The fellow..

I have written about various people in my life but I don’t think I have ever written about my sibling, my brother younger to me by five years but looks and thinks otherwise. The story of his birth is one of my favorites. When I joined Nursery at Bishop Cotton’s I am supposed to have come home and complained to my parents that every one has a brother or sister except me. And so the stork carried this light skinned baby boy to our house who was the apple of everyone’s eye.

Fast forward few years and like almost every first born I felt my parents were partial to him. The feeling of why I don’t have a brother changed to why do I have a brother, pretty quickly. So amidst favoritism we grew up fighting for the remote, grabbing things, hitting each other, annoying each other, the usual sibling stories. Like most families it was I who took the blame. He was the younger one and I being the older one was supposed to adjust. Our mother had no two rules about who got the beating irrespective of who started the quarrel. She gave it to us equally, like she was watching a tennis match, one here, one there, repeat, with a red plastic spatula.

He didn’t want to compete with anyone in his class at academics, all he wanted was to beat my grades, which he did most times. He developed a passion for basketball just to grow taller than the rest of us at home, we are a short family otherwise.

Although we fought quite a bit my feelings for him took a complete u-turn when my son was born (my older son looks like him by the way). He felt more like a son than my brother. It’s a strange feeling and I mix up their names even. One of my personal achievements that I feel fortunate about is that I was able to support him at various stages to better opportunities. And to me that checks off a major portion of my responsibility of the relationship. At the end of the day your sibling is your pillar of support whose foundation runs deep. There could be a few cracks but those heal magically, your parents already put in pixie dust in the cement.

He is going to rofl reading this, shower me with choicest words, making mincemeat of my emotions, like he always does, I know this. My father too is probably going to read this say brother-sister too much love, wonder when you’ll start fighting.. But the bottom line is that I love him and it’s an amazing blessing from the angels above that we now live a mile apart. The last time we lived under one roof was twenty years ago. Blessed, blessed, blessed!!

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Coffee house…

“Hello Shalu…”, said the male voice on the other end. Shalini recognized the voice instantly. She had heard it many times before. The number was new, not what she had saved on her phone as, ‘Think before you pick’.

“Hello Gopal…”.

“I am in Trivandrum, shall I come over for sometime?”, he asked. She wanted to ask ‘why’. Common sense prevailed and she quickly got into the skin she had shed ten years ago.

“Okay Gopal. Let us meet at Coffee Day at Kowdiar”. Shalini had moved apartments almost every other year when the rent went up. With her meagre salary from the job at the library, she could afford only so much. She tried to live as close as possible to the library, so she could walk and get her legs move. It felt eons ago when she drove her Audi car into the driveway of the public library at Houston to drop off books. She did not want Gopal to see her current living conditions.

“Ok at 4.30?”, he asked.

She looked at the clock and saw that it was 3.30 in the afternoon. It gave her enough time to dress up and get an auto to get to Kowdiar.

“Yes, 4.30 is fine.”

Shalini seldom heard from Gopal, maybe two or three times in the last ten years. She had shut that door when she walked out of the house with two bags of her clothes and jewellery. She left everything behind. The sprawling house, the luxury, friends, her job, she had left it all.

She got to the coffee house on time and saw Gopal sitting at a table. He looked younger than she remembered. Life had treated him well. She thought she should have colored her hair, she was greying everywhere. The little make up she put on, did not conceal her wrinkles. She turned to look at the glass door and saw the reflection of an old woman.

“Hello…”, she said and sat down across Gopal. He looked up from his phone and smiled.

“How are you Shalu?”

“I am good, and you?”

“I am doing very well. How did you come?”

“I took an auto. Are you in Trivandrum for work?”

“No, my wife’s family lives in Trivandrum, so I came to visit them”.

“Oh!”, said Shalini and instantly regretted the reaction.

“I have been married for about three years. She is from Trivandrum, moved to Houston after the marriage…”

“You live in the same house?”

“No, I sold it. I live in another neighborhood now.”

“Are you happy?”, quipped Shalini.

“Yes Shalu. I am happy.”, said Gopal, looking down at this hands.

“Good for you…”, said Shalu, with a tinge of jealousy and self pity.

“And you?”

“I work at the library, live with books, write when I can. It’s going on… Why did you want to meet me, after all these years?”

Gopal was silent for a few minutes. The waiter came, we ordered our coffee and I looked up at Gopal, waiting for the answer.

“Shalu… I wanted to thank you…”, said Gopal.

“For what?”, wondered Shalu.

“For leaving me….”

Shalini burst out laughing.

“I realized that when you left me, you were giving me back my freedom.”

“And you realized that now? After ten years??”

“Took me a while… you know me…”, said Gopal coyly.

“Gopal… it was obvious to me like it was to you, that we were not meant to be. I don’t know why we decided to get married in the first place. I tried in my way and you tried in your way, but the puzzle never fit. I waited for a long time for you to leave. I understood that you were scared and I had to be the one to let go. It was not what I wanted to do, but I had to do, to give us both our sanity. I was getting sucked in my depression and you didn’t want to hear about it. The best thing was to stay away. I never met your expectations, you looked at every other woman and thought what a wonderful woman and wife she is. It is not that I am bad, it’s just that I was never enough for you, I always fell short… anyways, there is no point of talking about all that and digging the past… bottomline is you are happy now. I am glad I could give you atleast that.”

Gopal took Shalini’s hands in his, looked into her eyes and said, “I am sorry”.

The waiter brought their coffee. Shalini withdrew her hand and sipped at her coffee. She avoided eye contact with Gopal and looked at others who occupied the coffee house. They drank their coffee in silence deep in their own thoughts. When Shalini was done with hers, she got up, smiled at Gopal and left the coffee house, without looking back.

Now, it was truly over.

Her wings..

“You add constraints to everything… and I cannot do this anymore…”, he said.

“How is this a constraint? Anything I say is a constraint now… I think I should just stop talking…”, responded Neena.

“Yes, that’s better. You open your mouth either to say no or restrict something. I want to be able to do what I want to do, when I want to do it, not as per your will…”.

“You should have thought about that before you got married…”, said Neena sternly.

Shiv flung the TV remote across the room and stood up from the couch to leave the room.

Neena knew there was no point in explaining anything to him, still she tried. Maybe he would understand if she tried to use his words or phrase the sentence better, maybe lower her tone, she still wanted to give it a shot.

“I have tried enough and it won’t work Shiv, I don’t want to set myself up to be hurt again…”, Neena tried to explain. She was sitting at the dining table finishing dinner. Wasn’t it an hour ago that they laughed at an old movie dialogue? Where did that go? How did they even get to this conversation?

Shiv stomped out of the living room and turned to the bedroom when the kids came in with a cake in their hands, candles lit.. singing.. “happy anniversary to you.. happy anniversary to you.. happy anniversary mamma and papa.. happy anniversary to you..”.

Neena and Shiv looked at each other, a long look, of a thousand silent words…

The woman..

When I lost my mother three years ago, what I lost essentially was the woman in my life. With no sisters or daughters, I am surrounded by men, my father, brother, husband, sons. It took me a while to realize what I have been missing and how I have been trying to fill the void. Suddenly, there has been a splurge in the number of girl-friends I made. I seem to easily make friends with women now than ever before in my life. I tended to have more guys as friends than girls, till I had my mom around me. She was my friend and took any form or shape of all the girl friends I could ever have. When she left, I realize after three years, that I have been trying to fill the void by making more girl friends or trying to find facets of her personality in my girl friends. Is that what it is? Every person we cross paths with in our life carries a facet of another, in the end everyone nullifying each other? It’s a strange thought, but probably true.

Every human being needs a balance of men and women. It is not by number but the sum total of the weight of the relationship. You can have just one man and one woman, and they might balance out, sometimes you need more men or more women to balance the one woman or one man in your life.

Although I understand the reality, the child in me yearns for her. I’ve lived with this person for thirty seven years before she decided to take off. That is an awful lot of time to be used to one person. She was a habit. It is tough. There are times when I really want to talk to her, see what she thinks, maybe. Simply have her listen so I could draw strength just from her silence. That is what she was, my strength. Now at times when I realize that I have to dig out my own strength and the source exists virtually, there is a sudden onset of weakness. And I scream in my mind, ‘where are you?’.

The only most hardest and most bitter truth is death. Birth is another truth but thats a happy one and filled with hope, so it slips down the ladder. Death is a sad one and lingers on, surging in strength at times, making it the hardest truth. There is nothing you can do about it, but accept it. Everything else can be altered, worked around, convince yourself about, except death. It is the end, the physical end. As each day passes after, the truth just gets stronger and stronger. You realize that although you want to hope, you cannot. The most helpless state.

In one friend of mine I see many facets of my mother since the day my mother passed. It maybe my mind playing games with me, because I am so desperate to fill the void. This friend has spent quite some time with my mother, so she knows her. I believe that there is a purpose for each person in one’s life. Everyone walks in for a reason. There is something you draw from each other, always. You don’t understand the reason why some people are in your life until many years. Each relationship takes its time to enlighten you of its purpose. In the last couple of years, I think I may have found the purpose of my friend. She probably walked beside me these past eighteen years to give me strength at a time, when my central source called it quits. It is not a replacement, it never is. When the void is filled even by an inch, the mind calms down, atleast for a bit.

To her!

Close the door…

At the end of the year

The doors are closing in

There is that little gap

Which will close soon

I need to

Pick my arms and legs

Lift my head

Look forward

And run

Before it closes

Yes

The finger refuses to move

What is this weight

Gluing me to the ground

I want to get up

I want to run

It’s in the mind

It’s all in the mind

Maybe there is no door

Maybe nothing is closing in

It’s probably my mind

Playing games

Stop

Stop now

Set me free

From your vicious circle of thoughts

Set me free from these bonds

From words

Let there be silence

Just silence

Quiet now

There are no arms embracing me

There never will be

Let me close the door

Maybe then

Just for a little while there will be

Solitude…!

where is she?

Switch off the loud music upstairs
Its not very endearing at ten in the night
The beats drumming into her head
Like the other beats over so many days
The security watching over her entry and exit
The happy friend who turns it into humour
It is a constant wave of emotions
She rides unaware
Blank
The growing one pounces on her with attitude
Again
White haired sits mum
Words sealed in the mind
Little tantrums wants a slice of her
Each day
Every day
He beside her is riding his own wave
Clashing with hers at different depths of the sea
As she finds herself drowning, something pushes her up for air
The pillars are around, supporting like ever
All she has to do is lean
There is the dwelling, about to be born
Nurtured in the womb cared for day after day
Soon it will be born to open a pandora of memories
Where is she?
Hidden in these words, riding the waves
Sometimes under, sometimes over
The wings are tired, they want to rest
On a shoulder strong enough to bear the weight
Of lifelessness!