IF ONLY

If only you were here, my love

If only you were here -
I would fight through all the battles

And would embrace death without fear.

If only the world had known, my love

If only the world had known -

That tender fruits have grown out of -

The seeds of love we had sown.

If only you'd hold me tight, my love

If only you'd hold me tight -

I would never let you go anywhere

Would capture you in my sight.

If only we were together, my love

If only we were together -

This heaviness pressing upon my heart

Would seem lighter than a feather.

If only I could die, my love

If only I could die -

None could snatch you away from me

I would never have to say 'Good Bye'.

ELIXIR OF MY LIFE

I can breathe now.

It's me alone who knows the trauma that I had to endure for the past 10 months.The very fact that I was financially dependent on my dad and my boyfriend made me feel like a cripple.

I just enjoy that fact that I am working. At times I don't enjoy the work I have been assigned to.But the fact that I am working is like a driving force - my 2nd oxygen one can say.  And finally , now I know what makes me the happiest - it's work and independence.

I like this corporate culture. I like this coming to office regularly,logging into a machine, waiting for the lunch hour, meeting up with friends, discussing work with seniors and then at the end of the day, going back home.This probably will never ever become monotonous for me , because I have understood the worth of it's absence in my life. I used to meet people , hardly eligible for any service, but they were there making money. And somewhere down, in some dark, secluded corner of my heart and mind , I used to suffer from this excruciating pain.Whenever I used to spot them, i used to avoid then intentionally . I used to avoid facing their innumerable questions, used to shun their pitiful eyes.

Though, it was no fault of mine , I couldn't stop blaming myself for having lost my previous job. Today, after getting my hands on the system, dealing with the official documents, accessing the official mails - I simple felt alive once more.

In this course of 10 months, different people suggested me different things. Few people suggested me to take tuition , which I did and that was a saviour. It helped me take care of my credit card bills.Thanks to them . Few people advised me to get married, as they considered me unfit for work. I hope they must have got their answer by now. Few warned me of the global economic condition, and that it was quite unlikely for me to bag a job in this market with just an experience of 2 years. But, I knew that I had to be patient. All my learning, my degree, my education just couldn't go wasted. And here I am , enjoying the fruits of my patience.

Earlier I used to feel suffocated , but now I can breathe freely. I can smell the air fresheners which almost chokes me in the enclosed office.I can hear the coffee vending machine beeping at a distant corner, as someone fills a cuppa. I can hear people typing on their key-boards, and trust me it's music to me now.

WOW ! this feeling is simply awesome. It's inexpressible.

Everyday, I reach home , dog tired. But, earlier I used to stay back home all day, but at the end of the day would be a vegetable, devoid of any will and energy to carry on. But now, in spite of all the tiredness, I feel full of energy as I am mentally contented and happy.

I have realized one thing - WORK IS THE ELIXIR OF MY LIFE. IT'S THE ONLY THING THAT WILL KEEP ME GOING.

The Song of the Sea

 1.

“The sea returns whatever it takes from you “– that’s what people say. And that’s what Aman believed in the last days of his life.

Aman – 28 years old, a scholar from IIT and an MBA from IIM- A, had everything in life. He was smart, educated, rich, had a great job at a foreign bank, and was the most eligible bachelor in town. But above all, he had Avantika – his childhood love. For him, she was the most beautiful girl on the face of the universe. They were family friends and their relation dated back to almost more than a decade. It was the kind of love story which is written in Heaven.

“Avantika – short, plump and innocence personified.” Aman thought.

He sunk his feet deep into the sand and felt them escape through his toes as the waves retreated.

This was the very place where he saw her last, heard her voice for the last time, felt her warmth and smelled her tears. This was the place where he had promised her that they would meet again – in some other world …

The thoughts came gushing along with the waves. Each wave brought a fresh memory along with it, her contagious smile, her kohl eyes, her frizzy hair, her tantrums, her agony, her death.

“Huh!” Aman let out a deep sigh.

“How could I ever forgive myself?” he questioned himself.

Everything was the same. The sea, the coconut tress, the hotels, the star studded skies, the smell of dried fish – Everything but Avantika!

One mistake of his and things changed like day changes to night.

2.

Aman was in USA for work. It was in the month of January, last year. He was almost freezing to death, with the mercury plumetting down to -13.

He picked up his cell phone and managed to dial a number with his numb fingers, which he felt had been cut off from his hands.

“Hey Aman!” answered a girl in an American accent.

Well, that was Christine, the only good friend cum guide, Aman made on his 3 months official tour.

“Hey yourself, Chrrr-istine” Aman stammered. “How do you guys survive here?” he asked.

“We drink silly, silly!” Christine jeered back.

“So, what are you waiting for? Come over to my apartment and don’t forget to bring the thing which keeps you guys warm” Aman stammered again.

That was it, a small private party, music, wine, popcorn, a movie and then - THE MISTAKE.

3.

Next morning, Aman woke up with a heavy head but was still feeling warm. It was a clear morning. Christine was gone, but had left a note.

“Sorry Aman, it should never have happened.” The note almost shouted out the truth.

The entire night replayed itself clearly in his mind and Aman’s lungs filled with guilt. All of a sudden, he couldn’t breathe.

“Oh! Avantika” he gasped.

He picked up the phone and dialed her number.

“Hello” Avantika answered in her sleep.

“I love you baby” Aman said almost choking and fighting his tears back.

“Baby, its 2.00 am in India”

“Oh! Right, I just wanted to tell you that I love you”

“I love you too honey. I need to sleep, have an early morning presentation”

Aman tried to hold back his tears with all his might. He knew that Avantika had this magical ability to read his mind, even if he sat on some other planet in some other galaxy.
And under no circumstance, could he succumb.

“Good night, honey, see you soon” Aman switched off his cell phone.

That day, he decided that he would never mention this to Avantika. She would be shattered, and the thought of losing her was already shattering him to pieces.

4.

“Ouch!” something pricked him.

A crab was biting his toe. May be even the crab was trying to bring him back to the present. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

“I have killer her” he shouted to the sea.

“I gave it to her, gave her the virus”

“Take me to her please”

He shouted at the top of his voice.
The sea seemed to respond back. The sizes of the waves doubled.

“Why did you take her away? She didn’t even know anything about it” Aman sobbed.

Aman clenched the sands in his fist with all his power. But, he was drained off all of it. The sand escaped from his hands, just like Avantika escaped from his life.

He was in the last stage fighting against the deadly virus. A year back he was detected HIV positive.

But he had already passed it to Avantika and pushed her towards death by then.

Aman plunged his hands inside his shirt, and slowly pulled it out - A picture frame.

Avantika was smiling through it as Aman was trying to make a funny face.

Her smile was infectious, he always thought. The smile which had swept him off his feet, which could make his heart stop beating, which became so difficult for her during her last days.

She loved the sea. She used to say that the sea had its special song for everyone and for every mood.

“Listen to the song of the sea” she would tell Aman during their happy days.

She wanted to die here – on this beach. That was her last wish

“Don’t let me die in a hospital room” she had pleaded to all.

“Please let me watch the waves, smell the salt, hear the song of the sea while I end my journey” she requested Aman, when he tried to protest.

And just before breathing out her last breath, she had shut all her pains in her eyes and just had one question written all over her face- distorted with lesions.

“Why Aman?”

He bowed his head and looked into the picture. A tear dropped on her smile.

“I hope you have forgiven me by now” Aman spoke through his tears.

“I’m coming to get you my baby” he said firmly.

He rested the photo frame, face down on his chest and lied down on the sand.

The waves washed over him……. The sea sang its last song.

THE UGLY FANGS OF THE CITY OF JOY

All of ten, he had come to see the huge City of Joy, flooded with lights, adorned with beautiful and artistic ‘pandals’ at every nook and corner, with loud deafening music of Hindi movies on the streets. He had come with his rustic dad, who was equally overwhelmed by the sight of Kolkata’s magnanimity. The city seemed to embrace everyone, irrespective of their caste, social profile etc, with a warm smile and a loving hug.

They had boarded a bus, probably for the first time. For people who have no idea of the buses of Kolkata, let me give you a rough idea. They keep filling till you choke inside and people hang out of the doors like a bunch of monkeys. But luckily the boy and his father got themselves a much coveted window seat. The boy had wide open eyes and it seemed, he wanted to take back home the whole of the city - the fun, the noise and the essence, imbedded in his mind. He was collecting stories which he could share with his less fortunate friends who never had a chance to visit Kolkata.

The bus was filling up fast with people - ‘Urban’ and ‘Well educated’ men, women, children, all decked up and looking their best. There was already a commotion inside. To be able to stand still without being stepped on, or being hit by someone’s elbow seemed practically impossible. People gave cold stares at the rustic duo as they occupied the seat which otherwise could have been taken by anyone else…The local Miss India with her painted face, the middle aged mother of two, the elderly man in Kurta Pajama. But all these people were not lucky to get that seat and were somehow managed to stand still as the bus raced along the road.

Suddenly, the ‘little boy’ grew restless. “I want to throw up, I want to throw up,” he told his father. A more confused dad, completely unaware of the ways of the city, didn’t know what to do. Before he could think of anything, the ‘little boy’ threw up- And hell broke loose.

People standing close to them, waiting for their turn to take the seat were repelled as if struck by lightning. Immediately in a rippling action the pandemonium spread. It was a wild fire. One could hear a growing shuffling of the feet and groan and grunts from the far corners with the precariously hanging passengers nearly thrown out of the bus. A mini rampage set the whole place astir. There were stiletto jabs, elbow knocks, missing bags and broken finger nails. There were shrieks and cries and angry shouts from all over. The duo in their pool of yellow slush was the least of the problems but they were the villain of the piece alright. “Why do the buses allow such villagers who have got no civic sense?” shouted a middle aged man carrying a small girl of his own. “Hey you stupid oaf, jut the boy’s head out of the window. He’ll ruin our dresses,” shouted another woman.

The perplexed father couldn’t even comfort his terrified son. He had no clue what to do. He tried to push his little head outside the window to assuage the crowd. He was like Abraham trying to please the God. “Just put your head out,” he said with great annoyance. He was not angry with the child. He was unable to handle the indignity they were thrown into. He was just flushed and angry and humiliated and it showed in his face.

“No, daddy pleases … the wheels the wheels” was all the frightened boy could manage to say. His body was crocked up uncomfortably, his throat choking in the firm grip of his father. His face was smeared with tears, dirt and water. His new clothes were soiled. His father’s clothes were soiled too. He wondered if he was being punished for his vile act. In his meek voice, he simply told his dad, “I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again.”

He wanted to go back home to his mother, amidst his own people. He wanted to be pampered, to be asked thousand of times how he felt, to be offered some cold water and lime to make him feel a bit better, to be assured that “Nothing’s wrong, it’s absolutely OK.”

But to the contrary, things were so different here. Not a single soul had a kind and healing word for them. Everyone looked down on the ‘little boy’ as if he was some criminal. People covered their noses with their hankies. The women, who probably have mothered so many children, shouted the most. The Miss India made an act as if she had never witnessed something so horrid and would throw up herself. A man, all decked up, yelled “Get off the bus, you moron. People like you should not be allowed on public transports”.

They rebuked him, made him feel like a pest in the world full of colourful people who only physically resembled him and his hapless father.

Like frightened new born calf he shuddered now and then and sat glued to his father. They both seemed to seek refuge in the other. They seemed inseparable in their pain. All the excitement in the boy’s eyes had been replaced by awe and horror. He was stunned to see his city of joy suddenly reveal it ugly fangs and its gnawing claws.

I reached out and gave the father my chilled bottle of water for his son. But the ‘little boy’ refused to take it. I was taken aback. What must have that little soul gone through, that he refused water when he needed it the most?

He reminded me of my chartered bus trip to Digha when I was his age. We didn’t have a car at that time, so we were on a chartered bus – One of those old and rusty one which rattled each time it dropped in a pothole. I used to get sick in them Felt nauseas each time and would eventually throw up. My mom had tried all sorts of things to make me feel comfortable - Feeding me an hour before boarding the bus, stuffing me with antacids, not feeding me at all, feeding me on the bus etc. But nothing would help. I would inevitably feel sick at the smell of petrol and would just throw up.

Later my mother came up with this ingenious idea of carrying plastic bags for an emergency puke attack. She knew my fear of jutting my head out of the window in the National Highways with buses coming from opposite direction at the speed of light.

Puking till date makes me very uncomfortable. Memories of that day, memories of the pinched expressions on the faces of the co passengers have infused in me the fear of puking in public. If I am sick now I have to isolate myself completely from everyone even from my parents. And every time I throw up, I cry. I feel this strange, inexplicable pain within. My body seems to refuses to take part in the activity against gravity.

The little boy brought it all back. While others would have pressed ctrl alt del and forgotten that little incident the moment they got down of the bus, amidst the gaiety of the Pujas, I could not forget the pain in his eyes.

I felt ashamed of being part of the city people who showed no compassion to him and treated him like a dog. I felt embarrassed at our hollowness in the midst of the plenty we project. I felt guilty I couldn’t hold him and comfort him when he needed it most. What stopped me?

What u made of me

Together we spent splendid moments
Moments of love and care
Together we grew up in love and life
A single life we both shared


Then there came a moment
When a chill crept between us
U started despising the word 'Together'
It became u and me - and no more 'US'


U stayed away from me for days
And days counted to years
A foolish me and ignorant as i was
Bore it all with tears


I thought of u daily
U were always there on my mind
I tried bringing u back somehow
But the old you i could no more find

Finally u said it , the 3 grave words
The words that ruined my life
They turned my life upside down
And cut through my heart like a knife


You no more wanted to be a part of me
And wanted a life of your own
You said 'You wanna quit ' and broke my heart
As if it was made of stone


You ousted me out of your house
And i didn't know where to go
I stood there alone with tears shut in my eyes
Drained of all strength for any further to go


I lost my faith , i lost it all
My smiles faded away
And now it's an act of happiness
That i manage to put up everyday