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 love to dream. Now, please don’t brouhaha about this, or have even a slightest impression that my dreams are in any way like that of great Martin Luther. My dreams are literally dreams – classic culminations of daily experiences through sub-conscious mind in sleep and are often weird, embarrassing, foggy and confused. And I remember most of my dreams. I thought of it a gift like that of a superhero, until one day my heart shrank inches after ‘discovering’ that most people dream and remember those dreams. Even dogs dream. I have few recurring themes, which cycle themselves throughout a sleep at night. And the weirdest and best of those is a world, where me and my ‘big’ daughter Vedantika are survivor turned fighters in an alien infected dystopian earth. Another often recurring theme is my village, which is modified and transformed into a town with modern transport and amenities, and then I fight to protect my family from brutal invaders, cloaked in black robes. Some

I was late. Not only being at last able to watch the most anticipated and most discussed Marvel movie of the year, but also to enter the dark hall, where already people were seated with black glasses on their faces. It’s March. My days are tough, as the pressure from high ranks is being unbearable day by day. The files are being piled up on my table like a volcanic mountain created overnight and to stay there forever. I’m being regular at calling out names of security guards at midnight at my society and they like zombies open the massive main gate with long lost question ‘why so late’. At morning, my maid rings me, until I open the door and he makes me drink a cup of tea with extra ginger. I curse at my life while slowly sipping from the cup and as the hot brown liquid slides down through dry throat, I settle down a bit. Scheduling for a show and being able to implement it, at this f**king time, was awesome, and when I managed to do that, I literally rewarded myself with a

I saw a new face of ‘nationalism’ yesterday. It’s kind of funny, if I don’t let myself dive into the arterial meaning of modern psychotic borderline fascism, where patriotism gets narrower definition day by day and blood turns to bluer. I just got down from metro. As usual I was late – so my legs were literally dragging my fat buttock and fatter stomach in a definitive hope to reach office before somebody started looking for me. I was being old, as I could see young boys and girls, mostly in black lawyers’ hood were passing me. They didn’t seem to be in hurry, but they were faster, even after my fiercest pushing of myself. I ran down the stairs and walked fast. I felt that someone was pulling my shirt from behind. I looked over my shoulder and noticed a mid-aged person with a straight face and moving lips. He was saying something to me. I removed my earpiece and smiled to him with an ‘amsawee’, which he didn’t bother to listen or reply to – he was into his own words.

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

Vedantika is growing fast, and seriously we cannot keep pace with her growing. Specially, a dumb like me. That day, when I called her after reaching home – her first question was polite but firm. “Are you at home, papa? Can I video call you?” It took some good moments to precipitate her query into my crampy brain cells. She was of three years old, and she was seeking my permission for video call. It’s so odd that it’s kind of abusive to my understanding of my society and upbringing, where nobody cares for a permission. My avoidable defensive instinct instantly turned cautious - what was happening? Is she growing into something peculiar – something different? Other day, she told me that she missed me. She was with her favorite doll – a small stuffed animal DIY’ed by her mother from an old sock. We role-played a little through grainy video screen – I became the doctor and she was the worried caring mother for her little baby. I retorted that I missed her so much, and

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