Full Circle

Arun was very calm. That was what broke her. She screamed at him, she yelled, she reasoned, she cried and she begged. They had promised each other forever. How could it be over?

She sat on her bed in her hostel room and looked at photographs. He'll come back to me, she said. She wept once more. She wept for a month.

Her friends dragged her to parties, movies and cricket matches, and set her up with other guys. "You need to get over him." "No," she said. They gave up.

When Radhika went home with a bad report card, she told her parents she didn't want to go back to college. Pati said, "Why don't you come and live with me for a while?"

**

"I'll never forget him," she said, lying in Pati's lap. Pati merely ran her hand over Radhika's head. It had been two months since she had moved into Pati's house.

She had spent the first few weeks lying in bed till late or moping around. Pati didn't complain or ask any questions. Then she shrugged off her lethargy and made herself useful around the house.

The days shaped themselves into a soothing routine. Thangaraj thatha dropped in often. He lived alone next door. He liked to come over and talk to Pati. Now he found a new audience in Radhika.

"As a little boy," he reminisced, "I was always running away. I wanted to see the world. But I would come back whenever I got too hungry. I was 14 before I left for real. I landed in Calcutta. While stepping out of the train, I remember thinking to myself, 'The world is so big it never ends. I'm like a bird, free to go wherever the moment takes me.' I did all kinds of jobs, earned enough to get by, and wrote the occasional letter home.”

"So when did you decide to come back?"

"When I became old."

Radhika laughed. "How did you know you had become old?"

"Ah, you see, the young are restless in spirit. There is always something out there that calls to them. Then one day, they wake up and long for home. That's when they know they're no longer young. So I found my way back home."

"Do you have any regrets?"

"Regrets? Ah no. I've come full circle. If you're able to do that, you're blessed."

"Look at you go on," Pati admonished him as she walked out to the verandah, "this child doesn't have time for your useless meanderings."

Thatha chuckled, "Don't grudge an old man his indulgences. It's all he has."

**

Radhika and her grandmother stopped by at Ravi anna's cart to buy vegetables.

"Ah, I see your granddaughter is getting some sunshine these days. That's good, that's good… men like healthy girls. Anyway, it's time you got her married, you shouldn't leave these things too late."

Radhika laughed. "Maybe I don't want to get married, maybe I want to go see the world like Thangaraj thatha." Ravi anna hit his forehead with his palm. "You keep that senile old man away from this girl," he told Pati. "Putting silly ideas into her head. What does he know of life? He ran away. He didn't have anybody to think of but himself. If he had five brothers and sisters to take care of like I did, all his airy-fairy ideas would have evaporated in an instant."

"Wouldn't you have liked to visit new places and meet new people?"

"Why would I, I ask? Does a different sun shine on the rest of the world? Do other people not do the same things we do—eat, sleep and work to keep body and soul together? One should be content with what God has given you." He overturned the basket of tomatoes into Pati's bag.

**

Radhika told Pati, "Everyone has such a different opinion of life. Their dreams and desires, they’re all so different. What are we looking for? Are we all looking for the same thing? How do we know if we’re right or wrong?"

"Is there a right and wrong? I’m not sure. You make your choice and then put your trust in life."

"I used to think love was the only thing that made life worthwhile. But there are other things, aren’t there? I don’t know."

"Keep faith, my dear. Life is its own healer. It will take you where you should go.

**

"My first love was the daughter of my landlord. She was as fair as milk. She lived in the building opposite mine; I would see her everyday when she watered the plants in the balcony. Ah, she gave me a lot of sleepless nights, that one."

"Then what happened?" Radhika asked thatha.

"It was a grand romance," he chuckled, "all in my imagination. But I had many loves after that."

"Didn't you ever find the one person who is meant for you?"

Thatha titled his head a little, "You really think there is someone like that?

"I know so. And when you lose it, you've lost everything."

He shook his head a few times, "No, no, love is never that cruel. It keeps coming back in different forms. You never really lose it."

**
Radhika was drawing water from the well in the compound when Revathi walked in through the gate with a bucket of jasmine flowers in her hand. "We haven't seen you around for a long time," Radhika said. Revathi grinned widely, "You know how it is. There's so much to do, there's never enough time."

When Radhika brought out a vessel to collect the flowers, she noticed bruising on the side of Revathi's head. "What happened there?" she asked. "Oh, I am such a clumsy klutz," Revathi laughed, "What, so little flowers? Put lots of flowers on your hair girl, how will you impress your groom otherwise?"

Pati told her later that Revathi's husband had a drinking problem and would often beat her.

The next time Revathi came by, Radhika asked her, "Why don't you complain to the police." Revathi looked shocked. "What are you saying? He's my husband, and he only beats me when he's drunk. When he's sober, he's the most loving man you could ask for."

**

Ravi anna came over with the wedding invitation card. "It's such a good match. The boy has done his M.A and has a good government job. Now all my girls are settled, I can rest in peace."

Pati and he discussed the wedding arrangements. Radhika thought, "How easily he accepts that his daughter will be happy. And maybe she will be."

**

She asked Pati about Thatha. "Thangaraj thatha?" "No, my thatha."

"I was 15 when I got married to him. He was 17. We were both very shy. We hardly spoke to each other. Within a year, he fell ill."

"How did you manage?"

"I went back to my parent's place with your father. I worked in the fields. I made sure your father got a proper education and made a life for himself. When my parents died, your father bought me this house."

"Didn't you want to move to the city with us?"

"This is all I've ever known. What would I do there?"

"Don't you feel lonely? Or angry?"

"No, where was the time for loneliness? Everyday living itself takes up such a lot of time."

"And now?"

"Now, what? Like I said, this is all I've ever known. So I have nothing to cry or be angry about."

**

"It's funny how you can run around in circles and still end up in the same place," Thangaraj thatha said. "But, you see, the journey is important. How would this place have meaning otherwise?"

**

Radhika sat next to the window and pushed her hands out through the grill. Pati and Thangaraj thatha held her hands till the train started to move.

Love? Journey? Destiny? Acceptance?

"Memory," she thought," as she leaned back into her seat. "All life is memory. And through memory lost, we lose so much of ourselves, every minute of our lives. In the end, we're left with very little—only those wisps of remembrances that slip through the fingers with which we try to hold them.

"This too shall be forgotten someday, like I have forgotten Arun.”


**

She sat by the window near her cubicle with a glass of tea in her hand. A letter was folded and placed on top of an envelope. Thatha was gone. It was three years since she had seen him.

She had returned to finish college. After a couple of nondescript jobs, she was now working for a top IT company. Then she met Sameer. She was cautious, constantly trying to discover if there was a way to know for sure.

Sameer dropped her off at the airport. "I'm here for you."

**

She stood by the pyre and fished for memories of thatha and realised that some of them had already been erased. She looked at Pati; she was looking much older too. And calm.

"Maybe, it’s the imprint of memory,” Radhika said, as she and Pati walked back to the house. "Even if I forget everything about him, he's still a part of me, meeting him, and you, changed me, just like every person you meet changes you. Every place you visit. Every thing you do. Every truth you shape for yourself."

**

She lay in bed, looking up in the darkness. "There is no way to know for sure, not unless you make the choice and see for yourself." Life with Sameer would be what they made it. She would tell him tomorrow.

The Cinderella Slipper

The prince didn't believe in fairy tales. He had his feet firmly on the ground and his head firmly on his shoulders. He had a kingdom to run now. He was going to be king.

Years passed and the new king matured into a good ruler – kind and benevolent, brave and wise. Little by little, he cast away all his fancies and romances and retained only the manners and thoughts dignifying a king.

Then one day as he was riding in the woods he spotted a slipper lying near a bush. He took a closer look. It was a glass slipper. "Cinderella!" He smiled bemusedly and rode on. On the way back, however, he picked it up. By the time he returned to the palace, he was laughing at his own foolishness and put it away in the corner of a closet.

That winter, at a ball held by the queen of the neighbouring kingdom, his life changed forever. It wasn't as dramatic as that of course and the prince had no idea of it at the time.

She wasn't breathtakingly beautiful or noticeably charming. But when he sat next to her at the dinner table, conversation flowed easily and without pretence. A year later he got down on his knees and asked her to marry him.

They were very happy together. Everyday, the king would wake up and look upon her face and think how lucky he was. Their love was true and strong, and would stand the test of time. In time, they became parents – of two charming boys and a delightful girl. Life was perfect.

Then one day, the queen chanced upon the glass slipper. She teased him, "And which fair maiden have you been secretly dreaming about?" He laughed, "I found that in the woods a long time ago. I was young and foolish."

"Let me try it on and see if I'm really your true love."

"Now you are being foolish."

They both laughed as she slipped her foot into the slipper.

"Oh no, my feet are too big. How can you love me now?" the queen asked, her eyes full of mischief.

"I must do the best I can, mustn't I?" the king retorted, as he took the slipper from her and put it back into the closet.

The queen linked her arm with his, and they both walked contentedly in the gardens.

That night, however, while the queen was asleep, the king sat looking at the slipper for a long time. Then he sighed, and pushed it back farther into the closet.

There was nothing you could put a finger on. But there was something different in the way the king looked at the queen now. And it made the queen sad, though she didn't know this at first. Slowly, without either of them noticing it, they laughed less and they talked less. One day, they realised they had nothing left to laugh about together and nothing to say to each other.

The queen became sick. Doctors were called in from far and wide, but they couldn't help her. The king was heartbroken.

"I still love you very much," he told her.

"You don't look at me in that way anymore."

The king wept. "I don't know how to."

She died in his arms.

The king walked up to the closet, took out the glass slipper, and flung it against the wall. It shattered into a million pieces.

At Crossroads

Sometimes a road you had left behind catches up with you at another crossroad. It would be foolish to ignore it twice.

She left on a winter morning, wearing a cream sweater, her black hair falling over it. She had waited at the door for some time, as if thinking she should say something, then deciding it was useless, walked away. I can't picture it clearly anymore; I just know this is how it happened.

She had come to my room to return a book I had left in the canteen. At the time, I didn't ask her what she was doing in the boys' hostel. Or her name. The latter didn't take too long to find out. When I questioned her later about the former, she had replied, "I was returning your book." "But you're not allowed in the boys' hostel." "I know." "You could have returned the book to me in class." "Yes."

It wasn't love at first sight. It's just that we remember beginnings. And endings. We grew on each other gradually. We looked at the rest of our lives and ordered it into neat little patterns in the way only people who have seen very little of life can. One day she sat up and exclaimed, "But I don't even want to go down that road," and said goodbye.

The years since have been good to me. I found someone else to hold me close at night and in the daylight to look me straight in the eye. I filled my days with purpose; I was content with who I was. But if I could do it all over again, I would do it differently.

I reached the restaurant early so that I could see her walk in. She hadn't changed at all – her black eyes were fierce as ever, her black hair tumbled messily onto her shoulder, and she walked, as always, as if in a hurry to get somewhere. She came up to me and smiled hello. And I knew she had changed in ways I would never know.

"It feels like yesterday and yet like a million light years," I said.

"It's really all the same," she replied, as she sat down.

"What made you think of me?"

"I always think of you."

"I know."

"Are you happy?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "I'm married to an amazing woman, whom I love very much. I love what I do. Life's been good to me. If I die today, there'll be no regrets."

"But you would still wonder."

"I would still wonder."

"I broke up with my boyfriend two months ago, after 10 years. He said I made him very happy and that he could have stayed if he hadn't known I was more than he could know."

"You wanted him to stay?"

"Very much."

"I love you" I said.

She smiled.

And we talked. Conversations to fill up the spaces we had missed. We took them in small, lingering sips. We took them in huge, greedy gulps. We watched as the sun went down.

"It's time for me to go," she said.

"Down another road?" I asked.

She laughed, "Of course. Is there any other way?"

"No," I replied.

I stood outside the restaurant savoring the cold wind on my skin. It's foolish to ignore a road twice. But then we are foolish. Or maybe, some people are just meant for crossroads.

The Chains That Bind

Sachin waited till the train started moving before jumping in. The disgusted looks he got from the women standing near the door didn’t bother him. He still hurt all over from the thrashing his father had given him last night. He smiled wryly – just another drunken boor for a father. The chawl was filled with lives like his.

It had been only two weeks since his mother had left them and he had dropped out of school. His father had insisted on it. But he was glad. School had only added to the tediousness of his life. He liked the colour and bustle of the local trains.

Amol had taught him how to do a sales pitch. Though two years younger to him, Amol was a veteran on the trains. Start out with the ladies’ compartments, Amol had told him. Women like kids, so that’s already a point in your favour, he said. Sachin experimented, modifying his babble till he got it right and then vocalised it with a mix of cuteness, impishness and audacity. The women will swoon, Amol avowed.

Yesterday he had made his first sale. He had been about to get off the train after passing three stations when somebody called out to him. He took a deep breath, then turned around wearing his broadest grin. There were three college girls. College girls loved trinkets. As the girls rummaged through the box of earrings, he sat on the edge of the seat and offered his opinion. “Take this one madam. This blue colour matches your dress perfectly… Try this long one. Your face is round, so it will look really nice… It’s only Rs 10 each madam. Buy all four…”

Sachin got off at the next station and sat on the bench, counting the money over and over again. He then bought a wada pav. My money, he thought. When he decided to go home, the last wisps of twilight had faded away. He sat at the edge of the door of the train, his eyes closed, letting the wind whip his hair into disarray.

He was whistling when he had walked in the door. “So you’ve finally come?” He turned around to see his father sitting against the wall, bottle in his hand.

“Yes,” Sachin mumbled and went towards the kitchen.

“Wait,” said his father, “where are you going? Did you make any money today?”

“Yes.”

“So where is it? Hand it over.”

Sachin stood staring at his father.

“What happened? Have you been struck by paralysis?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s nice to hear. Now give me the money.”

“No!” Sachin wasn’t sure he had actually said that.

“What did you say?”

Sachin did not reply.

His father got up.

“What did you say?”

Sachin took a step back.

Sachin lay on his stomach all night, his eyes dry and awake. He had tiptoed out of the house this morning before his father woke up, taking with him a few clothes in his school satchel.

He spent another good day in the trains. At 8 pm, he alighted at VT station. He bought some food and found an empty bench at the far end of the platform. He watched the people and trains come and go for a long time. He lay down along the length of the concrete bench, using his satchel as a pillow.

He woke up with a start. There were very few people around now. They spoke in whispers that echoed off the walls. The lights were dim and the shadows towered up to the ceiling. He shivered and curled his body in a little closer. He didn’t go back to sleep.

When morning came, he bought a pair of scissors, a spindle of thread, and a needle. He sat down on the pavement and carefully removed the stitches of the lining in his satchel. He put Rs. 20 inside it and carefully sewed it up again. He put the remaining Rs. 30 in his pocket and made a running jump into a train as it pulled out of the station.

His father was still asleep when he got home. Sachin got into bed, and looked at his satchel for some time before closing his eyes. Some day, he promised himself.

Flight

His smile would spread slowly on his face, the dimples getting deeper. The laughter in his eyes – warm, wicked, incorrigible. Which was why she had stared at him a little longer than was polite. She had turned her head away when she caught his eye. When she looked up again, he was laughing with his friends. But he was laughing at her. He knew that she knew.

The memory lingered for a few days and was forgotten. Eight months later, she met him at a friend’s party. She couldn’t recollect where she had seen him before. It came back only months later. When she remembered she had smiled.

He understood her restlessness. He saw through it, turned it upside down, mocked it, and let it be. He ripped apart all her questions, dismissed her answers and swore everlasting love. Not as a promise. As a certainty. A fact. Irrelevant and negligible.

When he loved, he was the ocean. Wild, raging calm. She drowned. Gasped for air as he sat back and watched, and then turned away. He was there, whichever way she turned. So big she could not see him. And she slept. Like a baby.

She asked for promises. He refused every one. He held her hand in his as she walked upon water. She sang to him of worlds forgotten. He kissed her lips. And never stopped. He spoke in whispers, unraveling the mystery of the ages. He swept the world into his arms and overturned it in her lap.

He taught her to dance to the rhythm of the stars. He played the tune. He was the Pied Piper. She was the bird in the golden cage. She turned the key and threw it away.

She breathed.

Today, she watched the sunrise on his body. She bent down to kiss his hand. Then she dressed, took the knapsack from under the bed and walked out the door. And all the while he had smiled, she thought. That slow smile. The deep dimples. Wicked laughter. Warm and incorrigible.

She would come back. In another eternity. He would forget about her. He would wait for her. He would search all the heavens. Let the eternity pass. Laugh at her.

And she would always run.

When 55 is Too Much

**

Not today, thought Laxman, as the alarm rang. Everyday for the past 20 years, he had woken up at 5 am to a monotonous day. But not today, thought Laxman, as he hit the alarm and returned to deep slumber. He didn’t feel the tremor three hours later as the building came crashing down.

**

His wife, ex-wife now, had put up a hard fight but he was free at last. Now, he was completely Angelina’s. Angelina was waiting for him in her apartment. “I don’t how to break this to you. I’ve fallen in love with someone else. I’m going to Paris with him tomorrow.”

**

It was a dream come true. Happy Birthday to me, he screamed and jumped from the aircraft. Whee! This was the life. He tugged at the parachute strings. Oops!

**

In the beginning God created heaven and earth… and he saw that it was good. And it remained good for evermore. He had skipped creating man you see. Just then, the irksome twang of harps woke him up. God looked down upon earth and sighed, “Ah well, no use crying over spilt milk."

**

The stories are the result of a tag by Rajesh J. Advani. And I pass it on to:

Bhavv
E Vestigio
M

The Chasm Of Silence

Mom hovered near my bed as I packed. I didn’t look up. There were books and clothes all over the floor and the bed. It was all there was left to pack. In two days I would walk out of here. Mom remained quiet. It was getting on my nerves. I turned around, “Do you want something?” “No,” she said. More silence. I went back to my packing. I wasn’t in the mood to humour her.

After a while, she spoke again, “Is there anything that I can do?” “No,” I said without turning around. “Anything you need?” “No Mom!” I don’t know when she left the room but when I looked to see if she was still there, she was gone.

Mom was sitting in her hammock in the garden when I came home and told her that day. “I’ve got a job in Bombay. I’ll be leaving in a month.” She just looked at me. I was wondering whether she had heard me when she said, “Oh, you’re leaving?” “Yes, at the end of the month.” I walked inside before she could say anything else.

“Dinner’s ready.” She came to my room that night as I was sitting at the computer. “What? Oh, you go ahead mom. I’ll eat later.” We hadn’t eaten together in years. She usually ate first, while watching TV in the hall; I ate later in my room. Mom continued to stand there. I looked up again, “Really Mom, you go ahead. I’ll have dinner later.” She nodded and then went away.

Mom and I kept out of each other’s way mostly. She was 21 when she got married and 22 when she had me. She had wanted to become a doctor but her parents didn’t see the point of it. Dad died at 23 in an accident. I guess it all left her bitter.

I was entrusted to an ayah’s care. Mom plunged headlong into a life of gossip and kitty parties. She never attended school plays or award functions. She did raise an eyebrow though when I stood second in class five. “I guess being the best has become too much for you to handle,” she said as she signed the report card and handed it back to me. I never stood second again.

I think I was 10 when I first made my conscious decision to leave home as soon as I could. I had told her I wanted to learn to play the violin. Some musicians had visited the school that day. “The violin?” she had asked, “Whatever for?”

I dreamt up wild fantasies of escape. One day I would just up and go in the middle of night; climbing down the pipe outside my bedroom window. I would have wild adventures and make a million friends as I backpacked around the world.

Most of my friends planned to go abroad for their post-graduation. When I broached the subject, Mom didn’t refuse. She merely ignored me. That night in my room I cried violently. I even broke a few things. The next morning I braced myself to face her again. She had gone out early that day. She came back only after I had gone to sleep. The next morning all my bravado had fizzled out.

I think it was her way of getting back at the world. Then she had a stroke. I was in the middle of a class when I was called by the principal. I was shocked when I saw her lying on the hospital bed. I had never thought of her as vulnerable.

She was discharged in two weeks. The following days were simply unbearable. There were two nurses to attend to her but she always wanted me around. “Please stay… or do you have something to do?” she would ask looking extremely embarrassed. I was embarrassed too. I would sit there avoiding her eyes; neither of us saying anything to each other.

After she recovered completely, she would keep bumping into me. “Did you have a good day?” “Do you need more money?” “Are you cold?” “Would you like an extra blanket?” “Have you had dinner?” I was completely unnerved. I started staying out later but whatever time I came back home she was always awake. One day I asked her straight out, “Are you waiting for me?” “No, no,” she had smiled, “I’m just not feeling sleepy yet.”

As soon as I graduated I started looking for a job in other cities. When I walked out of the interview room with the offer in my hand, I closed my eyes for a second and mouthed, “Thank You God.”

My room was completely bare. Things that I wasn’t taking with me right now I had kept at a friend’s place. The taxi was waiting. Mom was taking a long time to get to the door. I was getting impatient. I had told her not to come to the airport.

When she came out, she had a package in her hand. “This is for you,” she said handing it to me, “go on, open it.” It was a gold-embossed leather-bound volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets. How did she know I loved Shakespeare? I looked at her quizzically, then said goodbye and got into the taxi. I think there were tears in her eyes.