Broken

Severed and wounded,
nothing happens, but the pain too much
Feeling the shivers of the dark night,
my friend, my stone heart lying still too alongside,

Peace, the unfulfilled desire,
Search never ends,
Mind still looking to lean over, to stop by
But the thoughts keep coming, and going,
and coming,

The restlessness in the dreams,
and the running through the day,
the journey never ends,
the thinking never stops,

Eyeing the blankness up above, and deep beneath,
the hollow surroundings and the jazz around,
the moving silhouettes, the unconcerned crowd,

Colors don't brighten up, the lights don't light,
The ship's sinking and the water blows over the edges,
Counting hours, time doesn't pass
And the silence screams,

The broken love,
dying the unwanted death,
And the broken me,
Lying still, hoping for an end. 

The Rich Destitute

“Destitution is inability to afford basic human needs.” I had read this sometime under the Environmental Studies subject when I was a student of the middle school. Until then, the limped leg Sukhi, the son of our watchman Vishnu, was my best friend. I had never asked either Sukhi or Vishnu about Sukhi’s age because as far as I remember, he never went to a school. I always found him cleaning cars in the morning, and playing with the stray cycle tires in the afternoon under the scorching heat in my bungalow’s verandah. Playing carelessly on the burning marble floor, everyday he used to call out to me from the gate while I get down from the school bus, “Aaibo!” Oh how I always had a smile on my face looking at his ever energized face.

Although, my book’s definition had changed my perception on relationships at a very tender age, today my life changed forever.

Vishnu chacha was a potter by profession in my Baba’s village near Bhagalpur, Bihar. It was his ancestral profession, but Baba knew that he could not survive in the village with his dwindling income, so he had got him along when he shifted to Patna. That was years before I was even born.

To me, Sukhi was always my half brother, only born of a separate womb, but a part of me. My mornings used to begin with his smiling face, with him standing next to my bedside with a glass of milk. My clothes used to be always ironed before I even get up, nicely kept near dressing table and my bag ready with the books as per the time table. I wonder how he could manage that without knowing to read or write. He used to be on my mind all through the day as I used to eagerly wait to play the Dodge-ball with him, our favourite game of the afternoons. Not that I have no idea now why I used to win most of time in the game, because he used to lose deliberately to make me feel elated and full of pride, but what intrigues me is that how he could so innocently consent to give all his “Cheeni Parathas” to me in the dinner that Vishnu chacha made every day for him. Being the only child, I never particularly liked sharing my clothes and toys. What belonged to me once remained mine till shredded off. In spite of everything, I remember to secretly love playing with Sukhi’s cycle tire. So much that I started bringing it back to my own bedroom, while he just watched me play. He was an only child too, but he had somehow managed to keep the sharing instinct alive, almost to the verge of surrendering.

Going back in time, I remember that my ruthless conduct had set off when I grew up to the middle school and made richer friends. We all had video games, cricket accessories, basketballs and a five star sports club membership to keep us busy all the time. It stopped occurring to me very naturally to take Sukhi along with my new friends. “Why should anyone know that I have a poor friend who has only 2 pairs of decent clothing and a cycle tire in the name of self claimed amenities?” I had thought to myself. Somewhere around that time was that day when Vishnu chacha suddenly passed away.

Though, Baba was off and on a religious man, he was not as benevolent to let an orphan stay with us in our bungalow without expecting a payback. So he sent Sukhi off to stay with our house cleaner, and Sukhi continued to contribute to the daily chores of our household. There was a strange transformation in him as he adjusted to the feeling of being an orphan. He just stopped talking. The usual chirpiness, the energy and the smiling face was gone forever. That was a few months before he left the town without telling anyone, and obviously no one bothered. Though I remember asking Baba about why he left, “Beta, you don’t worry and concentrate on your studies”, he had said, and I had turned my face towards my books again.

There was no remorse in my heart then, at least not as much as I feel today when I saw a teenager with a familiar limped leg on a busy street in Delhi. As he limped towards my car window and knocked to coax me to buy one of the scented candle packs that he had in his brown sack, hanging on his shoulders, my heart skipped a beat. “Sukhi”! I exclaimed in my mind. It was him. But his smile was back, “Saab!” he recognised me. I lowered the window and still pretended as if I did not recognise him. Before I even took out money to buy the candle pack, he threw one inside the window on my lap and shouted in joy, “Rakh lo saab, khushbuwala hai”! (Keep it sir, it is scented). And he left.

In a minute he was out of sight, but left me grieving deep inside. I tried hard deliberating how a destitute could keep giving me his very subsistence, how he could share when I was the fulfilled one, how he could smile when I had plentiful of material joys under my feet, how he could stand upright with his head held high when I was the one who had healthy feet and well being unchallenged.

And I realised the connection finally. It is not the riches. Indeed, I was a destitute all the while, and he was the prosperous one. My definitions changed, and so did my life.

The "Patient"

My phone rang at 4.45 AM in the morning. I had had a tiring day at the hospital with more than 250 consultations.
The head nurse Kokila sounded quite tense as she told me about Babu on the phone. “Doctor, Babu is creating nuisance again. Just now he threw his Cannula away when sister Piyali went to his room for his antibiotic dose.”

I rubbed my eyes and stood up with some effort, looked over to the other side of the bed to see her silhouette over the warm quilt and smiled. “Sushma, I am doing all this for you and the kids!” I realized that I said that too loud almost to disturb her from her sleep, but I guess she was too tired to notice.

On my side table, a small piece of paper was kept, nicely folded. I opened it.

“Blue Shirt and the grey trousers on the couch and a glass of milk near the microwave”

Oh my darling wife, how do you know beforehand each time that I have to go to attend emergencies? If it wasn’t for you, I could never have continued in the Holy Hospital. With more than 200 patients a day and some of them on the brink of losing their minds, I wonder how I could keep up without becoming a muddle head myself. Among these thoughts, I pulled up my grey trousers, wore the blue shirt and went to the kitchen for the milk. Next to microwave was another message for me.

“I will be out when you’re back and kids will go to school themselves.  

Forget not your wallet and the house keys”

I took the bag kept on the couch, with wallet and keys and a pack of biscuits alongside, and left home.
Dr. Wilson Matthew, Senior Psychiatrist, read my tilted name plate outside my room, from which a tensed Kokila rushed out and said, “Rush Doctor”.

Babu is suffering from “Glioblastoma Multiforme” grade 4, which medicos call GBM 4 in short, the most aggressive malignant primary brain tumor in human beings, maximum prognosis being 15 months. It was worse in Babu’s case and what needed immediate attention was his depression.

 “What's the point?” Babu asked. “I am going to die regardless of the treatment you people are giving me.”

I took his hand into mine and said, “Life is a gift Babu, and death is certain. We all start dying the moment we are born. Therefore, to the best of our ability, we must live the precious few moments of life to the fullest possible and take time to enjoy it while we can.” I knew Babu was a religious man so I told him a verse from Bhagwad Gita;

“For certain is death for the born, And certain is birth for the dead,

Therefore over the inevitable, Thou should not grieve”

I stayed with him for some time and later instructed Kokila to sedate him to relieve him from his bed sores for some time. My hand went into my pockets for the pen to sign on a prescription, only to find another message from Sushma.

“Don’t forget your own medicines doctor sahib! Time for Atenolol 50”

Yeah right. Thank God for wives I thought and immediately called for a self dose. It was already 8 by then and I had a huge queue of patients with all sorts of disorientations of the mind. The middle aged with anxiety, insomnia and memory loss and the younger ones with depression and eating disorders. It is a world of new age diseases, those of the mind, I thought to myself.

“You kept your keys in the overall’s pocket”

Another message read just when I was looking for my car keys. What is the medical term for your 20 year old habit of dropping your car keys in the overall’s pocket every time, and forgetting about it? I don’t know. But I know what it is to be reminded about that every day by your wife, ‘Love’.

I unlocked the door silently. It is late in the night and Sushma and the kids must be sleeping. Ah! There she was, sleeping sound on her side of bed. So what if she slept early today as well, looking at her silhouette through the quilt, I already felt warm and loved. I changed into the night suit that Sushma keeps on my side of the bed before sleeping and snuggled in to the bed.

“I forgot to kiss you goodnight!” suddenly I thought to myself and sprang up from the bed to walk up to the other side. Slowly I uncovered the quilt over the line-up of her favorite pillows, and kissed on the white wedding gown nicely spread over it. There was a message there on a piece of paper for me, kept folded over her wedding gown which read

“Goodnight my love”

“Sleep tight, my darling,” I whispered, “I shall sleep too, and wait for a morning when I finally wake up with you”.

A day like yesterday

“Goodmorning sir”!! said the pretty front desk lady when I entered office. Thinking about how I could have avoided a stupid argument with Nirmala last night. Annual school event is an annual affair for God’s sake. (Yeah, comes every year) But my boss would not invite me every day to address the Australian delegates who flew the same day incidentally. “Prashant, he said. “This day is a crucial one for you. (Like he said day before yesterday didn’t he?) One that will decide which department you will spearhead next year”. After all, the Australian clients have been our company’s bread and butter since the time I remember in the firm.

As far as Shantanu’s first stage performance is concerned, well, umm ok, I will present him his dream Guitar, on his birthday next year. He will be 10 and he needs a professional Guitar I know. What was the name of that damn Guitar?? (Well, he said he wanted The Gibson’s professional) 

(Do you love your child?) What? Of course I love him! No questions. He was just sleeping before I took the morning flight to Hyderabad for the conference. Uh he knows my wishes are always with him, he doesn’t need me to say “All the best” now. There will be many more performances on which I will be there to encourage and cheer. Nirmala wastes my time picking up on me. God knows when she would understand that there are bigger and more important things that I need to take care of. Yeah yeah, housewives, someone tell them there is a whole world beyond the kitchen and the supermarket!

Last birthday I took her to Hong Kong for a lavish second honeymoon. And how did I manage that? I had worked night and day on the new shipping opportunity in 2010, got a massive yearly bonus and a promotion. Ah, reminds me next week our wedding anniversary. I had forgotten it completely last year and she hadn’t said a word. Yeah, because she was busy with Shantanu’s classes and his practical exams at the Music Centre. But not this time! Let me order something for her on Amazon. Guess, a new black dress this time. (You gave her a black dress on her birthday too!)

Get back get back, lots to do on this new project. I have a lot of responsibility. What is this on my calendar? Oh damn, another onsite next week. I may miss the wedding anniversary I guess. Umm no problem, I’ll order the dress right away. “Ramu, where is my coffee?” Office boys I tell you, sheer lazy bunch of idiots. “Sir, the coffee machine is non functional today”. “My foot! So can’t you make it in the kitchen instead? You worm! Now go and get it fast. You know my mind can’t work without a coffee in the morning.”

(Work)

It’s 11 ‘o clock. Shantanu must have slept today also by now. (Been 3 days you spoke to him. You might want to ask how his performance went may be?) (Sigh) No point leaving this file in the middle and getting back. Let me just finish this last bit of reading for the next week’s onsite.

(1 hour later in the car)

Driver, “Saab, aaj phir late ho gaye! Madam ka phone aaya tha batane ke liye ki aaj Mataji ki tabiyat thodi kharab hai. Aapka phone switched off tha.” You drive the car you fool that’s what I pay you for”! Ohho, mom’s ill every day. This doctor isn’t doing his job well. (Yeah no one, except you)

What is wrong with the air today. Doesn’t seem fresh! Huh huh (Suddenly breathless) Huh Huh. “Driver, I think you need to stop the car”. “Kya hua saab” stopped. Huh huh, (Hand on the chest) “Paseena aa raha hai.” Huh huh huh. Where did I keep my pain killers. Nirmala you’re an idiot. Huh Huh.. what, water, driver. Wait, is it my birthday today?? 

(Passes out)

Letter to Dad

"Dad..

 The unkind me, to least acknowledge,
 the ever smiling you, to always provide.
 The weeping, my cribbing, the unappreciativeness,
 the solid you, to remain unperturbed, and still be the best.

 In my times of lows, like everyone else's,
 Your sole attention, with your arms open wide.
 In the happier times, your words of caution,
 preparing me for the worst, and be at my side.

 The seamless blend of love and guidance that you brought me up with,
 Would be greater than all love, and higher than all divinity.
 To payback with my whole life, wouldn't still be worth even a penny,
 What I could do to touch your feet, while I still had you,
 It is true that mother gave me my life to live,
 But the very reason to live, the meaning of which, came from you.

Waiting to reunite with you"

Suruchi