Avik's Story

She loved to smell random flowers, born out of neglect in Maidan, when we sat on grasses and looked at sky-crappers lurking ahead. She loved to hold my hand, sometimes my arm into her, while walking down cobble-stoned footpath in the heart of City of Joy. She loved to kiss my fingers, and then forehead, and then lips in god-forsaken odd places – in a patched backseat of faded yellow taxi, on a broken rikshaw drenched in sudden shower, sometimes in full public glare – a sneaking kiss. That was the best time of my life, but even at that happiness, I had this conviction that this’d not last forever. Sooner or later, she was destined to leave me to love some-other lucky one and to be loved thousand times more than I ever loved her. But in my wildest dream, I never thought that my own children would steal her from me. The prophecy was written on wall, but I was a naïve. I read the words, but not the sentence. I noticed the signs in bits, but not the bigger picture. An

I generally don’t attend marriages. I remember to stand only twice with grooms and brides on decorated podiums after I stood for the last time as a bachelor with Taniya before the perplexed faces of our parents. And both the time, my office colleagues were turned into revelers and the time was spent more on food and booze than meeting and greeting the newlywed couple. But this was different. And frankly, I never did attend something like this before. I had two women with me, both dressed gorgeously. Their beauty was swaying through the stealing glances of passersby and I wondered how they could ooze so much confidence. I looked at our friend, crisscrossed on a make-shift ritual podium, jeweled with golds and covered with bright lehenga . I could see only a portion of her face through the maze of heads surrounding her. I could hear the chant of priest and see lingering smoke rising slowly only to sparse at ceiling. I looked around. People were everywhere – laughing – chatting

I was never comfortable with girls. And one girl taught me the weirdest thing possible in my ordinary life – and that too when I was in primary school. Suck my toe. It was gross – as I think of now. How could I do that? Didn’t I feel yucky? Didn’t it occur to me that it was way too bizarre? I guess, those questions are redundant, as in most of the cases, logic can’t explain your happiness. All I had to do, sit on the torn mattress and bend down as far as possible – way to my folded legs – and then select a toe posed near ankle, and suck until either of it became smelly – so smelly that I couldn’t tolerate anymore, or the teacher noticed me. I was not alone though. The girl - a tiny figure, whose oily hair was neatly divided into two strong ponytails and who did walk like hopping, with her ponytails swaying like two free beasts – taught that trick to a few others. But she was the best toe-sucker I ever seen. It was my stop-gap school – a government run pri