Thursday, October 20, 2005

The Day I was Late for the School (story)

The sun was getting less hot day by day. It was the beginning of rainy season. The sun was shining bright, making circular bright rings through the hollow amongst the lush green leaves of the trees. It had rained heavily the previous night.

As I neared the corner of our school compound, I could hear the last lines of our morning prayer. I hurried on the bricks laid down in the mud, in front of my school gate. I was late. Again.

Our principal was a very generous person, and cared for all the students. But, that day he was in one of his unusual moods. He summoned me up, and scolded me more than what I was expecting. He had even asked me to come with my parents the very next morning.

It was third hour. I was sitting on the last bench, worried. What was I to tell my mother? How should I ask her to come and meet my principal? Will she be able to spare some time? However hard I may try, she may not come. If she comes she wont be able to get any home to wash utensils, wipe the floor, or get any such work which the big houses spared for her. In return for her work, she got some food home. Sometimes she would come home with few notes of rupees, tied at the corner of her saree, if some Lady in that pink, or blue, or white house was in a too offering a mood that day. My mother would keep it locked, safely, in the rusted box. I have seen her open it only in the beginning of every month, when I have to pay my school fees.

During the days of puja, she would come home in the evening, shouting loud for me. Whenever in the evening I heard her shouting like this, while I would be playing in the neighborhood, I knew she has got something. Something to satisfy me palatal desires. Without saying a word to my friends I would run. I would run and rush into the bathroom. Wash my soiled legs and hands, wipe it out clean with a clothe, and go into the kitchen without saying a word, and I would watch my mother while she would make fresh tea.

She will pour the tea in two old steel glasses, the smaller one meant for me . We would sit down on the kitchen floor, and have our tea. I listened to her as she said how nicely the Lady in that big house treated her today. How they all sat there together in front of small temple in the corner of that lady’s house, praying. After the puja, how she was served prasad in decorated brass plate. How the small kids in that house ran around her as she ate the prasad. While narrating she would smirk, have a long sip of tea before she continues again. At those time I would sit there too taking long quite sips, so as not do disturb or annoy her. Her stories didn’t interest me much and I kept wondering what she had in the bag beside her. Long after we would have finished with our tea, and she had finished with her days narration, she would still sit there, as if tendering that days thoughts. I mused as I looked at her tilted face, as if it all occurred with me. Soon, the silence would be broken by a babies cry from the neighborhood, or the sounds of the stray dogs. And she would open the bag, carefully, taking out the prasad , bananas, and coconuts, while I looked at them with beaming eyes.

That’s how we have survived since my father died three years ago, while working in the coal mine, located two miles away on the road going in the direction opposite to the market.

Once, a cold evening, while I was going to the market with my father, I had stopped on that road corner, and looked on the way to my left. And had asked my father, “Papa, what’s there in this direction?”

“Minu”, my father had said,” Far beyond the green fields, behind those big trees, there are big buildings out there. They have very deep pits, in which I go and work”. I couldn’t see anything, except those cattle’s in the far field near the horizon, grazing in the warm evening sunlight.

I wondered how big those buildings could be, and couldn’t contain myself. “Papa, are they bigger than our school building? Even bigger than that?”

“Yes.”

“And what about those pits? Are they as deep as the well that we have?”

“Even deeper than that”, he replied, as he moved his hand on my head, caring my hair with his warm hands.

Excited by the imagination of the depth of those pits I had asked,” What do you do inside that pit, Papa?”.

“There are a lot of people inside who work with me. I see to it that they do their work properly”.

“What if they don’t listen to you?”.

He said,“I beat them with my long stick.”, and I laughed. That time I wanted to be like my father, so big and strong. As we walked towards the market with my father holding my small hand, I felt so warm and comfortable.

--------

...this was taken from the initial pages of the story I am currenty working on.....The only thing i dont know at this stage is, how long will it take me to finish it...days, months, or years?

Sunday, October 16, 2005

How does a story start?

All stories come from a real incidence which occurs with the author, however small it may be. With the additions of events coming out of the authors imaginations, the story grows around that incidence, and finally evolves.

Since Six Years

5th September 2005, i was sitting in the last row of the class with my best friends. Its not that we are backbenchers, but when we dont feel like studying, we do it.

Since last one hour we have been listening the words values, morals, and ethics again and again. That day all the seats in that large classroom were filled, as the other batch had joined us for this module, and so it was possible to dream all of this world without being caught by the teacher.

To me the teacher looked like Musharaff. Similar hair, moustache, spectacle and the lines on his face typical of that of Mush. With every word that he spoke, he looked more like Mush. It was funny, and i could not stop myself from smiling. Occationally, i tried to match my smiles with his words, when i thought he must be joking. And i tried to look at the expressions on all faces in the class, which i usually enjoy watching.

In the third row, just in front of me i noticed someone in red dress. Probably from the other batch. She was holding her chin in her hands and listening to the teacher, carefully. There was something familiar in her manner which caught my attention, and i wanted to see her face. I tried to bend left and then on right to have a better look, but didnt get anything more than a side glimpse.

As i was sitting, curiously, wanting to know more about her, a wiff of past memories sifted down the thickness of time and brought tears in my eyes, and i was beginning to feel week in my chest.

**************

Its been six years since i met Her last. I can clearly recollect that day, as if it all happened yesterday. It was the day of an examination. The gates to the examination halls were to be opened only fifteen minutes before the exam. Minutes before that, i was talking to Anjali in front of the gate. It was then that i had noticed a scooter that came and stopped near us, just few feets away, and had noticed someone walking towards us. Without a loss of moment i recognized Her, though it was after three years that we were meeting at that time.

***************

We had studied together in Hyderabad, in the same class. And when we were in high school She moved to London with Her parents, forever, leaving me all alone. That day i went on the roof, and had cried continuously for hours in privacy. I felt so week and broken that i didnt even went to see her off, not even to say goodbye. I know she must have wept too.

**************

As if the God wanted us to meet again, he gave us a second chance, and there we were in front of examination hall after a long gap of three years, in Chandigarh.

As She moved towards us, I said hello to her. At first she stood still for a moment, maybe trying to remember who this stranger was. But, soon i could see a beam of smiles surfacing on her face, brighter than the sun. We had hardly come to know that both of us are living in Chandigarh since sometime, that we realised that only few minutes were left for the examination to begin. We had moved in the gate, silently, looking in each others eyes, smiling. She was wearing a red dress, Her hair made in a long braid swaying sideways as she walked taking subtle steps.

It was a three hour examination and I had left the hall half an hour early, though there were few questions unanswered, which i would have got correct had i stayed in the hall. I was hoping to see her again, thats why i came out early and was waiting at the gate. One or two people kept coming out of the hall after an interval of few minutes. Soon the three hours were over, and i was searching for Her among the crowd coming out of the gate. I waited there till the last trickle of crowd, but She was not there. I ran inside, panting, on both the floors, searching in all the rooms, one by one.
Free Hit Counter
Free Website Counter