have ended their suffering by the help of this gigantic structure.

"Let's have coffee," suggested Sham.

"Nah... tea," countered Sushila.

"Tea, Coffee, Tea, Coffee."

They played their favourite tea-coffee game for a long time.

"Okay tea then," as usual Sham conceded at last and as he rose to get up. Sushila pulled him down by his arm.

"A few minutes more," insisted Sushila her eyes glued on the ducks.

Sham sat down. Sushila rested her head on Sham's shoulder. They said nothing just holding on to the inner calm and hearing the tranquil sound of the water. The water was still in the hot July afternoon. Sham took Sushila's face in his hands and kissed on her forehead.

"Let's go," he said and both got up.

Sham rolled down his trousers, wore his shoes and they started to climb up the stairs.

"Oh! I forgot my chappals," ouched Sushila and she ran downstairs to fetch them.

She slipped her feet into them and climbed the steps one by one slowly. Sham was standing in the middle of stairs. He kept on staring at Sushila. How beautiful she is? He said to his heart with a sigh. Sushila heard his sigh and smiled in return.

They walked at a dim pace towards the coffee shop. The lake didn't have many visitors in the brutal heat; just a few couples like them talking and laughing their worries away, and hugging and some of them feeling the soul of each other through tight embrace.

Sham ordered two coffees. And he realised they have come for tea.

"Don't worry. I will have coffee today," said Sushila and Sham put his hand on hers.

Two hot coffees arrived. An Unusual choice in hot weather. Sham bit his tongue as he realised his second mistake.

"I am sorry. I forgot to order cold coffee."

Sushila just smiled softly.

They drank it slowly saying nothing just pulling the strength of silence in them as they were in desperate need of it.

"What's that," questioned Sushila pointing towards an artificial island in the lake.

Sham turned around.

"There was a restaurant on it once. People were ferried in boats to it. Public loved it, they thronged it to enjoy the cool breeze in hot summers and sunny days in the winters. A huge fire made it its victim. People were saved but the authorities decided against reopening and it was shut down," explained Sham.

Sushila looked at the island with sad eyes, mourning the restaurant's absence.

They downed the last sip. A waiter came with the bill. It was hundred bucks. Sham gave him five hundred.

"Keep the change," he said. The waiter was stunned but happy too. Money was of no use for Sham anymore. He gave it to the waiter to use it.

"Thank you," the waiter bowed his head for a long time than usual.

Sushila burst into laughter. Sham loved Sushila's bursting laughter. He joined her. They got up, started to walk towards their destiny. In the way, they saw a few ducks greeting them with their quacks- quacks. They just ignored them with their eyes staring hard at the concrete path.

There was no one to man the gate. Usually policeman guarded it. Sham jumped over the small Iron Gate. He then helped Sushila to come over to his side. They walked through a concrete bridge to reach a winding steel ramp. They walked on it silently reaching the highest point of the structure.

Sham looked down at the calm water. He kissed Sushila on her forehead. She hugged him tightly. Sham took her face in his hands and saw in her eyes the infinite love for him. They climbed on the boundary wall. A cool breeze welcomed them and then whispered goodbye into their ears. They saw each other and laughed loudly. They saw the lush green tress far away waving goodbye to them. The ducks heard a big loud splash. And they said their final goodbye to the couple with loud quacks- quacks.

reads
Missing

Crushed by a speeding Toyota Innova, I helplessly viewed my body sniffed out of life under it.

The crowd who had gathered by then was busy thrashing the car driver.

Poor fella!

The driver had done nothing wrong. His only fault lay in not being able to spot a 70-year-old limping old woman crossing the road and as he took a speedy sharp turn, I froze in dread and his car crushed my head.

The car came to a screeching halt. The driver was dragged out and beaten. Every one wanted to vent out their anger on the driver. Anger whose source lay somewhere else but this driver had to bear its brunt.

I saw my son Surinder who worked in the accounts department of the army in Pune running towards me with a few of our neighbours. He broke into loud sobs on watching his mother's body crushed violently by the car.

Soon the siren of the police gypsy gave relief to the driver as the crowd ceased its thrashing business. The long Inspector with a bushy moustache ordered his lower rung to put the driver in their gypsy. The driver was given some tight slaps on his face by a young constable and then hurled into the gypsy. Surinder was asked to accompany.

I sat with Surinder in the gypsy; my poor son's eyes were full of tears. I wanted to bless him but I couldn't?

The ten minutes drive was completed in complete silence with the car driver receiving occasional slaps from the young constable. The car driver was already so shaken by the beating that he received the slaps without any protest.

The driver of the Innova, a man in his early twenties came out to be a son of the minister. As he revealed his identity, the whole atmosphere of the police station took a U-turn. Surinder's eyes dried up. The Inspector's tone melted down to a softer level.

"I can pay whatever he wants. Just let me go," thundered the car driver to the police inspector.

Police Inspector's eyes moved to Surinder pleadingly, who seemed lost in mental calculations.

The car driver fished out his wallet, signed a blank cheque, and placed it before Surinder.

Surinder's eyes glowed in happiness.

"Cash please," said Surinder as he pushed the cheque towards the driver.

"How much."

"Just 10 lacs."

"And 2 lacs for me," added the inspector.

The car driver's brows webbed in tension. He tapped his fingers on his I-phone and talked in whispers. Then he took a long sip of Pepsi served to him by the young constable who had slapped him.

"I am sorry sir," said the constable with his head hung down as he sought the driver's forgiveness.

The car driver just waved him off.

Soon an ambassador with a red beacon atop arrived in the police station. The car driver ran outside and soon reappeared with a black duffle bag in his hands.

He placed the bag in front of the police Inspector.

"Now let me go," he requested.

"Just sign here and here," said the Inspector and placed a register in front of him. The car driver signed. Then both of them shook hands and the car driver vanished in the official car of his father.

The Inspector opened the bag, counted 3 lacs, and filled them in a black polythene bag.

Surinder said nothing in protest as he was content with his 9 lacs.

As Surinder stood up, the Inspector clarified, "I took the extra 1 lac for the frame up."

"Frame up," inquired Surinder.

The Inspector smiled and said, "Surinder ji, someone will have to be blamed for your mother's death."

"Oh! Yes! Yes!" -answered Surinder with a smile.

I witnessed the whole scene standing by the side of Surinder. Even my soul could not leave my son alone in crisis.

I walked behind Surinder. He was carrying the price of his mother's head. I did not want him to be devastated by my death but still I deserved a few tears from him.

Surinder took an auto. I sat beside him. The whole way Surinder's lips played a smile as he hugged the bag tightly to his chest.

Surinder rang the doorbell and his wife Baljit opened the door. Here too tears were missing. What hurt me the most was the absence of my granddaughters? They did not come out of their rooms to inquire about me.

Surinder put the bag on the centre table and sat on the sofa. He took a long sigh. Baljit came out of the kitchen with a glass of water. Surinder drank it on one go. Baljit sat on the opposite sofa. Surinder opened the zip of the bag. Baljit's eyes swelled with elation.

"How much," she asked.

"9 lacs."

Baljit joined her palms in reverence, looked heavenwards, and thanked god for the money.

"Now we can buy a big car," she said excitedly.

"We will have to keep it a secret from my sisters Davinder and Satinder," said Surinder in a worried tone.

Baljit's brows came closer in tension.

"Jija ji will know somehow. After all he is an advocate," said a worried Baljit.

So my elder daughter Davinder who also resided in Pune was informed by phone. She arrived with her advocate husband in no time.

"You might have got some compensation," inquired Davinder's husband as he sat down on the sofa.

Surinder knew that the shrewdness of an advocate will somehow nail him.

"5 lacs only Jija Ji," stammered Surinder.

"Very less Surinder. You should have asked for more."

"I could not ask money for my mother's head," replied Surinder as he broke down.

"And what about our share," asked Davinder putting up a brave face.

Surinder's tears evaporated. He saw straight in his sister's eyes and knew he will have to part with some of his booty. He went to the other room and brought wads of notes.

"These are 1 lac Jija Ji," he said as he handed over the wads to Davinder's husband. He immediately made himself busy in counting the money.

"And Satinder's share?" asked Davinder.

Surinder called Satinder who resided in Delhi and I could hear her wails through phone.

My eyes welled up. My throat choked and I folded my hands thanking lord that at least my one child misses me.

Davinder snatched the phone from Surinder.

"Satinder! Satinder!" she shouted to calm her sister.

"We can't change destiny. Bibi--- mother was destined to leave us like this. I need your bank account number."

Davinder noted the number.

"Surinder will transfer 1 lac to your account today. The car driver who crushed Bibi has paid Surinder to keep his mouth shut."

And the cries of Satinder too came to a sudden halt.

"Kindly transfer at the earliest Didi---sister. I need money to go to Char Dhaam Yatra (pilgrimage)."

And the phone was freed out of its misery.

"50 thousand more," demanded Davinder's husband as he stuffed his black coat's pockets with the notes.

Surinder brought it without protest.

He took a long sigh as Davinder left with her husband.

"Greedy fellows. Ask them to share funeral expenses with us," remarked Baljit.

Surinder nodded.

"I will deposit Satinder's 1 lac early in the morning otherwise she too will demand more," added Surinder.

"Dinner?" asked Surinder.

"I could not prepare anything. I was not feeling well," excused Baljit.

"Okay! Call the girls we will go out for dinner."

They switched off the lights. I could hear all of them laughing as they climbed down the stairs.

I sat on the sofa waiting for the God to search for a place in his home that I think was also missing.

reads

Watch

The watch was a real beauty. A brand new gifted by Manu's Canadian Uncle. A distant relative by blood ties but a near one in the matters of heart. That night Manu kept on staring at the watch for a long time. It was Sparkle's. A company never heard by him before but as every foreign gifted item holds an immense value in the eyes of Indians so this one too belonged to that group. Manu felt its steel strap, it was solid, and then he deeply studied the chrome dial. It took his heart away. Manu slept fitfully that night waiting for the dawn to arrive soon, so he could wear his lovable watch to the office.

In the morning, Sun entered Manu's bedroom through the window. He saw the watch and got mesmerised by its beauty. But Alas! he could not posses it. Sun became senti for the watch and he wanted to mourn its loss. So he hid himself behind the clouds. Clouds were astonished at the weird feelings of the Sun.

"He's an emotional fool," Clouds whispered to themselves. "Let's see what's all this about a simple watch." And they took a view at the watch. The Clouds' heart too took the shape of Sun's for the watch. They wanted it. The love for the watch made the Clouds heart overwhelmed and they cried. The earth received Cloud's tears. It was surprised at the behaviour of the Sun and Clouds. She came to know through the winds that there is a watch, which has taken the heart of the Sun and Clouds. Earth laughed at the stupidity of both. Then she rose to look at the watch. Her heart beated furiously at the sight of the watch. And an earthquake made its presence felt. Manu woke up with a startle. It took him some time to realise that an earthquake has come.

He looked at the watch. It was safe and sound, sitting majestically on his bed by his side. He took a sigh of relief. And on seeing rain outside he became disappointed.

"I won't wear it today. The rain might spoil it," he decided.

Then as he rose to fulfil the missions of the morning, he decided to take off from the office. "Many robberies are occurring in our locality. I will take off today, lest the watch would get stolen." He sat in front of the watch. He switched on the television but his eyes urged him to let them see the watch. And Manu switched off the television and trained his eyes on the watch. The Clouds took a stolen look and their hearts roared loudly on seeing the watch. Manu felt frightened. His stomach urged him to put a few things into it. But his heart stopped him and he kept on looking at the watch deeply immersing himself into its beauty. After a few hours his eyes were tired and they closed for a while and when Sleep took over him he could not know after all Sleep too wanted to have a view of the watch undisturbed.

God was disturbed by all the happenings in his kingdom. He sent Death to see whether a devil needs a lesson. And Death at once started to take a round of the Earth. And as Death was passing through the window of Manu's house, his eyes were attracted to the beauty of the watch. He peeped inside. He saw Manu in deep siesta. Death's eyes widened on seeing the watch.

"What a beauty?" Death whispered to himself.

Death took an eyeful view of the watch. The steel strap and the shining dial of the watch took his heart.

"I want it." Death talked to itself in desperation.

Death knew there was one hindrance to his possession of the watch. The man sleeping by its side. Death's eyes smiled. He knew how to get to the watch. Death sneaked inside the flat. He saw for a moment at Manu's youth. Then he saw watch and he knew what to do? Death put hand on the heart of Manu. The heart shuddered and Death laughed. Then Manu became still. He found himself standing by the side of Death. Death took the watch and neatly wore it on his wrist.

Manu saw his body. The he looked at Death. Death was smiling and appreciating the beauty of watch through eyes. Manu's lips played a soft smile. He knew the watch was worth the efforts of Death but he felt sorry for himself too for he could not wore it for a single day.

And then his alarm clock pulled him out of his sleep. Manu woke up scared. His hands patted his body. He saw out of the window, it was raining. He laughed and took a quick shower and without any thought wore the watch without the fear of rain.

reads

Machar

Tired from her whole night up status Vidya desired sleep. She looked at her one-month-old Daughter Maira. She was in deep sleep occasionally cooing. Vidya stretched her legs, rested her back against the bed side and putting her head on its edge she looked at the fan.

"The balloons must be taken off," she thought.

Vidya knew hot summer days were fifteen days away. It was mid March and in Chandigarh summer showed its true colours in April. She closed her eyes. A minute or two had passed and she heard a buzzing sound. Eyes opened and she saw a tiny machar revolving around the face of Maria. She with a wave shooed it away and again closed her eyes. But the naughty machar came back. Again, a wave of hand and a look at the repellent, which was on, gave Vidya's eyes a closure.

The buzz sound came back with vengeance this time. Vidya cautiously with a wave of hand tried to catch the machar in her fist. And she succeeded. She held her breath, took a good time to squeeze it and with a Ahaaa opened her fist only to find the machar fly higher in the room. Disappointed Vidya left a sigh. The sparrows were busy outside announcing the arrival of morning. And Vidya was busy inside trying to save piece of her heart from a petty machar. Vidya had never thought that even a machar could give her so much tension. Vidya looked around the room and finding no trace of the machar felt happy.

Her eyes watched Maria. She was a beauty as every child is to a mother. Vidya stared at her daughter for a quite long time, side by side hearing the bathroom singing of her Maria's father. This time Vidya heard two buzz's fearing her heart and breaking her stare. She looked around the room and found two machars sitting on the set top box. A tiny and a little big. Vidya smiled. She thought of them as mother and child. A buzzing was heard and Vidya felt a great relief as she saw the mother machar guiding the child machar out of the room.

reads
Wrongdoer

I was standing at the serving counter of Bhola sweets waiting for my spring rolls. A middle-aged woman with a limping leg arrived at the counter. She took a good deal of time to study the display board of eatables. Then her eyes stood for a while at the board. The whole time the counter boy was looking at her desperately waiting for her to decide.

"How much for a plate of spring roll?" she inquired.

"Forty rupees," told the boy.

The woman took a few steps back. The counter boy went inside the kitchen to fetch my order. She unzipped and zipped all the pockets of her purse for money. She took a long sigh of relief as a fifty-rupee note called its attendance. She came back to the counter with confidence. The boy placed my plate on the counter table; I picked it up and grabbed a seat at the table to eat facing the lady. My jaws were at work but my ears were trained hard to hear the conversation of the lady and the counter boy.

The lady stood alone at the counter. Her back was towards me. She was wearing blue jeans and an old white round neck tee. She was slim. Her hair neatly packed in a bun. Her fingers were tapping the counter. She turned her head around, looked at my plate for some kind of reassurance, and again became busy with her tapping.

The boy emerged with the plate of spring rolls from the kitchen.

"So less. You gave the gentleman more than these," complained the lady pointing towards me. I trained my eyes at the lady as she used loud voice.

"Those were two plates mam," reasoned the boy.

The lady fell silent for a few minutes.

"Okay then give me more for ten rupees," she requested.

"I can't. You need to buy full or half plate," informed the boy.

"Okay give me half plate," she ordered as she flung the note towards him.

"Twenty five rupees for half plate," told the boy as he took the ten-rupee note in his hand waiting for more.

I had finished by then. I looked at the lady. She was hard staring me. Her eyes were blaming me for the goof up. I changed the direction of my eyes taking a full round of the shop. It was a big shop not beautifully decorated but fine. The sweets especially besan laddus grabbed my attention. They looked delicious. I wanted to gorge on a few. My eyes noticed the shop owner counting his stack of money by wetting fingers from his mouth. There were few customers in the shop, just two or three eating breakfast of paranthas.

I re-looked at the lady. She was still staring me. The counter boy had returned the note and she had clutched it in her fist. My throat sent an itchy signal and I coughed. The spring rolls were spicy. I rose to have some laddus. As I reached the counter, the counter boy stood up from the stool to attend me. The lady was still at the counter staring the spring rolls sitting in the paper plate. Some were touching the red chilly sauce which had made my throat dry. I watched the lady's helplessness. Her mind was racing for some idea.

I felt uneasy inside me. The time stood still for me. The whirling fans, the sauce on the paper plate, the customers, the left overs in the plate all seemed to accuse me along with the lady.

The lady turned around with the paper plate on her palm. She walked at a slow limping pace. Her other hand carried the ten rupee note in the fist. She stopped in the middle of the shop. I feared her look. And she turned her head back and gave me one.

A sense of guilt gripped me. I abandoned the idea of eating anything. I felt a wrongdoer. I also came out of the shop behind her. As I emerged in the open, the august sun pinched me for my wrong deed. I rescued my eyes with my sun glasses. I saw my watch. It was eleven. I saw her giving the plate to her one son out of two who were standing under a tree's shade in the parking lot. They were cute little kiddos around eight or ten. Both made faces and complained, "Itne se, so few."

The lady took her face to the other side away from her sons with welled up eyes. Her eyes were full of pain. Pain of not being able to bring smile on the face of her kids. I did not want to encounter her eyes again. I dragged my body with a heavy guilty heart with the question, "Am I a wrongdoer?"

reads
Revolt

He always wore a long red tilak on his forehead. And it looked remarkably highlighted on his forehead because of his dark colour. Actually, it glistened more because of his colour.

He always bragged about his supernatural powers. After working as a clerk for thirty years he had now taken to astrology. He had become a fan of this art. And he loved to brag about his powers.

"Look at her. She was a patient of sleeplessness. One day she came to me and begged for cure. I just gave a pat on her shoulder and now she sleeps like horses," he bragged.

To be honest, I did not believe him at all. I only loved to hear him brag. The way he narrated his exploits with so much ease added to his charm.

Then the other day he showed me a girl.

"Her boyfriend was not ready to marry her. One night I sent my pet Jinn to change his mind. And it worked. Now look at her how happy she is."

The girl saw him and rushed to touch his feet with a big smile. He raised both his hands to shower his blessings.

What a filmy scene it was. But now I started to think of him as a real Tantrik. And a feeling of uneasiness engulfed me that if by chance anything turned up to make our relations sour he can do good amount of harm to me with his Jinn.

"Aren't you afraid of your Jinn?" I asked him one morning as he was busy sipping his lime tea.

"Nah! Nah!," he answered with a wave of hand.

"And what if he revolts?"

"He can't. He is my prisoner," retorted he.

Though I could not understand why the Jinn was his prisoner. I did not want to disturb him. I had developed a kind of fear from him. So I halted my question round and proceeded to the counter for a tea.

The next day I found him in the canteen in extreme pain. I asked him about the problem.

"My small intestine has moved from its place. My body expels immediately what ever I eat. The doctor says now there is no cure for it," he complained.

I was in a fix. I had no idea that even such kind of disease existed. I kept silence for a minute and advised, "Take help of your Jinn."

He looked at me as if I was making fun of him. But I was not.

He stood and started to walk towards the exit leaving his tea untouched on the table and he turned around towards me and revealed,

"He has revolted leaving me with this pain," and he continued with his walk.

reads

Last Walk

The lake was placid that day. Its water level receding day by day as the summer heat became harsh. No soul dared to venture in this scorching heat at three in the afternoon. Nevertheless, Vineet was there, standing in the shade of a tree to save himself from this unbearable heat.

He felt tired of wiping sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief.

Then he saw Anita walking towards him at a slow pace, holding an umbrella over her head and her head hung down.

Vineet's lips played a smile and he waved to Anita. His heart sank as Anita still had her head hung down. He could feel something bad about to happen. He was feeling this premonition since he got a call from Anita to meet her immediately at the lake.

Vineet worried started to walk towards Anita. Then as he reached her, Anita was startled to find Vineet standing in front of her.

"Hello! Anita, you are late," said Vineet with a smile which concealed his anxiety.

Anita did not answer, her eyes looking for a place to sit, a place where there is shade to save them from the sun. Then she walked towards a bench placed beneath a tree with Vineet following her.

Anita closed and neatly packed her tiny umbrella in her purse as she sat down. Vineet's heart was thumping loudly against his ribs as Anita had till now not even looked at him.

"I am going back to Mumbai Vineet," announced Anita hesitantly.

Vineet's heart missed a beat. His eyes moved down to the ground that were by now staring at Anita. There was silence, a deadly silence, an eerie silence, a dreadful silence that a shocked and shattered Vineet's soul could only feel.

Anita was looking straight at Vineet's face that gave a devastated look. She tapped on the shoulder of Vineet. Vineet fumbled a little. He felt like his body is trembling but he somehow managed to look into the eyes of Anita.

Anita saw a torrent of pain in Vineet's eyes. She could no longer see into them. She moved her eyes to the birds sitting on a tree nearby.

Vineet beheld the face of Anita for the last time. The fair skin, big beautiful eyes, a sharp nose, and her black thick curly hair. Anita was twenty-eight exactly same age as of Vineet but still she looked much younger whereas Vineet's hairline had started to recede.

"But you promised me, you will never return," mumbled Vineet.

Anita could no longer hold her welled up tears as they began to gush down on her cheeks. Vineet's eyes too welled up but he somehow managed to restrict his tears from producing a trickle.

"I want to commit suicide Vineet, I want to die, I can't live like this anymore," said Anita trying to control her sobs.

Vineet broke into sobs too. They hugged each other and wept bitterly, each trying to be a source of solace for the other. They wept until all of their heart's agony had transformed itself into tears.

Then Vineet slowly released Anita from his hug. Though he did not want to, as he knew it was their last hug. Vineet's eyes ran around to see if there was anyone watching them but there was none to be seen.

"I knew the predicament of this relation," said Vineet as he wiped his tears.

Anita rested her back on the bench, took a long sigh, and said, "He will die Vineet."

Vineet became furious, his whole love changed into rage.

"So now you are thinking of him Anita. You should have not kindled the fire of love in my heart Anita. If I say I would die, will you not go back to him."

Anita said nothing and kept on staring at the lake's water. Her life was placid too like this lake but her arrogance created rippled in it, thought Anita.

"Then I think I should be the one who should die, only then I would be able to come out of this mess created by me," shot back Anita in one breath still looking at the lake.

Vineet's heart filled up with pain and grief. Grief for a loved one who will soon be lost.

"Go Anita, Go then. I think this was my destiny to loose you again. Firstly, I lost you due to my foolishness and now I cannot have you as you are of someone else. I think our love life was meant to end like this."

Anita's heart filled with pity for Vineet. Vineet who still had no qualms, no complaints, no hatred for her.

"You lost me in the past as you did not want love to happen and now love has happened but...," said Anita as she again broke into loud sobs as she rose to leave.

Vineet pulled her back on the bench.

"Atleast we can walk to the parking lot together for the last time Anita."

Vineet took Anita's hand into his hand as they both got up to walk for the last time together.

They said nothing to each other. Both had their heads hung down. Vineet's heart was sinking with every advancing step, as he knew it was their last walk. He knew he had to relegate this last walk into his memories, as it would be the one he would miss and cherish the most. They passed many people on the way but neither of them lifted their head to look up.

Vineet left the hand of Anita as they reached the road. Anita looked at Vineet; she could see his eyes requesting her not to leave him. She knew she would always remain indebted to this man as only because of him she is alive. Alive in both body and soul. No longer, could she withstand this torment and she hurriedly crossed the road to reach the parking lot without mincing a word. Vineet just stood there watching Anita running into the parking lot. Then she vanished into the crowd.

Vineet took a long sigh, he wanted to weep and yell, but he could not. He was feeling his heart becoming heavy with every passing second. He looked towards the sky and realized the sun has gone giving way to a crimson sky. Just then, he realised that many people had arrived for their evening walk at the lake. He suddenly felt all alone and lone in the rush of people. He thanked God in his heart for the last six months he got to spend with Anita. "Now she should stay happy forever with her husband," prayed Vineet in his heart as he walked across the road to reach his car.

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Good Story

"Hope leads to win,

Despair to death."

I found these words inscribed on a tomb when I visited St. Johns' cemetery in Solan. It houses bodies of many Europeans of British times and a few recent ones of this near extinction race in India.

The words sounded surreal. Yes, it is hope that offers us the fodder to live through the daily struggles engulfing our lives.

When I took a close look at the tomb, I found a name James inscribed below these words, who lived through '1830-1860' a mere thirty years.

Then while I was looking intently on the tomb, an old and frail man approached me.

"Many people's heart is touched by these words," the old man said examining my face.

I took a long glance at this man from head to toe who wore a dirty white kurta pyjama, which had many patches on it.

"Yes I am too touched by these," I replied.

"Then you deserve to hear the story of James."

"And who are you?"

" I am Mange Ram Sahib, I work as chowkidar (watchman) here."

The Idea of hearing to a story in the midst of a cemetery sounded to me enchanting.

"Okay then I am ready to listen to your story," I said excitedly.

I think Mange Ram understood my eagerness and here he put a proposition.

" Sahib this rare story would give you a once in a lifetime experience. And I have till now never shared this story with anyone but myself. As you showed a great interest in James Sahib that is why I am revealing it to you. But it will cost you."

" Cost! What cost?" I inquired concealing my enlarging excitedness; as I was due to hear an untold tale.

" Just Rs.100/-."

" Don't you think you are asking for too much."

" No! No! Sahib, if you do not like the story I will return the money."

Now this seemed to me an excellent bargain. An untold tale in a cemetery and if the story does not interest me, I can always ask for a refund. Now I imagined if all the movies too came with this offer so then I could get my money back on many bad movies seen by me.

I set my purse free from the confines of the back pocket of my rugged blue jeans and still in confusion of whether to part with the money or not, I hesitatingly handed over Rs.100/- to Mange ram at last.

Mange Ram held the note up against the sun to probe its authenticity. I found it weird though but meeting a stranger in a cemetery and hearing a story from him was weird too.

"It is not a false note."

Mange Ram's lips formed a half smile and then he placed the note in the side pocket of his old rugged kurta.

Then he pointed towards two rocks placed opposite to each other , one big and one a smaller one and walked towards them.

He sat on the bigger rock and with his palm thumped on the small rock indicating me to sit on it.

I sat down.

Then Mange Ram closed his eyes and in one breath started to speak as if he were a saint preaching a sermon.

"James was a soldier in the British Army stationed in India. He was six feet tall, had golden hair, blue eyes and of course white skin. He remained clean shaved and always made it a point to shave daily and wear impeccable clothes.

As he turned twenty-eight, he was shot in the leg while resisting the mutiny of 1857 in Kanpur. His wife deserted him along with their two children finding it a good opportunity while he was recovering in the hospital, to flee back to England as she was already fed up with living in India."

"James should have married an Indian girl, they know how to stay along in any condition," I commented.

Mange Ram frowned depicting his displeasure on my disruption of his sermon. And continued.

"The shot cursed him with a staggering gait. Soon he was discharged from the army. He lingered here and there for a few years ultimately committing suicide."

Mange Ram opened his eyes and started to gaze down at the ground. He sat like this for a few minutes uttering nothing.

"Is there anything more to James' story," I asked Mange ram disappointed by whatever he told me by then.

Mange Ram did not bother to answer my question and started to narrate without lifting his eyes.

"Now what I am going to reveal to you Sahib it may chill your soul but don't be scared as you won't be harmed."

Though I was not scared till then but after hearing these words I felt my heart pounding a little faster against my ribs.

"Everyone says James still haunts this cemetery and can be seen talking with the visitors in the disguise of..."

An eerie silence descended. I took a quick glance at the whole cemetery and to add to my horror there was no other person to be seen there.

I mustered some courage and asked, "In the disguise of who Mange Ram?"

" In the disguise of Mange Ram Sahib," saying this Mange Ram raised his head, his blue eyes met mine , reminding me of James' and with a roaring laughter. Mange Ram alias James vanished without any trace in front of me in the air.

My whole body froze with dread. My eyes fell on the ground and saw my Rs.100/- note fluttering on the ground.

I got up from the rock hurling my steps towards the cemetery's gate leaving the Rs.100/ note on the ground, as it was indeed a good story.

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Patient

I was on the verge on insanity as per my parents and relatives after I came back to my parent's home after one month of my tumultuous marriage.

All my pleadings that there is no need for me to see any psychiatrist fell on deaf ears. After being exasperated, at last my parents resorted to coercion and it worked as I agreed to see a psychiatrist who had earned much fame in a short time.

I took an appointment for three in the afternoon and decided that instead of my parents I will take my best friend Lalita along. At that time, I did not know that I would have to persuade her to come with me whose first reaction was this, "oh! You have gone mad dear?"

"Yes I have," I shouted back as I slammed back the receiver of the phone.

Lalita arrived exactly half an hour before three on her Activa.

"Hello!" she said to me with a frightened look on her face, which made me burst into laughter.

"Don't worry I won't hurt you," I assured her.

My laughter produced a shower of myriad emotions on her face that gave her solid proof of my insanity. And I think somewhere in her heart she might have murmured to herself, "Yes she is definitely mad."

I hopped on her Activa as she zoomed off with a frantic speed through the alleyways of Delhi. It was a twenty minutes drive and the loquacious Lalita did not utter a single syllable the whole way as I think she was afraid to talk to a lunatic.

"How our mental state transforms our friends?" I wondered.

We hurriedly climbed the stairs of the clinic situated on the second floor in the khan market of Delhi.

A big glass door opened into a waiting area where a pretty receptionist girl about my age asked us our name as she placed her pen on the card to jot down the name of the patient.

"Vinita, Lalita," answered both of us simultaneously.

This produced a frown on the receptionist's face as she struggled to find out the patient out of us two.

I understood her worried expression and said, "I am Vinita and I am the patient," which produced a streak of relief on her face.

Then she fiddled with her computer's keyboard and demanded Rs. 1000/- as fees.

Lalita and I were shocked for a minute at this ridiculous fee and then hiding my emotions, I produced two crisp notes of Rs.500/- which I had taken from my father in the morning to watch a movie while whispering to Lalita, "This fee might drive me crazy."

Lalita gave me a suppressed giggle.

Then both of us deposited ourselves on the posh black leather sofa.

I think not many patients visited this famous psychiatrist at this siesta hour as there was only an elderly couple at that time or the psychiatrist's famy was plummeting.

Then the old couple looked at me and gave me a reassuring smile, recognising me as the patient as I was the one holding the card.

Although I was not able to figure out the patient among them.

The receptionist called for the woman and asked the man to sit down who by now had rose to accompany her wife.

"Mam has only called for your wife," she said in an orderly tone.

The man sat down trying to hide his embarrassment thrust by this young receptionist.

Every minute was increasing our anxiety.

Even Lalita was in no mood to talk today, as she felt restless sitting in the odd environment of the clinic. Who knows she might be cursing me for bringing her along?

Then after fifteen minutes, the woman came out of the room slamming the door behind her in an agitated manner, caught her husband by his arm, and said, "Do not ever ask me again to come here."

The husband was brutally dragged out of the clinic by his wife.

This made me and Lalita a little frightened to meet the psychiatrist.

As I was thinking over the proposition to go back the receptionist cried, "Go mam it is your turn."

I stood but Lalita did not. I frowned at her to get up but she did not budge from her position, instead picked a magazine, and buried her face into it.

I took a long sigh, thinking that still I have not been labelled anything, and look at my best friend's weird behaviour. Anyway, I proceeded towards the psychiatrist's room.

I halted for a second at the wooden door, mustered some courage, and turned the knob of the door to open the door.

There finally I was able to see the psychiatrist in her mid fifties with a head full of greys. I thanked God that her looks were not intimidating and the room was sufficiently lit to a sane level. She was busy writing something on her pad and sensing my presence pointed me to a leather chair placed opposite to her. There was a big wooden table placed between us.

I sat and waited for her to complete her scribbles. Then after a few minutes she closed her writing pad and said, "Yes...," suddenly realising that she had not asked my name yet, so she asked in a polite manner, "Your card please."

Only then I was able to look properly at her pretty face which was concealing her true age although her head full of greys said something else.

She read my name from the card and said, "Yes! Vinita, so you are here for...? Are you alone?" asked she as her eyes looked for any person accompanying me sitting on the sofa placed at the end of the room.

"Yes mam I am alone here but my friend is waiting outside."

"My traitor and coward friend," I said to myself.

Then I narrated to her my whole tale of woes that I felt very lonely at my husband's house. How my husband had no time for me? How my mother in law was always busy belittling and insulting me in front of her relatives?

And the psychiatrist kept on receiving calls both on her mobile as well as on landline interrupting me in between, her expression kept on changing from funny to silly and vice versa and her swift nods were making me irate.

I understood that I was wasting my time and as soon as the psychiatrist picked her mobile this time to receive another call I said, "That's all mam..." as I rose from the chair dashing out of her room giving her no chance to react.

"I think she is mad," I declared to Lalita who was still busy with the magazine oblivious that her best friend had come out.

And Lalita without saying anything stood up, hung her purse on her shoulder, gave me a long shrug, and hurried towards the door to get out of the clinic.

I was taken aback at her behaviour and swiftly followed her. She was running down the stairs and I was following her at a frantic pace.

She started her Activa and I just made it in the nick of time, otherwise she might have left me. She again drove at a mad pace, keeping to herself, dropped me at my house and without saying anything zoomed off. I was dumbstruck at her behaviour.

As I entered my home, I found my husband waiting for me to take me back. I just hugged him and sobbed to my heart's content.

Two years have passed to this incident but still it gives a smile on my face whenever my husband and I talk about it.

And Lalita is still my friend.

reads

Original Ticket

My Nanaji (maternal grandfather) and Naniji (maternal grandmother) both reside in a small village in Pune at our Guruji's ashram. They decided to live there after my Nanaji's retirement. They came once in a year to Chandigarh to meet us.

My mother and I both work as teachers and my brother works in a private company.

This time my mother thought of a novel idea of booking air tickets for my Nanaji and Naniji. So, in the evening she went to the ticket agent who was once a student of my mother. The ticket agent who was now in his mid thirties always got us discount on air tickets. And sometimes even did not charge his commission.

This time too he used his magic wand and procured two tickets from Pune to Chandigarh for Rs. 10000/- only. My mother was elated to get tickets at such a discounted rates and she made provision for wheelchair assistance. As Nanaji and Naniji both are in their late 80's, so this assistance was of very help for them.

My mother arrived home in a cheerful mood and announced to me, "Atal! I have booked tickets for your grandparents. I will call your Nanaji now and he will be very happy to know that this time I have booked tickets for them instead of your Mamaji (maternal uncle)."

My mother picked up the mobile, rummaged through the contacts list, and dialled the number of my Nanaji. At the first bell or I think my Nanaji did not allow even the first bell to ring to its full course and he picked up the phone and said in a hoarse voice accompanied by his signature cough, "Hello! Meena, how are you?"

My Nanaji spoke so loudly that even I could hear his Hello as I was standing beside my mother.

My mother in a gleeful manner said in one breath, " Hello! papa, How are you? This time I have booked your air tickets. I will fax you the tickets tomorrow. I have booked the tickets for 18.october.2011 for you. Today is 8.october.2011 so you have enough time to pack your baggage."

There was a long silence on the other side of the phone. I could easily see some uneasiness arriving on my mother's merry countenance.

Then my Nanaji in a roaring voice said, " How could you Meena, How could you? You know that I cannot accept tickets from you. They cost too much. I cannot accept them from my daughter. Daughter's are meant to be provided for and not to provide for."

My mother's eyes became moist. She said with a lump in her throat, "But papa... papa.. I thought you would be happy. Have I done a mistake?"

My Nanaji's cooled down a bit on sensing that my mother was about to cry. He said in a calm and composed manner, "No beta no, you have done nothing wrong. But you know that I am a man of principles and I cannot take anything from my daughter. You have done a wonderful thing but please promise me that you will take every penny spent by you on the tickets from me."

I could easily hear the conversation. My mother said meekly, "Ok papa I will." And with this she disconnected the call. Now the cheerfulness disappeared from my mother's face.

She turned towards me and asked me to get the ticket faxed tomorrow to Nanaji. I nodded in approval.

The next day while returning from my school around 2:30 p.m I got the ticket faxed to my Nanaji. As soon as I arrived at my home my mother was eagerly waiting for me and said, " Atal, your Nanaji called and said that the ticket you faxed to him is illegible. So will you go in the evening and fax it again."

"Ok, I will," I answered.

In the evening, I again faxed the ticket and within minutes I received, a call from Nanaji who chided me to his heart's content and said, "Atal you are 27 now and still you do not know how to fax a legible ticket."

"I am sorry Nanaji. I will send you the ticket by speed post tomorrow."

" That will be good Atal. But do not be so careless this time," said Nanaji in a chiding tone.

The next day I took half-day leave and reached the post office at around 11in the morning. It was far away from my school. The old building reminded me of Nanaji. As I entered the building, I found a long queue at the counter and wondered whether Nanaji has asked all of them to send the tickets by speed post. After thirty minutes, my turn came only to know that there was no speed post service available for the Guruji's ashram. I trembled at the thought of again getting an earful from my Nanaji. I immediately called my mother as I knew mother could save a son from any trouble.

My mother answered in an irritated manner, a manner unknown to me till then, " Oh! Ho! Atal you are 27 and you cannot do such a petty task by yourself."

" But..... But.. mother...," I requested. But could not complete it.

"Oh please do not start with your excuses now and listen to me carefully. Get a photocopy of the ticket and send one by ordinary mail and other one by registered post. In this manner we will be sure that the ticket reaches your Nanaji," ordered my mother.

I followed the orders and when I again reached the post office after getting a photocopy of the ticket. I was shocked to see that by now the queue had swelled to double by then. I had no other option so I took a place in the queue and after an hour my turn came.

I purchased a ticket of Rs..5/- for the ordinary mail and got the other ticket registered for Rs 30/-. Then I took a sigh of relief as if I have proved myself to Nanaji at last. Now my Nanaji had two tickets in his possession and two on their way for his possession.

There prevailed calm in my home for three days when suddenly in the evening my mobile phone rang and came the dreaded voice of my Nanaji, " You Idiot you have sent me photocopies of the ticket. Where is the original ticket?"

I flummoxed at my Nanaji's query. I thought what is an original ticket in this internet era? What I have is just a printout and I have sent its photocopy to my Nanaji.

I tried my best to make this understand to my Nanaji but to no avail and he disconnected the call in anger.

Then within seconds, my mother's mobile phone rang and I could easily hear my mother trying to make my Nanaji understand that as the ticket was booked through internet there is no such thing as original ticket. But my Nanaji disconnected the phone. My mother looked at me in horror but I could provide no solace to her as I was feeling the same horror.

After half an hour came my Mamaji's call and he asked my mother for the original ticket. Then my mother's sister called and did the same. This followed by a lot of relatives settled in various corners of Punjab. My mother's whole evening was occupied that day in making the elder relatives understand that there is no such thing as an original ticket in this internet era.

So here we were. Only my younger brother was at peace as he was generally oblivious of happenings at my home as he came around 11 in the night and left at 8 in the morning for his job.

The clock showed 10:30 p.m with only one day left between the day of my arrival of Nanaji. My mother asked me to go to sleep.

"We will see in the morning what could be done now?" said she in a worried tone.

In the morning, I could see my mother in tension but I had to leave for my school.

When I returned in the afternoon. I found my mother again trying to persuade my Nanaji about the ticket.

" Meena stop trying to teach me. We have not packed our luggage. We are not coming to Chandigarh on your fake ticket," pronounced my Nanaji.

My mother even tried to persuade my Naniji but to no avail.

Then she decided to go herself to Pune and fetch my grandparents from there.

She called the travel agent.

" But there is no discounted ticket to Pune for tomorrow madam. The ticket will cost you Rs.30000/-," said he.

My mother had no other option left. She had to reach Pune tomorrow as the day after tomorrow was the day of flight of my Nanaji. So she asked the agent to book the ticket. And asked me to collect the tickets.

In the morning, my mother had no luggage with her in the plane except her purse and in it the most valuable thing,

"The Original Ticket."

reads

Last Bath

"Do we need hot or cold water for the bath mama ji?" asked Anurag innocently as he heard his mama ji talking about bathing ritual to a relative.

His mama ji did not bother to answer the innocent question of eight-year-old Anurag. Everyone gathered in his home was busy providing solace to his mother and grandmother. Every relation that day was only concerned with the fulfilment of his or her role that day. The sun had completed its morning round and afternoon had arrived.

Anurag shouted his question in front of the crowd which had filled in his home.

Anurag became disturbed as no one answered his question. Had his father been there, he could have thrown a tantrum and elicit an immediate response but his father was nowhere to be seen. So, he approached his grandmother repeating the same question.

"Grandma! Do we need hot or cold water for the bath?"

Grandma embraced him, wept for a long time, and only left him when Anurag pleaded for some breath.

Now he turned to his mother and repeated the same question.

"Maa! Do we need hot or cold water for the bath?"

But his always lively mother had turned into a stone figure that day, showing no emotion or response to his query. Anurag was relieved that at least his mother did not erupt into the same weeping ritual like his grandmother.

Anurag was puzzled that why was no one answering him? He was the apple of eye of everyone in the family until that day.

Then his eyes fell on his father who was tightly wrapped in a white bed sheet placed in the middle of the room. He walked to him and asked, "Papa! Shall I bring lukewarm water for your bath?"

It was only then that his mother rose and lifted Anurag in her arms as her eyes produced an incessant flow of tears interrupted by some gasps.

She could find no answer to provide to the question of Anurag who just wanted a hot water bath for the dead body of his father in the bone-chilling climate of January.

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That Night

That evening I felt a kind of spiritual connection with the lord. As I was applying soap on my face, my eyes closed to allow my hands to apply some soap on them too. Then I saw a bright white light holding a shadow of a human being in it.

The shadow was all black within the circular all white.

The shadow was attracting me towards it.

I panicked at this, immediately poured water from the bucket in one go by lifting it over my head and then at a frantic pace wiped myself dry and ran out of the bathroom towards my hostel room.

Then I saw time and it was 8'o clock. My head started to produce an unbearable ache. An ache never experienced by me before that was trying to knock me down.

I popped a disprin and lay on my string bed. It was the month of June and the heat was too harsh to give a blissful sleep.

The ceiling fan was whirring at a high speed but it was feeling failed in its purpose to provide me any respite from the sweltering heat.

My whole body was wet with perspiration.

I closed my eyes and again saw a black human image tightly fitted in the circular white light.

I tried to open my eyes but could not.

Some force jammed them.

My whole body tensed. I was unable to use any of my limbs.

My heart started to pound against my ribs furiously increasing my breath to frantic speeds. I could sense my whole chest swelling up and then down at a mad rate.

Then a crackling sound emerged.

I somehow managed to save myself from the fan and sat on the slab fitted in a corner of the wall.

Then my eyes popped out as I saw a very thin crimson coloured luminous thread tied to the navel of my body which was lying on the bed and me.

I was unable to believe my eyes. My own body was lying lifeless and I was sitting on a slab.

"How is it possible?"

"Have I died?"

"Is it a dream?"

Then I cautiously rose from the slab and tried to run out of the room.

I felt my pace restricted by this thin thread attached to my body and me.

I spotted my roommate Ganeshan coming towards our shared hostel room.

He passed without noticing me. I turned back to follow him.

He placed his books on the study table, wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead with his hands. A habit of Ganeshan I disgusted a lot.

"Oh! Ho! Ramesh you get tired easily, wake up we need to reach the mess before 10, before it closes down," said Ganeshan to my body still busy wiping his forehead.

He became restless on hearing no response from me to his plea. The sultry weather can make anyone mad and Ganeshan with his empty stomach was loosing his temper too fast.

"Get up Ramesh I can't sleep on an empty stomach," cried Ganeshan this time angrily.

But this time he became worried and turned towards me and tapped a little on my shoulder.

His little tap dragged me inside my body with an enormous speed and strength. That little luminous thread pulled me inside.

I got up in a frenzied state.

Ganeshan was frightened to see me getting up startled.

I was too shocked by whatever had just happened with me.

"You go Ganeshan; today I am not feeling hungry," I pleaded.

Ganeshan was too scared to argue with me and I laughed as I saw him running out of the room.

My laugh made him more scared as I could hear the increased speed of his footfalls.

I placed my pillow against my bedside and resting my back on it wondered whatever just happened with me.

I was feeling feather light without any sign of any headache.

My eyelashes were struggling to close down as I was fighting with them to keep them open, as I was too afraid of this out of my understanding thing to happen again.

Soon I was defeated. I woke up early in the morning to the sound of my alarm. Ganeshan's bed was unoccupied. I think he was too afraid to come in the room that night.

I am still struggling to figure out whatever happened with me that night.

I have not talked about it to any of my friends as they might consider me crazy but I read a few days ago in a magazine about astral body and its wanderings. It may seem as madness to a rational mind but I believe that day I experienced astral travel.

reads

Offer

"Can I have a chapatti," I asked the mess server concealing my displeasure on again being served with sambhar and rice.

The server a small black man in his late forties shook his head in negation.

"But you promised me that you will serve chapatti to me twice a week," I pleaded.

"We cannot make chapatti for a single person," the server shot back.

Then he muttered to his fellow server, "North Indian!" Both of them laughed derisively as he thumped the steel plate on the granite shelf.

I ignored the spiteful remark, collected the plate and started to search for a vacant seat in the crowded college mess.

I found one but could not gather courage to occupy that as six of my fellow students were already sitting there. As in the past whenever I had tried to occupy a vacant seat with my fellow students they had fumbled in their chairs and then muttered to each other in a language alien to me which allowed them to burst into laughter.

I made my way towards the college ground and sat beneath a tree's shade. Then as I mixed the sambhar and rice with my fingers, my throat produced a lump moistening my eyes. Then with a heavy heart, I ate the unsavoury food alone in the sultry heat of three in the afternoon.

I felt very lonely being the only North Indian in this prestigious dental college in Madras whose name I cannot reveal for reasons obvious to all of us. Though I was never discriminated upon but at the same time, I was also not allowed to mingle. Everyone tried his or her best to deny my presence.

After spending six months in this manner, I started to have cramps in my stomach. The reason behind these cramps had nothing to do with the hygienic level of the food as the food served in the mess was of very high quality but I was never able to fill my stomach to the level of satiety.

Then one day fed up, I decided to approach the dean as I hoped he would be able to find a solution to my food problem. I knocked at the door of the dean's office.

"Come in," came the rapt reply from inside.

I opened the door a little with some hesitation and asked for permission to come in.

"Yes you may."

The dean was a dark man I think in his fifties, looking through his spectacles he asked me, "Well! Aman how can I help you?"

I was amused as well as astonished at the thought of the dean knowing my name.

"You know my name sir," I asked nervously.

"How can I not know the name of only North Indian studying in my college? I have also heard a lot about you from our college mess incharge," he answered with a chuckle.

Now that rang a bell in my mind. I knew that the mess incharge would not have said anything good to raise my reputation. On the contrary, he might have tried his best to malign it.

On seeing me worried, the dean asked me to sit down on a chair placed opposite to his.

"Do not worry I never believe in what others say about anyone I only believe in checking for facts myself," said the dean as I pulled out the chair to sit .

That remark abated some level of anxiety in me.

"So Aman you are here in my office for...? I hope all is well."

"Everything is good sir. Actually, I am finding it difficult to fend myself on the rice and sambhar diet alone. I would be grateful to you if you could ask the canteen contractor to prepare chapattis also."

And I think this request of mine came as a jolt for the dean as his facial expressions suggested. He was expecting something big from me not this petty issue of chapatti.

The dean somehow disguised his expression behind a silent smile though his uneasiness was apparent.

"I can't ask the canteen contractor to prepare chapattis for a single student," replied the dean.

Then after a second thought which was a deep thought he said, " I can do something for you, meet me in the evening at my residence. I think you know where I live."

"I know sir, you reside on the college campus. I will come in the evening," and saying this I hurriedly came out of the dean's office.

I took a long deep breath as I was in desperate need of it. I started to walk towards my hostel room and was worried for what was going to come in the evening.

I looked at my watch it showed 3'o clock. And then I realised that in a hurry to get out of his office I forgot to ask the dean about the time to come to his home.

Now this added more anxiety to my already troubled state of mind. Then after thinking for a long time, I decided to go at five in the evening.

I changed into a blue jean matching it with a sky blue shirt and marched towards the dean's house at quarter to five. I saw many of my fellow students on the way who as usual on seeing me muttered to each other and laughed.

On reaching dean's big house, I rang the bell and a dark teenaged boy opened the door who looked at me in a bemused manner as if he saw an alien.

"Who is it Subhu?" asked a feminine voice as I heard some fast paced steps approaching the door.

Then a fair woman in her mid fifties emerged from inside the house who was so excited to see me that she rushed towards me and somehow managed to restrict herself from embracing me.

"Please come in beta, please come in," said this woman cheerfully as she caught me by my hand and dragged me towards her living room.

The dean was already sitting in the living room buried in the newspaper as if he was oblivious of happenings in his own home.

"Oh! So you have arrived," said the dean with a grin as he moved his eyes towards the fair woman introducing us to each other, "Meet her she is my wife Vidya and this is Aman Vidya, the North Indian boy I told you about. Now leave his hand and allow him to sit down and relax."

"Oh ! Yes yes," said Vidya as she realised that she was still holding my hand and she asked me sit on the couch.

"Are you a Punjabi," asked Vidya gleefully as I comforted myself on the couch.

"Yes I am."

Then Vidya rushed into the kitchen and I looked at the dean who had again buried his face into the paper. I think he wanted to remain as aloof as possible from a student. I looked around the living room which was tastefully decorated with a lot of paintings.

Vidya came with two allo paranthas smeared with ghee within minutes.

"Eat it beta," asked Vidya as she patted me on my back with motherly affection.

I took the plate from her hands and started to gorge on the paranthas as I was feeling famished as I always remained on half-empty stomach.

Vidya's eyes were looking at me with full attention as if she was relishing the view of mine eating the paranthas like a starved person.

Then as I finished the paranthas.

Vidya said to me, "Beta from now on you will be eating your dinner with us. Please do not tell other students as it can affect the reputation of dean sahib. I would be very happy to have a fellow Punjabi in my home every day but I have one condition you will have to conversate with me daily in Punjabi."

" I will mam I will," I replied as I jumped with enthusiasm on the couch and at the same time I cleared a lump in my throat and then I burst into a loud laugh when I saw the face of the dean who was flummoxed at the offer made by his wife but what could he do?

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Balcony

Whenever I open the door to get into my balcony, it is not uncommon for two or three pigeons to fly away, afraid of the unknown approaching them, and then they make themselves comfortable in the balcony opposite to my flat. Their sudden flight too scares me, but what option do I have, as I need to enter my balcony to soak up the sun in these winter months.

Their sudden departure produces pity in my heart but still I want to confess that more than pity I get scared by the sudden ruffle created by them. One day, tired of this feeling of dread arising in my heart on a daily basis, I decided to make it a habit to slam the balcony's wooden door twice before entering. This produced instant result as the pigeons got scared thus bringing their sudden flight.

Today, before entering the balcony, I observed my daily ritual of slamming the door twice. It was a bit cloudy in the morning and the sun god bothered to appear in the afternoon only. Rejoiced on having the sun at my disposal, I slammed the door twice, anticipating its usual result, but could only hear the flight of one pigeon. I re-slammed the door to get my desired result but could not. Now my heart pounded a little on the prospect of getting hurt in the process of entering my own balcony. As I knew, my arrival could startle the other pigeon still occupying my balcony and in the disarray, it could hurt my face.

I mustered some courage and peeked into my own balcony. There I spotted a pigeon sitting comfortably in its nest directly staring at me. It even did not bother to make its usual flight posture. Instead, it was a bit scared on seeing me. I saw that the pigeon was sitting in its nest, made neatly on the marble floor below the summer cooler. My flat being on second floor it created no danger for the pigeon of any untoward attack from its usual predators.

I wanted to go back as I understood that it was a female pigeon, which might lay her eggs soon. On the other hand, I did not want to leave the prospect of the tempting warmth being scattered by our own sun God. I was in a state of dilemma and stood there pondering over the situation.

Then an idea hit upon me and I called religion to my aid. Religion suggested that I should not disturb the little fellow and track my steps to the nearby park if I was so hungry for the sun. I found favour in religion's advice as I could be saved from committing sin by adhering to its advice. I tracked my steps to the park with a tingling sensation in my heart, which knew that my own balcony was going to be a safe haven for the species of the pigeon populace soon.

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Perfect Picture

Click! Click! Click! The more Avatar pressed the button of his newly acquired digital camera the more astonished he became with the results he got.

At first he thought there might be some malfunctioning in the camera but whenever he removed the camera from his eyes and saw with his bare eyes the more scared he got.

"Is it a ghost or am I getting delusional because I was not able to sleep properly last night," thought Avatar.

Avatar again pressed the button on his camera and this time he wanted to run after seeing the screen of his camera. He wanted to run but his legs refused to co-operate with him as they froze due to the dread paralyzing Avatar's body. All of this happened when Avatar was just strolling as usual in the front park of his housing society in the afternoon. Then he saw some white pigeons sitting atop the school building adjacent to the garden. His imagination started to run wild due to the brand new camera bought by him just in the morning. Actually, the pigeons sitting atop the school building were not a magnificent or rare view. And Avatar had never cared about these pigeons but this newly acquired camera was making waves in his creative mind.

He released his newly acquired camera from the bondage of its pouch and adjusted it in front of his right eye to take the perfect picture to soothe the waves roaring in his creative mind. Click after click and Avatar was delighted to have perfect picture from his newly acquired camera. In this manner after his creative waves soothed down a little then Avatar realised that there was a man standing in front of the school building gazing at him. Avatar smiled to the person but the person's face showed no emotion leave the prospect of a smile.

Avatar again gave a wide smile to the person but Avatar realised there was something weird about the person. Then Avatar thought to take a picture of the weird man along with the pigeons sitting atop the school building. He placed the camera lens in front of his eye and clicked a picture. Avatar looked at the screen of the camera but did not find the weird man in the picture, but the school building with the pigeons sitting atop it was perfect. Though Avatar's heart pounded a little, he rubbished its claim citing some problem with the camera. Then again, a click, and this click too produced the same horrifying results. Avatar was terrified at this unusual happening.

He stared at the weird man cautiously. There he was standing in front of the school building resolutely as if waiting for Avatar to come over and meet him. Avatar, though terrified, decided to walk to the school gate to at least deny his delusions. Avatar placed the camera back in its pouch, which was tied very neatly to the belt of Avatar's black trousers.

Avatar reached the school gate. The weird man was still standing there. Avatar smiled at him but got no sign of affability from this weird man. Avatar mustered all of his courage and clicked a photo again. And with his hands trembling, he looked at the picture, which showed him the school building with the pigeons atop it but the weird man missing. Now Avatar was finding it difficult to bring his eyes up to take a re-look at the man standing there defying all usual things in this proud sane world.

Avatar wanted to run but could not. His whole body started to tremble with fear. His hands could no longer hold his newly acquired camera and the camera fell on the concrete floor in front of the school gate. The school guard, on seeing Avatar trembling as if he were having a standing convulsion, rushed to his aid. He placed his hands around Avatar's shoulders and took him into his cabin located close to the school's gate.

The guard placed a glass of water to the lips of Avatar. Avatar tried his best to drink but his fear had already engulfed his senses, not allowing him to respond to the glass of water. After ten to fifteen minutes, Avatar was able to regain his senses.

"Are you okay sir? I saw you clicking some pictures of the school then I went inside my cabin and on hearing a thud due to the fall of your camera, I came out and saw you trembling. Are you okay now," asked the guard.

Avatar looked at the guard and took his camera from the guard's hands. Avatar showed him all of the pictures clicked by his camera. Then he asked the guard, "Can you see any man standing in front of the school building in these pictures?"

The guard knew about the man. But he did not want to reveal about it to a teenager. If the news spread about some unusual activity in the school, he would be the first one to loose his job and after that, he would never be able to find another job in this city.

"I saw no one standing in the front of the building sir. And if you saw one he might have gone by now," said the guard.

"Gone by now...," said Avatar astonished, as he looked into the eyes of the guard. The guard lowered his eyes and Avatar now understood what the guard's words implied.

Avatar gave his camera to the guard and said, "Kindly keep it forever as I know I won't be ever able to take pictures from it in the future."

The guard took the camera in his hands and said nothing.

And saying this Avatar got up walking towards his home, not looking towards the building anymore. Avatar knew what he saw and that from now on his life will not be the same anymore.

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The Other World

As Elizabeth entered the room, she could see someone sitting in the rocking chair rocking it back and forth. Elizabeth ran downstairs leaving the door ajar. There in the living room, she told the son and daughter-in-law of the deceased that she saw an old woman sitting in the chair that they wanted to sell. The son gave a look as if Elizabeth was a maniac and asked her to give them the money and they will arrange for the chair to be left at her shop that evening. Elizabeth handed three crisp notes of thousand rupees and sped in her car to her shop.

Elizabeth, on entering her shop, saw her husband John haggling with a customer for a flower vase.

"How much do you want to pay for it, Sir?" said Elizabeth, intervening in the haggling process to put the matter to an end.

"Only two thousand rupees," replied the customer.

John said nervously, shocked by the intervention of Elizabeth, "But it will not even cover our expenses Elizabeth," then he turned towards the customer and said, "Sir you can..." Elizabeth put her finger to the lips of John, just took the flower vase to the cash counter, and neatly packed it for the customer. Then as the customer left, Elizabeth hugged John and started sobbing.

"We need to close our shop, or at least this business. Today I again saw the spirit of an old woman sitting calmly in her rocking chair. I was so scared that, upon looking at me, the son of the lady promised that he would leave the chair by evening to our shop."

John said nothing, just allowing his wife to calm down. He knew that their business was taking a toll on her mental health, but it was also raining money on them. This business allowed John to come out of penury after his father died leaving an ailing scrap business, which also swallowed John's house to pay off its debts. John never wanted to go back to his old days of penury. This business was allowing him to buy anything in addition to providing all of the comforts to his family.

After half an hour, Elizabeth regained her composure. By then John had already sent two customers back requesting them to come in the evening. These daily outbursts of Elizabeth had started to incur losses for the business. John had to send many of its regular customers back so that he could soothe down the hysterical nerves of his wife.

Elizabeth got up to go to the washroom to freshen up. When she returned she could see John as usual busy with a customer haggling.

Elizabeth thought this business was making it difficult for John and her to connect emotionally anymore. Whenever she wanted to talk to John, he was always busy with a customer. At home too the business occupied most of his time as it kept him busy searching to find new places for purchase of materials for their shop. John and Elizabeth ran a shop that bought antique wares of only old dead people whose sons, daughters, and relatives wanted to dispose of them as soon as possible. After the collapse of the family business of scrap after John's father death, they were left with this shop only, which also served as their home after their house was sold off to pay debts.

One morning as they were shifting their sold home's furniture to their shop a young doctor saw an old sofa of John's father and offered to buy it for ten thousand rupees. At first, John was reluctant to sell it but on second thoughts agreed to sell it and after selling it, he realised that both of them can use this shop to reinvent their fortunes. The very next morning John did some research in this business and put up a signboard proclaiming, "John's Shop for Elegant Antiques."

Soon the shop started to get many footfalls to sell as well as buy antique furniture but soon John realised that children of his generation wanted to get rid of the furniture of their dead ones at throwaway prices and this discovery made the fortunes of John.

Soon they started to make a clean profit out of it and were famous in specialising to buy dead person's furniture. As their fame grew, they had to make more and more road trips to various cities of India, sometimes very far from their shop in Goa.

John gave a tap on the shoulder of Elizabeth bringing her out of her reverie.

"I think, Elizabeth, you need to take some days off from our business. We have enough furniture for the time being to sell thus leaving us from worrying about new purchases and thus saving us from any road trips. You should stay at home, play with our children, maunder with your friends, and do whatever you wish."

"Oh! John, from when did it become me from us. I think both of us need some rest. Only you can provide rest to my senses. We should take off, not only me John," said Elizabeth in an angry tone.

"Okay we will talk about it in the evening. Till then you should go home and take some rest."

Elizabeth shrugged and left the shop to head towards their home. As she opened the door, she was dumbstruck on finding two people carrying a rocking chair. She saw an old woman still sitting in it and her gaze fixed on Elizabeth. Elizabeth ran to John with a shriek.

"Save me John, I beg you to save me. It is the same chair I told you about. The old lady's son has sent it for us."

John tried his best but could not release himself from the tight hug of Elizabeth.

John asked both of the persons to put the chair in one corner of the shop while ignoring request from Elizabeth to throw the chair out of the shop. Both of them were looking at John and Elizabeth as if they had seen some lunatic person. But John did not care about these unusual gazes as he had become used to it.

John looked very carefully at the chair but could not find anything unusual about it.

"John please get this chair out of this shop. I do not want to get mad."

"You won't honey, I am with you. Open your eyes, there is no one in the chair."

Elizabeth mustered some courage and saw the chair from the corner of her eye still not releasing John from her tight hug. She only saw a rocking chair of old colonial times and could not see any old woman in it.

She released John from her tight grip and ran towards the chair. She could not see anyone sitting in it. But she knew that she was not mad and she was definitely viewing some supernatural beings. It was already late in the evening by then so John decided to close the shop soon.

The next day John got a call from Pune from a client who wanted to sell old furniture of his grandfather. The client sounded in a hurry and wanted John to visit him today, as he wanted to dispose off the furniture as soon as possible as he wanted to leave for USA by evening. John knew that these type of clients were Ideal for his business, who were ready to sell their furniture for nothing that could sway fortunes of anyone but was scrap for them.

He did not want to leave Elizabeth in this emotional turmoil but he had no option, as he was a slave of his own destiny, which needed a lot of money to keep the adrenaline rushing in the blood stream of John.

Elizabeth said nothing to John so he left early in the morning. Elizabeth got ready after sending her two sons to a posh school, which they could only afford because of the shop. Elizabeth was feeling scared to open the shop today but she knew to keep the fires burning in her kitchen she will have to open the shop.

Elizabeth unlocked the four locks of her shop very slowly. Her neighbour shopkeepers did not offer any help to her because all of them thought that she is insane. Elizabeth pulled up the shutter of the shop with great caution.

She hesitated to enter because of her fear of the old lady but ultimately she entered the shop being accompanied by an old lady customer who herself did not want to enter the shop with mad Elizabeth but she thought John might be parking his car and will arrive soon. Elizabeth saw towards the rocking chair and was relieved to find nothing unusual in it. This brought back Elizabeth's merry countenance. And she was happy to sell an antique clock far below its selling price thus making no profit no loss. The lady was thrilled to have the clock at such a cheap price and now did not regret her decision to enter the shop with mad Elizabeth and the lady sped away before John arrived and he made the sale null and void.

Elizabeth opened her shop's website, added some inventory for sale, and took notes for some buying offers made by people who wanted to sell to the shop. They just had to send a picture and their address to sell their wares. As Elizabeth was busy making notes, she just froze on feeling the rocking chair rocking back and forth. She took a speeding glance at the chair and was scared to death on finding the chair rocking.

After an hour to this, a customer entered the shop and was not shocked on seeing Elizabeth squatted on the floor in front of the rocking chair and talking feverishly as this was a proof of her madness. The customer was an old one so he called John and told him about the mad happening in his shop. John was midway to Pune. He called the client and after seeking his forgiveness asked his driver to take the mini truck to the shop.

After one hour of rush driving, John arrived at his shop. He found Elizabeth in the same position as described by the customer. He touched the shoulder of Elizabeth tenderly. Elizabeth on seeing John hugged him and introduced him to the lady sitting in the chair. John could see the chair rolling back and forth but could not see any old lady sitting in it.

"Rekha aunty this is my husband John," said Elizabeth clutching the hand of John as she introduced him to her Rekha aunty asking him to say hello.

John could not utter a single syllable as he was finding it difficult to differentiate between reality and the mythical world of Elizabeth as he himself could see the chair rocking but could not see Rekha aunty in it.

"You know John, Rekha aunty loves this chair very much. She died in it and her love for this chair, which was a gift to her by her husband, was so profound that even after her death she returned to rock in it. We will never sell this chair John it will always be in our shop so that Rekha aunty can enjoy it forever."

John said nothing as he saw Elizabeth again squatting on the floor and gesturing to him to sit with her. He knew that he also like Elizabeth had made a connection with the other world and eventually he will be in communion with them.

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Dream

It was already three hours past the time of his arrival. Dimple had been waiting since the last five hours at the airport. There was no sign of him. The clock ticked 3'o clock. Dimple was waiting alone as she had married against the wishes of her family. Dimple moved her wheelchair with great difficulty to reach the pay phone. She called at Sunil's home in India. The phone was ringing but no one was picking it up. Every ring brought a wave of gloom in Dimple's heart. At last, Sunil's mother picked up the phone. She told Dimple that Sunil had reached Canada safely. He has called her at least two hours ago. Dimple disconnected the phone with her now moist eyes still looking for him.

Several questions started to hit her mind. Has Sunil duped her? Were her parents' apprehensions regarding Sunil true? Tears started rolling from her eyes. She felt short of breath. Dimple started to move her wheelchair with ferocity towards the taxi stand. She took a taxi for her home. She was left with only hope of finding her husband, Sunil at home. She thought that Sunil have wanted to give her a surprise. All her hopes were dashed to ground on reaching home. There was no sign of any human activity .Just Dimple and her loneliness. She started to wail. She understood that Sunil had duped her for Canadian citizenship. She wanted to betray her inner voice but everything was clear to be contrary.

She started to feel nostalgic about her and Sunil's meeting. It was a common's friend's marriage in India. Sunil had focused all of his attention on Dimple. During ceremonies, Sunil took her here and there .She felt so secure with him. Sunil asked for her number after the marriage was over. In the whole time, Dimple's mother was always warning her not to fall in any trouble. Next day Sunil called her .He invited her for a sightseeing tour of Mumbai. Sunil took her to every nook and corner of the city. It had been years since Dimple ever ventured out of her home. She was very dependent on her mother for all her outings. She was so delighted at last that someone wanted to roam with her.

Dimple started to like Sunil. Dimple wanted to know, "What was in Sunil's mind?" In the evening Sunil proposed Dimple for marriage. Dimple without wasting a second accepted his proposal.

Dimple told her decision to her mother. Whole of the family was stunned. They knew that she was going to become a victim of sham marriage. Dimple's family warned her but there was nothing that could deter her. The next day Dimple's parents flew back to Canada. They were so furious with dimple that they left her behind to do whatever she wanted to do. Simple was so much immersed in love that she viewed her parents as an obstruction in her love. Dimple had never felt such feelings in her lifespan of 30 years. Sunil was only 25 years old but for him Dimple was just a means to an end.

Sunil's parents also opposed the marriage. They knew the craze of Canada for Sunil. They knew that their son is going to spoil the life of a sweet gullible girl. When Dimple visited Sunil's home, she was candidly warned of Sunil's plot. Dimple had become so blind in love that she could not sense the impending danger. She thought that as she is disabled so they are trying to save their son.

Sunil and Dimple got married the same day without anyone's parent present .They started to reside in a rented accommodation. Soon they applied for Sunil's Canadian citizenship. Some of the formalities required Dimple to go to Canada. So, Dimple went to Canada leaving Sunil in India. After one month, Sunil got his Canadian citizenship. The day Sunil was supposed to arrive at Vancouver airport, he had seen Dimple waiting for him, but he stealthily got out of the airport.

Dimple tried her best to get out of bitter feelings. The more she tried the more she fell into melancholy. She was left with only one option to call her parents for solace. On arriving at Dimple's home, they were flabbergasted to see their daughter's appearance. She looked like a patient with terminal illness. Dimple fell on their feet asking for forgiveness. They hugged Dimple to let her sob .Which parents could leave their child in such an agony? The irony was that Dimple's parents had moved to Canada for her treatment of polio from a small village in India. Now this Canada had become a cause of disagreement between them.

Dimple's parents wanted her to file a case against Sunil. Dimple did not want this .She knew that her fragile heart would not be able withstand any brutal verbal assault form Sunil. She wanted to reside with only sweet memories of Sunil. Dimple shifted to her parent's home. Slowly Dimple regained her sanity. She rejoined her job. Thanks to the emphatic attitude of her employers, they allowed her to join back after gap of so many months.

One day while shopping at the supermarket, Dimple saw a familiar face. Her heart started to sink. She thought she has seen Sunil. A voice called her from backside. She knew it is Sunil's voice. She did not want to look back .She wanted to run away. She gathered courage and looked back. She became motionless to see Sunil. He was sitting on a wheelchair helped by his mother. Sunil came close to her .His mother left both of them alone. Sunil told her that after betraying her, he always felt guilty. He was never able to sleep peacefully. He wanted to ask for forgiveness but could not gather courage. One day as he was contemplating of meeting her he was hit by a speeding car. His both legs were crushed. He was operated and confined to wheelchair. Dimple was listening to him without feeling any emotion. She did not ask any questions. Sunil now just wanted forgiveness .He was already suffering divine retribution. He wanted to die in peace.

Dimple pardoned him. She felt suddenly all of the pain gone after forgiving Sunil. She felt so relieved. Just then, Sunil's body became numb. She saw Sunil's mother running towards him. Sunil's mother examined him and started to wail. He has passed away. Dimple just pushed her wheelchair towards exit. It looked like Sunil was waiting to be pardoned. Had Sunil not betrayed Dimple, he could have lived his dream.

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Cry of Sorrow

The rickshaw swayed through the near empty bazaar of Haripur, a small town adjoining Panchkula in Haryana. The Nandu Halwai was as usual busy instructing his cooks in preparation of sweets. Sharma Ji, the chemist was busy dispensing medicines to the long queue of ill. Ramdhin, the puncture walla was sitting idle today waiting for a tyre to puncture or burst so that he could open his account for the day.

Arun and Shiela were witnessing the whole flurry of activities of the bazaar sitting in the rickshaw. In the past, they talked about these activities as they happened before them live. But today they were just mute spectators. No word crossed their lips. The only form of communication today was the touch of flesh of each other's tightly held hands.

Arun lightly squeezed the hand of Shiela as they reached their two room rented house in Haripur. Shiela alighted and walked straight into the house. Arun looked on and remembered the days when they used to chit chat as he paid the fare of the rickshaw. The whole neighbourhood had gone into a kind of hibernation in the searing afternoon of June. Arun paid and walked straight into his house hard gazing the red brick floor.

As he entered, he saw Shiela running her eyes over the whole house. She ran her hands over their wedding photo hung on the wall whose plaster was peeling off.

Then she realised Arun's presence in the room. She turned around, hugged Arun, and sobbed for a long time. Her sobs mixed with the soft consoling pats of Arun.

Then Shiela gathered herself and said, "What would become of me?" And she again embraced Arun and wept for a long time.

The next day Arun and Shiela revisited their neurologist at P.G.I Chandigarh.

The neurologist studied the MRI report of Arun for 10 minutes and those 10 minutes passed for them as in hell both staring hard at the expressionless face of the doctor.

"I think they are trained to remain expressionless," observed Arun mentally.

Then with a sigh, the doctor shook his head, handed the report to Shiela, and hung his head down.

The hung head of the doctor conveyed everything to them.

Arun and Shiela without uttering a word came out of the doctor's room amidst a sea of other waiting patients. They jostled their way towards the ramp. Then both of them climbed down the ramp silently, weeping internally.

They reached the ground floor. Shiela broke down into long heart-rending sobs falling on her knees. Arun held her and took her to a corner seat.

Shiela sat and so did Arun by her side.

Shiela cried with her face in her hands.

Arun wanted to console her with words but he could speak none as he had already lost his voice. He felt his eyes welling up and his throat lumping.

He ran his eyes over the crowd waiting for their turn at the different specialities. No one even gave them a cursory look. All of them were so immersed in their own grief to spare a moment for them.

Arun placed his hand gently over the shoulder of Shiela. He did not try to pull her allowing her some time to complete her cry of sorrow.

After a few minutes, Shiela faced Arun. She looked into his eyes as she rested her back on the chair. They stared at each other as the tears wetted their cheeks quietly.

They talked with the language of eyes. Shiela wiped the tears of Arun.

Even after two operations Arun's brain tumour could not be erased completely. Now it had made a permanent abode in the head of Arun adamant on never vacating it.

"We can't go for a third operation. I am sorry," these words of the doctor after the second operation echoed in the mind of Shiela.

Ultimately, within weeks Arun lost his hair to chemo. However, the chemo declared itself helpless and surrendered to the tumour within days. After a few more weeks, Arun became bereft of his voice too. Their daily ritual now consisted of visiting doctors and on return always buying a lot of medicines from Sharma Ji who offered them a discount.

They once even visited a Tantrik for help, who charged Rs.1500/- from them besides throwing amorous glances on Shiela. However, that also proved to be of no help.

Arun shook Shiela to bring her out of her miserable reverie.

Shiela came back with a startle, emerging into the world of pain and sorrow. She ran her hand over the baldhead of Arun which had a dent in the front part gifted by two operations.

She took Arun's cap from his hands and placed it over his head.

Arun smiled to thank her for this good gesture. He hated his bald look and the dent irritated him as it invited a lot of protruding eyes even sometimes attracting questions too.

He recalled how one day an old friend met him in the market and showered him with queries regarding the dent on his head. As he answered, Shiela started to cry. It made Arun feel so helpless that he cut short the conversation by marching ahead, much to the shock of his friend.

The pain of watching your hubby devoured by death with each passing day is the most horrible time in the life of a woman. And Shiela was passing through it.

Shiela wanted to commit suicide but the thought of her seven-year-old daughter Vidushi restrained her from taking this extreme step.

Vidushi was going to become fatherless soon. And Shiela did not want her to live a life of beggary. She knew after Arun is gone she will get a job on compassionate grounds in the food and supplies department in which Arun worked as a clerk.

Arun held Shiela's hand as he rose to walk. Both of them walked out of the P.G.I holding each other's hands in complete silence and oblivion of the world around them. Neither of them called for a cab or rickshaw. Many passed as they walked on through the markets. The sun was hammering them with its cruel rays but it did not concern them anymore, as they wanted this time to halt for them.

Arun's cousin Vivek spotted them walking and sweating in the extreme heat. Their faces had turned red due to the unbearable heat. Vivek dropped them at their home in his car. He was neither invited in nor he wanted to be invited in. He sped leaving the couple to spend the remaining scanty time with each other.

In the coming days, Arun's lower limbs ceased to obey his calls forcing him on a wheelchair. And after a few more weeks of withering with pain, Arun became bedridden inviting bed sores to feast.

Shiela discouraged all relatives to visit her, as she wanted to spend as much time as possible with Arun. She even asked her parents to leave and take Vidushi with them.

"I can't leave you alone," protested Shiela's mother. But Shiela's father somehow managed to persuade her mother and by evening they had left with Vidushi.

One day Arun lay listless in the bed. Shiela placed her hand on his chest to catch his heartbeat. It was beating faintly declaring Shiela not a widow. Sheila sat beside Arun gazing endlessly on his face. Arun's eyes were closed, his face gave a dead man's look, and his chest was not rising or falling to the tune of breathing.

Shiela sat like this for an hour. Then suddenly Arun gave a guzzling sound, his mouth opened for a second, his eyes remained shut, his chest rose and fell and his face fell to a side on the bed.

Shiela placed her trembling hand on the heart of Arun and the faint sound of beating had exited him.

Tears froze in her eyes as she calmly rose to get her cell phone from the other room to call her parents.

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Friday

I still remember that afternoon. I was ploughing my land in my village Malerkotla, Punjab when I spotted a Fakir passing by. The Fakir eyes were busy probing the ground and his slow pace was sending the message clear and loud that he was at peace. My heart felt glad that at least someone was at peace in this tumultuous world of ours.

I shouted, "Baba ji, Baba ji," to attract Fakir's attention.

The Fakir mesmerised deeply in his walk paid no heed to my call.

I again shouted on the top of my voice.

And this time God smiled and ordered the eyes of the Fakir towards me.

The Fakir stood still watching me for a few minutes. And as no movement ensued for some more minutes I commanded my legs to take me to Fakir.

As I reached near him, I saw a face with big rounded eyes and a wild growth of hair all over his wheatish colour face. Even his eyebrows met midway with his long curly hair on his forehead.

His eyes were still fixed on me, probing to find an answer for my call.

"Would you like to eat something," I asked in a soft voice.

Baba ji did not bother to respond. Now, I repented my decision to disturb him.

Then suddenly he blurted, "Why you remain unhappy, Yaseer?"

Now this was a spooky question for me as it started a round of questions in my head. How he knows my name? being the foremost of them all.

"You possess a lot of land and money, making you the richest man in the whole of Malerkotla. Still you remain unhappy beta (son) why?" Baba asked forcefully this time.

The force of Baba's voice made me stunned.

"Can you feed me," asked my eccentric Baba.

"My wife will bring my lunch within half an hour Baba. Come let us sit till then under that tree," I replied pointing towards the tree.

"Your lunch won't come today son," pronounced the Baba.

I preferred to remain silent though I was very irritated by Baba's way of talking. I didn't want to be the victim of a Fakir's' wrath. And I walked towards the tree as Baba followed me.

We squatted under the mango tree's cool shade.

Baba made himself busy with his ground viewing exercise. And this was making me crazy. The sound of a few birds chirping and the eerie silence was only adding to my discomfort.

My heart was cursing me for calling this Fakir.

Then again towing the line of his eccentricity Baba said, "Beta, what do you want from life?"

"I want inner peace Baba," I replied hesitantly.

"Peace! Peace! Inner Peace," said Baba releasing a thunderous laugh.

"Even I want peace Yaseer. Tell me your idea of Peace and how do you want to attain it," added Baba.

"By helping others," I answered back loudly angered by Baba's laugh.

"Yaseer, would you like to cure others?"

Now this question completely distracted me from my worry of my wife who had not arrived yet with my mid day meal. I wanted to serve the Baba and get rid of him soon.

And I was puzzled with his question.

"Yes I will," I replied nonchalantly.

"Run to your home and bring food for me," ordered Baba.

I obeyed him and immediately rose to run to my home. I wanted to end this unpleasant encounter.

As I entered my home, I saw my wife being tended for burns on her arm by my mother.

"Some milk spilled on her arm," said my mother on seeing me.

Ignoring my mother, I assigned my eyes to the critical task of locating my little bundle of food. Aha! There it was lying beside the chulha. I collected it and rushed back to the field only to find Baba missing.

I looked for him everywhere but could not find him.

I called for him, "Baba! Baba!", only to hear the echo of my voice.

I rushed back to my home.

My wife and mother both seemed a little worried at my weird behaviour.

I sat on the charpoy, undid the bundle, crushed the onion with a single strike of my fist, and started to eat rotis with daal.

I did not return to the field that day citing ill health as an excuse to my mother and wife.

In reality, I was afraid of meeting the Baba again. I wanted to remain alone as I felt a new kind of calm settling in my heart.

The next day around four in the morning, my door received many loud bangs. I still half asleep walked to the door. And the view made my sleep vanish as I saw at least a hundred people standing in a disciplined queue.

"Baba sent us here," talked a bald lady standing in front of the queue in her mid fifties.

" Baba ! Who Baba?" I blurted still shocked at the sight of this deluge of people gathered at my doorstep.

Then my mind came to my rescue and played my yesterday's meeting with the Baba as a movie.

"Baba came to my dream and directed me to your house. I don't know about the rest," added the lady as she looked back at the crowd.

My mother and wife by then had come to stand beside me. They gave me an aghast look.

"I have cancer. Chemos failed. Just bless me with your hand on my head," pleaded the lady as she fell on my feet.

I terrified placed my hand on her baldhead.

"And don't ever accept money or anything from the people who come to seek your blessings. The day for you to bless is Friday Baba," said the lady as she rose to her feet.

My eyes met the eyes of this lady which reminded me of the eyes of my Fakir Baba.

And the lady hurriedly left the door for others. I wanted to follow her but the huge crowd who just wanted to feel the touch of my hand blocked my way.

And in this way I became a Baba myself. Every Friday my house invites a lot of blessing seekers in its precincts from all over India. They come with a lot of money and presents but I never accept anything.

And till now I have never been able to re meet my Fakir Baba but I often feel him present in my blessing seekers.

And yes I am at peace with life now.

reads
At Peace

"What is your name?" asked the Maulavi of the Jama Masjid with a stern voice.

"Tell me your name?" the Maulavi repeated the question this time more forcefully.

There was complete silence in the mosque. Akram was the one who was being bombarded by this question since the last two hours. Akram did not look perturbed by the question. He kept on laughing madly. And with the passage of time, the intensity of his laugh increased, tearing the silence of the mosque, at two in the morning.

"I am asking you for the last time Akram tell me who you are? What is your name? Why are you in Akram's body?" asked the Maulavi.

This time Akram looked straight into the eyes of the Maulavi. An eerie silence descended in the mosque. Everyone present there was frightened with the bloody look in the eyes of Akram. Suddenly the laughing ceased.

A feminine voice replied with a blank countenance, "Jamal knows who I am?"

Everyone was stunned at the answer. Akram's father Jamal Ali and his Mother Ruksana looked at each other. They were speechless.

Jamal Ali owned a small shop of readymade garments in Chandigarh's, Sector-15 market. When Akram touched 21st year of his life, Jamal Ali thought it would be wise of Akram to join him at the shop. Akram had just finished his B.A and wanted to study more.

"But what will you do after studying more. Look at the army of unemployed youth who have studied a lot. You will also become a part of them because after studying more you will find it difficult to do manual work at the shop. So I insist you to come to the shop from tomorrow," ordered Jamal Ali to his only son, Akram.

Akram looked at his mother. Ruksana had no say in her home.

So without any protest Akram agreed to shun his desire to study more. He will accompany his father to the shop from tomorrow.

The next day as the father - son duo reached the shop. Jamal Ali called the local painter, Mustaaq to modify the shop's board from "Jamal Readymade Garments" to "Jamal and Sons Readymade Garments." A proud father's way of showing his happiness on his son joining the business. Jamal was glad that at last Akram agreed to come to shop. Now he will come to the shop sparingly and enjoy some rest and after training Akram fully will go for Hajj.

Akram was diligent at work and learned all the secrets of the trade soon. After six months of training, Jamal Ali decided to go for Hajj. He consulted with Ruksana who also got elated that at last her dream would come true. They started to make arrangements. Then with a bang at the door, their neighbour Yaseer entered their home. Yaseer owned a provisional store adjacent to Jamal's.

"Jamal Bhai (brother) your shop is close," said Yaseer.

"It is not possible. I have just come back from there. Moreover, I have left Akram there. He can't be so careless. Let's go and see," replied a surprised Jamal.

Soon Jamal reached his shop accompanied with Yaseer. He saw the shutter down. He tried to open it but it was bolted from inside.

"Akram! Akram! Are you inside," asked Jamal as he knocked furiously at the shutter.

There was no reply from inside. Jamal with the help of Yaseer broke open the shutter and was stunned to see what was going on inside. He saw Akram and Reena in a compromising position. Reena was the daughter of Jamal's best friend Subodh Verma. Jamal Ali was stunned at the visual presented to him. He just could not believe his own eyes. He caught hold of Akram and started to beat him mercilessly. Jamal punched and kicked Akram furiously as the latter kept on begging him to stop. Reena tried to intervene and met with the same fate. Whole of the market gathered there within minutes.

"You rascal! so this is your way to handle my life long labour. You are enjoying with this girl inside my temple," said a petrified Jamal Ali.

Jamal Ali grabbed Akram from his collar and Reena from her hair and started to drag both of them towards his car ignoring all of the pleas from everyone gathered there to have some mercy. He dumped both of them on the back seat of the car and drove it steadily to his home. Yaseer was left at the shop to lock it up.

He propelled both of them in the house. Ruksana was sitting comfortably on the sofa and watching television after completing the packing. She was flabbergasted to see the way her only son was being treated by her husband. Though she preferred to remain mute all of the time in her home and never interfered with whatever Jamal did but this time the mother inside her provided her with the strength to fight even with her own husband for the safety of her child.

"What are you doing with my son?" asked Ruksana shouting.

"This bastard has been caught red handed with Reena. Both of them were busy making love inside my shop. I had to break open the door to get inside the shop."

"No it is not possible. Akram can never do this. He will never make love with a Hindu girl," said Ruksana defending Akram.

"So I am speaking untruth. You think I have made up this story. Ask your child."

Jamal kicked Akram in his abdomen. Akram cried with pain. Ruksana ran towards Akram to save him. Ruksana pushed Jamal Ali aside and squatted on the floor taking Akram's head in her lap.

"Tell me Akram; for god's sake tell me the truth. I know your father is lying. I know my blood will never betray his religion and parents," asked Ruksana unable to control her tears.

There was no reply from Akram.

"Please speak something Akram. Please say something," begged Ruksana.

"Mother, Reena and I love each other since childhood and we want to marry. Help me mother please help me," begged Akram.

Ruksana slapped Akram and put his head back on the floor. And said, "A traitor to the community and my love cannot be my son. You are not my son anymore."

As Ruksana stood up she saw Reena's father Subodh Verma and mother Sheela Verma entering her home. They lived merely five houses away in the same neighbourhood. Jamal Ali and Subodh were friends since childhood.

Subodh was stunned to see Reena lying on the floor half-naked. Her clothes were torn and soaked in blood. There was blood all over her face and she was lying like a dead body on the floor in a pool of blood. Subodh and Sheela ran towards their daughter for her rescue.

"Reena! Reena! Get up my child look your parents are here," said Subodh with a lump in his throat.

There was no response from Reena. Subodh left Reena with Sheela and turned towards Jamal Ali who was standing beside him.

"Jamal! Jamal! Tell me what have you done with my daughter. Yaseer has already told me everything. Tell me why have you beaten her so mercilessly."

"She deserved it Subodh. How dare she try to lay a love trap for Akram? Was she not aware that I hate the idea of my son marrying a Hindu girl?"

"So after so many years you have shown your true colours Jamal Ali," thundered Subodh.

"All these years your love for our friendship was a sham?" asked Subodh.

"I still cherish your friendship as the most desirable gift Allah has bestowed upon me. And you know it? But that does not mean you can marry off your daughter to my son."

Before Subodh could reply Reena's voice attracted his attention

"Papa! Papa! Help me, help me," came a feeble voice of Reena asking for help.

"Papa please take me to hospital, I can't breathe." Subodh picked up Reena in his arms and rushed towards the hospital with Sheela in a taxi called by Yaseer.

Reena started to talk, "Papa I think my end is near. Forgive me papa for letting you down by loving Akram. But papa Love is not what we do intentionally. It happens papa. It happens. No one has control over it. Forgive me mom, as I was not able to live up to your expectations," saying this Reena took her last breathe in the arms of Subodh.

The taxi driver sensing the demise turned the taxi back to the house of Subodh. The taxi came to a screeching halt. The taxi driver alighted from the Taxi and as he opened the back door, Reena and Subodh's body fell on the road. Both were dead. The taxi driver looked at Sheela. She was also dead. The taxi driver sensing trouble for him dragged all of the three corpses to the side of the road and fled.

Yaseer witnessed all of this standing outside the home of Jamal. He rushed towards the bodies and called the police. The police arrived in no time. They took the bodies for post-mortem and took Jamal into custody. In the evening, the post-mortem report came revealing the cause of death of Reena's parents as sudden death due to trauma and Reena died due to puncturing of her liver due to frequent and merciless kicks on her abdomen gifted by Jamal Ali.

The Police registered a case against Jamal Ali. And sensing there might be riots due to involvement of a Hindu and Muslim family, curfew was imposed in the whole of Sector-15. After fifteen days, Jamal got bail as no one turned as witness against him.

As all of them were tired, so they slept early. After an hour, Akram got up. He pounced on Jamal beating him mercilessly to his heart's content then he dragged him outside kicking on his abdomen ignoring all of his pleas for mercy. He again beat him up in the open air in front of all who had gathered by then on hearing shrieks of Jamal but none of them dared to intervene. And after Akram was fully exhausted, he swooned.

Ruksana was so terrified that she only kept on looking at the scene of her husband being beaten by her son. She understood that a spirit has captured Akram's body. A spirit hell bent on teaching a lesson to Jamal. A spirit thirsty for his blood.

What Ruksana saw was Akram beating Jamal but the voice who kept on hurling abuses on Jamal was feminine. It was not the voice of Akram. Jamal was hurt very badly. There was blood everywhere in the room and outside. The villagers helped him inside his house. Akram was left outside the house.

The village elders suggested taking Akram to the mosque. Only the Maulavi Sahib can treat a person captured by a spirit. Akram was taken to the mosque. The Maulavi an old man in his late sixties with a wrinkled face and baldhead opened the mosques door. He saw unconsciousness Akram being lifted inside the mosque. He understood from Akram's countenance that a spirit has captured him.

After an anxious wait for one hour, Akram came back to his senses. His eyes were red like blood. He kept on staring at Jamal without fail. All of the persons present there were much terrified with the dreaded eyes of Akram.

Then the Maulavi Sahib asked, "Who are you?"

Akram answered in a feminine voice, "I am I am," a deafening laugh followed making all present there shriek.

"Jamal Uncle recognizes me. Do not seem too puzzled Uncle. I am your favourite child. The child who you loved more than Akram. The child who came straight to your shop instead of going home for lunch. The child for whom you bought chocolates daily. The Hindu girl you loved more than your Muslim boy." answered the feminine voice, which had become filled with anger by now.

"Reena, are you Reena...," asked Jamal in a trembling voice.

A big laugh preceded the answer.

"Yes it is Reena you murderer. You are the one who killed my parents and me. Now I won't leave you. I will kill you bastard Jamal uncle. My father always loved you like a younger brother and you gave him the shock of his life. The shock, which took his life. And my mother could not withstand the sorrow of being childless as well as a widow at the same time. She died too. Now it is your turn to die," saying this Akram swooned again.

Everyone looked at the place where Jamal was sitting. He was not there. Everyone started to look for him. The whole mosque was searched. Then a voice called all to come outside. Everyone including the Maulavi ran outside. The voice was emanating from a well located outside the mosque compound. Everyone was astonished to see the scene.

Jamal was floating in the air above the well. Reena's spirit had entered Jamal's body. Reena's spirit was visible to everyone. As soon, it left the body of Jamal. Jamal fell into the well. Everyone rushed to see inside the well. It was a heart-rending scene. Jamal was trying his best to swim and come out of the well but Reena's spirit kicked it down every time Jamal surfaced on the well. After struggle of fifteen minutes between life and death, Jamal's old body gave up. Unable to cope any further Jamaal lost the battle for his life. Jamal's dead body came floating on the water. Reena's spirit vanished with a spine-chilling laugh.

A spirit stunned everyone present in the mosque.

Akram came out of the mosque staggering, on seeing everyone gathered around the well he called for Ruksana and asked:

"What I am doing here in the mosque mother and where is father?"

As everyone turned back to answer Akram. Their bodies shuddered with fear. A fear never experienced by them before. No one dared to answer Akram as what all of them saw made their tongues freeze:

All of them saw Reena's spirit hung on the back of Akram, sleeping peacefully after taking her revenge. She slept like a baby with nothing to worry about. The tranquil on her face spoke about her intentions of never leaving Akram alone. At last, Reena's spirit was at peace.

reads
My Chandu

A child matured with own hands, when gives you jolt of your life, leaving you in your old age, when you are the most vulnerable becomes the most despicable day of a person's life.

But what can be done?

It is a plan all of us live called destiny. It provides us the best excuse to pardon our loved ones who hurt us the most.

While I was posted in Burma during the Second World War as a chemist in the Indian Army. One day I saw a child around two-year-old soiled in front of our medical corps dispensary crying. As soon as the child's eyes met mine he ceased to lament which came as a surprise for me. I looked right and left but there was no one to be seen except the few guards and office people like me. They were not interested in a two year olds cry. They just wanted to ignore it as they ignored all the unpleasant happenings in life when you are in the midst of a war.

Soon the clouds roared releasing waterfalls. I ran to the rescue of the child and carried him in my arms into my one room temporary dispensary.

I sat on the chair and with a towel started to wipe the child. After I was able to wipe off some dirt, I saw a brown-skinned face and a sparkling set of eyes, which provided an unknown kind of serenity to my heart amidst all the death, which accompany a war. It was a boy, an Indian boy.

The child's eyes had a sparkle in it. Sparkle which could bring to life all the slept emotions in any heart. I embraced the child and felt the most content person. I was 26, unmarried and the happiness this child provided me was no match to any pleasure enjoyed by me in the past. Soon the child slept in my arms.

After about half an hour the baby woke up to his hunger pangs. His eyes took a full round of the cabin, then fixed on me trying to seek a source to sate his hunger. I became puzzled. Ganpat, the orderly came running from the mess which was near to my cabin on hearing the child's cry.

His eyes widened on seeing a child in my arms. My arms had by then started to pain and my efforts to put the child into Ganpat's hands were met with stiff resistance from the child as his cries doubled.

Ganpat without saying a word, still shocked, ran out and after about five minutes came back with a bottle of milk in his hands. I was surprised to see a bottle of milk amidst the war zone.

"I borrowed it from the labourers working in the rubber plantations," he chuckled.

The baby boy calmed down as the bottle was placed to his lips, producing chup chup voice from his constant sucking of the milk.

The baby boy thrust the half-finished bottle into my hands after a few minutes. Ganpat gave a wide smile.

Then the baby boy wriggled to get free from my arms. I released him on the floor. And he started to run around the cabin giggling. The baby boy became the centre of my life from that day on.

After fifteen days the war was over, by then I had become truly bonded with the child, patiently listening and brushing aside all the taunts and jokes of my officers and colleagues.

"Look here comes the Kunwara Baap --- unwed father."

The next two days I tried my best to locate the parents of the boy. It seemed no one ever saw the boy. No one knew his parents at the plantation workers colony too. I was worried for the boy's future.

Then at the middle of the night, I woke up perspiring. I saw him sleeping peacefully beside me. The next day I had to leave for India by ship.

And still I did not know what to do with the child.

I could not leave him here. He had become a part of my life. He was definitely going to starve here in Burma. There was not enough food to fill one's own child in Burma. How could anyone think of feeding an orphan that too an Indian orphan?

I started to walk back and forth in the room waiting for the dawn. As the sun's first ray entered my room, I closed the window as it touched my child's face. And this was a new revelation to me that the child has now become my child.

I somehow due to my close association with some officers took special permission to travel by air to India with my child.

I decided to leave the army as soon as I arrived in India and raise the child as my own.

My mother was shocked to see me with a child as I arrived at my ancestral village Chanderwali near Delhi. She said nothing about the child but her eyes threw a stunned look at me.

"No will marry you Anand," said my mother worried by evening as I revealed the child's identity and future.

"We can leave him in any orphanage or any ashram. Good care will be taken of him," added she.

"No! No! Maa do not say such things. He is my son," I shouted back teared by her suggestion.

My mother slapped her forehead and headed to the kitchen to fetch milk for my son.

Two years passed. My child turned four. My mother too established a bond with my child. I opened a small medicine cum doctor shop in my village. I was content with my life.

I named my son Chander Mohan and called him Chandu out of affection. Chandu became the purpose of my life. My life revolved around him and to some extent, my mother's too.

My mother could find no girl to marry me who was ready to suffer the additional burden of Chandu. At last, my mother halted her search operations as I turned thirty.

" God will send a girl if it is in your destiny," declared my mother one day exasperated.

Ten years passed with my daily ritual of taking and bringing back Chandu from school. My little shack dispensary brought enough for the two of us to eat, sleep and be merry. My mother had passed two years back with a worry that her own son had been left lone because of Chandu.

One day my Chandu asked me about his mother while we were going to his school in the morning.

" I am your mother, Chandu," I replied with emphasis on I.

And that sealed the fate of Chandu's mother. From that day on my Chandu never asked me again about his mother.

Like every father, I wanted my Chandu to rise in life. To earn name and fame I wanted my Chandu to become a Doctor, an obvious choice for a chemist.

" I hate Physics, Chemistry and Biology Baba," retorted my Chandu after his matric results were declared as I expressed my wish to Chandu to take medical and become a Doctor.

I want to study Arts. So it was, he went to a government school in Delhi to study arts. Then after completing his 10+2, Chandu took admission in B.A at Delhi University. Now we seldom met. He appeared only when he was in need of money that too he came in the afternoon and left by evening. He was busy in his city life full of hustle and bustle.

As soon as he completed his B.A, my Chandu was selected as a Sub Inspector in Delhi Police. I was a proud father that day. I distributed sweets in the whole village.

"I knew he will go to the forces one day. He was so good at sports," I gladly declared to my friend Shambhu.

I started my search for a prospective bride for my Chandu. But Chandu had other plans.

Chandu married a colleague of his. She was also an S.I in Delhi Police with my Chandu. What pained me the most was when my Chandu brushed aside my idea of him coming to the village to marry; he wanted me to come alone to the city for marriage.

"Come alone Baba. Don't bring anyone from the village," said my Chandu on phone.

I think he was ashamed of us rustics now.

And I was scared of the city and I must confess I was adamant too that my Chandu should come to seek my blessings. I telegrammed to him, as the phone lines were dead.

"Chandu I won't be able to come to Delhi for your marriage as my health is not well. It is better if you could come to me."

And at that time I did not know that I had lost my Chandu to the city. I never got a reply from my Chandu. Nor did Chandu bother to come to village to seek my blessings. Chandu had forgotten me.

My so-called clinic closed as age dawned upon me. Even the basic daily activities seemed to be a great task to accomplish.

Rakesh, son of Shambhu, one day while he was in Delhi for some litigation work stumbled upon Chandu. Chandu was with his wife and two children eating ice cream outside the court complex.

Rakesh says my Chandu talked back in monosyllables avoiding eye contact.

"He did not want to talk to me Chacha Ji. He was trying his best to ignore me. Had I not stumbled upon him, I am sure he might have changed his way to avoid meeting me," added Rakesh with moist eyes.

"And he did not ask anything about you Chacha Ji," said Rakesh as he rose to go to his home.

As I write this, I am sitting on a stretcher placed in a corner of the passageway to the general ward of AIIMS. I do not know what happened to me as I collapsed one day in my home. When I opened my eyes I found Rakesh standing by my side.

" I have phoned Chandu, Chacha Ji. He will be here soon," said he.

After two days of taking care of me and discussing something in murmurs with the doctor. One day Rakesh disappeared.

Now many days have passed. I have stopped counting them anymore. Even the doctors have stopped visiting me. A nurse comes in the morning and evening to administer an injection to me. I do not ask any questions to her, as I do not want her to disappear too.

I see a lot of elderly like me being attended by their younger children. Now this has become my daily routine as I wait for...

And Yes! I miss my Chandu.

reads

Maa—The fortune teller

"Come in beta," said Parvati Maa to Subhash.

Subhash unfastened his shoes and stepped into the small damp dark room. The room was cold and eerily quiet in the summer of June. Subhash was fatigued because of the journey he had to undertake to reach this small village in Panipat whose name he could not even pronounce. He reached here just by asking about the village of Parvati Maa, as she was so famous. It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the smoky and a little dark environment of the room. He saw a big table placed by the side of the seating of Parvati Maa. Two big idols of Goddess Kali were placed on it.

There were many incense sticks burning in front of the idols making the room smoky.

"Please sit son," said Parvati Maa pointing towards an old mat placed in front of her seating.

Subhash squatted on the mat. And he looked back towards the door and saw at least a hundred people standing in a queue disciplined and quiet. There was no person there to manage them or make them stand so quietly.

"Let us start conversating son as you can see my other children are also waiting to meet me."

Subhash turned towards Parvati Maa. He could see a calm face with many criss cross lines on it reflecting the age of Maa. He folded his hands in respect and bowed his head to pay obeisance to Parvati Maa.

"I know why you are here Subhash," said Parvati Maa.

Subhash raised his head in astonishment and thought how Maa knows my name? His mind raced to produce many thoughts of belief and disbelief. Subhash thought that why would a lady in her late nineties play gimmicks or Is it true whatever they say about Maa that she can see the past as well as the future?

"No gimmicks my dear son! No gimmicks here! It is the abode of Goddess Kali and there is no place for any gimmicks in her home," said Parvati Maa further startling Subhash.

Subhash just kept looking aghast at Parvati Maa. He thought, "Oh! Lord, she can read my mind. So it is true about her."

"Yes my dear I can read mind. Especially yours, which at this moment seems to me in a real bad situation. Now stop your thinking from going any wilder and just let me do the talk and solve your problems."

Subhash sat in an attentive posture.

And Parvati Maa closed her eyes and started to speak in a loud voice:

"I know Subhash that you are not the natural born son of your parents. They brought you up. Your real father wanted to get rid of you as soon as you were born. Your mother died while giving you birth and he wanted to marry younger sister of your mother with whom he had been in an illegitimate relationship. That is when your real father's elder brother stepped in and took your responsibility."

"Your adopting parents provided you with a lot of love and affection and you never realised that you were not their real son. But all good things come to an end one day my son and you too ran out of your luck when your elder brother married. One day when you were asked to marry the younger sister of your sister-in-law and you refused stoutly then your sister-in-law revealed to you your real paternity position in the household. You were dumbstruck that day. I can easily see that Subhash, that day you cried profusely."

Parvati Maa stopped and took a long sigh, then she picked up the glass of water kept by her side and drank from it without opening her eyes. Then after a few seconds, she took a deep breath and started to speak again:

"Subhash, then one day your elder brother asked you to pay all the money spent in your upbringing. All of your anger, disbelief, and negations fell on deaf ears. Then your sister-in-law too forced you to do the marriage. And you agreed."

"The girl Suman loved you very much. But you could not realise her love as you madly loved another girl whose name I cannot reveal. Moreover, you held Suman responsible for your deplorable marriage, as she was a culprit in your eyes who restrained you from marrying the love of your life."

"And after a year of painful tries, Suman was fed up. She eloped with all of your money and jewellery with a colleague of hers."

"Now you are here to know the whereabouts of your wife or of your money and jewellery. I think you are here for your money and jewellery."

"Aren't you? Subhash," said Parvati Maa in an agitated manner.

Subhash could not believe his ears. He just heard the whole story of his life within minutes from a stranger. The stranger just sat in front of him and without travelling, anywhere just shut her eyes and easily travelled his whole life.

And Parvati Maa continued:

"But! Subhash, I know you do not care about money or jewellery. Then tell me why you want to know about Suman's whereabouts. You never loved her and will never love her. Then tell me honestly Subhash. Why are you here? "

And with this Parvati Maa opened her eyes and looked straight into the eyes of Subhash probing for the answer to her question. Her eyes were fiery red by now. She looked tired too.

Subhash was feeling scared by the whole environs of the room. He somehow gathered courage and said in a feeble voice, "Maa! I want to meet Suman and beg for her mercy."

Parvati Maa said nothing but still her fiery red eyes were looking into the eyes of Subhash seeking the truth.

Subhash knew that lying would not help him. Parvati Maa knows the answer but just wants to listen it from him.

"I want to give her divorce Maa. I have the papers ready. Subhash put his hand in his pants pocket and showed the papers to Maa. Suman can keep the money and jewellery but she will have to give me divorce as I want to marry Nancy the love of my life Maa."

Parvati Maa calmed down, closed her eyes, and said, "Oh! so you think that all of your laments, taunts, insults and abuses should be forgotten by Suman. You cheated her by continuing to have an affair with Nancy. Do you think you deserve to be forgiven Subhash?"

"NO! NO! NO! You will never be forgiven son," said Parvati Maa in a convulsing tone. "Liars like you do not deserve to be forgiven son. You deserve punishment." And Parvati Maa opened her eyes.

I will not tell you where Suman is.

Subhash fell on the feet of Parvati Maa and begged her for mercy.

Parvati Maa's heart filled with pity. She asked Subhash to come early in the morning. She will ruminate at night and see where Suman is? She will talk to her and if she gave permission, only then she will let him know about the whereabouts of Suman.

The next morning after a long sleepless night Subhash arrived at the door of Parvati Maa. She was eating her breakfast of several neatly cut fruits in a bowl with her hands. She saw Subhash standing at the door and gestured him to come in and sit down. Subhash was very anxious to know his future. But Parvati Maa took her time to finish her food in silence. All the while Subhash kept on gazing at the floor.

After eating her breakfast, she got up and rinsed her plate under the tap fitted in a corner of the room. And then wiping her hands with her clothes she said, "My dear I was not able to elicit an answer from Suman. I entered her dream but she said nothing. She just kept on looking at me with eyes full of vengeance and grief. I think she wanted to know your well-being from me."

Subhash lowered her head again gazing at the mud floor.

"But Maa... I want to know where she is? Otherwise, I won't be able to live my life. I won't be able to marry Nancy."

"How can be you so sure about your future dear?" said Parvati Maa.

"Future is uncertain Subhash," said Parvati Maa laughing. Her laughing sent shivers to the spine of Subhash.

"You just tell me about Suman's whereabouts and leave the rest to me. I will meet her and after seeking her forgiveness I will ask her to sign our divorce papers," shouted Subhash.

Parvati Maa maintained her calm and replied, "I cannot Subhash. I am sorry. You will have to do penance first, only then Goddess kali will guide you to Suman. And it is Goddess' wish that I do not tell you about Suman's whereabouts."

After begging and arguing for half an hour, Subhash got up and turned towards the door to get out. He saw a huge rush of people of all sorts gathered at the door of Parvati Maa. Rich and poor, Old and young, thin and fat all coming here with lot of expectations from Parvati Maa.

Subhash on seeing the crowd decided to try his luck for the last time and he turned towards Parvati Maa, fell on her feet, and started to weep. Now Parvati Maa's heart melted and she called in a loud and clear voice, "Suman come in."

Subhash's body froze. He could hear the chime of the anklets of Suman. Suman came inside the room and stood beside him. He was not able to get up from the feet of Parvati Maa. He could not face Suman. He had not imagined that that he would meet Suman so soon.

Suman could easily feel the predicament of Subhash. She called, "Subhash get up."

Subhash gathered courage and sat on the floor mat with his head in his hands. He was still not able to face Suman.

"Now say something Subhash, she is here. Suman is here. Talk to your heart's content. Beg for mercy Subhash," said Parvati Maa.

As Subhash raised his head to look back towards Suman. He was shocked to see that the girl standing by his side was not Suman.

"Oh! You play pranks too Parvati Maa," said Subhash in an irritated voice as he got up.

The girl was niece of Parvati Maa who was instructed by Maa to come inside when called.

"I will find Suman by myself Parvati Maa. I do not need your help," saying this Subhash rushed out of the room and headed towards his car.

Parvati Maa shook her head and took a sigh saying to herself, "No! Subhash, No! You will never be able to meet Suman in this world. As she has been murdered by the man she eloped with. The man killed her for money and jewellery. I met her soul last night in this room. She has forgiven you, Subhash. But I can't forgive you. I want you to suffer for whole of your life as I hold you responsible for her death."

Parvati Maa heard the voice of Subhash's car going on its way of hope to find Suman and calm.

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Trickery

On reaching Vrindavan in Uttar Pradesh on a pilgrimage tour. I took a man-paddled rickshaw for reaching my Dharmashala. My rickshaw entered a small street, whose both parallel running lines were filled with shops brimming with people. The street was a narrow one and there was a huge rush in the Bazaar. While soaking in the beauty and the diversity of the people suddenly something swooped down at my hand and snatched the purse from it. I shrieked in fright as my eyes followed the figure.

The figure settled on the boundary wall of the terrace of a halwai shop. On gazing with a calm mind, I found out that it was a big scary monkey whose red fiery eyes were enough to send shivers to my spine.

The rickshaw came to a halt and the rickshaw walla climbed down from his seat.

The monkey was holding my purse tightly in his hands and he showed it to me teasingly making loud grunting sounds with a grin. I too climbed down from the rickshaw and was very tensed at the prospect of loosing my purse which contained all of my money and debit cards and that too in a city which was alien to me.

As the rickshaw walla and I were standing in the street looking at the monkey helplessly, a lean and dark complexioned man emerged out of the bazaar's commotion and stopped near me.

"What happened mam?" he asked in a polite manner with his eyes fixed on the monkey.

"The monkey snatched my purse," I answered pointing towards the monkey.

The monkey became more furious and started to jump up and down on the wall of the terrace on seeing the man.

I was startled at the sudden odd eruption of tumultuous behaviour of the monkey. I looked towards the man with pleading eyes who was looking straight at the monkey. Then the man turned towards me and said:

"I can bring your purse mam but it will cost you."

I was ready to pay anything at that time still I asked the amount for knowing whether I would be able to it pay or not. Though the question of haggling was out of aspect at that time.

"Just one hundred rupees mam. And I will hand over the purse to you only when you will pay me."

I nodded without thinking anything.

And the man sounded a loud whistle with both his fingers in his mouth, that attracted the attention of the monkey. The monkey was now calm and just staring at us. Then the man gestured the monkey to come down.

The monkey took two long leaps and was standing in front of me. The monkey handed the purse to the man and disappeared in the crowd of the bazaar jumping here and there.

The man's face issued a smile and I took a long sigh of relief.

I stretched my hand towards the man in anticipation of receiving the purse.

"My hundred rupees first," said the man as he hid the purse behind his back.

"I will pay you but the money is in the purse. Hand me the purse and I will pay you."

"No mam I won't as the deal was you will pay me first then I will hand over the purse."

"But the money...," I tried to reason with the man but he interrupted me.

"Give me hundred rupees mam, or I will run away with your purse."

A sea of helplessness and anger was raging within me but I somehow managed to contain it.

Then the rickshaw walla came to my aid and handed me hundred rupees that I promptly gave to the man.

He handed over the purse to me and without saying a word walked away.

I swiftly opened the purse to check its contents. Everything was there my cards, lipstick, and money except a hundred rupee note.

I think the monkey might have charged me that hundred-rupee note as his fees.

A smile appeared on my face, as I understood the trickery of the man and the monkey off course.

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Diwali

"Sir, can you lend me one thousand rupees? It is Diwali in a week and I haven't got my salary yet," pleaded Rajlakshmi as she swept the room of Dalbir with her soon to expire broom.

Dalbir called his eyes up from his books and put his specs to rest on the table. Rajlakshmi was busy with her sweeping. Dalbir wanted to ignore her plea. Then suddenly Rajlakshmi turned around, looked straight into the eyes of Dalbir and requested again,

"I just want Rs.1000/- sir. The Diwali is in a week and the school authorities have not provided me with my salary. I have not been paid since the last two months."

This time Dalbir fell into dilemma. He knew he had only Rs.1200/- in his pocket. If he would lend Rs.1000/- to Rajlakshmi he won't be left with much to celebrate his Diwali.

Rajlakshmi called, "Sir, Sir..."

Dalbir rushed back to the classroom from his thoughts. He looked at his empty classroom. It was five past two and it was time for him to leave.

Rajlakshmi was busy sweeping a corner of the room.

He looked at Rajlakshmi and gathering a huge pile of courage said, "Rajlakshmi I have only Rs.1000/- left with me. If I will lend 1000/- to you. I won't be left with anything for Diwali."

"Don't you have anything in your bank, Sir!," asked Rajlakshmi probingly.

Dalbir was stunned at the boldness of a sweeper. He thought that how depravity fills a sweeper with courage to ask a teacher about his savings in bank.

"You know even I have not been paid salary since the last two months like you. The school is in some financial trouble. I should have found a job in a govt. school but it is too late now," answered Dalbir back with some hesitation.

And he hurriedly collected his books, wore his spectacles and got out of the classroom.

He marked his leaving attendance and started his return journey on foot to his two kms. far rented one room accommodation.

Dalbir earned only five thousand rupees working as a teacher in a village primary school in Baghowal, Punjab. He could not even afford a two-wheeler and dismissed riding a bicycle below his dignity. So he walked daily to school.

As he walked past the small lanes of the village still thinking about Rajlakshmi's request. He entered the busy bazaar of ten to fifteen shops and finally he reached his rented room. A small room on the first floor of a prosperous farmer's kothi. The farmer took pity on the poor Dalbir and never asked for rent of five hundred rupees. Whenever Dalbir got his fluctuating salary, he settled his rent dues.

Dalbir sat on his folding bed. The only asset he possessed in this tiny room except an earthen pot provided by the landlord.

He felt stifled in his room. The voice of Rajlakshmi kept on resonating in his mind. He tried to sleep after lunch as was his practice but could not. The pale face of the poor sweeper Rajlakshmi kept on haunting him. He thought he should have given money to Rajlakshmi but he did have to send money to his widow mother frequently as she lived on scanty pension coming from Dalbir father's govt service as a driver.

If he had paid Rajlakshmi, he would have been left with Rs.200/- still intact to celebrate his Diwali.

Moreover he was going to do nothing on Diwali except burst some crackers with the landlord's son that too provided by the landlord.

" Two hundred rupees are sufficient for me," he pondered.

But you never know when the salary will arrive. I have not even paid the landlord rent of the past two months. And these Rs.1200/- were his only hope to live through the rest of the month.

In the evening still with a troubled state of mind, Dalbir went for a walk to a nearby canal and there to his astonishment he found Rajlakshmi sitting on the brink of the canal. The water was running slowly in the canal. She was so busy in her own thoughts that she did not notice Dalbir's arrival.

Dalbir looked at her and it seemed to him that she was contemplating of suicide. She was staring blankly at the running water that was deep enough to drown anything. But how could she? She has two small children to feed. She can't take such a drastic step reasoned Dalbir with himself.

Then he somehow stopped his steps from moving towards Rajlakshmi, took a turn and started to walk briskly back towards his room.

He ate his dinner with the farmer landlord daily.

"You look worried today master ji," observed the landlord.

"Oh! I am just not feeling well today. It is a small headache. I think I should sleep early. It will relieve me from the headache."

Dalbir rose from the floor, sliding his place aside.

He rushed towards his room, running the stairs. He fell on his folding bed and closed his eyes praying to God for sleep. He soon fell into sleep and within half an hour woke up with a shriek. He switched on the bulb. He was wet with sweat.

He wiped it with his kerchief. And provided some solace to himself saying, "It was only a dream. It was only a dream."

Dalbir saw in his dream Rajlakshmi jumping into the canal while he was present there. She kept on looking at Dalbir with her stony eyes as if saying, "If you had lent me the money. I could have lived."

Dalbir drank some water. He saw his clock. It was just 11:30. He swore to give Rajlakshmi money tomorrow and free himself from his agony.

He tried to call sleep to his aid but it eluded him. So he just lay on his bed and kept on looking at the ceiling fan.

In the morning exactly at seven, he reached his school. He searched for Rajlakshmi but she was nowhere to be found. There was no one in the school except the watchman who informed Dalbir that Rajlakshmi comes at 6:30 daily but today she has not arrived yet.

Dalbir's heart sank. What if my dream comes true?

He won't be able to forgive himself. He was thinking standing at the gate. He heard a voice calling him, "Sir What is the matter? Why are you so early at school?"

Dalbir called his eyes up from the floor and looked towards the person calling him.

He cried out in joy, "O! God thank you. You are safe Rajlakshmi. Why are you late today?"

"I went to the landlord to beg for money. But he too refused, as I had nothing to give as security."

Dalbir put his hands in his shirt's breast pocket and gave one thousand rupees to Rajlakshmi.

Rajlakshmi's eyes lit up as if a reflection of crackers bursting appeared in them. Rajlakshmi took the crisp note of one thousand and bowed her head and said,

"Thank you sir. Thank you. You do not know how much I needed the money. I was even thinking of committing suicide yesterday in the canal. My son will be very happy to celebrate Diwali with your money sir and as soon I get my salary I will return your money."

And she started to sob.

"No thank you Rajlakshmi. It is only because of you that I will be able to celebrate my Diwali in peace. No need to return the money. Consider it as a Diwali gift from me."

And Dalbir entered the school with a relief on his face.

reads

A House of my Own

"I need a house of my own," muttered Suresh to himself after he handed over ten thousand rupees as monthly rent to the owner of his one room flat in sector-49, Chandigarh.

"The month just flies away so fast," Suresh always thought when the owner arrived on the first of every month.

Suresh worked as an engineer with a private firm earning thirty thousand rupees a month, which was a nice amount for his Punjabi colleagues who had a place of their own to call as home but Suresh who belonged to Uttar Pradesh to a poor farmer family had to dole out a huge part of his salary as rent.

He wanted to shift to more affordable nearby areas like Kharar or Zirakpur but that would have amounted to a lot of waste of time and energy in travelling. And he wanted to show off to his well off Punjabi friends that he had a nice dwelling to reside. Social vanity was also a compulsion in his case.

It all seemed as a scam to him as the nearby villagers sold their ancestral lands to the big industrial houses in crores, bought two to three flats in Chandigarh, and rented them out to people like Suresh who compelled by their economic circumstances had to leave their village to earn their livelihood. And these villages lived royally by leeching off people like him.

"I am single now but one day I will have to marry and in my salary I won't be able to afford such a hefty rent and meet other expenses also," thought Suresh as he lay on his bed, hearing the cacophony of the cooler and the ceiling fan.

He wanted to switch on the A.C but then too like a vicious circle it would have left him poorer by five thousand rupees at the end of the month. So he decided against it.

Suresh slept fitfully that night. His troubled state of mind woke him constantly to concentrate on the problem in hand: A house of his own.

He woke up at four in the morning wet with perspiration as the electricity went out and he had no inverter to support the crumbling supply of electricity in summers. He had saved ten thousand for an inverter last month but his father had to be hospitalised for T.B and the money made its way to the hospital that month.

His father had already sold his small patch of land to pay for education expenses of Suresh and now he was fully dependent on Suresh for his survival.

Suresh opened the tap to fill the bucket for bath, a trickle emerged, and that was all. Today the whole world seemed to him as if conspiring against him.

He took a long sigh and went out into his balcony gazing at the sky. The sun who was too shy to show his face yet had already lighted the sky.

"I need a house of my own," again this nerve wrecking thought reappeared to show its perseverance.

Suresh mentally calculated all his savings after three years of his job which just stood at Rs. 50000/- and he had nothing to pay as security to the bank.

He can take the help of his well to do Punjabi friends. And they will be more than willing to help him to show off their money, though they too begged their parents every month for money as their own expenses far exceeded their salary.

Suresh called his father Ladhar Ram and then without allowing the ring to erupt he disconnected the call.

He came inside his room and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead by using his vest.

The electricity had not arrived till now but the sun had a schedule to follow unlike the electricity and it flooded the whole room with its unbearable stinging rays.

The sound of the water falling into the empty bucket cruelly shook Suresh out of his reverie.

He entered the bathroom, freed himself from the sweaty clothes and started to pour water over his head by a plastic tumbler slowly, still mentally obsessed with the idea of a house of his own.

Suresh wiped himself dry and sat cross-legged beneath the whirling fan.

Suresh thanked God that at last he sent electricity to his aid.

Then his mobile rang and he picked it up without bothering to see the name of the caller.

It was a call from his father.

"Suresh, can you arrange fifty thousand rupees. I have engaged your sister to Sucha Ram's son, the village landlord."

"Yes baba I will arrange."

And Ladhar Ram disconnected the call.

Suresh wondered whether the relation with his parents had only monetary part left in it. Whenever they called, it was only about money. Even his mother always talked about inflation and expenses.

Suresh rose from the chair as he looked at the clock only one hour was left to his office time. He hurriedly wore his clothes. He decided to skip the breakfast, as hunger decided not show up that day.

And while locking the door of his rented house, he knew it will take a long time before he could have a one to call his own.

He swiftly climbed down the stairs of his second floor flat brushing aside the thought of a house of his own.

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The Test

The gentry caste of Punjab, the Jatts are so desperate for a boy child that they can go to any height of impropriety to have one.

And Harinder Singh Randhawa was one such Jatt of Punjab who was no exception to this rule. After being blessed (cursed according to Harinder) with four daughters, he was fed up with constant nagging by his parents and diatribes of the relations.

When for the fifth time his wife was expecting, he could think of no other alternative than to go for the test to know the sex of the child. Though it had been declared Illegal a long time ago but still a few doctors ran these kind of clinics clandestinely to fulfil the desires of people like Harinder and at the same time fill their coffers.

Harinder with the help of his best friend Avatar found out one such clinic situated on the outskirts of Ludhiana. The day when Harinder broke the news of the test to his wife Surinder she was shocked, though she knew in her heart that one day she will be asked to undergo this test but she had only one question and after mustering some courage she asked Harinder, " And what if the child is a girl?"

Harinder did not respond to the question and stormed out the room, as the answer was obvious.

The lady doctor cum owner of the clinic had asked Harinder to come in the afternoon at around three when the whole city is sleepy and the footfalls in the clinic are minimal. This time suited her most, as at this time there were no prying eyes.

Harinder arrived exactly at three accompanied by Surinder and Avatar.

They hurriedly stepped inside the doctor's room. The doctor was busy scribbling something in her diary. She raised her eyes towards Harinder and gave a small smile. Then she got up and asked Harinder and Avatar to sit in the room while she took Surinder with her for the test.

After about half an hour, she re-emerged in the room and said, "It is a boy, Congrats!"

Harinder and Avatar got up, hugged, and gave each other loud thumping slaps on their backs. Then Harinder delved his hand into the deep pockets of his white kurta and brought out a wad of notes.

"It is 30,000/- mam," said Harinder as he placed the wad of notes on the table.

The lady doctor gave a wide smile and picked up the wad of notes and without counting them, slipped them inside the deep ravines of her purse.

Then Harinder again thanked the doctor and they went out of the room. In the whole melee of elation, Surinder said nothing. She remained quiet.

Harinder broke the news to his parents on reaching home and they too knew no bounds of delight.

Now Surinder was being treated as a princess. Her every step was well guarded by her parents-in-law and Harinder. Their scoldings have transformed themselves into murmurs of care and affection. Even her four daughters were now receiving love for the first time.

Then after six months came the day. Surinder begged Harinder to take her to the clinic of the same lady doctor.

"I will take you to Fortis only," replied Harinder worriedly.

But Surinder remained adamant

"I will die but only deliver at the doctor madam's clinic," shouted Surinder back.

Harinder was too terrified to reason with her. Surinder had never shouted at him. He started his Tata Safari and drove at a frantic pace to the doctor madam's clinic.

Doctor Madam was summoned immediately from her home. She reached within minutes.

She took Surinder to the first floor of her clinic and asked Harinder to stay downstairs. Harinder heeded without any protest.

After a long wait of three hours, the lady doctor came down.

"I am sorry Harinder," she said with her head hung down.

Harinder raced upstairs to find Surinder weeping. He hugged her and sobbed until he felt a little reprieved.

Then he saw at the body of his baby boy, which lay beside Surinder. He threw a loud wail.

The whole environment of Harinder's house delved into melancholy.

Then after a week when her whole family was enjoying their siesta Surinder took a taxi and reached the lady doctor's clinic at exact three. The lady doctor's favourite time for all of her unscrupulous operations.

Surinder entered the room of the doctor. She was as usual busy scribbling something in her diary. Surinder gave the diary a hidden look and found that the Doctor was scribbling "WaheGuru, WaheGuru" in it. Surinder's face produced a smile.

The doctor gestured her to sit down as she took some time to fill the page.

Then she closed the diary and gave Surinder an assuring smile. Surinder produced a wad of notes from her purse and handed it over to the doctor. Again, she stuffed it inside her purse.

"How is my daughter, Doctor madam?" asked Surinder.

"She is fine. Do not worry about her."

"If on the day of the test, you had not lied to my husband, my daughter would not have been able to see this world," said Surinder with her hands folded with a thanking gesture.

The lady doctor placed her hands on the folded hands of Surinder and said, "My working may seem to you as evil. But in reality, it is only because of me a lot of daughters have been able to see the light of the day. Your daughter is at the orphanage of my friend and soon I will make arrangements for her adoption to a foreign country may be USA or Canada."

Surinder could no longer dam her tears and a stream flowed down to the cheeks, as she sobbed with her face in her hands.

The lady doctor stood and embracing Surinder said, "Thank Waheguru that at least she is alive. Do not worry, Waheguru will take care of her."

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Karma

In a village lived a poor man. He cycled his way to the steel factory where he worked as a worker. Poverty allowed him and his wife to eat only two meals a day. One fine evening his wife bore him a son. He and she became elated, as they became father and mother. Father was worried now. He had to do something to feed the new member in their house. He tried hard and got a job in the same factory as a clerk. Years passed with the family able to keep their soul and body together. The father was still working in the factory as a clerk. Son became twenty- four and told his father he runs a business at night. Every morning the son presented his father with a bag full of money. Father never questioned presuming his son's business the source and the son never divulged. Father put the money to good use, buying property in every nook and corner of the town. He bought houses and shops and rented them. Huge rental money started to flow in. Father quit the job. One morning the son did not turn up with the bag. Father became worried. Bell rang and brought in police with the body of the son. The son's night business was smuggling and sometimes kidnapping. And last night luck left him and he was killed in an encounter. The father-mother could not trust the police but at last, they made peace with themselves that their son had lied to them.

The son's soul was taken to hell. There the guards informed him that after thirty years, his father and mother would join him as they have prospered by his blood money. The son pleaded the guards to find a way to atone his parents of his sins. The guards told their head and the head consulted God. God moved by the son's concern for his parents decided to help.

God sent him back to earth as a reincarnation to his parents. The parents were glad to have a son again at fifty. It was a miracle and indeed, it was. This time his physical body had two holes in the heart. One for the father and the other for the mother. The father sold half of the property to fill the first hole. The second hole consumed the other half for filling. Still they were short of money. The father sold the bungalow and deposited the whole money in the hospital for treatment expenses. As he reached the room of his son in the hospital, he fell on his knees on finding his son dead. The couple was forced to move to their poor hut in the village. The father started to work in the factory as a clerk again. He found it difficult but clung to it. The son stayed in hell receiving punishments for his sins. The couple now spent their days in the name of the God. After thirty years, both left their bodies' together. As their souls passed over hell, the guards told them about the atonement of their sins because of the son. Father-mother blessed him. They stood there for a quite few time blessing their son. The son got some reprieve from the punishments inflicted on him in hell. He was surprised and saw up. The son and the father-mother wept silently with the tears of father-mother falling on their son's face, relieving him of some pain. The God moved by the scene forgave the sins of the son. He joined his parents in heaven for saving them from the circle of bad karma.

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Portrait

The evening was trying hard to change the colour of sky.

And Aha! It succeeded. I stopped to look at the crowd gathered. Sukhna Lake's water was filling music to my ears. I somehow got myself released from its melody. In the evening, a magical spell overcomes the lake that makes you feel calm and relaxed. And if you want to cast your attention on other things then you have to get rid of the spell. You ought to see it to believe it.

I entered the crowd. The one eyed Sardar was busy painting portraits. The painter was trying hard to work undisturbed. Comments were leaking in from the crowd.

"He's not so handsome for a portrait."

"Can the painter see?"

"Look! He has only one eye."

"Are his hands steady?"

"What happened to his eye?"

The commenting was not influencing the one eyed old painter. He was so engrossed in his work that he seemed deaf to the comments. He looked up and down, up and down and his hands moved on the canvas. I stood in the crowd watching the painter work.

Then he paused to look at the man's face for a quite long time and gave touches to his piece.

Aha! It was ready. He showed it to the man. The man's face threw a proud look as if saying, "How handsome I am?"

The man stood up, fished out his wallet, and gave hundred bucks to the painter. He accepted it with gratitude. The crowd took a final look at the portrait.

"Not bad."

"Good work by an old one."

"He's fantastic."

A few frowned, a few took sighs, a few clapped and a few smiled. Then all of them did the same thing, they dispersed. Dispersed to their lives.

Only I stood there. The old-painter looked at me.

"You want a portrait done?" he asked.

I observed his face for the first time. The black turban, grey brows, one eye fully white, the other one showed signs of life and the white flowing beard on the lined face gave a look of many years lived with happiness or sadness I could not figure out. Nevertheless, they were lived.

Then my wife patted on my back interrupting my view. She had busied her hands with balloons and soft toys. She loves them. Sometimes my house looks like a gift shop but she has meagre demands so her fondness for balloons and soft toys has to be met.

"Let's go," she asked..

She caught my gaze still at the old painter.

"You want one," she inquired.

"Nah..! Let's go home."

She tried to hold my hand. But my hands were filled with her balloons and soft toys. I walked with her. My ears were now tuned to her talk than to the lake's soft music. And my head turned itself back often to see my old one eyed painter who sat idle waiting for a portrait.

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