"I Love my brother..He is the sweetest thing that has ever happened to me since I was an year old..He is wonderfully loving and caring..." and related set of clauses would evidently follow in any sibling relationship. But this was not how she would ever describe her brother..For her...there was no better adjective than "brother" to portray the inexplicable emotions of a sibling. Someone so adorable that it does not take any thoughts to feel his presence, his absence, his mind, or his soul. It was rather when you could chat with yourself in another body; yes, just another body from the same womb.
Nevertheless, it had to be subtly different in this introvert's case. She was more speakable to herself than any other soul; be it even her sibling. She was mature as a child, always feeling the care and affection for the little one, treating him with empathized guardianship! And ever did she feel the need to pour her emotions in his bucket? She didn't believe in alleviating her pain by "sharing" to magnify others', especially when it was him. She'd had to wait just a year to grow up together with him, and then the journey of life crawled on. Be it pulling him off the bed when the little one couldn't rest on his "tashreef", or dropping him off her back while playing a wonderfully mute game in this world when parents were away. Every moment was lived with a tacit enamor even if the birth marks had to be replaced with fierce pinch marks. For all his mischief in school, she had to take it on the chin. When she was called to his class, to attend his teachers for not doing the homework, or yapping too much in class periods, or casually studying for a wrong subject for an exam. So with the school bus rides, the journey of life ran.
He was fighting with adolescence that time as she recollects, when family relationships turned cloying, friends were always first in the queue leading to starvation of family processes (Pardon my technical language), and darn! riding a bike was the most chichi thing in this world. She was not staying home for a year now as she moved out of station for her undergrad. And unfortunately enough, her bike had shifted owners since. It was summer, and she was rejoicing vacations at her most and only visited family resort- "Home"! Her brother was boxing around welcoming the truly hiped Board Exams! With such reluctance, he budged from home for those humdrum tuition classes, not before he could add a fun element to it. Yes! He wanted to fuel the bike before the classes. So after banally leaving his Biology labwork with his sister, the bike rushed with him in its usual horse pace.
Not much time had passed since she found him back home; the scene was not as welcoming though. She was awestruck, as she looked at his awed face. The teeth were drenched in blood, lips had bloated with the cut, pants were torn and he was barely conscious! Sheesh..he was terribly injured! And Murphy sits everywhere...You would never have the right things at the right time..Mom had just left home and Dad was busy with his usual office chores. And this time it was him lying unconsciously on the diwan, just blaberring "Didi..mera accident ho gaya".
She was frozen much below the freezing point, helpless as she sat far away from him. Eyes wouldn't blink and heart wouldn't pace down. She couraged to ask what exactly had happened and where the bike was now, but all to her dismay. Fortunately, mom arrived soon enough to freeze harder than her, without letting the tears ice. He was rushed to the hospital to get treated with plaster of paris and stitches all around. Then was the time to find the orphaned bike as he couldn't recollect a thing about the incident. He was supposedly dropped home by someone. It was a tensed devil hunt, until it was found lying in one corner of a main road. And with its sight, he fiercely queried everyone around him about what had happened. Parents were aghast as to which part of his brain was hit, for he was shifting roles in the questionnaire. Howsoever, the wrecked devil which her juvenile brother rode was brought home. The aftermath could not be endured easily as it brought a series of legal issues, in addition to the pain from the head-on collision with the devil's father aptly named "Pulsar"- challenging life's pulse. Her dearie had to witness another column of unpleasant incidents during his respite at home; when he unconciously fell off with the entire wash basin on his finger, and more so cursed was the witness of a suicidal episode of a neighbor.
Nevertheless, life elevated from some baneful dimesion as it does, and adolescence was bid adieu. He remained a charming soul, with every passing day as the tacit enamor between them matured with age. With dimples as engaging as his babbles, he still dominates the species of lovable beings. Lot of things have changed now owing to the sense of spiritualism that prevails, and that just endlessly drops off in a battle with "Moh and Maya". Life is still running to a search of earth, to flourish as crowned individuals where they stand today. But those subtleties of life have been skipped, and would adamantly not return, to leave them deep within, as hankerers of love blood-deep, or innocence, or the hilarious melees or just the presence!
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Sunday, March 8, 2009
No Proxy for this Absence
How does it feel when you have been cribbing about your life in College all those 3 and quarter years..but stand up to reality in the last quadrant? Reality of the different kind of cribbing that would follow once you are out of those classrooms..?? When the kiddos walk as if they rule the world and talk as if the world is to be changed for them..And so it came naturally to her like anyone else...She could feel the loss she was going to be the victim of soon..Those 8 am lectures which never missed her..And the coffee rides that followed at the Inner Corp..The long strides along the tall trees and the rushing back to the hostel to be just in time for the 6 pm attendance..
She was hovered by these thoughts even that day at College when Batch photos were to be clicked. There was this usual hype about the ladies being gaudily dressed and the not very gentle men attired deceptively. She never understood how postures in the tick of a clock could capture zillions of memories every time someone looked at them. Nevertheless, she was one among the crowd looking forward to this twilight event, to flauntingly bid adieu to classmates, professors, and batchmates. It was the last lecture of the afternoon and she was already virtually in the batch photo..in her blue sari which was waiting in her room to shyly sway on her...
"I would call out the people who are short of attendance.." Well that craved for relatively higher attention..for her to be mindful of those who were carefree to darn the lectures they thought didn't make a difference to their degree...their learning...their families who spent a ransom for their presence there..or more so even their lives..so she heard the roll numbers being called out..2**, 3**, ... ... ..., 330, ... ... ...!!! 330? Had the bald-headed professor lost his cerebral bean along with the hair that parted from him? She blinked several times and hit her ears twice in the head to combat the flabbergastness. She kept praying for the nightmare to be a mistake until the lecture ended. She toterred behind the professor..Voice shaky enough to start the conversation..A conversation which felt like Faux Pas struck her life...Those cruel looks perfectly complemented his words..She was on the verge of being kicked off the mountain whose view was destined to be panaromic all this while. The same mountain she had climbed and bruised her life on the go due to lack of any kind of required festivity...the diligent worker had lost the game..her MS plans were pillaged just because of some blunder in attendance that the professor was not ready to bow to? It was the last semester, and if she had an F* on her Grade Card, this ambitious freak would have to walk another quadrant in the circle with no ladder to climb.
She decided on another attempt to remedy herself of the slip from the mountain. She went to the professor's room with a heart as heavy as an iron, not as tough though. Before she could utter a word, a fat drop of tear waved to the professor. She tried to speak..convincing the bald-headed that it was impossible to have her short of attendance. He could check her notes; they had all the dates she had attended the lectures on. He wouldn't budge off his ego. That was the first time she had cried in college in front of a professor...what a shame! more than that was the social blunder in her inner society of virtuous characters. She left his room afflictively, with the tears adamant to dry. She ran out to release them from the prison. Why couldn't she be as insouciant as the rest of the roll numbers?
Her friend accompanied every moment shocked himself, but pretentiously calming her that it wasn't a big deal. There was motion now of her batchmates moving into the ground in their garbs. What would she do? Rush to the hostel to be a part of the event or stay married to the uneventful moment that had just struck her? It was almost time for the clicks. She was forlorn; undergoing dearterialization by the minute. It was the beginning of THE END! Her friend dragged her to the Canteen as he knew she wasn't ready for a revelry when her heart was attending a funeral.
Phone calls from classmates queued as they sat on those wrecked chairs, with a Mouglai and Thumps Up (Really?). Every call made her friend covince that there was still time; for the stills, that would be the pith of memories in life. But no words reached her, no gentlemen agreements could alternate her doleful look. The only companion she wanted was the echoes of the attendance call, and the conversation she had unintentionally been a part of.
The photos had been clicked, and the fellowmates chirped nostalgically. And there she lay with the insipid Mouglai and loser thoughts, abandoned of the proof of her 4-year stay in the aerie of knowledge. She felt like a destitute...with food, clothes and shelter, but not enough attendance to attend the batch photo session. And her desituteness had hit her friend too who would regret his absence from the photo until his death-bed. Life is a drama...and the subtleties had unleashed climaxes this turn.
She was hovered by these thoughts even that day at College when Batch photos were to be clicked. There was this usual hype about the ladies being gaudily dressed and the not very gentle men attired deceptively. She never understood how postures in the tick of a clock could capture zillions of memories every time someone looked at them. Nevertheless, she was one among the crowd looking forward to this twilight event, to flauntingly bid adieu to classmates, professors, and batchmates. It was the last lecture of the afternoon and she was already virtually in the batch photo..in her blue sari which was waiting in her room to shyly sway on her...
"I would call out the people who are short of attendance.." Well that craved for relatively higher attention..for her to be mindful of those who were carefree to darn the lectures they thought didn't make a difference to their degree...their learning...their families who spent a ransom for their presence there..or more so even their lives..so she heard the roll numbers being called out..2**, 3**, ... ... ..., 330, ... ... ...!!! 330? Had the bald-headed professor lost his cerebral bean along with the hair that parted from him? She blinked several times and hit her ears twice in the head to combat the flabbergastness. She kept praying for the nightmare to be a mistake until the lecture ended. She toterred behind the professor..Voice shaky enough to start the conversation..A conversation which felt like Faux Pas struck her life...Those cruel looks perfectly complemented his words..She was on the verge of being kicked off the mountain whose view was destined to be panaromic all this while. The same mountain she had climbed and bruised her life on the go due to lack of any kind of required festivity...the diligent worker had lost the game..her MS plans were pillaged just because of some blunder in attendance that the professor was not ready to bow to? It was the last semester, and if she had an F* on her Grade Card, this ambitious freak would have to walk another quadrant in the circle with no ladder to climb.
She decided on another attempt to remedy herself of the slip from the mountain. She went to the professor's room with a heart as heavy as an iron, not as tough though. Before she could utter a word, a fat drop of tear waved to the professor. She tried to speak..convincing the bald-headed that it was impossible to have her short of attendance. He could check her notes; they had all the dates she had attended the lectures on. He wouldn't budge off his ego. That was the first time she had cried in college in front of a professor...what a shame! more than that was the social blunder in her inner society of virtuous characters. She left his room afflictively, with the tears adamant to dry. She ran out to release them from the prison. Why couldn't she be as insouciant as the rest of the roll numbers?
Her friend accompanied every moment shocked himself, but pretentiously calming her that it wasn't a big deal. There was motion now of her batchmates moving into the ground in their garbs. What would she do? Rush to the hostel to be a part of the event or stay married to the uneventful moment that had just struck her? It was almost time for the clicks. She was forlorn; undergoing dearterialization by the minute. It was the beginning of THE END! Her friend dragged her to the Canteen as he knew she wasn't ready for a revelry when her heart was attending a funeral.
Phone calls from classmates queued as they sat on those wrecked chairs, with a Mouglai and Thumps Up (Really?). Every call made her friend covince that there was still time; for the stills, that would be the pith of memories in life. But no words reached her, no gentlemen agreements could alternate her doleful look. The only companion she wanted was the echoes of the attendance call, and the conversation she had unintentionally been a part of.
The photos had been clicked, and the fellowmates chirped nostalgically. And there she lay with the insipid Mouglai and loser thoughts, abandoned of the proof of her 4-year stay in the aerie of knowledge. She felt like a destitute...with food, clothes and shelter, but not enough attendance to attend the batch photo session. And her desituteness had hit her friend too who would regret his absence from the photo until his death-bed. Life is a drama...and the subtleties had unleashed climaxes this turn.
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