THE GHOST OF PAST

THE GHOST OF PAST

“When you crave future, the past is your enemy…”

With a blurry vision, Eva walked across the pavement, searching for her house. She felt her legs giving up on her. Her head was spinning, but she could make out the street vendors and wayfarers, who had their gazes fixed on her, with bemused expressions.

 ‘Must have been my lumbering walk…’ she thought.

With each step, Eva was feeling more and more uncomfortable. The sun also contributed to this - It was at its scorching best, causing tiny drops of sweat to course its way down, from her forehead to the side of her neck. She was thirsty, and she wiped her parched lips with her tongue. 

Eva was not sure, if she got down at the correct place or not. Auto drivers can be tricky at times; she knew.

However, all these things were secondary to her mind, which kept on reminding her of what happened.

“I didn’t expect this to be so…. so substandard, if I put it in a decent way. You made me feel like I am doing a wooden log. I felt nothing.” he had said.

Just the memory of his words was making her high, and she started to wobble. She was losing control. This was when she saw the red signage board on the other side of the road, which read, ’KFC’.

‘Must be KFC’ she thought. The signage had been her pointer, ever since she moved to her new tavern. Whenever she was too drunk, this board had always come to her rescue. It was her cue to take a left turn, towards her house. It was hardly a 30 seconds walk from there. She had done it so many times, and she did the same this time as well.

She reached her doorsteps, and leaned over to touch the wall for support. She blinked couple of times, like desperately trying to regain control over her mind, which drifted now and then to unknown directions. Eva rooted through her handbag, and with a trembling hand, took the key. She somehow managed to open the front door. 

Leaving the door open behind her, she threw her handbag on the floor, and fell on her back to the sofa. She was tired, and drained. Again, the memories took control of her mind. It was like a movie scene, which kept on playing repeatedly on the screen. She felt a strong urge to puke, but she controlled. 

‘Experience’.

 Eva closed her eyes tight, as the memories started to juxtapose by themselves, inside her head.

She started to mumble, ‘That’s it. He won’t come to me again. I knew it all along, but...

It was today that I realised, but I cannot digest... I cannot take it in…

The realisations had the power of a hailstorm. It wrecked the confidence in me. It uprooted even the little amount of pride in me.

It was never a lie, but truth wrapped in an invisible cover.

Now, how can I find solace? How can I make peace with my heart? How do I live with it?

I am down and the negativity has brewed in me.  I roaming alone now, hunting for the never-to-be found answers. I want you back…’

Eva opened her eyes and shouted, “What am I thinking. Wake up Eva.” She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself, but that didn’t help as her eyes shut yet again.

___________

Eva desperately wanted to change her life. She had said no to drinks and drugs andshe did this for a man. He was younger to her, but she couldn’t say no to his care and love. It wasn’t before long, that she fell in love with him. There were times, when she used to hook up with people every day. Anyone with a good sex drive, well built body, or a thick wallet would do just fine for her. She seldom said no to people, when they ask her for a date. 

But those were matters of the past. 

She had chucked the baggage of her past and its dark memories, out of her life. It was because he had given her hope. He had given her love. He had cuddled her; he had praised of her beauty, and innocence. He said, he could read her mind. He was, she had felt, the only person who understood her completely.

But the dream run was over. He sees her now as a coquette, or a slut maybe.

‘But you don’t know my past...’

It was Eva’s uncle, who brought her up in Assam, and he was the person, who plugged in her the virus of ‘sex’. She had been having sexual intercourse with him ever since she was 12. Thirteen years have passed, and now it was like doing chores for her. Sex never intrigued her. It never meant anything to her, yet it was unavoidable. She had always wanted to stop, and start living like a normal family girl, but she had never succeeded in doing so, despite trying many times.

‘Alas, he ended up as yet another customer’, she thought. “But… I loved you,” she said as if he was sitting right next to her on the sofa.

She remembered the way he gently stroked her hair. She remembered the times, when he sneaked into her workplace, just for a kiss. Now, she wanted him, but he was too far away from her.

She had always feared that this might happen one day, but not in this fashion.

He was alone in his house, and he had invited her to spend some time with him. Eva was excited at the prospect of spending time with him, but she never knew that he had bought a bottle of Vodka. When he handed her a drink, she couldn’t say no. They boozed together for quite long time.  

‘Vodka….Huh…’ she thought, and smiled with her eyes still shut. ‘I would have my life if you had asked, but you asked for a drink.’

She remembered that he had kissed her. She had kissed him back as if it was her last chance. They fell back on the sofa, and love filled the air. But, things changed when the drinks started to mix with her blood. That was when she just lost it. She became a prey to her old habits, and those habits killed his mood.

‘It’s no mistake of yours dear’ she thought, ‘I deserve this’.

She had no memories of the events that followed, but she recalled his question, after he inserted into her:

“You don’t feel anything?” His face was repulsive enough to convey everything.

 

When she was dressing up, she had noticed him… he wasn’t even looking at her.

It was his friend, who came to drop her back at her house. But He did not come.

‘Maybe, I became a despicable object to you…’ she thought, as a drop of tear trickled down her cheeks.

When his friend entered the house, he told his him in his mother tongue, “Thani veshi aada.”

He never knew, she understood a little Malayalam, and that she was familiar with the word, ‘Veshi’. It meant, ‘Prostitute’

Eva was feeling very high, as it had been ages since she drank. She wanted to kiss him before leaving his house, but he had turned tail when she attempted to do so. 

Love was just a matter of past for him.

___________

 Eva opened her eyes. She slowly got up from the sofa. For some reason, she wanted alcohol badly. Eva lumbered her way across the hall, and reached for her phone, which was inside her handbag.

She dialed her old friend, or rather her ‘supplier’. The phone started ringing at the other end.

“Hey… Eva. Long time…,” answered the person at the other end.

“I want a bottle of rum… White,” she said bluntly.

“Okay…” he exclaimed. “So… you are back, huh? I had tried calling you so many times. But you never picked up. I thought…”

“Loo… Look” she stammered, “Just get me what I asked for… and… And don’t forget the cigarettes…”

“Oh honey, don’t be so rude. I will bring them, but… uh…. That doesn’t change what I want in return, you know. I am still the same old guy.” he said and laughed sheepishly.

She took a deep breath and said, “No, Not today!”

After a pause, he said, “Sorry… uh… I am tight. So, I have to arrange for money and it’s not that easy,”

She took a swallow of her saliva and said, “O.K. Just, don’t make it late. I want it now.”

“All right! I’ll be there in one hour or so, dear. I have to pick up those school kids. Once I finish dropping them at their houses, I will come ASAP.”

Eva cut the call and pressed the phone to her chest.

She closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe, she was doing this. Hours ago, she had dreamt of a family, and now….  

‘Maybe, this is my life’ she thought.

Tears flooded its way across her face. She yelled at the top of her voice, “I love you….” and broke down on the floor crying.

WISDOM OF GOD

A painting by Aljazeera K R

WISDOM OF GOD

“They live a world apart.

But they see no variance.

They have no idea of the various divides.

They are blessed with the wisdom of God.

And they know,

They are all siblings.”

Thirty five year old Shiju, and his family, lived in Bengaluru. It was a little family - Chitra, his wife, and Anand, his only son. Shiju was taking his family to ‘Iskcon’ temple in Yeshwantpur, in their newly purchased ‘Skoda Rapid’ car. Chitra was the same age as Shiju, and Anand was three.

It was Friday, and Shiju had taken a day off from his work, as it was his son’s 3^rd birthday. Shiju worked with HSBC bank as a ‘scale-3’ Senior Manager. Chitra was a former employee at the Indian Software Company, ‘Infosys’. She had resigned three years ago, to take care of her son.

They reached the ‘Mekri’ Circle, one of the major road Junctions on the way to ‘Iskcon’ Temple. It was an unusual bottleneck, and the ‘Green’ signals were turning out to be just reasons to press the gas and brake, with no significant movement at all, for the vehicles. 

Chitra sank low in the rear seat as the vehicle itched forward. She wondered why only the four-wheelers bore the brunt of the busy roads. The two-wheelers, having the ability to sneak in wherever and however they want to; acquiring some sort of self-acclaimed immunity to the lane rules; only made some progress. Scratches never threatened them.

The  Traffic light  showed ‘Green’ for sixty seconds, and Shiju pulled the hand brake yet again, as the color turned ‘Red’ from ‘Yellow’.

Like every other kid, Anand had the habit of hopping inside the car, when it was on the move. As this disturbed Shiju’s concentration while driving, Chitra and Anand, were never allowed to sit in the front seat. But even then, the issues that usually arise out of Anand’s cranky behavior, were something that irked Shiju every time.

---------

Talking about roads in Bengaluru, once the vehicles stop at major road junctions, usually three clans attack them. First, the ‘Hawkers’. ‘Hawkers’ attack only the four-wheelers. They bring locally manufactured coolers, clothed stickers in black color to ward of the scorching sunlight, holders for GPS devices and mobiles, toys, and whatnot. These materials have a peculiarity. The prices…

Prices claimed by the vendors, would go down with each and every ‘NO’ by the passenger, finally ending up at a meager 10% of the former price set by the vendor - bargain at its best, was alive in the streets. Now, this is just one clan.

The second clan who attack the four-wheelers and two-wheelers together with an unambiguous mindset is of the ‘Beggars’. They never bargain or ask for a specific amount. Instead, they catch the sympathy of people, with their humble requests, desolate looks, and sad stories. They have the professional ability to understand what runs inside the mind of the passenger, with one single look at their eyes. They randomly move here and there around the vehicles, and once they discover a touch of sympathy in the eyes of the passenger, they would halt and start pressing them for money. In this way, they never wasted their time, and were thorough with the tactical know-how for the business.

And the the third clan - ‘Transgenders’, or rather phony Transgenders. Some roam about the streets demanding money as they have no other means for bread-winning. While some people dress up like them, just to earn money easily. This clan arrives, clapping their hands at the passengers, throwing at them some very peculiar gestures belonging to their gender alone, asking for money. The difference they have from beggars is that they never settle for any petty amounts. They are stalkers who extract a good income at ease. It is a common belief that their curses are very dangerous. So, people, fearing the repercussions of neglect, give them a minimum of Rs. 10, and dispose them ASAP.

---------

Inside the car, Shiju’s son started to cry. “Chitra, feed him some milk. I think he is hungry.” Shiju said.

Chitra replied in a worried tone, “He threw the feeding bottle on the floor five minutes ago. It’s all dirty now. How do I feed him in with bottle, without cleaning it?”

She was thoughtful for a moment and then asked, “Shall I down the window glass and clean it?”

Shiju frowned and replied, “No. No. We can’t do it now. It’s full of rush here. I will stop somewhere once we pass this signal. Meanwhile, you give him some chocolate bread or something. That will keep him quiet for some time. Or, try giving him those biscuits. It’s inside the red bag.”

Chitra nodded and opened the red bag. She exclaimed, “Oh Oh… It’s full of ants. The zip was half open it seems.”

Shiju sniggered and asked in a sarcastic tone, “Who opened it? Not me,” He strongly added “Either you, or your son.”

Chitra looked up from her bag, raised her eyebrows, and said, “Not me… and I think it is OUR son. It’s our son who did it.”

Anand, during this point of time, was striving to reach for the biscuits.  Chitra tried to stop him and said, “See…  Now, you have given him a new reason to cry and fight.”

“Don’t blame me,” Shiju said. “Don’t just put it on my head.”

“Biccaaa…. Bicca….  Mummy…. I want Biccaa….” Anand was crying.

“Oooh. He is getting on my nerves. Will you please give him that chocolate cake or something, and stop talking like we have don't have anything else to feed him in this car.” Shiju said in an irritated tone.

It was then, that one of the clans attacked Shiju’s car. Clan number two. It was a woman. 

The woman wore shabby dress, which was torn here and there. She was black in colour, which might be genuinely black, or might be a colour imprinted on her body by a mixture of dust, smoke, and sunlight. The woman was chewing tobacco, and her lips were wet with red. She had cloth tied around her right shoulder, like a bag, carrying a baby about the same age as Anand inside. 

No one could guess if it was a boy or a girl. This child’s eyes were looking tired, with parched lips and mouth wide open, and barely had anything on the body, to be termed ‘dressed’.

The woman came and knocked at the window. Shiju, with an angry note, waved his hand, gesturing the woman to go away from his side of the car. Chitra hadn’t noticed the woman at all. Anand, on the other hand, was attracted to the woman and more particularly, the child inside the woman’s shoulder bag. Trying to show them to his mother, he said in a sweet voice, “Moma… Baby….” He was pointing his finger at their direction. Anand was a cute little boy, with fair skin. It was difficult for somebody to fail to notice him, when he usually said something in his sweet voice. 

Chitra looked to her side, and saw the woman leaning on the car. The woman saw Chitra looking at her, and immediately came towards the backseat window. She then extended her hand at her, expecting some money. She was saying something, which was not audible at all, as all the windows were shut. Chitra said to her son, “Yes! Look… It’s a baby.” The child inside the shoulder bag lifted the head up. Anand and the child started exchanging smiles. The child outside was trying to reach out for Anand’s face, seen through the glass. This child was was on full swing, with eyes gleaming in happiness. Anand was waving his hand, explaining mystic things to the child. The child in the shoulder bag did the same thing and Anand was laughing in full spirit, as if the child had cracked a wild joke.

Shiju shouted, “Now don’t give them a chance to stay. Will you please stop encouraging them?”

Chitra shouted back, “Then come here and dance in front of your son to keep him quiet. Can you do that?”

Shiju pursed his lips to this attack by his wife. He mumbled something under his breath.

Chitra didn’t stop there. She continued, “It’s his birthday and there is nothing wrong in spending some money for a good purpose. And if you can’t do it, I'l give them money. We are not going to go bankrupt because of this.”

Shiju said, “All right. All right. I will give. Just… Stop talking.”

Taking from his purse a five-rupee bill, he opened the glass and gave it to the woman. Anand was hitting the glass, with his golden bangle. Chitra, on seeing this, opened the glass a wee bit, trying to calm him down. Here, the babies started chatting with each other, in an alien language. The sight was mesmerisingly beautiful.  At this moment, Chitra, taking advantage of the situation, like mothers usually do, rooted through her bag and took the chocolate bread. She slowly tried to stuff it inside Anand’s mouth. 

Anand, like he knew what was coming, defended the move and warded off his mother’s hand, with a full swing of his hand. The chocolate cake ended up flying outside, travelling from Chitra’s hand through the small gap she had left open in the window, falling on the road. The signal turned ‘Green’. Shiju released the hand brake and pressed the gas.

The honking sounds were loud and Shiju, apprehensively, checked around to see if any window glass was open.

“What the heck? Close the window,” He shouted “What if the lady jumped and had touched our kid with her dirty hands. Worst, what if she tried to snatch that golden chain from his neck? What an idiot you are, Chitra?”

Defending her action, Chitra shouted, “I didn’t leave enough space for any of these to happen, and also, he was in my hand… It was impossible for that woman to reach him, even if she wanted to.”

“You defend! That’s what you do. You would have been crying and not talking like this if any of that happened...”

The argument went on non-stop.  

Here Anand’s eyes were shining like he won something. His smile widened, as if his hidden plan had worked. He was happy and was jumping up and down, inside the car. 

---------

The woman, just as Shiju said, had jumped for sure, but not at Anand, but to a different direction once the car had started to move. She had seen a piece of cake falling down on the street, from inside the car. She bent down, and took the cake, which was lying on the road, without paying much attention to anything else around. A bike which was coming from behind, screeched to halt, avoiding a hit. The driver cursed at the woman, “Hey idiot. Don’t you have any sense? Bloody beggars!”

Taking the bread, she hurried to the nearby road divider, and sat there. She then cleaned the bread piece in her hand with her saree tip, and fed it to her daughter. Her child was smiling, and she was happy. 

It was a baby girl and she was busy looking at the road, to the direction where the vehicles were moving, searching for the small boy who had made her smile. She didn’t notice her mother feeding her the bread piece. But once the bread piece touched her lips, she opened her mouth immediately and ate it; she had been hungry for a long time and the bread piece wasn’t enough for her, but she was smiling… She was smiling with all her heart….

---------

The car had started to cross the signal. The argument between Shiju and Chitra was still on. Anand jumped on to his mother’s shoulder, and with a smile, looked at the mother and child, who were seen running towards the road divider, through the rear glass. As they were moving very slowly, he could see the baby’s face still, looking at his direction. Anand smiled at the baby. 

Nobody knows if they saw each other. 

Anand was not able to control his happiness. He started to shake his head and laugh like never before. This was when the second piece of bread came to his mouth. Anand ate it without putting up a fight.

And they ate together…

THE BIRTHDAY - A Short story.

“When a dream is born,

It searches for and finds its creator.

If it discovers a true desire in him,

It starts to love his heart and mind.

When it sees its creator nearing an end,

With hopes abound, it gives its own life to the creator;

Thus making him rise again howbeit,

Weaving into shape, his broken spirits.

And what happens to the dream?

Will it die?

No, it won’t.

A dream doesn’t die.

It is revived once again,

Through the same creator’s desire and mind

-           Rebirth”

The clock struck 11.00 PM as Rishab opened the ‘Concise Oxford Dictionary’ application in his mobile and typed: ‘birthday’.

 ‘After all the searches, finally I had to look up you?’ he thought to himself and smiled sardonically.

The dictionary read: “The anniversary of the day, which a person was born”. He smiled to himself yet again - but this time on, with tears rolling down his cheeks. As if trying to suppress the upsurge of emotions in him, he let out his breath, and lifted his head up with closed eyes.  He felt the heaviness of the lump that had formed over the last few hours in his throat, and swallowed it.

“On this 25^th birthday of mine, I am going to give a new meaning to my ‘birthdays’ yet to come. It will be – the anniversary of the day that witnessed the end of Rishab’s long and tiresome journey carrying a bag full of idiotic dreams” Rishab said to himself.

Rishab was alone at home. His parents had left for Bangalore the previous day, where they worked. On a weekend, Rishab, who usually stays with his parents in Bangalore, had come along with them to their native place in Orissa, where they owned a house. But after the weekend, he had decided to stay back while his parents left, faking the need of his presence out there to run his errands; whereas in real, his intention was just to get some lone time.

With a pair of eyes which would overflow any moment with tears, Rishab looked at the framed image of his parents in front of him. Moving the picture from its usual location, he kept it on the top of the laptop table in front of him - he wanted to see his parents close to him when he leaves…

His visions were blurred for the eyes, but clear for his memories. Placing his right hand over the frame, he said,

“Dada, Moma… I am sorry that I failed you and I know that I should have listened to your words.

It’s too late for me now, to retrace my steps or build something new, as I am too tired of fighting. This life has become a war zone for me. 

I can do only this much for you – I won’t write again, I swear, and you will know that this would be my last work.

I can’t stay here anymore”  

With this, he brushed aside with the back of his hand, the transparent film of tears around his eye-balls, took his pen and writing pad from the shelf, and placed it on the laptop table. With the focus light ‘ON’, windows closed and lights turned off inside the room, his eyes riveted straight into the white paper clipped on the pad.

His hands started to race forward in its magnificent and royal font.

He started to write:

‘THE LAST NOTE:

Dad, Mom, I was living in a fool’s paradise till now. You were right. I should have secured my life with a safe and sound career before I ran behind my dreams. In spite of hearing your wise and experienced words, I fought against the odds; like a dramatic hero in some movies and stories. But at present I know how different real life is from those dramatic feats.

Yes, I realized it.

I couldn’t even complete my degree since I was hell bent on writing. I was trying to build a stand for myself, which was never mine to achieve. Dreams, farther from even my highest reach, was what that kept my motor running. I never knew or rather accepted that I wasn’t good enough.

You spent all that you had earned on me, and I still see that you are still struggling. All that you saved with meticulous planning and care, were put into my studies and welfare. I can’t believe that even at this age, you two are working in Bangalore when it’s high-time for your retirement.

I was an ignorant fool who never gave thought for the stress and strain you took in, trying to make my life successful. The rebel in me, even after knowing the truth, persuaded me to go for what I dreamt of and not even for a moment for the one that you had dreamt of since I was born.

Like an immature boy I wandered about the roads to my dreams, which were in reality, the roads never made or even better to say as roads that were never meant for me. I thought that I had the power. I thought I had in me, an intellectual point of thinking. I believed that I had the capacity to turn ink into beautiful blood, which would pump any man’s heart on following its strokes.

But on the face of truth, I have been a moron throughout!

There are some questions: Why didn’t I ever turn back and look at my failures? Why didn’t I scrutinize the results of my past? Why didn’t I introspect into my values?

I guess, the answers to these questions sums up to the amount of maturity I have had in me. Today, no miracle happened that changed me. Perhaps, if I had given life to these questions which were inside my head, but never allowed to pop up for my mind’s adamant nature, it would have made a difference in the past for every one of us. I would have lived for real. I wouldn’t have lived, allowing myself to imagine that clouds could be used as grounds to walk.  

“Chasing my dreams” – Huh, What a justification for intransigence that caused my own fall!

I didn’t even attend my arrear exams since I had thought that fame and acknowledgement would hug me and make me say, “That shit was never meant for me” 

And now? My last chance is gone to attend those exams and I will just remain as one 12^th grade pass till my last breathe. 


Am I famous? Am I a celebrity? At the least, a freelancer? Yes, I was one of every one of these in my ‘dreams improbable’ of my future days. But those future days never came to me at all, and the saddest part is, I knew it all along.

I was indulged in writing a novel that took two years for me to complete. And when I say two years, it means a hundred percent, barring the time I slept and ate. I saw every sentence that I wrote as beautiful, and believed that my readers would fall for the magic hidden in my words. I had this intuition that it’s a work which would get me recognized in the distinguished world of literature, that I thrived to be a part of. I was living under the shade of a world that I created on the paper, with my ink and time. I had thought that my work would be my ticket to freedom.

These beliefs were incessantly running in my head, until the day I realized that months had passed without even a single reply from those to whom I had sent my novel for publishing. None responded. No one saw what I had seen in my works.

Today, I know for certain that no publishers would have gone past even the first page of my so called ‘ticket to freedom’. It would have been just another item for their recycle bin, I guess. But for me, it was chunks of golden words, valuable enough to be stored in the safest locker of all the worlds. It was my sweat and blood. It was my joy and pain. It was my tears and laughs. It was my body and brain. It was ‘me’…..

But….. All that it gifted me with was a powerful realization that I was smug dreamer, a nobody….

When blind faith in something that I never had in myself was taking its toll over me, I received another blow.

I had loved one girl. You were the one to whom I first talked about it Dada. Like a hero, you supported me and advised me to make sure that I secure a good job after completing my graduation. You had also warned me that if I failed to do so, I would have to lose her at one stage of my life, no matter what my talent would have in store for me in future.

Her love for me was what I had believed as the perfect example for  the word ‘divine’. She had given me her body and soul.

An unconditional support was what she offered me, for my attempts to venture into the world of literature. But at a point when she started to realize that she may have to lose me for my precarious stand in life, she begged and cried to me. She pleaded to me that I search for a job. When her support turned into pressure, my love for her turned into a momentary irritation, which I never knew had the power to wreck the sails of the spirit in me. She had cried a lot. But I never paid heed to them. I showed my obstinacy over her gentle love and I started to see her as an impediment to my future dreams. My anger warded off her phone calls and my selfishness locked the gates to her love. My brain tried to reason with me, but I had closed my eyes so tight that its attempts rebounded off me. Now, today, I am closing my eyes even tighter, but for a different reason – to somehow stop her memories which are pounding my heart. They are blaming me. The image of her tear-filled eyes has started to flash in my head in every passing minute of my days. Dad, as you had said, I have lost her. Only when I saw the ‘grand’ reception of my novel, I got to know the magnitude of what I have done. I can never go back to my days of past and get her back.

I made a big mistake, and I am aware of the reality that her heart and body belongs to someone else now. But I need her and I miss her now…. And I have no idea how to put a barricade to these thoughts. What do I do? I am helpless.

Even as I write this letter, I can see her face in this white paper. Her tears are taking revenge on mine.

I am Sorry Dada. I am Sorry Mama. I never thought I would let you down like this. I have lost my face in front of you and made you lose your faces in front of our relatives. You earned respect and prestige with your hard work and ethos in this society. And I put them to risk, never knowing its real values. I should have listened to you and made things right.

I wish if I could edit my past, I wish if I could rephrase the happenings. My wishes are as impossible as the wishes of the trees living in a city, to go and be a part of the jungle.

You have never scolded me but I have seen you shedding tears silently. I wish I could undo those moments. Never have I felt guilty or anything wrong, whenever I faced you. I was engaged in my writing.  Every time I saw you sad or worried, I convinced myself saying, ‘Wait till you see how this is going to end’.

This is how it is going to end and this is how it has to end. Never have you missed wishing me on my birthdays. This time, you are not here with me. I created this scene deliberately, as I can’t do it in your presence - the horizons of your love and bondage are too strong to pass.

I will never have the strength to make up my mind to do this when you are near me. So, I have taken this chance as a cue for me, sent by God to Quit and surrender my life. I will never ever live as an obstacle for you. I will never live as a mistake in your life. The day I turn 25 will put a stop to my heart beat. I will lock the doors inside my heart which led me to fructifying my passions once and forever. I had so much to tell; so much to confess. But…. You know that am an egoist. I am an idiot. I am a coward.

I now know that I am a sinner, for only a sinner deserves such a treatment in life. Since long back, I knew that I was an unlucky guy. But I believed that there was something inside me that could make things work out afresh, like the spirit of a phoenix. Now I realize they were all ostentatious reasons to just live on; to move on, neglecting the truth. I should have known that I am just a mediocre guy who got bonuses here and there. I can’t blame anyone. I can only blame myself and for that I am ending this once and forever. I am leaving you all. I am leaving behind everything that I dreamed about once.

And now, the time has come - It’s 11.59 PM. I need to stop here Mom; I need to stop here Dad or else this letter of mine would become just like a wet towel with ink bloated all over it. The last thing I have to say is… Dad, I………

This was when Rishab heard his phone ringing. It read ‘Dad Calling..’ He put his pen down and looked at his mobile. He hadn’t expected it. The tremendous pressure and the culmination of emotions on reaching the final part of his letter, in a moment, turned into fear and anxiety.

Rishab, with trembling hands, attended the call. He managed to sort out his shivering voice and said, “Dada… Uh… What’s up?”

His dad said, “Rishab, son, I thought of calling you only in the morning to wish you. But……for some reason that I don’t know.. I just made this call.. I am feeling so uncomfortable out here without you……. The truth is that I couldn’t wait…… Now, leave all those things behind…..”

Rishab’s dad continued in an excited and a bit nervous tone, “Just do one thing. Go and open the chest beneath the table in my room. And then give me a call”.

Saying this, his dad abruptly cut the call. He sensed some rare nervousness in his dad’s voice and was confused.

He thought, ’Did he know?’

Rishab looked at the direction where the bottle of poison was kept. He then thought, ‘OK Dada, I get it. The last present, I suppose. I will open it up for you….

The last bit of satisfaction that I can give you’

Tiny drops of sweat had formed all over Rishab’s face by that time. His knee joints pained as he rose from his chair, like he had just unmounted his bike after a long drive. He slowly walked towards his father’s room. His head was fighting over his conscience. Rishab just couldn’t believe that he was about to get a present from his dad when he was all set to put an end to his life. Presents meant nothing to him then.

The door to his father’s room creaked open as he pushed it. He followed his father’s directions and reached the spot where the chest lay. The usual enthusiasm of a person, who is about to open a gift, was absent in him. Now that it felt like a burden of some sort to him, he wished to wrap up the show as soon as possible.

With fingers which hardly gave any sensations of touch, he opened it.

Inside the chest was one medium sized rectangular box, of the size of his hand, wrapped in silver gift paper, with writing over a red sticker above it. It read ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY SON’.

None of this was helping his mind which was stuck on his next move to end his life somehow. He opened the gift paper, and he was a flummoxed in doing so.

He didn’t know what emotion was running inside him. He felt like hot lava has been poured into his mouth which left him perceptible to the burning touches that it made inside his body.

Although he couldn’t quite figure out what the emotions were, it started to hit his mind like a hailstorm. His chest was burning as he un-wrapped it.

HIS EYES STARTED TO GLEAM - like a glass reflecting the early morning sun’s crescent outfit.

He saw his present. In front of him there was another cover tightly packed around some box, in such grandeur that his eyes actually stopped messaging his brain as to what he was seeing with it. He was wondering if it was a dream.

On top of it, it was written ‘MontBlanc Boheme Royal’. The next moment, his eyes started to search for what was inside, though he knew the name and its reputation very well.

He was a bit frantic and was trying to open the cover packet with jet-speed. As speed took control, the brain lost its power. He did not understand how to properly open it, as he started to fumble over it.

He stopped and sighed, trying to release the pressure, and started all over again. Finally, it was opened. Now, he had to open only the black box in front of him to get his present. His lackluster was history, ever since he read the name ‘MontBlanc Boheme Royal’.

He slowly opened the box, as if some feeble material made of glass lay in, which would crack into pieces, even for a slight bit of pressure on it. As his soft and gentle fingers opened it, he saw…. A pen sent directly from the heavens!

Rishab was stunned. He was breathless. Never had he seen such finesse and artistry in any other pens in his entire life. It was made of white Gold, he learnt from the description of it on the cover. He always wanted to own such a pen, but he knew not what to do with it, when his hands touched one. He kept it in the box and sat on his haunches. He then pressed his hand against his head, and started to scratch it. He was calling on his mind to come back and help him get a grasp on what he was thinking of. But his conscience was playing its trick and the present moment, which had him shocked and made him reach cloud nine, was ruling his actions.

Beneath the box, there was one single piece of paper, kept folded. He took it and opened it up in haste. He was wondering now as to what might hit him next. He could hear his own heart beat, which was running at its ‘all time best’ pace.

It was his Dad’s handwriting. It read:

‘Son… first of all, we are sorry to have not supported you enough by your dreams. You have always had that flair and talent in you.

It’s just that our eyes weren’t that good at convincing our hearts. 

Forgive us... We are old folks, son……

Rishab could imagine his Dad chuckling when he read that. He continued to read from it.

We have had fights and arguments over these years. I contemplated why most of it happened. Son..... I am tired of trying to carve you into shape. Like a tree, you will grow up on your own. We did our part of taking care of you when you were young and vulnerable to persuasions. But now, we can’t decide on what you would become and how you would look like, when you grow up.

We want to see you happy and if writing does that, then yes… We would like to see you write till we die.

You are our only son and we are proud of it. And when it’s only one, it better be special. That is every parent's dream. 

And yes, you are special and gifted.

You have the capacity to conquer this world with your pen and thoughts, and we have faith in you. We will stand alongside you and see you win - I can bet my entire savings on that.

Do not worry about time and age – I say this, because nowadays I see you brooding over the days that pass by. 

Son, Days can’t be lost as days were never ours to lose. But a day can be made. And your name can be written on it. 
Remember that, Oh writer!

So, cheer up. If you really wish to, join Arts colleges and do a degree in journalism or literature. We are ready and we don’t have any problems with that. You are young and you have time. But don’t waste your time thinking about how you wasted your time in the past. Just keep the dice rolling and one day you will win the jackpot. We know that we can’t talk you through some engineering or MBBS. It was our mistake to have not given a thought properly, as to what you really wish to become. And now, we have decided to straighten things up.

Let’s start afresh son. These decisions from our end are not because of pressure or helplessness - But in fact, from tiredness of being the cowards trying to gag the society, or hide from it. We wish to face it. They didn’t finance our daily bread. So, to hell with them!

Without his knowledge, a smile dawned in Rishab’s lips.

To make the busy and chaotic world notice you, you have to shoot your talents at it as non-stop attempts. As the world is big, perhaps it might not get the impact with one single attempt from you. But then, try again. If it doesn’t notice, try again and again till it realizes and rewards your perseverance and will power; and also, you will see that you improved. The world will surely honor you one day, by portraying your face as an example of success, attained through hard work and fortitude, to all the people living in it.

 Lend your ears to what the world says about you, and never despair and get controlled by them, because winners are made from their failures and experiences. 
And God won't hear your cries, unless you tried.  

“EVER TRIED.  EVER FAILED.  NO MATTER.

TRY AGAIN. FAIL AGAIN. FAIL BETTER.”

These are words by Samuel Beckett. Remember them.

All the very best my dear son! Smile….. and be happy. That’s all we want to see.

Hope you liked the present.

You are our treasure. 

GO, Start writing.

Love,

Mom and Dad’

Rishab’s dad had already started calling him to his phone. His phone was vibrating and ringing throughout. He didn’t pick up the call. He stood in the same spot for some time. Then he walked, holding the still-ringing phone in his hand, like a spectre in his house, up and down. He went to the hall and sat in the cushion knowing not how to respond or what to do. He wept silently. At times, he gawked at the tiled floors with an open mouth. His dad kept on calling him. But, he never picked up.

After some half an hour or so, Rishab got up, brushed aside his tears and with a resolute mind, went back to his room. He had to end what he had started. ‘I should not waver anymore’, he thought. Minutes of silence had given him the strength to carry out his task – he had decided. He had made up his mind to say goodbye to the failures of his past.

All that his dad had wrote in his letter, kept on playing in his mind. His heart was beating very fast.  He started to focus on his letter.

Rishab kept aside the pen which he had used to write till then, and took out his new pen that his dad had presented him with. And he held it ready to write.. 
The nib of his new pen was ready to engage on its first flight, and the final combat of the day. He was seeing the calls in his mob. Also his landline was ringing. He did not pay any attention to them and decided to write the last sentence of his note to his parents.

He had firmly decided and was convinced that no force would be good enough to persuade him to change his mind again - a change of decision was impossible for him now.

He heaved a huge gush of air. And with a stern heart and mind, he wrote the remaining of what he had left behind, before going to fetch the present.

He looked at the pen for a few seconds. Silent tears dripped from his chin and his eyes forgot its usual instinct to blink as it searched for an image to focus on...

His bearings looked stern and steady and he retained his writing posture.

‘This is how it ends’, he thought, with lips which wore a smile, curled to one end.

After keeping the pen in the same spot for a while where he had stopped before, he wrote the last line:

“Yes, I change the meaning of my 25^th birthday - The day I was reborn….”

Writing this, he tore away the letter into pieces and immediately took the mobile in his hand to call his dad back…. He dialed, and his dad picked up the phone within literally no time….

Rishab heard his dad panting.

“R.. Rih.. Rishab where were you… what happened to you and… we tried calling you for……”, Rishab’s dad on attending the phone said, stammering and tensed.

Rishab cut short his dad’s words and said in a soothing and gentle tone,

“Daaada… Listen….

“I love you two and I ……………… and….. I,AM BACK, ALIVE”

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                                                                   THE END