"JAI HO.."

“Beauty is Truth
Truth Beauty
That is all
Ye know on Earth
And all ye need to know..” - Keats

A morning of Joy! Eyes brimming with tears of happiness, as I receive the call from my dad, and see people jumping with joy and bliss all at once, in the news channels. Messages keep coming in from friends to whom I’d promised a treat- asking me to decide the time and venue! I shout, I whistle, I jump- I feel like I should be out there with people, bursting crackers..

My heart, heavy and light all at once- I am Living!

Silence is the best form of music. He lives with it. Music, best illustrates Truth. His persona speaks loads of it! And as He says to the world “Ella pugazhum Iraivanukke..”
I can only Pray- “Jai Ho, Rahman.. Jai Ho..”!

LETTERS FROM MAWLEY...

As promised, I have here, a mail that my father sent me today, 20th feb, 2009.

Sub: The perfect alibi.-for non-performance

Our External Affairs Minister Pranab Mukherji is never tired of asking Pakistan to hand over the terror –fugitives. Well, the most pertinent question in this context is, what will you do with them? For what the cognoscenti of the country know, they will be kept in fortified bungalows, with star-style living facilities; Crores of rupees will be spent endlessly, for their upkeep-with special hospitalization for their further rest and recuperation, from time to time; Lawyers from both the countries and elsewhere, would make a big kill…the cases would be heard and re-heard by different judges, who will keep retiring, yielding place to the new ones, who will hear and re-hear the cases.
.ad nauseam…Meantime, 20-25 years would roll by; the “accused fugitives” would celebrate their sons’/daughters’ weddings, in royal style; all the political bigwigs and the Bollywood celebrities would attend the grand party-never missing the attendant photo-ops.. the media will get sufficient material to cover such “ important” functions , for a few issues, each time;

You think, I am being too pessimistic? In the parliament attack case, ( 2001 ) our Supreme Court handed down the final judgment, convicting Afzal Guru, with death sentence; what are we doing about this ?Our Home Minister says ( the Hindu dt 1st. Jan.2009) “ the Home Ministry was examining the case “ ( sic ) What is there to examine? How long will you keep ‘examining’ the case? Then, how did the Govt. present the case in the various courts and finally in the Supreme Court? And, on what basis the Supreme Court passed the final verdict?

This is only an illustrative case; many such convicts similarly “sentenced” ( e.g.) in the Rajiv Gandhi assassination case , the fellow who killed and then roasted his wife’s corpse in the Tandoori oven ) are enjoying themselves enviable govt. hospitality…( some of them may even be at large, leaving their proxy in the lock-up..! don’t be surprised at all … money can buy anything … )

While courts hand down their final judgment, courts also mention some time limit for appeal; does it not mean that once the time for appeal expires, the sentence must be executed? Is there no time limit for execution of sentences passed by the courts? To a simple mind, it appears, non-execution of court sentences after the lapse of whatever period, must by itself constitute a “Contempt of court”..

Is it good law that permits a ‘convict’ to simply present a petition to the President/Governor and thereby naively convert the Death sentence into a life-sentence?

The point that I want to emphasize is that in this country ( my dear Motherland ) the police, judicial and administrative machinery have completely de-railed…and I see no light at end of the tunnel…Very sad indeed…

Yours truly,
Mawley.

THE TEST

(When Karthik told me sometime back about the 55fiction fad, I didn't realize what he meant by that. But I happened to come across a few which inspired me to try my hand at it.. )

“… this is an insult! Say no to that impertinent girl”!
“Absolutely. What does she think of herself! HIV test before marriage?? How embarrassing”!
“.. But ma, there’s nothing wrong with it. I’ve already taken it. And would get the report any minute now”..
(Door bell)
They wait, as Prateek reads the report.
“So”?
“Positive….”!

THE MARBLE GAME

The blanket was torn at really odd places. Shantama could never let Tipu sleep with that blanket on especially during the morning hours, when the street is all crowded! Tipu wished he were Mani- Mittoo's dog- it slept all day long. No one dared go near Mani.

Tipu's morning was vapid and disgusting. Shantama had been quarrelling with Kamla mausi all morning. Why? Tipu never cared. They were always quarrelling. The asbestos sheet above was broken. So was the cot. Tipu stepped out of the house.

Mangoo and his asinine crony- Bhatti, were walking towards him. Tipu was in no mood to fight. They had had a fair deal, the day before. Tipu had won- and so he got Mangoo's four marbles. End of the story. But Mangoo was not happy. Besides, Mangoo was twelve, while Tipu, only nine.

"Give me back, my marbles"- Mangoo had a bossy tone. But Tipu was not scared. "They are mine, now. I won them", he said- a tone so true and as pure as truth, itself. Mangoo pushed him down while Bhatti caught hold of his hands, tight, Mangoo took out the four marbles Tipu had kept in his trouser pocket and spoke thus- "They are mine . And will always be mine. Get your own marbles if you wish to play today. Else, forget the game.." . He kicked Tipu hard on his ribs, and left along with Bhatti.

"..only ten rupees, ma. I need to buy marbles. If I don't have marbles, I can never play the game again with Sukhi or Hari and all those other big boys out there ma. Mangoo took all my marbles..". Shantama was worried. She hardly had any money to get rice for the dinner. But she could never be happy unless Tipu was happy. She said, "I'll ask 'Baiji'. If she could get me, I'll get you marbles".

Shantama- a single working parent. She was a house maid. She was not a very good one too. People who let her work, let her do it for they only pitied her. She was weak and always sick. But a very sweet woman. Soft, and one who can be trusted. "Baiji" - as Shantama called her, was the only person, whom Shantama could depend on. Thanks to " Baiji", Tipu attends the local school. “Baiji” was her only hope.

"Baiji" had left to Shirdi. And Shantama could not go anywhere else. Tipu was heart broken. Today's game was the most important one. It would change his life. If he wins today, he would get twenty one marbles- he'd be rich… RICH… And then, he'd be the leader. And Mangoo won’t be able to do anything about it.

Tipu could do nothing. The sun was in high spirits. The road seemed everlasting. Tipu could feel the void inside his heart. He was vexed. He cursed Mangoo. He cursed "Baiji". They had ruined his life. But suddenly, he saw something on the road. A piece of paper. An important piece of paper. Money- an end to all his miseries! Ten rupees!

Tipu was filled with life. All his hunger, anger and helplessness, vanished. Mamaji's shop was just around the corner. Full of life, he held one hand high up-in the air, a ten rupees note, tuck safely inside his fist, he ran. He ran past the quarrelling women, hungry children, past the lame beggar, toiling labourers. Finally, when he reached Mamaji's shop, he was sweating- it seemed as though he had bathed in sweat!

"Mamaji, four marbles.."

Mamaji was busy attending other customers. He took no notice of the panting Tipu.

"MAMAJI, FOUR MARBLES..."

Mamaji turned. He saw a shirtless little boy, drenched in sweat, a ten rupees note, clasped tight in his fist, dirty feet, dry hair, bright sparkling eyes.

"Who gave you the money?" Mamaji demanded.

"I found it", came the reply.

Mamaji seized the money and shouted, in anger and disgust-

"You thieving little brat! Get lost.. Never set foot inside my shop, again. For I would kill you if you do. Get lost.."

Tipu stood there, transfixed, seeing his dreams land safely into Mamaji's cash box..

U'R ATTENTION PLEASE...

So many things happened in such less time, that I hardly have time to turn back and see where I was, a few months from today! Busy? Nope. Can't exactly say what that was! Anyway, friends, I'm back!

So many awards! Thank you, Karthik, Karthik. R, rampantheart, for the awards! :)

An announcement- no, there's something that I would like to share with you all. My father, keeps writing to me. About this, that and everything. Recently, I had been to a book store, where I found this book- Letters from a father to a daughter- that is, Nehru's letters to Indira Gandhi. This inspired me.

I am planning to post this series- "Letters from Mawley". Not on a regular basis, but whenever I should get a letter from him, I would post them on my blog. My dad is happy about the whole plan. I'd been pestering him to start a blog of his own. But he could never find the time! So, this seemed perfect. Hope you'd like it too!

Would be back soon, with a new post! Until then...

NEW DAY...

The clouds keep floating- where they go- no one would ever know. And one would never see the same cloud, again. Time. The changing times, bring along the future. The sea has depths- no one knows what it holds in it. Pearls, coral- sharks!

Mirror has no memories. Reflections do. Looking back, it may think of smiles and tears- about how different they are from how they were. The past had no future. While the present is full of them. Tomorrow is no today. And today is no yesterday.

A shadow is trapped- somewhere between somewhere and nowhere. There is no darkness in that untrodden land of mysteries. There is no place to hide. The light rules the land. There is blindness, all around- caused by the light.

Today- is not tomorrow.. Today- is never tomorrow..

ЭνιℓℓινЄ WITH A VEIL ON...

The eyes remained closed. Calm. Serene. There was no way anyone could tell, what lies deep inside those closed eyes. Back and forth- as the chair rocked, the clock ticked away, unable to stop itself. The phone. She glided towards the mobile. “Hello”. Silence. “Hmm”. Silence. She looked up, at the clock- 8:06 pm. “Fine”. She kept the mobile down. Her eyes fell over a photograph on the table. A girl, standing beside her father. The girl, innocent, unsure, afraid- and barely living.

“… you see, she doesn’t have a mother. She died, you know. And I’m a single father. How do you suppose that I can manage a girl all by myself? I mean, look at her. She’s always crying and eating. You are very beautiful and smart..”

He was smart too, her father. She could never forget him. He kept bringing home new mothers, all the time. Some were kind, some- didn’t care. And one, kept beating her, all the time. But one day, everything changed. That was the day, when she swore to herself that she’d never let people, use her. And that made, all the difference.

“.. you can’t beat me anymore”, she said, firmly. The woman only smiled. “And who’ll stop me? Your drunken, good-for-nothing father”? “No. I Will”, she said. The woman started laughing. “Oh yeah”? And she advanced towards the timid, little girl. The smile in her eyes turned into fear. Bloodshot eyes. She was gasping for breath as she slumped. And the little girl, stood there, with the blood stained knife in hand. Her eyes spoke a new language. A language of power- life!

The phone. She set aside the photograph and picked up her mobile. 8:25pm. “Hello”. Silence. “By 10? No. Finish it up by 9”. Silence. “Yes, I have it”. Silence. Silence. “Alright.. 9:30”. She looked up, again. 8:27pm. She turned back to the photograph. She took it out of the frame. Turned the photograph. A poetry. The heart, that understood her- Jennifer.

“.. I know, child. It might be very difficult for you, with your father in jail for murder. Was it your mother”? “No”, she replied, “step- mother”. “Ah! You poor child. Don’t worry. You are born to live. You are God’s special child. He’s sent all his angels to be your friends. And you’ll find them all, here. I promise”.

But she found only one. Jennifer. There was something in Jenny, that made her get close to her. They became inseparable. At times, she felt as though, Jenny knew her more than anyone else.

“.. Is that you and your father, in that photo”? Jenny asked. “Yes”. “Do you miss him”? She wasn’t sure whether she missed him or not. So, she said, “Sometimes’. “Will you miss me, if we ever part”? Jenny asked. “Yes. A lot”. Jenny smiled. “Let me give you something that will remind you, about me”. She looked at Jenny, curiously. Jenny was looking at the sky, thinking and smiling. “Let me write a poem about you”. “About me”? she asked, amused. “Yes”. Jenny got the photo from her, and began to write the poetry..

8:42 pm. She dialed a number. “Do you have the cash that my husband wanted you to get from the bank”? Silence. “Good. Leave it in my husband’s car”. Silence. “That’ll be fine. Thank you”. 8:45 pm. Another number. “It’s in his car”. Silence. “Good”. She moved back to her chair. Now, she’d wait. And as she waited- she sailed, back again, through her memory- her life.

“… I know. This promotion means so much to you. But you are still new around here. You understand me? The boss is so sorry. He thinks you are very good, no doubt. But still.. you get me”? “Yes Mr. Trivedi, I understand”, she replied. “That’s better”. Mr. Trivedi smiled. He knew, she’d be no trouble at all. This young female- she was beautiful and intelligent. But only, woman. He turned to leave, when she spoke suddenly. “Congrats, anyway, Mr. Trivedi”. “Congrats? Why”? “Well, obviously, if this promotion is not mine, it’s yours, isn’t it”? Trivedi was not sure how to react. He managed a smile, however. “Well.. well.. You sure know everything that’s going around, don’t you”? She smiled. A kind of sheepish, yet, a pleased, you-flatter-me kind of smile. “Ah.. not everything. Just a few things. Like, there’s a loss of .. how much is that.. 4 Crore ? about which many people here, have no idea.. and a few others.. you know- the 5 bedroom flat, a beach house and 3 days- 3 nights holiday package to Malaysia.. you know.. all these kind of stuff..”

She was promoted, the next day.

9:05 pm. The phone. “Hello”. It was her husband. He had a nice telephone voice. “.. guess what. Everything is planned. I’ve got the tickets. I’ll reach home by 10. Packed your things”? “Yes”, she replied, and smiled. “Great. We are going to have a great time, I promise you”. “I’m sure, we will”, she replied. “Bye. See you soon”. “Bye”. 9:07pm.

She moved her fingers across “Love, Jenny..” written below the poetry, on the photo..

“.. my husband’s going to leave me. Tomorrow, we’ll be divorced. And the day after, you’ll both be married. This is what you’d always wanted, right”? Jenny was shaking with rage. “Jenny, you know very well that I never wanted it that way. Everything, just happened. I couldn’t do anything..” “Oh you could! YOU and only YOU, could’ve done something about it. YOU- can do anything. And YOU know, YOU CAN”. Jenny’s fists were clenched. She was trying hard to control herself. “Calm down, Jenny. You are very disturbed. Sit down..” “Shut up.. you..” Jenny was breathing. In and out. In and out. She waited. She’d let Jenny speak. And Jenny spoke. Her voice, calm, tired- dead, “You know why we were friends? Because it was I and only I, who’d understood you, completely. I, knew you. And yet- I believed that I can be friends with you. You know why? I was foolish. I thought, I could change you. Help you get better. Thought you were a girl who’d been hardened by the miseries of life. And I was wrong. Only later, I realized that the reason people fear Evil is because, just when you are beginning to understand it’s course, it changes it’s course. Evil is evil, because it is unpredictable, for the good. You are Evil. And you’ll Live. Always. Goodbye”.

Jenny died, the next day- depressed.

9:35 pm. The chair was rocking. Clock ticking. She was holding the phone. She was tensed, for the first time ever, in her life. She dialed a number. No reply. She dialed again. No reply. The chair was rocking faster. But the clock, at the same pace, as ever, ticking rhythmically.

9:46 pm. No reply, yet again. Her heart beat started rising up its pace and she could feel the beat. She quickly rose up and decided to make the phone call. The last phone call. She dialed a number. She waited. She waited. She waited. A cold voice spoke from the other end, “You husband’s dead. I have the cash”. She felt relieved. As though she was plunging into deep, cold water- celebrating her freedom from the scorching summer heat. “Good. I should never hear again, from you”. “You’ll never”. 9:57 pm

A week later-

The eyes remained closed. Calm. Serene. There was no way anyone could tell, what lies deep inside those closed eyes. Back and forth- as the chair rocked, the clocked ticked away, unable to stop itself. On one hand, she had a letter from the Board of directors, requesting her, to join the board. On the other hand, she held a photograph- with a poetry on it’s back, that read-

VEIL

Soft muslin, light and tender
The breeze playing with it
Hides the rosy lips and dimple chin
And the emotions that lie within.

Days roll on, years pass by-
There's no muslin and no breeze;
Yet, it's those rosy lips and dimple chin
That hide emotions, deep within!

love,

Jenny.

She remembered Jenny. She remembered Jenny’s words. And she knew, she was Evil, who’d Live with her Veil, on, always.