The night just got longer...

As my Professor explained the importance of education for the development of our country, and explained it over and over again for four times

            “Education is the milestone for development”

            “Development comes from investment in education”

            “Education leads to development gradually in the long run”

            “Country’s economic development relies on education”,

                                    I drifted away from class, bringing myself to the reality by the tick tick of my dad’s watch, synchronizing in its own way with the fall of water drops on Earth.

            Smiling at myself, of how I dream about random stuff in class, and how I dream about class in my sleep. The dilemmas of a normal final year student kept knocking my dreams every night! “I’ll find a job” I say to myself. The clock ticks two as I get up and peep out my window to find what disturbs the dogs this late.

            The sudden lightening causes blight to mine eyes. I squeeze my eyes and peep out once again. A water droplet shimmered on the leaf, before it dropped onto the little yellow bud beneath it, finally losing itself to the pool of water on the ground.

            It was a year and a half ago when I purchased the plant. I was at the nursery to get a birthday gift for one of my friends. Yes, I wanted to impress him. I had inherited this habit from one of my neighbours, from quite a long time ago. She was in her 60s when I last met her. Anywhere she went, any person she met, any gift she presented would be a sapling. Elegantly she explained to me “people should remember you, the world should remember you. So, you leave behind something, something forever.”

            The flowers looked beautiful, small and bright. Not knowing the name of the plant I purchased two of those. Never did it give a fragrance, but it always beamed at me, and at times mocked at me as well! Painting the other pot red and yellow, I felt proud about myself for what I was to do. He too mocked at me the next day!

            My plant, since then, has remained at my window, blooming flowers and bringing joy. As a tear roll down my cheek, I assure to myself that life has to move on no matter what. Not knowing what went wrong does tear apart a part of your soul; when he chose to ignore I chose to let go.

            I turn to the sound of footsteps somewhere inside the house. Eyes widening, and chillness passing through my body, I knew everyone at home had gone to sleep! Who could this be?

            I shrink my eyes to get accustomed to the darkness. Getting out of bed, I take careful steps not to chase the stranger away by the clinging of my anklets. I had gotten those a month ago. My Dad ruffled my hair telling “You’ve just not grown up!” Let me show him now how much I’ve grown!

            Taking the knife I left at my table, in spite of my Mom shouting that I should replace the knife ‘to where it belongs’, striding to where the sound came from, I found nobody there! Taking a left and then a right, two steps ahead, nobody there too. I crawl into into my parent’s bedroom, not to disturb them, to my disappointment I found no one and my parents peacefully sleeping. How could they sleep with such disturbances around, and when I’m playing police past midnight!

            Slithering into my Dad’s study room, I found myself hopeless not finding what I wanted to find! Ensuring that my parents haven’t woken up I crawl back to the living room accepting defeat.

            Minutes passed, myself getting accustomed to the silence around, except for the hooting of the owls. I knew someone was looking at me, I pulled myself closer, crouching. With grey eyes, black and white fur, she plodded the full length of the living room, and leaped off the window! Arggg…. Cat!!! I couldn’t envisage how my family would react when they get to know about this. My last encounter with a cat was two months back. Sitting at the same sofa I was relishing the fried fishes Mom had served me. Hot and spicy, that was my main course for lunch; I don’t remember I was probably having my 6^th or the 7^th piece when there was a cat meowing at the door. I was immersed in my favourite song in TV when she continued to meow. I walked angrily towards her, shouted at her “It’s my fish!”, and slammed the door. They continue to make fun of me off that episode, and now I have another story of “My bravery towards the cat that broke into the house.”

            Pacing about the house, I couldn’t put myself to sleep; I watch the fireflies encircle the street lamp until I get bored. I wear my shoes, pull on my sweaters, my winter cap on, now ready for an outdoor adventure, this time with extra precaution! A jean on over my sweat pants, a belt which’s nozzle very difficult to open, pepper spray in my right pocket, a pocket knife in my left, a multi tool just in case I need it, taking my phone checking if its fully charged, writing a long note to Dad telling him that I was going out for a walk, leaving him details of the clothes I’m wearing, time I’m leaving, and also the telephone number of the nearby police station that he has to contact just in case I went missing!

            I sneak out of the house! Its three! The chilly breeze makes me shiver, I’m not going back in! We lived in a gated community, and I decide not to go anywhere outside. The roads were wet, with pools of water, I smile at my reflection at one such pool and walk on. The distant road was covered with fog, I wade through the way, when a drop of water lands on my cheek it sends a shudder through my body. I meow at the cats, hoot with the owls, and whistle when I hear nothing. I walk on trying to discover something, I know not what. I look at every corner, peep into the dustbins, squat down to see underneath the cars, when I notice an old man at the bench looking towards me I stop and stare back.

            About 70 years old! Not dangerous I say to myself. He had a smile on his face, a wise smile. Must’ve been extremely handsome during his younger ages stealing a lot of hearts! The wrinkles on his face revealed the life he had lived, his beam admitting that he has understood something. For his age, I notice, he was young. No sweaters, no winter caps, and wearing normal footwear. Aghast I felt! I move closer to him maintaining eye contact. I remove my cap first, gloves next, then my sweater, and then my shoes. Amazing I felt, as the breeze cut through my body, ecstasy!  Smiling I sit next to him, minutes pass and none of us start a conversation. I know not how long had it been, I get up slowly taking leave. “Stay safe” is all he said, I walk back, holding all my clothes, glimpsing one last time at him, with a wide smile he waves, I send him a flying kiss and walk the remaining path myself.

            Back home, safe. tearing the note I left for Dad, for he won’t need it now. Going back to my cozy bed, crawling myself into my heavy blanket, hugging my pillow, I wish my plant goodnight, she had a bud that’ll bloom in the morning, I won’t be awake to see her bloom. Dad will shout at me to wake up, Mom will scare me telling she’ll pour a bucket of water if I don’t get up, Dad will follow it yelling “Don’t give her breakfast if she doesn't get up in 5 minutes”, and my Brother will crawl up to the bed, without our parents noticing, to whisper into my ears “You’re going to have a bad day Sis”. This is routine, “five more minutes” I’ll tell them whatever the time is. I will wake up at ten, go to my Mom and tell her I’m hungry. She’ll serve me my fish hot and spicy. What a life!!

           

On a cloudy day

She stands at one end of the terrace and I on the other, both of us waiting for the monsoons to set.

She's least bothered about me but i notice her.

She keeps looking beyond the horizon, leaving me clueless of what she looks at.

She lives her day one by one, while I work the whole day, planning ahead, organizing and losing sleep.

As it drizzles, acknowledging our commonness, we enjoy it.

As I stand getting wet, she spreads her wings and flies past me.

The Long travel

THE LONG TRAVEL

          “Chai, coffee.. “ , “Biscuits, chocolates, lays..” was all that anyone could have heard inside the packed Red and Yellow coloured, air-conditioned double-decker Bangalore – Chennai express. Lost with Ruskin Bond’s short stories and his beautiful description was I, smiling at my imagination of the Himalayan landscapes.

          Bond keeps me occupied, so that I wouldn't feel nostalgic and want to get back home. I have to spend a week in Chennai, with five exams at a stretch. Dad had to compel me to leave Bangalore;  home had been comforting the past ten days. Study holidays they say, it was the best time I had in the past few months. Long sleep, best food, amazing city. Sun shines in the afternoons and rain pours in the evenings. Its midnight when I sleep. I hear the dogs howling, the distant road lamps blinking. I struggle to push myself to sleep, enjoying the coziness, counting at least two hundred sheep, I sleep.

          I’m lost in the Himalayan terrain, but there’s disturbance around me, a comforting one. Its not the little girl opposite me who asks her dad with a peremptory tone the corresponding word for dinosaur in Tamil, nor is it of the vendors who make a living out what they sell in the train, nor is it of the handsome young man sitting at the other end who keeps throwing occasional looks towards me, nor is it the spiritual song played by the old couple at the extreme end of the coach.

          The smell of wet soil brought me directly to the Western ghats from the Himalayas, close to a 2000 miles covered in less than a minute! For any Economist preferences count, I chose the rattling sound of the water hitting the Earth and the sight of the gusty wind through the window to the Himalayan view my brain power was providing me with, for I've never been to the hills.

          The shock I’m presently experiencing is not because of the long travel in a short time, it’s the view that makes me stick my eyes to the window pane.

          A tributary flows underneath me, the train quickly strides over the bridge, leaving with just a glance of the pure water and the rocks at the bottom. A few seconds ,and its feast to mine eyes, with coconut trees slanted to a 45 degrees from the ground, and mountains in the backdrop and a little high above were black rainy clouds extending till the horizon where my human eyes could see.

          Lost in the rain stuck in the train was I, able to view it but not get wet, and my phone vibrates in my jean pocket. Not far in the past a friend of mine told me “that’s what you do when it rains, you get wet” , will he remain to be “a friend of mine” or the “Prince who stole my heart” ? Only time will tell.

          With different thoughts flashing through my head, and different sights for my eyes to enjoy, the train slows down, my phone still vibrates in my pocket. A beautiful woman emerges out of a tunnel, which has been dug only for a single lane (“Othai adi paathai” a beautiful phrase in Tamil) She wears a sari, nothing like how I would wear it, the sari covers her top to bottom, there is a layer of sari that’s above her head, neatly fleeted at the front, a trouser like clothing covering her legs. It poetically reveals her structure but nothing vulgar. She carries two pots on her head, one above the other, perfectly balanced. My phone still vibrates.

          Struggling to bring myself to the present, I pick the call. I hear my dad’s voice at a distance “there’s a storm in Bay of Bengal” and he says a few other things that slip my mind. I remember the last time there was a storm; dad and myself were enjoying our tea sitting at the balcony of our Chennai residence, that was one amazing Daddy- daughty day I’d say. My dad makes the best of teas. I would never want to taste the English tea, my dad’s would do to keep my spirits high. That was a storm that uprooted trees during the fall of 2012. It kept us indoors and I enjoyed it because dad was home.

          My friend had instantly agreed to join me for lunch and drop me at the station when I asked him this morning. He is interning at Bangalore. I vaguely remember him telling something about the storm, or didn't he? We've been friends for four years now, but have hardly gotten to know each other. Fate had it that way. We were in different cities, he in Hyderabad and me in Chennai, but still managed to keep in touch. He’s a little taller than what I saw him before. He brings along a friend of his. He helps me wade through the crowded Bangalore city railway station and helps me board the train. Being friends is such a wonderful feeling I felt. Even when you hadn't seen one another for two years, things remain like as though the two years never happened. He offered to carry my luggage, but I know for sure he later regretted it, men do that! It was weird when we departed, he hugged me when I didn't expect. I’m not much of a physically affectionate person. Born and brought up in the South Indian culture it took me years to get accustomed to it, I’m fine with it now but not very comfortable with the other gender.  He’ll understand I tell to myself.

          The rain hits the window hard for few minutes, the train then moves out of range of the rain clouds. Its barren land that my eyes see now. Lost in thought I doze off. I dream of the snow, only I know where my heart lies. I see a figure walking in the distance at a slower pace. I run to catch up with him, he slowly fades away, I turn around, the footsteps are still visible on the snow.

          Coffee, that’s what I smell right now. It isn't strong enough, I know it from the smell, i smile to myselves telling its my dad's gene. I decide not to buy it because I know that would be nowhere close to what my mom makes. I remember she’s packed me coconut burfis for the journey. I relish them one by one and assure to myself that I’ll be home in eight days.

          I get off the train. Chennai welcomes me with its blazing lights, honking vehicles and the smell of the city. So familiar a city seems lost in the past. The rickshawalas queue on my way asking if I need a ride, I pass through them and there are beggars who ask me for anything that I could give them.

          I got to buy my dinner, board the sub-urban train, reach the hostel, to an unwelcoming room with an arrogant roommate. Life has to push me through the next one week. Five exams to go, and then it’s a night’s journey home. Bangalore, I’ll join you soon.

          It was a wonderful journey for me, but not for the slum dwellers who I see at the distance, cursing the rain for flooding his house.

English Forgotten

            Ever heard anyone say “A language not spoken for long tends to be forgotten”? I did four years back. One of my English teachers, who is an editor at The Hindu, told with utmost confidence that when a person doesn't speak a language for more than two years, it tends to be “nearly forgotten”. That day I opposed her telling it’s never possible for me to forget my mother tongue which I know for about 18 years, and English which I know for a little lesser than 18 years.

           

            Why would this strike me four years later? Why wouldn't it when I've forgotten the meaning of the word “anagram”? The Egoist in me kept telling me that I know the meaning for 12 hours now, then I finally opened the dictionary to find the meaning – An anagram is a word or phrase formed by changing the order of the letters in another word or phrase. Spark! ‘Triangle’ is an anagram of ‘Integral’.

            Related searches lead me to read an article about the use of “politically correct language”. “Politically incorrect language refers to words and phrases that are construed to be offensive or perceived to exclude or marginalize any particular person or group of people who are socially, culturally or economically disadvantaged or discriminated against” read The New Indian Express.  

            After deep thinking I conclude that I've not forgotten my English, and the word “Anagram” just slipped my mind. I have no reason to feel abashed. Proof reads this way -

“The comb free headed watchman left his house without listening to his domestic engineer to the economically disadvantaged area. There he happened to behave in an ethically disoriented manner with the vertically challenged bar attendant who lacked a formal education. The local police arrived and imprisoned him stating that he is behaviorally challenged.”

Find below the politically incorrect word meanings for the politically correct language -

Comb free – bald

Domestic engineer – housewife

Economically disadvantaged area – slum

Ethically disoriented – dishonest

Vertically challenged – short

Bar attendant – bar maid

Lacked a formal education – uneducated

Behaviorally challenged – criminal

Thank you Indian Express J