Avik's Story

In Mauritius, people smile at each other. Even strangers. It’s often a nod – an acknowledgement of a fellow stranger’s presence. I spent my last month in Mauritius, and had to nod quite often – to the people I knew and complete unknowns – in roads, lanes, hospitals, shops or in market. My head got adopted – kind of motor reflex. I came back to India two days back, and I’m in trouble – well, my head is – literally. I generally greet securitymen in my society as ‘ Aur bhai? Kaise ho ?’, but yesterday I smiled and nodded at them. I didn’t want to - my head did, and with that my lips. Both men were from Bihar and they used to raise their hands to their foreheads in response to my usual greetings and say ‘ Sir, badhiya ’, very rarely ‘ aapki kirpa ’. But yesterday they stood still – flabbergasted – I could sense their predicament. I didn’t stop. The park was nearby – just a block away. I could see a flock of joggers at this early morning – waking dead in this winter. But I could s

Yesterday we had a small gathering – a sort of dinner party, honoring the little one’s arrival in this world. The gathering is the latest among many. She’s here only for twenty days and she’s receiving attention of all the joyous well-wishers – celebrating for her - jeering and cheering her tiny trivialities, even her obvious irascibilities. We, the parents too are receiving huge compliments – being congratulated often for bringing such a doll into existence. Into existence. But to where? And for what purpose? The questions came when I watched the baby after the guests left. She seemed to be restless and crying for probably being disturbed. She’s getting habitual to this world. She doesn’t know the applicable norms and customs to be followed before guests and hopefully, she’ll learn them pretty soon, because that is what expected from her. And she has to comply. While she was on my lap – whimpering occasionally – I couldn’t help but thinking the obvious. The Purpose. The Ch

The morning was heavy with nightlong rains and chill winds – my eyes were fluffy due to oversleeping - I could see hefty grey sky from dusty window, and then my mobile chimed. Two messages, one confirming a booking of a movie and then another providing a buy-one-get-one-free coupon in a momo-joint. I got down from my crumpled bedsheet and took some water. I was sure my maid would skip today – rainy day, like we used to bunk classes back days. I went to kitchen, switched on the kettle and made coffee with extra coffee powder. It tasted bitter, but the aroma was exactly what I needed at this awful morning, not a damn hindi movie, funnily titled ‘Newton’. I went to balcony and sat on a chair, and sipped coffee while gazing at sky. How much rains will it need to prove that it wasn’t raining for a while? Look at my car – parked under a tree, surrounded by ankle length clogged water. Rain stopped momentarily around eight thirty, and the show was scheduled at nine. I didn’t chan

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

I am a vividly happy guy – everybody perhaps knows that; but what only few of them know is that I’m a bigtime crier too. Tears are familiar to me just like the smile of mine. They’re infectious. Tears are my best immune and sometimes survivals. They’re mostly hidden, literally behind walls – in safe custody of bathroom sometimes. But they’re precious. They bring life out of me everytime. They make me more humane everytime. And this time I cried seemingly for no reason. I was in Airport. I was on duty. Some big hot-shot bureaucrats were in city to attend a massive seminar hosted by the most powerful person in country, and when it was over they were returning their places of working – to different states. My job was to facilitate their departure procedure – a mundane boring job – mostly receiving calls from someone from hotel or drivers and then passing the same to Protocol Division inside airport. I preferred to seat outside - beside a café-stall and under a decorative shed, rather th

It was a sunny day. The light reflected from the white house at neighborhood had brightened this house too; and the light fell on a face. A sleeping face, so serene that I could’ve watch it forever. Just watch; or maybe a gigantic wish to touch it. But I knew that was not to be done. The face was pretty and tranquil, and with that white light on it, it was a sort of a beautiful expensive art; but as I knew the owner of the face, she was no artist. She was a vandalist. If I dared to touch her face, or hair or even the water bottle while she was sleeping, she’d start a tantrum. Her morning usually started with a wrecked wiggle, which lasted for good thirty minutes and occasional whining, whose veracity was always difficult to establish. Our thumb rule – if no tears, then nothing to fear - she was probably faking it. But wait. Sometimes her tears flew down so easily and so believably that I wondered she must’ve trained her eyes. She’d be sitting on her blanket with water bott

We have a sort of song. Kind of a crude song only for us. A song detailing the beginning of a journey, which was impossible at sight, but nevertheless it happened. But that story is different – to be told with a cup of smoked coffee, in a room under grey sky and thousand stars, preferably beside a wayward river. Maybe I will sing that song over guitar and let you humming on that night. But today let me tell you a secret. That I know she loves me. Don’t laugh. We are married, but we never took vow to be together. We never uttered those magical three words. We don’t know how it started, and we have absolutely no idea, when it will end. But we are best friends for last eight years, married for five years and a parent for last three years! Life has changed so much. Time has changed from a sip of vodka on a slippery tram-line in Kolkata to a bottle of unknown wine in a private beach in Mauritius under moonlight and before vast ocean. And yes, we have changed. But still I had t

My little car got some deep scratch on side door and it was in body-shop for last five days. I rode a paddle-rickshaw and the puller was a lean young chap, hardly crossed twenty. I had to catch metro, like old days and spend an hour among strangers, unchartered body-odours and tiny interesting stories. The rickshaw went straight, crossed the bazaar and turned the round island - structured recently and took the road towards metro station. I could see the station at distance, and all kinds of cars, e-rickshaws or paddle rickshaws lined up in front of the entry, and then suddenly the young rickshaw puller screamed, ‘look, look, Africans!’ It took me some time to get into what he was pointing at. I saw nothing except large apartments and a school at one side and a high risen metro line at another. I narrowed down further. I followed the gaze of the young chap, who was clearly amused, as his teeth were outside and eyes were fixed towards a group of people, who were buying milk from

It was dark. The sudden roaring of speedy motorbikes with screeches around the corner came through the glass window like thunderbolts and except that, there was nothing. Total silence. The ceiling was slanted towards the window and the curtains were moving slowly with wind. Faint whitish light fell through the glass. It was star-lights – coming from billions of miles away. And there was a slow but steady sound of breath. Sufi – the little girl was awake on her bed and didn’t know what to do. She tightly held her water bottle and searched for her blanket. It was somewhere on the bed. But she couldn’t find it. She did wake up suddenly in the middle of night, and found her blanket gone, water bottle slipped from her mouth and the room dark. She looked at the window and saw nothing except few stars above – way up high – blinking in a black sky. She turned her head away from the window and found a dark figure breathing slowly on her side. She knew the source. Her nanny was on the

I can’t make friends Making friends is an art, and well, you’re fucked up in that. But have you ever thought why you can’t make friends? Probably, you’ve not found any similar intelligent companion like yourself. They’re rare. And silly talks bore you. I’m easily frustrated You do things, and sometimes you don’t win. Okay. But then why your face has this dead-pan expression for days after you lose? Like you’ve lost everything! Frustration may come from your trust on your intelligence. So when you get bumped up, you can’t believe that. I don’t like changes You follow your routine. You like a specific color or specific type of dress. Your mornings are no different than others. Well, you love discipline, and loath changes. Your subconscious mind doesn’t want to share the precious intelligence for these non-productive actions. There’re better things to do. Like deciding which movies to watch this week. I hate social gatherings You’re nor a ta