A Fulfilled Love...

The airport was my gateway, away from the people, away from the present, away from the impotency that gnawed at my existence. A funny thought occurred then. How would it feel to be trapped here? A Thrishanku Swargam repeating in modern times. Oh, wait a minute, didn't it happen recently...wasn't that what "The Terminal" was all about. So much for original thought, I mused.
"Valmiki, Spielberg and me...and why not?" I said to myself, the mock seriousness of it all, managing to please me.
And then, I saw her. She had a small child in her arms, another tugged at her shirt. She hadn't seen me. But she would. She was headed to the same gate. I didn't know what would be appropriate - to beckon her, hide from her or ignore her. But I continued to stare. And size her up. She hadn't changed a bit. It looked like her husband kept her happy and the kids kept her busy. I had thought of her often. But why had a bloated, unhappy figure of her's filled my imagination. Was it closure I wanted or vengeance? Or were those thoughts, ever about her? Wasn't it I, who needed to see her that way, to justify why life couldn't have taken any other route, save the one I am travelling on now.

She chose the row of seats, right across mine. With difficulty, she got the children to sit. The older of the two, unsaddled his miniature backpack and began to unload his toys.
"No monu! Just take one out. Amma won't clean up after you. And you won't get new toys if you leave any here!"
The boy seemed to comply, for the time being.
She turned her attention to the infant. It sat placidly ready to go off to sleep. She slipped a milk bottle in through the child's lips.
Her handbag still clung to her shoulders. She took it off and rifled through its contents to ensure their passports and tickets were safe. A quick glance at a mirror to ensure her rudimentary makeup was intact followed. She looked at me, staring unabashedly at her. A wave of self-consciousness hit her, men did this to her always, she would have reacted differently earlier. She brushed her hair backwards, pulled her shirt at its hem, and pinched her jeans down at the knees, cloaking her bared ankles. I took note of her inconvenience and looked away. It was her turn now to stare at me.

"Is this real? Is this youuuu!"
"Yes, me." I replied uncomfortably. I slowly moved over to take a seat besides her.
"My god, you have become so fat." There was no indication of our unsavoury past in her initial disposition to me. It was just like two friends meeting in a long time.
"You are still the same." I offered back.

"Which flight are you taking?"
"British," I answered, "but mine is only due in 4 hours."
"Mine is this one which boards next, BA4517" she said. Was I relieved to hear that? But she looked genuinely happy to see me.

"What are you doing now?" She was eager to know of my life after college.
"I am traveling, as you see."
"On work, I believe."
"No - for pleasure."
"For how long?"
"It's been going on for some time."
"You never worked?"
"I work a few months. Then travel till the money is gone."
"So what happens when no one will take you?"
"As you scorned me in the old days, then there is father's money - to mine."
"What of all those ambitions?"
"None - whatsoever. All gone."
"Hmmm."
Her face was expressionless. Behind that facade was she envious, was she disappointed, or was she sorry for me, I thought. Or, did she care anymore?

"Are you working?"
"No. My husband earns enough for both of us."
"And you are happy?"
"Yes, as happy as I could be."
"Are you happy?" she threw the question back at me.
"I don't know." I had uttered it with a finality, that ended the conversation. My life was my business. She would get no answer for it. But I have to answer for it to so many people. How different was she from all of them?
She went back to tending her children. I debated returning to my seat. I couldn't move. My mind rushed back to the time, when she was a dubious part of my existence, and never found an abiding place in it.

I couldn't remember when she first caught my roving eye. They blinked before resting on her. She wasn't the most attractive, or the friendly kind, yet something about her caught my fancy. I never spoke to her alone, I was part of a gang of boys who kept me busy with myriad schemes to wile away time, but my eyes talked to her, and hers to mine, furtively yet loaded with meanings and nuances. We were enemies in a sense, trying to guess each other's motives, trying to win over each other, but not yielding a bit of the safe ground we were on. That year went by, and the next, she grew prettier, her figure trimmed and curved in lines that now drove other eyes besides mine, some in silent, others in loud admiration. Our gazes seldom caught each others now, mine still darted with a playful abandon about her, that seared me and infuriated her. It was obvious that she couldn't wait any longer for me to make up my mind, there were others who waited to jump at the chance, the electric youthfulness that pulsed and glowed throughout her body had made her a new woman, one with desires and cravings that she no longer felt the need to bottle. And yet I twiddled. I had much to answer for in life, I had built up a reputation for wisdom, goodness and ambition...I was loved and venerated by one and all- I wouldn't ruin all that or my family's hopes for me on a girl in whom all I saw, was the answer to a wild craving for love and sex. Yet the heart cringed each time an advance was made at her, and at the blush or smile that fleeted across her face in unabashed pleasure of recognition. And yet she gave in to no man in college, which pleased me, but for how long, I wondered.

The remembrance of that misty dawn, now hangs on my clouded brain, like a shroud that parted our eyes, from even stealing glances at each other. It was a Saturday morning that I rose up early for cricket practice. I looked forward to the pleasure of a drive with the fresh morning breeze on my face, and the sweat running down the same face, as i swatted and drove the cricket ball. My bike, surged through the empty morning road, the temptation of a hot tea and a cigarette to ring in the day, was too hard to resist. I parked and ordered at the roadside tea-stall, the auspicious first customer of the day. But it was not to be. A familiar figure gingerly walking down the steps of the shop, and away towards the bus stand, caught my eyes. The Shop. That shop. An unspoken word in our city. A place where the decadent old and pulsating new money came together in a perfect harmony, a polluted channel for all the vulgar vices that the self-righteous society of my class strove to curtail. My heart skipped several beats on that lifeless road. And then it roared back to life. I ran. I only know, that I ran. I had no desire for the cafeine or the nicotine, for all the pent-up oxytocin of the years came gushing out in a violent river that desperately knew it would find no ocean to sink into.

Her hair was disheveled. And panic was writ large on her face. I had my answer. My heart sunk and with it my lungs which throbbed for breath.
"What were you doing there?"
"None of your business."
"You better answer me."
"I don't have to."
"I will ruin you." The manic rage in me, threatened to get physical.
"As you wish." Her cheekiness broke my manly muster. Tears flooded my cheek.
"You are a slut. That is what you are. A slut."

"Are you done? Now may I speak." Her calm voice was a repudiation of the menace that still raged menacingly within me.
"Yes," I choked up a feeble reply.
"I have seen what money can do in this city. Look at your exclusive groups of rich boys and rich girls with their shiny cars, laptops, expensive clothes and paid holidays. I also want all that and more. Do you know what it is to not get what you want?"
"But-but, why sell yourself?"
"well, that's the choice, I had to make."
"But you could have got a job soon. And you would have all the money you need."
"What job? Tell me one person in college who has a job in hand. And what do you know of my family?"
"You, you could have waited for me."
"Tell me honestly. What is it that you want? Your wants - are they any different from those men?"
I didn't have an answer to any of her questions. She had answers to mine. It was all over. The first love. The one lasting itch down there. The longest infatuation. Would I know that feeling again?

My thoughts came back to the present. Once, there was a high probability that this woman, sitting by me would have been my wife. And the children mine. I laughed at the adolescent thought. She looked up from the note she was scribbling on.
"You went back to the old days, ha?"
An embarrassed smile escaped me. She went back to her note.

Some months had passed. It was a New Year midnight. We guys were at the beach and had checked into a hotel for the night. A mad melee of tourists, locals and plainclothesmen had escaped to this place, that would put to shame the craziest lunatic asylum. I don't remember when I passed out or what happened afterwards. By next morning, everyone in class knew, save me. She was late. The teacher let her in, without questions. The girl at her bench, quickly moved to avoid letting her in, and so did the others who had a vacant space to fill.
"Here, take mine."I offered and slid to the other end.
"Wanna escort me, next new year?" a voice called out aloud, ignoring the presence of the teacher.
Manufactured sneers, all around.
Thud! The slap landed on my face, before I even saw it coming. The class was silenced.
"How could you do this to me? Did I deserve so cruel a vengeance?" her voice momentarily broke the silence.
My eyes blinked at her. Not a word could come out.
She rose, and walked out, head held high, showing no shame, knowing none else to blame.
The last sensation she left me with, was also like the first. But when my eyes stopped blinking, she was gone. And I didn't pursue her.
She never came back. I heard she took the final exams next year, with the junior batch.
She was an episode, I never forgot. She taught me, what it is to want, and not get. She also left me with a question to answer. A question I get often, but an answer, I hopelessly still search for.

My lips moved to silently mimic that question, "But why?"
She was tearing up the paper, away from my eyes, which caught that action almost on the tangent. I had trained my eyes to dog her and after years it still obeyed that old command.
"Listen. I am sorry about what happened." Her words spread through me, like a cool morning breeze of many years back.
"No, don't be. If ever I wanted to see you, I wanted it to be this way." For long, I had carried the spite, of a loss and insult, I had itched to see her as a bitch, snob and destitute. Instead I only saw a wife, mother and woman.
"I have to go now." She rose in unnatural hurry.
"I guess, we will not see each other again, ever." What a fine actor, I am, I thought. Just letting her off, that easily.
"I guess not."

When she walked out on me once more, I pieced together the torn pieces of paper, she left on the floor.
"To the only one, I truely loved before my kids came: I don't owe the world any explanations. But I owe you one. In slapping you, I slapped the world which dared question my actions."
Every act of hers, was the answer I should have given. Maybe that was her purpose in my life - to show me that answer. I was finally at peace.


P.S - It has been a long while. And it has been frustrating. And several false starts. To top it off, I was obsessed with writing a love story. I suspect I may have diverted from that goal. Maybe because I am a person who had, has and might never known/find true love for a woman (this sentence would need explanation to the future wifey:). I began the story in the third person. And to be frank, I was scared of personal identification and because the first person is the toughest act in fiction to carry through. But then, I thought who was I trying to fool here. For those, especially friends and family, who seek autobiographical elements in this, I say they are wasting time. The characters and incidents here if at all true, have been twisted and fictionalized - and yet, if someone sees a part of mine or their life played out here, I say it is just incidental (Okay, I need to learn from my protagonists and not be answerable to anyone:). I however will admit to one minor source of inspiration - some recent sex scandals in Kerala. As always when I take on fiction, criticism and feedback most welcome.

The Weight of Chalk...

The last period of the day was winding to a close. The kids were growing increasingly restless but took note of the irritation irradiating from their teacher's face and quietened. Ananthan Master mopped the few beads of sweat building up near his eyebrow carelessly with the sleeves of what had been hours earlier a neatly pressed white shirt. Sunanda was not going to be happy today. The perfectly folded handkerchief she tucked into his pocket every morning got back home in the evening, never used. She had once joked that if it helped, she could take the half-sleeves off of his old shirts and sew them into a kerchief. Ananthan had thought it was a great idea. Sunanda could just gasp in dismay.

"Maashe, the last bell rung 10 minutes ago."
It was one of the more brazen boys in the class. Ananthan stirred from his thoughts, and looked at the boy in disapproval.
"So, what if I keep you boys back a little longer. You are students taking the public exams this year, not children in elementary school."
The cowed down boy tried to summon an expression of utter boredom to his face. All he could manage was a shake of his head, caught as he was in the unusual cold stare of his teacher.
"Class dismissed. Next class we will take up Lagrange's Theorem."
"Maashe, you covered that only yesterday," a timider voice spoke up this time.
Ananthan threw up his arms, and showed the way to the door to his surprised students.
"Sir, are you okay, you seem ill. I can give you a ride home on my moped."
"Thanks for the offer, Bala. I am fine," Ananthan said and watched as Balan trooped out with his gang of friends.

Balan was one of Ananthan's favorites not just because he was a good student. His talent in versification and essay writing had won for the school many prizes in the District Youth Festival. But what troubled Ananthan was that like many of the other senior students in the school, Balan was also getting increasingly attracted to the politics that was being unleashed at all levels of the society in the district. Democracy was slowly giving way to fascism with a fight to the finish for dominance between the Left and the Right. Political murders were happening at an alarmingly increasing frequency, a fragile peace survived; one act of aggrandizement was all it took. Balan's family had traditionally advocated Rightist politics...and Balan seemed destined to go that road too. Ananthan had advised his pupil, but was met with a stonewall, that refused to open up...perhaps it must be because I was a leftist earlier, Ananthan tried to comfort himself.

The classroom had emptied out. He pondered hard on his next act. Should he just go home or should he.....he didn’t let the thought carry itself out. With overdone effort, he pressed his palms down on the wooden desk, and raised himself from his chair. He turned to the blackboard, and began to wipe it clean, with the blackened rug that had for long begged for washing and now seemed to be threatening to stop doing its work. Ananthan took a step backwards and surveyed his efforts. A reflection of the blackboard seemed to have fallen on his face as it darkened; dismayed by the chalkmarks that still littered the board. A sudden rage stoked up in him, and with firm, wide, almost manic strokes he gleaned away the last of the white that refused to detach in his earlier attempt, from its civilizational opposite, the black. He stacked his notebooks firmly within his left arm, collected the umbrella from its resting place by the wall and strode out, forgetting to turn off the fan that wheeled on and on...

The Local Committee office was on the way to his home. It must have been almost 20 years since he last took the steps leading upto its dusty confines. Then, he was considered among the Party's most promising leaders from the district. His speeches stood out for the calm manner in which he elucidated his thoughts, in an age when only fiery speeches could win the crowds, and for the substantive ideas he seemed to possess. He had become the Local committee secretary at 25, was promoted to the Area Committee at 27 and with the District Committee, the coveted State Committee membership or a legislatorship only some years down the line, he had supposedly thrown it all away. Ananthan knew it wasn't like that. He was an accused in the first of the political murders that aroused the media interest in the district and was considered lucky to have gotten away unpunished. His young wife, Sunanda was pregnant then and miscarried, due to the stress the trial brought about. Guilt, fatigue and a lack of fulfillment from the 12 years of model political activism he strived to pursue colluded in persistent pursuit of a change of heart and he quit. He had been branded a coward and traitor...but the years had forgiven and forgotten all that was said and done. His younger brother, Ravi had taken his place in the party and Ananthan, the fledgling politician was long erased from the public mind, he was today only Ananthan Master, a well-regarded, but insignificant high school mathematics teacher in public consciousness, at the Govt. Higher Secondary School.

The Local Committee office hadn't changed in the years. Unlike the corporate dalliance the party saw at the state ad district level, the grassroots still clung to its affinity with the common man. Now, the party owned the building but continued to rent the ground floor to the small convenience store, a tea shop, and the barber who had all set shop up there for as long as he could remember. Ananthan hesitantly climbed up the stairs and lingered for a few seconds on the corridor. He peaked into the meeting room. The creaky wooden benches had given way to plastic chairs and the walls were freshly painted. On the walls, still hung the same three pictures of Marx, Engels and Lenin from his days. The secretary's room beckoned to him. He was once its occupant, now a guest, feeling his way around what was once his second, or possibly his primary address. Without knocking, he entered the room and saw the secretary, Ramankutty talking on his mobile and his brother, Ravi staring out of the window. Ravi's presence unsettled Ananthan. Ravi had more important things to do in the district or area committee than hang around this place.

Ramankutty motioned Ananthan to take a chair, switched off his phone, a broad smile taking shape on his puckered lips.
"Thank you for coming, Master."
Ananthan didn't reply but looked at Ravi, whose body language betrayed a nervousness that Ananthan tried to piece together.
"Ananthetta, sorry for bothering you. The party members here brought some troubling news which, Comrade Ramankutty and I thought, you could help resolve.
"What is it?" Ananthan could feel his stomach tighten, a sudden fear gripped him. So this was it. His worst fears were turning true.
"You know how the Right, is increasingly finding supporters among the youngsters here. We feel it is a disturbing..."
"Come, to the point Ravi!" Ananthan interrupted his brother. Why is it that politicians fail to see the beauty of keeping their talk, short and sweet, Ananthan thought?
"It has to do with your student, Balan. He is spreading their ideology among the students at your school and around where he lives. If we don’t nip this in the bud, it will be hard to put a check on his activities when he is older."
"I guessed as much. Why did you have to bring me into this? You know, I am done with politics," Ananthan couldn’t mask the displeasure he felt for his younger brother.
"Yeah, we know that. That is why we need your help," the secretary had spoken for the first time.
"I have tried to counsel him. But he won't listen to me."
"Exactly! That is why we need to talk to him. We have tried to get him alone but he moves around with a gang of his friends all the time. But he trusts you. If you can take him somewhere, we can talk to him in person. It will only do him good you know," Ravi tepidly said.
"I know what is good for him. You don't need to tell me that!" Ananthan snapped at his younger brother. The fellow was a better politician than he had thought.
"Well, don't blame me if something untoward happens. You know how things work around here. More importantly don’t blame yourself." Ravi noticed the concern that briefly escaped Ananthan as he finished his sentence.
"Ananthetta, don’t worry. We will just give him a ticking off. If that doesn’t work, let's all comfort ourselves in that he wasn't ready to change his fate."
How insensitive and arrogant had Ravi become, Ananthan thought. In a few hours they would both be back in their house and would all be a happy family. Ravi had never married, citing his party work as the sole love of his life. They lived under the same roof even after their parents had died and never thought of partitioning the inherited house and land. Ananthan's two children, Anu and Anish doted on their uncle so much, that Ananthan always wondered, why despite being a teacher he couldn't get as close to his kids as Ravi, a chronic bachelor.
"All right. I will tell Balan to drop me home tomorrow evening after school."
Ananthan walked out, not bothering to bid farewell. Ravi collapsed on a chair, he was sweating profusely...it was the first time in his life he put on the garb of a politician, to talk to his elder brother, whom he still venerated and considered as his first political guru.
"Here, drink this," the equally relieved secretary passed a tumbler containing water to Ravi.

Sunanda had observed the worry, scribbled large on Ananthan's face, but she couldn't decipher it. Nor could she connect the cold stares Ananthan kept giving Ravi, ever since he had reached home too. All night Ananthan tossed and turned in the bed, unlike the sound sleep he almost always managed to have. In the morning, Ananthan took his morning shower and skipped breakfast, like he usually did.
"Here take your books, and umbrella." Sunanda came running after Ananthan, who absently turned around, collected his belongings and walked, without acknowledging her.
A sigh of despair overcame her. Why is it that men seemed to carry all the weight of the world on their shoulders, she wondered. Her thoughts turned around to her children getting ready for school. Their lunch had yet to be readied. They studied at a different school from Ananthan's, a better school, a private school. Ravi was the one who forcefully advocated that...so much for socialism, Ananthan had thought before finally yielding.

"Bala, I am still feeling unwell. Can you drop me at my house after school."
"Of course, Master.'
"Thank you, Bala."
The rest of the day went by as fast as Ananthan would have loved it to slow down. It had to be done. Balan's zeal, courage and strength would only increase in the years to come and it would only put his life in danger. There wasn’t much point in talking to the parents. Most kids with such early political leanings pick it up only from home and with the encouragement of their parents. Ananthan knew this well, he and Ravi were prime examples.

The pillion was a little too small, but Balan slid forward to make more space for Ananthan. They took off with Balan riding slower than usual. This was a big day for him, and a big honour. He had seen Ananthan Master walking home a few times when he took this route which lead to a friend's house, but he never took up the ride Balan offered.
"Maashe, this is the first time i am giving a teacher a ride.'
"Hmmm."
"Maashe, have you corrected the mid-term papers?"
"Yes. You have done very well. You should be getting it the day after. I have a few more to valuate."
"Thank You." The thrill from Balan's cracked voice made Ananthan's heart cringe.
"Why this cup of woes for me, G-G-G-God," Ananthan mused wearily. From believer to atheist to agnost to hesitant believer again, his faith had completed a full orbit around his life.

In the distance, a jeep lay parked by the roadside. Three men could be seen leaning against it facing them. As they got closer, a sudden fear enveloped Balan. A sudden knowledge of what was about to befall hit him and he slowed the moped down. His parents and partymen had regularly warned him over the last few months of a 'quotation' put out for him by the Left's goonda squads. He went home or went out with a group of fellow-men and always kept a tight guard when having to go it alone. Ananthan saw the men too at the same instant and knew they were spotted. Balan tried to turn around.
"What are you doing?" Ananthan asked. The histrionic talents of his youth were back. Ananthan thought disgustedly.
"Maashe, they are men after me. I can't get caught."
"Don't worry I am there." Ananthan tried to calm his pupil.
The three men, now joined by a forth unseen before, came running at breakneck speed.

"We have been waiting for you, you bastard," one of them shouted as they caught up. Ass-oles, Ananthan thought. They had given away their game even before it started. These were not the genuine party-men who would have been much smarter than this...these were the clinger-on rogues with no work to do, that were highly valued these days by politicians, for doing their dirty spadework.
"How did you know I am coming this way?" Balan shot back.
Ananthan's heart sank with the question. Balan would have been a fool not to miss the betrayal now and Ananthan knew Balan was anything but a fool.
"Sonofabitch, you have hardly sprouted a moustache and you have begun to wisetalk to elders too," one of the men said in a harsh tone.
'Move back. Let me speak," the forth man whom they hadn’t spotted initially came forward. He had a pleasanter demeanor than the other three. Ananthan recognized him as Ashokan, who had begun party work around the time he had begun too. Not even bothering to acknowledge Ananthan he placed his calloused fingers across Balan's cheeks.
"We are being told you are increasingly becoming a smart-ass. Stop involving in your kiddy-politics, study well, find a job and escape from here. Else you are going to die and that too in pain.
"I would welcome a death like that from you monsters with open arms."
A warm smile appeared on the man's face.
"Stop playing hero, kid. This is not personal. This is politics and this is the politics your people would deal, to one of ours too. I too have kids, but I have warned them to stay off this game of death. I just extend the same threat to you, as a father would."
"Thanks for your fatherly concern, mister. Now if you could excuse us...I have better things to do," Balan smirked.
This was a mistake. The smile disappeared from the man's face and Ananthan cowered as a murderous intent replaced it. He slapped Balan, hard on his face. Balan fell off the moped and with him the moped and Ananthan too hit the ground.
"Is that the best, you could give me," Balan responded gamely.
"Stop it Bala. You are provoking them needlessly," Ananthan pleaded.
"I have waited for this day, all my life, Master. For how long can I hide?"
The four men went berserk at that moment, pounced on Balan, and began kicking him mercilessly.
Ananthan cried and begged but was shaken off by the fourth man who pushed him away as the other three, unleashed their powerful blows on the now bleeding boy.

A few people were coming. One of the men, ran to the jeep, reversed it, the other three men, caught hold of Ananthan Master, threw him into the jeep and sped off.
"Wait. Let me out. I need to take him to the hospital."
"There are other people for that. We will take you home after some time. He will be well cared for."
They dropped Ananthan off at his home after a few hours.
Ravi was waiting on the verandah. He had already heard the news. A look of apology, and a tint of shame was writ all over his face.
"Ananthetta, i am sorry things turned out this way."
"You promised me you won’t hurt him."
"Things got out of hand. The men were provoked very badly."
"Your ideology does allow for violence. But against a young, defenseless boy?"
Ravi kept quiet. He knew his brother would never forgive him for this.
"We are all worse than animals. You betrayed a brother. I betrayed a student."

Night had set in. Ananthan paced restlessly on the frontyard, wondering how hurt was Balan. The sky had an ashen colour, thanks to the thick clouds, which veiled the moon, away from prying eyes, to the verge of opacity. Ravi had forbid him from going to the hospital where the rightist activists had begun talking of revenge. The police had visited and taken Balan's statement according to a journalist Ravi had called up. Sunanda had heard all that happened, from Ravi who begged with her to intercede on his behalf to her husband.
"Not today, and not tomorrow either, may be the day after," she had answered, and he thanked her gratefully.
"Please come inside. It has become very cold now. Why fall sick too?" she pleaded to Ananthan.
"Did Ravi eat?" he asked.
"No. He said he wasn't hungry. He went to sleep."
"What about the kids?"
"They are staying at my parents’ house."
Husband and wife walked back into the house, one inconsolable, the other wondering how to console.

Someone was banging on the door intently.
"I will go," Sunanda said.
"No, that is for me," she was shaken briefly by the assuredness of his voice.
It was Narayanan, Balan's father. He had come alone instead of the scores of outraged people Ananthan expected. There was a car parked outside. It wasn't evident, in the darkness if there was anyone in it.
"Ananthanmaashe, thanks for all the help. Balan told me everything"
"How is Balan?"
"Does it matter to you?"
"I am sorry. I made a mistake," Ananthan wept inconsolably like one of the children who cried when he caned him.
"Don't worry. Balan didn't give your name to the police in his statement."
Narayanan turned around and walked.
"Master, you know, my boy still adores you. He pleaded with me not to hurt you or your brother".

Ananthan closed the door. He turned back and leaned against the door. His eyes were closed, a little in relief and almost all of it in self-pity. When his eyes opened, they fell on a Sunanda who was sobbing and Ravi who was deep in thought.
"Ananthetta, you should go back to teach. None of this was your fault", Ravi said, reading very well the thoughts preying his brother' mind.
"There is blood on my hands. The chalk will not answer my command on the blackboard."
"But your kids will starve. You should think of their future too."
"That is right. But I can't go back."
"You have to. Your kids' life depends on it."
"Then get me a transfer from here, somewhere far, far away. I hope you have the connections to get that done."
Ananthan walked off, his feet unsteady, hoping for the peace that deserted him for two blackened out days in his life's calendar. And Ravi, Ravi could feel the assured touch of loneliness, that would accompany him in this house, partly his house, now all his.
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P.S - Some months back, a friend told me of an incident that happened in Kannur at a school where his uncle was the principal. A teacher who was a full-time politician always carried a bomb in his bag, as he feared for his life but that bomb one day exploded in class causing minor injuries and more than that, shock to the students. Then recently, i thought of the political affiliations some of the teachers in our college still maintained, and how some of them tried to manipulate us. That is from where this story took off. I would have loved to write this one in Malayalam, more so due to the story's nativity, but i had a compulsion that gave English the upperhand this time. After months of threads that broke down in "realization", I feel relieved at having overcome the bad run. As always when i take on fiction, feedback/criticism is appreciated this time too.

സാക്ഷി...

പ്രഭാതം പൊട്ടി വിടരുന്നു. പാഞ്ഞകലുന്ന ബസ്സ്‌ ഓളിയിട്ടു നിര്‍ത്തുന്നു. 30 വയസ്സ്‌ തോന്നിക്കുന്ന ഒരു ചെറുപ്പക്കാരന്‍ രാത്രിമഴയില്‍ നനഞ്ഞുകിടക്കുന്ന വഴിയരികത്തേക്ക്‌ ധ്രിതിയില്‍ ചാടിയിറങ്ങുന്നു. ഒരു നിമിഷം പോലും നഷ്ടപ്പെടാനില്ലെന്നോണം നീങ്ങിയകലുന്ന ബസ്സിനെ യുവാവ്‌ അല്‍പനേരം നോക്കി നിന്നിട്ട്‌ തിരിഞ്ഞു നടക്കുന്നു. കവലയടുത്തപ്പം അയാള്‍ ഒന്നു ശങ്കിച്ചു നിന്നുപോയി. ഓരോ വട്ടം വരുമ്പം ഇവിടെ എന്തൊക്കെ മാറ്റങ്ങള്‍...പുതിയ കടകള്‍, വീടുകള്‍, ഇതാ ഇപ്പം ഒരു സൈബര്‍ കഫെയും. ജീന്‍സും റ്റീ-ഷര്‍ട്ടും തോളത്തിലൂടെ സ്പോര്‍ട്ട്സ്‌-ബാഗും തൂക്കി നിനച്ചു നിന്ന യുവാവിനെ പീടികതിണ്ണയില്‍ പത്രവും വായിച്ചിരുന്ന ഗ്രാമവാസി അയാളെ താല്‍പര്യപൂര്‍വം നോക്കുന്നതു കണ്ടിട്ട്‌ അങ്ങോട്ട്‌ നടന്നു. "കാവിലെ വീട്‌ എതിലയ ചേട്ടാ?" എന്തൊ പറയാന്‍ എന്നോണം വാ തുറന്നിട്ടു പിന്നെ ആലോചനയില്‍ മുഴുകിയിട്ട്‌ അയാള്‍ പറഞ്ഞു, "വടക്ക്ക്കോട്ട്‌ നടന്നാല്‍ കാണുന്ന വര്‍കുഷോപ്പിന്റെ അരികിലൂടൊള്ള റോട്‌ ചെന്നെത്തുന്നത്‌ കുരിഷടിയില്‍..."
"വടക്ക്‌...?"
പുച്ച ഭാവതൊടെ വഴികാട്ടി കൈകൊണ്ട്‌ ആങ്ങ്യം കാട്ടി.
"ആ ... അവിടുന്നുള്ള വഴിയെനിക്കറിയാം. നന്ദി."
"ഇപ്പം സിഗറെറ്റ്‌ കിട്ടുന്ന കട വല്ലൊം തുറന്നിരിക്കുമൊ ചേട്ടാ?"
"ക്കുഞ്ഞ്‌ കാവിലെ എതു വീട്ടിലെയാന്ന പറഞ്ഞെ?"
"ഞാന്‍ പറഞ്ഞില്ലല്ലൊ ചേട്ടാ". നടന്നകലുന്ന യുവാവിനെ നോക്കി അയാള്‍ ഭൂമിക്കു പ്രഹരമേല്‍പ്പിക്കും വിധം ആഞ്ഞൊരു തുപ്പ്‌.

ഒരു സിഗറെറ്റും വാങ്ങി കത്തിച്ചവന്‍ നടക്കുന്നു. മലകളിലിടയിലൂടെ ഒളിഞ്ഞുയരുന്ന ഉദയസൂര്യനെ അവന്‍ ആദരപൂര്‍വം ഒന്ന് നോക്കി നിന്നുപോകുന്നു.
"സിറ്റി ജീവിതം മതിയാക്കിയാലോ," എന്നു തന്നോടു തന്നെ ചോദിച്ചു പോകുന്ന ഒരു സുന്ദര നിമിഷം. പരിശുദ്ധം എന്നു തോന്നുന്ന ഗ്രാമവായുവും നനഞ്ഞു കിടക്കുന്ന ഭൂമിയുടെ ലസിപ്പിക്കുന്ന ഗന്ധവും അവന്‍ ആഞ്ഞൊന്ന് ഉള്‍ശ്വസിച്ചു. സ്വീകരിക്കാതെ വന്നു കയറിയ അതിഥി എന്നോണം സിഗറെറ്റിനെ ഒന്ന് നോക്കിയിട്ട്‌ അവന്‍ അതിനെ വലിച്ചെറിയുന്നു. അവന്‍ പെറ്റുവീണ, ഇന്നു ദിവസങ്ങള്‍ ചെല്ലുന്തോറും അന്യമായി തോന്നുന്ന തറവാട്ടിലേക്കു അയാള്‍ നടന്നു. ഇവിടെ പടുവൃദ്ധരായ അപ്പച്ചനും അമ്മച്ചിയും മാത്രം. കുട്ടികാലത്ത്‌ കൂടെ ഓടി കളിച്ച കസിന്‍സിനെയും ഒട്ടൊരുമയോടെ ജീവിച്ച എളാപ്പന്മാരെയും അവരുടെ ഭാര്യമാരെയും ഒന്നു അനുസ്മരിച്ചു. ഭാഗം വച്ചും വെക്കാതയും എല്ലാവരും തെറ്റി പിരിഞ്ഞു. അതില്‍ ഒഴുകി പോയ സമപ്രായകാരായ കസിന്‍സിന്റെ സൗഹൃദം എന്നും ഒരു തീരാനഷ്ടം തന്നെ. വിശാലമായ റബ്ബര്‍ മരങ്ങള്‍ പൊതിഞ്ഞ വഴിയറ്റത്ത്‌ തന്റെ തറവാട്‌ കാഴ്ചയില്‍ പെട്ടു. എന്ത്‌ സുന്ദരമായ വീട്‌...ഇന്നത്തെ വീടുകള്‍ വെറും അലങ്കാര വസ്തുക്കള്‍.

ഉമുക്കരിയിട്ടു പല്ലും തേച്ച്‌ അതാ ഇറങ്ങി വരുന്നു സുമുഖനും എമ്പത്‌ പോയിട്ട്‌ അമ്പത്‌ പോലും തോന്നിക്കാത്ത ഒത്ത ശരീരവും തടിയുമുള്ള തന്റെ അപ്പച്ചന്‍.
അപ്പച്ചന്റെ മസ്സില്‍ തടവിക്കൊണ്ട്‌, "How are you young man?"
അവന്റെ ചോദ്യം കേട്ട്‌ സന്തോഷത്തോടെയും അഭിമാനത്തോടെയും വൃധന്‍, "I am fine"
വീടിന്റെ അകത്തു നിന്നും നിര്‍താതെ ചുമ കേള്‍കുന്നു.
"കുട്ടന്‍ വന്നൊ?"
അവന്‍ അകത്തേക്ക്‌ ചെന്ന് അമ്മച്ചിയെ കെട്ടിപിണരുന്നു.
"ഞാന്‍ ചായ കൊണ്ടു വരാം," എന്ന് പറഞ്ഞിട്ട്‌ വൃദ്ധ അടുക്കളയിലേക്കു കൂനി കൂനി നദന്നു. വീണ്ടും തോരാത്ത ചുമ കേട്ട്‌ യുവാവിനു വ്യസനം.
"ഒരു ജോലികാരിയെ വെക്ക്‌ എന്റെ അമ്മച്ചി. അതിലും പിഷുക്കല്ലേ."
"ആളെ കിട്ടണ്ടേ എന്റെ മോനെ. ആരെങ്കിലും വന്നു നിന്നാല്‍ തന്നെ അപ്പച്ചന്‍ പിണക്കി തിരിച്ചയക്കും. എനിക്ക്‌ കഷ്ടപ്പെടാനാണന്നെ യോഗം."
തന്റെ ബാഗ്‌ തുറന്നു പരിശോദ്ധിക്കുന്ന വൃദ്ധനെ കണ്ട്‌ യുവാവിന്റെ മുഖത്തൊരു ചെറുപുഞ്ചിരി.
"ഇല്ല. അപ്പച്ചന്റെ ഐറ്റം കൊണ്ടുവന്നിട്ടില്ല. കഴിഞ്ഞ പ്രാവശ്യം ഓവര്‍ ആയത്‌ മറന്നൊ?"
"What a fellow you are?" നിരാശ കലര്‍ന്ന സുന്ദര മുഖതിന്റെ വിളര്‍ച്ച തെല്ലൊരു കൗതുകതൊദെ അയാള്‍ ശ്രദ്ധിച്ചു നിന്നു,
"റാപിടെക്സ്കാര്‍ക്‌ അപ്പച്ചന്റെ ഇംഗ്ലീഷ്‌ ഒരു പരസ്യം ആകാമായിരുന്നു."
"ഉവ്വ...ഉവ്വ. ഇത്‌ റാപിടെക്സാണന്ന് നിന്നോടാരു പറഞ്ഞു. ഞാന്‍ സ്കൂളില്‍ പഠിച്ചത്‌ ഇന്നും മറന്നിട്ടില്ല."

ഒരു പെണ്‍കുട്ടി കടന്നു വരുന്നു. 20-22 വയസ്സ്‌ തോന്നിക്കുന്നവള്‍ വേഷം ധരിചിരുന്നത്‌ ഒരു ചുരിധാറായിരുന്നു. നാണം കലര്‍ന്ന ചെറുപുഞ്ചിരിയും സൗന്ദര്യത്തെക്കാള്‍ ഏറെ വല്ലാത്തൊരു പ്രസന്നതയാണ്‌ അവന്‍ അവളില്‍ കണ്ടത്‌.
സംശയിച്ചു നിന്ന അവനെ കണ്ട്‌ അമ്മച്ചി:
"നിനക്ക്‌ സ്മിതയെ അറിയില്ലെ. മരിച്ചുപോയ മാത്തുകുട്ടിയുടെ മകളാണ്‌. ഇവിടെ എഞ്ചിനീറിങ്ങിന്‌ പഠിക്കുന്നു. പുതിയ കോളേജ്‌ ആയതുകൊണ്ട്‌ ഹോസ്റ്റെലില്ല. പിന്നെ ഞങ്ങല്‍ക്കും ഒരു കൂട്ടായി. "
"ജോണിചേട്ടന്‍ ഇപ്പം വന്നെ ഒള്ളൊ?"
"ചേട്ടനോ! നിന്റെ അങ്കിളാണടി കൊച്ചെ."
"ആയ്യോ! ചേട്ടന്‍ വിളി തന്നെ ധാരാളം. നമുക്കത്ര പ്രായം ഒന്നും ആയിട്ടില്ലെ."
"കുഞ്ഞമ്മ മാറിയെ. ഞാന്‍ കാപ്പി തയ്യാറാക്കാം," എന്നും പരഞ്ഞവള്‍ അടുക്കളയിലേക്കു കയറി.
"നിന്റെ ബിസിനസ്സ്‌ ഒക്കെ എങ്ങനെ".
"ആ ചൊദ്യത്തില്‍ നിന്ന് രക്ഷ എങ്ങും കിട്ടില്ലെ?" എന്ന് ജോണി ഓര്‍ത്തു.
എന്നിട്ട്‌ കാരണവരോട്‌ നീരസത്തോടെ മറുപടി പറഞ്ഞു: "വല്യ മെച്ചം ഒന്നും ഇല്ല."
"അടച്ചു പൂട്ടണെങ്കില്‍ നീ ഇങ്ങു പോരെ. റബ്ബറിന്‌ നല്ല വിലയാ."
ക്രൂരമെന്ന് തോന്നുന്ന വാക്കുകളോട്‌ പ്രതികരിക്കണൊ വേണ്ടയൊന്ന് ജോണി ഒരു വട്ടം ആലോചിക്കുന്നു, ആ നിമിഷവും കടന്നു.
"ആ ചെറുക്കന്‍ വന്ന് കയറെണ്ട താമസം, പോരു കൂട്ടി തുടങ്ങി."
ജോണിയും സ്മിതയും ഉറക്കെ ചിരിക്കുന്നു.
"സ്മിതയ്ക്‌ ഇന്ന് എന്താ പരുപാടി? ഇവരുടെ ഇടയില്‍ കിടന്നു അടികൂടാനും പരിഹരിക്കാനും കമ്പനിയുണ്ടല്ലൊ."
"എനിക്ക്‌ ക്ലാസ്സൊണ്ടല്ലൊ."
"പോകെണ്ടന്നെ. കട്ട്‌ ചെയ്യ്‌."
"നീ പോടാ. മോള്‌ പോയി പഠിക്കാന്‍ നോക്ക്‌."

അവന്‍ നാടുകാണാന്‍ ഇറങ്ങി. റബ്ബര്‍ വില ഉയര്‍ന്നപ്പോള്‍ നിദ്രയില്‍ നിന്നെന്നോണം സഡകുടഞ്ഞെഴുന്നേറ്റ മുതലാളിമാര്‍ എങ്ങും. വെയിലത്തു തിളങ്ങുന്ന തകര്‍പ്പന്‍ വണ്ടികള്‍ എങ്ങും.
"ദൈവമെ...പണ്ടത്തെ ഇടിവ്‌ മറന്നുവൊ ഇവര്‍?" ആര്‍ഭാടങ്ങള്‍ കണ്ട്‌ ജോണി തന്നോടു തന്നെ ചൊദിച്ചു പൊകുന്നു.
പണവും പ്രതാപവും ഉള്ള ചിലര്‍...അവരോട്‌ മത്സരിക്കാന്‍ വേറെ ചിലര്‍. കേരളത്തിലെങ്ങോളം എന്ന പോലെ ഇവിടെയും മാറ്റങ്ങള്‍...ഗ്രാമങ്ങള്‍ റ്റൗണുകളായി മാറുന്നു.

രാത്രി. ചുറ്റുമുള്ള മലകളില്‍ നിന്നും തിളങ്ങുന്ന ലൈറ്റുകളും ആകാശത്തിലെ നക്ഷത്രങ്ങളും തമ്മില്‍ എന്ത്‌ സാമ്യം എന്നവന്‍ അലോചിച്ച്‌ നില്‍ക്കുന്നു. കാറ്റിന്റെ അഭാവം അവനെ തെല്ലൊന്ന് അസ്വസ്തനാക്കുന്നു. പടികയറി റ്റെറസ്സിലേക്ക്‌ ആരൊ വരുന്നപോലെ അവന്‌ തോന്നുന്നു. അവളാണ്‌...സ്മിത. അവളെ പ്രതീക്ഷിച്ചെന്നോണം അവന്റെ മുഖതൊരു മന്ദഹാസം. താഴെ ടിവി സീരിയലില്‍ നിന്നുണര്‍ന്ന ഒരു അലമുറ. അവനു ചിരിവന്നു. അവളും ചിരിക്കുന്നു.
"ടിവി സീരിയല്‍ കാണാതെ സ്മിത ഈ വീട്ടില്‍ എങ്ങനെ ജീവിക്കുന്നു?"
"എന്നെ കാണിക്കല്ലെന്നാണ്‌ വീട്ടില്‍ നിന്നും കുഞ്ഞമ്മയ്ക്ക്‌ കിട്ടിയിട്ടുള്ള ഓര്‍ഡര്‍."
ഒരു നിമിഷം പ്രകൃതിയും മനുഷ്യനും യന്ത്രവും എല്ലാം നിശബ്ധം. പിന്നെ വീണ്ടും ഇടവിടാതെ ടിവിയില്‍ നിന്ന് അലമുറ.
"കുട്ടികാലത്ത്‌ ഇവിടെ വന്നിരുന്ന് എത്ര രാത്രികള്‍ ഞാന്‍ തള്ളിനീക്കി."
"നാളെ തന്നെ പോകുമൊ?"
"ഹും. എന്താ...എന്നെ മടുത്തൊ?"
"അയ്യോ. അതല്ല. ഇവിടെ ഇത്രയും ഇഷ്ടമാണെങ്കില്‍ എന്നാത്തിനാ തിടുക്കത്തില്‍ പൊകുന്നെ?"
"അവിടെ നിന്ന് കാണുമ്പം ഇവിടെ സുന്ദരം. ഇവിടെ വരുമ്പം ഞാന്‍ പ്രതീക്ഷിച്ചെത്തുന്ന പലതും ഇല്ല എന്നൊരു തിരിച്ചറിയല്‍. ചന്ദ്രനില്ല. നിലാവില്ല. ഒരു ചെറുകാറ്റുപോലും കനിയുന്നില്ല. കൂടെ നില്‍കുന്ന പെണ്ണ്‍ എന്റെ അനന്തിരവളും. How unromantic‌!"
അവന്‍ ജാള്യത കലര്‍ന്ന ഒരു ചിരി അഡക്കുന്നു.
"കല്യാണം കഴിച്ചുകൂടെ ചേട്ടന്‌?"
"എന്നിട്ട്‌ എന്ത്‌ ചെയ്യും?"
"ഈ പറഞ്ഞ romantic feeling..."
"അത്‌ സിനിമയിലും കവിതയിലും നമ്മുടെ ഭാവനയിലും മാത്രം. തിരക്കൊഴിയുമ്പോള്‍ ഒരു മധുര സ്വപ്നം കാണാന്‍ പോലും ഉന്മേശമില്ലാതെ ഞാന്‍ ഉറങ്ങും."
"എനിക്ക്‌ ഉറങ്ങാറായി ചേട്ടാ. ഞാന്‍ പോകുന്നു."

കിടന്നിട്ടും ഉറക്കം വരുന്നില്ല. അലട്ടുന്ന പല പ്രശ്നങ്ങള്‍.
"എവിടെയും ആശ്വാസം കിട്ടുന്നില്ലല്ലൊ ദൈവമെ."
അവന്‍ ഒച്ചയുണ്ടാക്കാതെ റ്റെറസ്സിലേക്ക്‌ കയറുന്നു. വാതില്‍ തുറന്നിരുന്നു, മങ്ങിയ വെട്ടത്തില്‍ ഒന്നായി തൊന്നും വിധം രണ്ടു ശരീരങ്ങള്‍ ചുമ്പിക്കാന്‍ ഒരുങ്ങുന്നു. അവന്‍ നടുങ്ങി.
"എന്നാ ചെയ്യും," തന്നോട്‌ തന്നെ അവന്‍ മന്ത്രിച്ചു.
കോണിപടിയിറങ്ങാന്‍ അവന്‍ ഒരുങ്ങുന്നു. ആ കുട്ടി തനിക്ക്‌ വേണ്ടപെട്ടവള്‍ അല്ലെ. അവള്‍ ചെയ്യുന്നതെന്തെന്ന് അവള്‍ അറിയുന്നുവൊ? കുടുമ്പം, സമൂഹം, വ്യവസ്ഥിതി...എല്ലാം അവളെ വേട്ടയാടില്ലെ...വെറും ഒരു രാത്രിയുടെ കാമഭങ്കത്തിനു വേണ്ടി. ഒരു സംശയം മാത്രം ബാകി...രക്തബന്ധം ചുരുങ്ങിയ സമയതിന്റെ പരിചയത്തിന്‌ സമം തന്നെയോ. രണ്ടും കല്‍പിച്ച്‌ അയാള്‍ വാതിലില്‍ തട്ടുന്നു. ഒരു നിലവിളി പുറപെടുവിച്ച്‌ അവള്‍ നിലത്തേക്ക്‌ പതിക്കുന്നു. പുരുഷ രൂപം ധ്രിതിയില്‍ തന്റെ അടുക്കലേക്ക്‌ നീങ്ങുന്നത്‌ കണ്ടു പരുങ്ങുന്ന ജോണി അയാളെ ഭയം കലര്‍നെങ്കിലും ശ്രദ്ധിച്ചു നോക്കുന്നു. തന്റെയത്രേം പ്രായം. താടിയുണ്ട്‌. ശര്‍ട്ടും മുണ്ടുമാണ്‌ വേഷം. പടിയിറങ്ങുന്ന രൂപത്തെ തന്നെ അവന്റെ കണ്ണുകള്‍ പിന്തുടരുന്നു. തിരിഞ്ഞ്‌ നിലം പതിച്ചു കിടന്ന സ്മിതയുടെ അരികിലേക്കവന്‍ പകച്ചു നീങ്ങി. സടകുടഞ്ഞെഴുന്നെറ്റ്‌ പഴയ പ്രസരിപ്പും ഒരു പുതിയ ധിക്കാര ഭാവവും അവളുടെ മുഖത്ത്‌ പ്രകടമായി.

"ഒന്നും പറയേണ്ട ജോണിച്ചായന്‍. അയാള്‍ എന്റെ കൂട്ടുകാരനാണ്‌."
"കൂട്ട്‌ കൂടാന്‍ സമപ്രായക്കാരെയൊ കൂടെ പഠിക്കുന്നവരെയൊ നിനക്ക്‌ കിട്ടിയില്ലെ?"
അതിന്‌ അവള്‍ മിണ്ടിയില്ല. ഒരു ബൈക്കിന്റെ ശബ്ദം. അതു നിലച്ചപ്പോള്‍ തന്നെ ലജ്ജ കൂടാതെ തുരിച്ചു നോക്കുന്ന പെണ്ണിനെ കണ്ടയാള്‍ അദ്ഭുതപ്പെടുന്നു.
"നിന്റെ അമ്മയെ കുറിച്ച്‌ ആലോചിച്ചോ. നീ കാരണം ചീത്തപേരു കേള്‍കണ്ട സഹോദരിമാരെകുറിച്ചോ?
"ഉവ്വ". ദ്രിഡമായ അവളുടെ ഉത്തരം കേട്ടവന്‍ ഞെട്ടി.
"ഞാന്‍ ഒരു ഭാരം തന്നെയാണ്‌ എന്റെ അമ്മക്ക്‌. അത്‌ അവര്‍ എന്നെ പലവട്ടം അറിയിചിട്ടുമുണ്ട്‌. ഞാന്‍ എങ്ങനെ പോയാല്‍ പിന്നെ ആര്‍ക്ക്‌ എന്ത?"
"ഇപ്പം നന്നായി പഠിച്ച്‌ നിനക്ക്‌ ഒരു ജോലി കിട്ടി രക്ഷപെട്ടുകൂടെ?"
അതിനവള്‍ക്ക്‌ മറുപടിയില്ല. മുഖം തിരിച്ച്‌ കൈകള്‍ മുടിയിലൂടെ തടവിയുള്ള അവളുടെ മൗനം തന്നെ അവന്‌ വാചാലമായി തോന്നി. അവളുടെ നിശബ്ദ്ധത അഗാഡമായ ഒരു ക്രോധം അയാളില്‍ ഉളവാക്കി.
"എന്റെ തറവാട്ടില്‍ വേണ്ട നിന്റെ വിളയാട്ടം."

അയാള്‍ ഉറങ്ങാന്‍ ശ്രമിക്കുന്നു. തന്റെ ശകാരം അതിരു കടന്നോ? എത്ര പെട്ടന്നാണ്‌ തന്റെ ദേഷ്യം കെട്ടടങ്ങിയത്‌. അവളോട്‌ എന്തന്നറിയാത്ത സഹതാപം അയാളില്‍ ഉടലെടുക്കുന്നു. പക്ഷെ നിദ്രയുടെ പടവുകള്‍ അവനെ ബന്ധിയാക്കിയിരിക്കുന്നു. ഏതോ സ്വപ്നലോകത്തേക്കവന്‍ മറയുകയാണ്‌. തന്റെ ഹൃദയത്തില്‍ തട്ടികൊണ്ട്‌ ഒരു ഉപദേശസ്വരം പുറപ്പെടുന്നു.
"പ്രിയപെട്ട സ്മിതെ, യൗവനം കഴിയുമ്പോള്‍ ശരിക്കുമുള്ള ജീവിതം തുടങ്ങും. ഇന്നീ ചെയ്യുന്നത്‌ അബദ്ധമാണെങ്കില്‍, നിന്നെ ഇത്‌ ചെയ്യിക്കുന്ന അതെ യൗവനത്തെ പഴിച്ച്‌ നീ ജീവിതം കഴിക്കില്ലെ?" ഈ വാക്കുകള്‍ അവള്‍ കേട്ടുവൊ? അതോ ഫാനിന്റെ കാറ്റുപോലെ ആ മുറിക്കുള്ളില്‍ തന്നെ വട്ടം കറങ്ങുന്നുവൊ?
ഒരു പെണ്‍കുട്ടിയെ നാടുകാര്‍ കല്ലെറിയുന്നു. അതിന്‌ നേത്രിത്വം നല്‍കുന്ന ആള്‍ മുഖമൂടി അണിഞ്ഞിരുന്നു. അവള്‍ സ്മിതയാണ്‌. പശ്ചാതാപമൊ വേദനയൊ ഒന്നും ആ മുഖത്ത്‌ കണ്ടില്ല. ആ മുഖമൂടി അഴിയുന്നു...സാമൂഹ്യ സധാചാരം അടിച്ചേല്‍പിക്കുന്ന ജൊണി എന്ന കുമ്മാട്ടിയുടെ മാന്യ മുഖമാണ്‌ കണ്മുമ്പില്‍.

അവന്‍ ഞെട്ടി ഉണരുന്നു. സമയം 9:00.
"ദൈവമെ, എന്തൊക്കെ ദുസ്സ്വപ്നങ്ങളാണ്‌ കണ്ടത്‌. ആ കുട്ടിയോട്‌ കുറച്ചുകൂടെ മൃദുവായി സംസാരിക്കേണ്ടിയിരുന്നു. അവളോട്‌ ഇറങ്ങി പോകാന്‍ വരെ ഞാന്‍ പറഞ്ഞില്ലെ."
അവന്‍ ചാടി എഴുന്നേല്‍ക്കുന്നു കട്ടിലില്‍നിന്ന്.
"സ്മിത എവിടെ അപ്പച്ചാ?"
അവന്റെ അങ്കലാപ്പ്‌ അപ്പച്ചന്‍ ശ്രദ്ധിക്കുന്നു.
"എന്നാത്തിനാ? അവള്‍ കോളേജില്‍ പോയി."
ഒാടി ഇറങ്ങുന്ന കൊച്ചുമകനെ നോക്കി ഒന്നും മനസ്സിലാകാതെ വൃദ്ധന്‍.
ജോണി കോളേജില്‍ അന്വേക്ഷിക്കുന്നു. സ്മിത കോളേജില്‍ ചെല്ലാറേയില്ല. മാര്‍ക്കുകള്‍ മോശം. അവന്‍ തിരികെ തറവാട്ടിലേക്ക്‌ നടക്കുന്നു. അവളുടെ വഴി അവള്‍ തിരഞ്ഞെടുത്തിരുന്നു.
സമയം വൈകുന്നേരം. അവളെ കാണുന്നില്ല. അവന്‍ മുറിയില്‍ അടച്ചിരിക്കുന്നു. തന്നെ പോലെ സന്ധ്യയും ഇരുട്ടിലേക്ക്‌ മറയുന്നു. ജീന്‍സും റ്റീ-ഷര്‍ട്ടും ധരിച്ച്‌ ബാഗും തൂക്കി പിടിച്ച്‌ അവന്‍ മുറിയില്‍ നിന്നിറങ്ങി.
"സ്മിത മോളെ കണ്ടില്ല"
"പോലീസിനെയൊ അവളുടെ വീട്ടുകാരെയൊ അറിയിക്ക്‌. അവള്‍ വരില്ല."
അവസാനവട്ടം എന്ന് മനസ്സില്‍ ഉറപ്പിച്ച്‌ ആ തറവാടിന്റെ പടികള്‍ ഇറങ്ങി അവന്‍ നടന്നകലുന്നു.

P.S - Just a simple, threadbare short story...more of an experimentation with the mother tongue.Best read with Internet Explorer and Anjali Old Lipi Font. Criticism most welcome.

Unlike The Kite…

The kites soaring in the sky made a pretty sight. The thought that he had never flown a kite embittered him, but seeing the city where he never saw birds, now looking like a bird sanctuary, brought a hesitant smile to his puckered lips. A solitary boy sprinted from one end of the park to the other, his kite following closely, threatening to fly. It came crashing down the moment the little boy, slowed down while he looked back to see its progress. Crestfallen, yet hopeful, he tried again and again, finally stopping to rest at the bench, where the man was seated at one side watching the boy’s valiant efforts in fascination. The boy longingly looked up to the skies. He could never hope to reach the heights that rich people flew their kites to, from their terraces. He noticed the man eyeing him intently and started to walk away, his eyes pinned up still, towards the heavens.
"I can take you to my terrace", called out the man who was surprised by his spontaneous act of graciousness. The boy spun around instinctively, but turned away, wondering whether the man was mocking him.
"Come on, I am not joking, I want to see you flying your kite like all the other people".
He rose up and moved towards the boy and placed a hand on his slight shoulders.
"And you could teach me how to fly it too."

The kite flew farther and farther. The light breeze on the terrace was taking it away. The boy's nimble fingers danced around the thread, expertly letting it go a lot and tugging it back a little. He looked up occasionally at the man, whose eyes betrayed his yearning to take control of the string. The man felt a youthful freshness that had eluded his staid life for a long time now. The terrace would be his favorite haunt now on.
"Do you want to try?" asked the boy.
"Yes, but you will have to help me".
Within a few seconds of the man taking charge, the kite swooned, and dipped in a free fall, with the man frantically trying to arrest its descent.
"Oh, I have lost my kite, Ma will kill me now", the boys mourns as he sees his kite entangled on a telephone post. The man yanks at it and with resignation writ large on his face; he realized the thread had snapped.
"I will give you money to buy a new one. Don’t worry", the man says trying to soothe the disappointed look on the boys face.
The kite, which flew proudly like its namesake, a few seconds back, cavorting at each flourish of the boy's wrists, now lay on the wires like a star fallen from the skies.

"Come to my room. Let me get you the money." The man's words seemed to be of scant relief to the aggrieved boy.
"Here. Have some biscuits or better take it with you home." He could see the child's eyes widening at the sight of the food.
"What class are you studying in?”
"I don’t go to school anymore. They stopped giving mid-day meals", the boy replied.
"Where do you live? I need to talk to your mother."
"We live close by. My mother will be very angry. She will shout at you too if you come".
He locked his room and came down with the boy praying the landlady wouldn’t be hovering around to make small talk. They walked past the park, the houses were becoming smaller, the streets narrower, with shanties encroaching the road that shrunk almost to a bylane. The man hadn’t been to this part of the neighborhood before. He never felt the need and much lesser, the curiosity. That is, until today. They arrived at an ancient tenement. The door to enter was shorter than the man. The boy went inside while the man decided to stand outside, uncertain of his place there. Immediately a loud high-pitched voice rang inside, "Where have you been? I come back home tired, slaving at other people's homes, and find you gone, just like your wonderful father. I know you too are waiting for the chance to leave me". A brief silence interrupted by hurried whispers, and a head appeared from behind the door.
"Please come in sir. Has this boy been giving you trouble? I have to beat him more or he won’t straighten".
"No please don’t. He was only playing with his kite. And he lost it because of me," the man timidly responded.

All their living quarters had, was a single room. On one side was what looked like the kitchen with a few bowls stacked nearby. A few clothes and a metal trunk chest lay carelessly on one corner, with a few more clothes, left on a string tied across the room, presumably to dry. The man’s eyes lit up, seeing an old 14" TV. He had remembered this was now a common sight across many slums in the old city and many even had cable tv, wired illegally.
Seeing the man staring intently at the TV, the woman fearfully offers, "Please sir. That is all we have. His father took it from somewhere two years back. He has left us since then".
That was when he got a proper look at the woman. She must be no older than 25. A little dark in complexion, she had a beauty and elegance that he couldn’t quite place, for her surroundings. She was slightly on the plump side; her salwar-kameez clung tightly to her body. He bit back the odd arousing of lust that had involuntarily kindled. Despite bottling his feeling, a telepathic wave seemed to have told the woman, of his need, and she self-consciously pulled on a dupatta lying on the wardrobe.
Slightly embarrassed, he remarks, "I came to talk about the boy's education. You should send him to school again.” And after a brief silence where his eyes mediated casually on the woman, added, “I can help you".
"Thank you, sir. But he is old enough to start working now."
At this the man gets angry and responds, "Do you have to live with his money? I am sure you are capable of earning enough for both. I will bring him books and clothes. I need someone to clean my room and toilet. Can you come?"
"Yes sir. Thank you, sir. Child, say thanks to the good man".

With gentle sweeps of her broom, the woman fanned out around the room, her gaze fixed stiffly on the mosaic floor. The man appeared to be reading a magazine, lying back on his bed, occasionally looking up to watch the woman, hard at her work. She seemed to be uncomfortable with his presence in the room, How would I make the first move? he thought. The hands moved towards the woman, and came to rest on her shoulders. Her back had been turned away, and in shock, she spun around.
“Please sir, Please sir…”.
“It is okay, it is okay,” the man assured as he buried his face in hers. A tear fell from her eye which came to rest on his upper lip. A pang of guilt shot through his body. So transient was everything else before his lust, he thought to himself, as his tongue came out to wipe his lip clean. The broom fell from her hands. Her fingers wandered to his back where they brushed against his wallet. Maybe, he will save me, she hoped.

The boy bounded his way back home. It was nice to be back in school, amongst people his age, to be playing with them, he didn’t understand anything the teachers said and neither had he the courage to ask nor had they bothered to help, a courtesy he expected as a new student, but he would learn all that soon, the good man had promised to help. His mother was not at home. He wanted to tell her a lot of things. “I should go thank the nice man”, the boy thought aloud. As he neared the man’s room, he heard his voice, “Now your boy is like my son.”
“Hmmm,” he heard his mother’s feeble reply, and after a brief pause she added, “I will come back after 3 days.”
”No, I need you to come to me every day, and send your son to me; I may have to help him with his classes”. The door was closed, the boy couldn’t understand, his mother never went to the same house to work every day, he decided it would be better to go back to his house.

She came home, he watched her carefully, only a blank expression enveloped her face. She hadn’t even bothered to ask him about school. She was so talkative, but today she seemed so subdued. He knew from experience, never to ask her questions, because she had only scoldings to give for answers. He walked out of their house, and he thought it odd that she hadn’t even noticed. In contrast, the man, seemed exceedingly happy to see him. He patiently taught the boy, gave him sweets, and sent him away happily. The boy walked back home unable to contain the smile on his face. His mother’s behavior was forgotten, he had found himself a guardian better than his father, and he had a better future to look forward to. In a few days, he was relieved to find his mother back to her cheerful self, and he went to the temple, and prayed hard to god, to make all this bliss last forever.

The Notice of demolition was a rude shock that sent into a tumble, the new life that was budding, for mother and son. Until then, she had consoled herself that her relationship would save her son. She had forgotten all her physical needs in the face of the struggle to survive, and now she had begun to love the way, the man aroused in her the feelings, that had been stoked first by her husband and then left cold to wither away. Her hands trembled, as she struggled to muffle her tears. They had nowhere to go, no relatives who would take her in, no employers sympathetic enough to let them in, except for the man. Taking the boy by one hand, and clutching to the notice by the other, she walked towards the man and knocks at his door.

He looked up from the notice, a look of displeasure, mixed with sadness.
“There is no way you can fight this notice. Where will you go?”
The woman who had looked up until then, lowered her face, her shame had washed away all the dignity he saw there, the first time his roving eyes had fell on her. A brief silence followed, it was obvious to the man that she needed his help.
“You tell us….”
“I am sorry. The landlady won’t allow. My friends and family can’t see you both here. Can I give you some money?” How pathetic he looked, he wondered, to the desperate souls in front of him. His eyes darted to the boy’s to escape the woman’s fierce look. He cringed at the pitiful look of betrayal that wore on the child’s face.
“Come, my son, the gentleman has had his good deed and his hearty meal and he’s satisfied. Remember what he’s taught you now.” He couldn’t bear to face them any longer and shut the door. He turned around. Like a curse, it had to be the mirror he encountered. In it he knew he was seeing the worst coward of his life.

A few days later: yet another evening, a steady breeze was blowing, a time for kites, a time for people to escape the confines of their homes. The man trudges up the steps to the terrace. He sees the boy's kite still there, caught on the wires, how long would it survive as a token of his noble gesture of humanity, he wondered. The kite had been played with and forgotten by its owner. The man remembered how he toyed with and discarded the boy and mother. At least, the kite had found a resting place, too high for any man to stomp it down. What about its owners. Have they found an abode, safe from the cruelties of fellow beings?
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For those of you who wondered what this is about, this is my first attempt at fiction and writing a short story, on this blog. The characters are drawn from people I have observed in real life, during my stay in Delhi, like the lonely boy in the park who ran with his kite, reminding me of my young days when we used to fly kites with my neighbours, the washerwoman who my landlady contracted to launder my clothes, and who I thought was the most beautiful lady I had ever beheld, and the man…well isn’t he like most of us men!

Criticism is most welcome, this time around!