Monday, December 30, 2013

Get the ink in 2014!

It is April of 2014 and I have just arrived from the office fighting sweltering heat waves. I am frazzled to the core. It is a Saturday evening that is why I am not that bothered about the fatigue as I have whole Sunday before me to rest and relax. I take my regular evening bath and in supine position lay on my bed with my cellphone in my hands. I am surfing net and am online on my ‘we chat’ app as well.

Suddenly a message pops up with a message “Hi!”

It is a very old friend of mine, Ramesh. We were best friends in college, we still are. After college, I went after job search; he joined his father’s business.

Me: “Hi!”

Him: “What’s up?

Me: “Nothing…what about you?”

Him: “Chilling yaar…Saturday night.”

Me: “Ok… and what about your Ankita? How are you both going?”

Him: “Ankita is past buddy… now I am lost in the silky strands of Megha .”

Me: “O.K… so how is atmosphere in your city.”

Him: “Lively as ever.”

Me: “No… I am asking about political atmosphere… in a week time there is going to be voting in your state…right?”

Him: “What voting?... we care only about minting money buddy… we are businessmen, mind you!”

Me: “But even businessmen need the political system to be working and that is why we need to vote.”

Him: “Political system is at the beck and call of our moolah muscle dear and we don’t need political system, the political system needs us... I have never cast my vote… I am not a commoner who needs to vote.Furthermore… I don’t have to whimper before the custodians of democracy for roti, kapda and makan

Me: “But I think that everyone should make their contribution felt in a democracy even if they are super rich.”

Him: “Rich people don’t need democracy… on the contrary democracy needs us and our money.”

Me: “Ok… just imagine a situation?”

Him: “Leave it yaar…let’s talk about something else.”

Me: “No I insist… I would like you to imagine a situation… I know you are good at imagining!”

Him: “Umm…ok… I know you are stubborn… you won’t relent until I imagine… tell me what is the situation?”

Me: “Imagine that one morning you wake up and don’t have water in your plushy bathroom for your ablutions then what would you do?”

Him: “What yuck! … I thought you would tell me to imagine about a girl.”

Me: “For a change, imagine about this situation.”

Him: “Ok… if I find one morning that there is no water in my bathroom then I will enquire water supply department about the problem.”

Me: “And if you come to know that they are on an indefinite strike then?”

Him: “Then I will call water tanker supplier … remember I can buy anything.”

Me: “But what if this water supplier charges huge amount?”

Him: “No amount is huge for me.”

Me: “But Imagine if it charges exorbitant amount like 2 crore per day for one tanker…”

Him: “But why would it charge that much? Gundaraj hai kya( Is it rule of hooligans)?

Me: “Yes... there you are, if people of this country, at any time, choose to shun voting, it means that at the end of the day the Raaj of people(Rule of People) will be supplanted by Gundaraaj (Rule of Hooligans) and it doesn’t matter however rich you are, your all money could get spent in a matter of a day if there is no govt. to look after the situations related to economy and law and order of the country. In the absence of a democratically elected govt. there will be anarchy all around. Arson, felony will become daily events and…”

Him: “OK, Ok… don’t scare me more, I have got your point, now I think that I was a great fool not to have voted earlier. Thanks for your timely goading. This time I am surely going to vote.”

Me: “Don’t forget to take your madam Megha to vote with you.”

Him: “Sure I will take her with me and I will urge other family members of mine to do so as well.”

Then we talked on several other things till some more time and after that I had my dinner and went to sleep satisfied that Ramesh would get the ink on his index finger in 2014.

You also don’t forget to get the ink on your finger in 2014.

P.S: This creative endeavour is an entry to a contest being held at under title: Indian General Elections 2014 with social mobile apps.

Friday, December 20, 2013

Dovelove and my darling friend!

As the plane soared and started shearing the thick air, cotton like clouds appeared to wave us.  Seeing the innocent and immaculate clouds, a smile floated across my lips.

“What Happened Sudha?” asked my husband.

“Nothing.” I played down.

Actually, these clouds reminded me of my friend Tulika. We were together at our MBA college …some 10 years ago. We were room partners. She was my chum.

She had the habit of picking out faces in the clouds. She used to describe in such a creative way that I was able to see facial features of somebody in the clouds. Sometimes cartoon characters, sometimes hostel wardens and sometimes professors: she could pick out any face from the stark white clouds.

I was the worst introvert kind in the college but she was a complete brat. A tomboy. She used to play cricket in the team of boys. It was her brilliant batting skills that forced the boys’ team of the college to include her in the team. I still remember distinctly when she had scored a swashbuckling 50 runs in the final of an inter-college cricket tournament. The team of our college had won that final match and she was adjudicated (wo) man-of—the-match. Next day all local newspapers  were singing hosanna of Tulika.

She was a master mimicry artist as well. She used to mimic the voice of even male professors.

Once there was a bet of Rs. 5000 in the girls hostel that entailed going to the boys’ hostel and draging on marijuana from gang of boys who dragged regularly. I thought that no one would agree to such an outlandish bet. But I was wrong it was our own daredevil Ms. Tulika who agreed to do the act. She got her hair trimmed -- she had thick hair strands. She just wore a baseball cap on her head and impersonated herself as an electrician and in a bag she filled all electrical instruments. No one could recognize her. Through her mimicry skills, she mingled with the gang and dragged on the marijuana.  She came straight after dragging to give smell of her mouth to us. It was reeking badly. She had vomited several times that night but didn’t have any qualms as she had won Rs.5000 of the bet.

She might have been masculine in many of her acts, but one thing that made her true feminine was her care for her skin. And for that she depended only upon Dove Soaps. I was not loyal to any soap brands in those days and used to buy any of the brands available in the market, but she was very particular about her choice of soap.

One day in the evening we had gone for our regular shopping, when the shopkeeper informed us that he didn’t have any pieces of Dove soaps left. He tried to push- sell us some other brand of soap but Tulika didn’t budge from her brand loyalty. We went to the main market of the city on her scooty and rummaged out Dove soaps. We had some snacks in a roadside dhaba there. It was winter season and it had got really dark at 7 in the evening.  We wanted to reach to our hostel as soon as possible.

When we were just a kilometer away from our hostel, we heard a whimpering sound.

“Seems somebody is crying,” said Tulika.

“Yes,” as soon as I said it, she stopped the scooty and went in the direction of the voice. My affirmation for the crying voice was not a signal for her to stop the scooty on a desolate road. But she didn’t care; she always did things that she considered right. I also followed her in the bushes by the side of the road.

Within a distance of a meter, we saw that five six teenagers were slapping a boy of their age. One of the gang had a dagger in his hand as well. And the boy being slapped was whimpering, crying and repeating the word ‘sorry’. From their conversation we could draw that the matter involved some money.

“We shouldn’t be here,” I whispered.

“They will kill this boy,” she said without giving any heed to my words of caution.

As soon as the boy with dagger stepped forward to stab the whimpering boy, Tulika put her finger on her nose and produced the sound of the wail of a police van. She was damn good at mimicry.

This made the gang very scared. They left the place at once, and left the whimpering boy alone.

We also ran towards our scooty. Tulika drove the scooty with a maximum speed that a scooty could be driven. In a matter of minutes we were in our hostel. At that day, I had known that behind the naughty and tomboyish veneer, there was a very brave person lurking in my friend who could put her in any danger to save someone.

Ah! These clouds refreshed memories of my dear friend. I wish we were also like clouds then we would have flown to anywhere and would have met anyone. For last 8 years, I am not in touch with my friend. Such is life, once you are very close and once you don’t see face of your friend for years.

“I had told you to sit still, hadn’t I?... You spilt everything” a voice from some rows before our seats broke my thoughts of good old days.

A lady in a bright saree  got up from her seat and strolled towards bathroom.

“Is she Tulika?” I whispered in my mind.

That lady also looked towards me with a wet cloth in her hand.

She smiled looking at me, yes she is Tulika. I jumped from my seat in the mid- air and hugged her. With mist in the eyes and frog in our throat, we introduced our families to each other.

When the plane touched down, we talked about very many things and at last I asked her: “what happened to your love for Dove?”

“We love once!” with an impish wink of her eye.

Since that day we have never lost touch and hope to remain in touch till our last breath.

P.S: This creative account is an entry to a contest being held at and sponsored by DOVE . 


Wednesday, December 18, 2013

A day with….or without my tablet!

My eyeballs were glued to the screen of my tablet as the metro train of Delhi was chugging along. It was month of May and AC coaches of the metro train was giving a big relief from sweltering heat.  Many stations were coming and as the train stopped at each station; many people thronged the coaches of the train. Gradually the coach I was travelling in was stuffed with people.

I was always averse to the idea of Delhi metro being free to all. I mean there were no classes. Anyone could enter any coach. Blue collared labourers, rustic tourists, gypsies and highbrow of society packed in same coach that classified none. I thought it was good example for unity of India picture but bundling people from every class in the same coach was not my cup of tea ever. I was buried in my tablet poring over the happenings around the world when the announcement about the Rajiv Chowk station blared.

I got up from my seat and came close to the gate in order to get down at the Rajiv Chowk station. Gradually the train halted at the station and the doors slid open.  My bag slinging on my shoulder and my tablet clutched in my hand, I got down from the train and mixed myself in the sea of humans that were floating at the station.

Amid shoving and pushing of the multitude suddenly my mind went numb. I was feeling only air in curved fingers of my hand. My eyes travelled with the lightening speed towards my hand only to find nothing in my hand. I could feel the heat of thousand degrees emitting through my ears. My eyes had become cradle for teardrops. “Somebody has stolen my tablet,” I yelled.

My veneer of sophistication flew away in the wake of this sudden calamity and I started cussing in soliloquy but wanted very much all others around me to listen the B& M words of swear dictionary. I hoped that my cussing would have a heart- change for the thief and he/she would return my tablet.

But after few words of commiseration, people went to their work to stamp the fact that the show must go on even if someone is crying or bleeding. I was also cursing myself for not opting for the Lenovo Yoga tablet which you can grip well and chances are very minimal of slipping it out of your hand in the moments when you mingle with a crowd.

In this entire emotional hullabaloo my eyes caught my suspect for my Tablet theft. My Sherlock Holmes mind started working. It was a she. She seemed to be in her mid-40s. Clad in a saree she was stepping down quickly to the stairs of the station. I followed her with my brisk steps and came out of the station. But within a wink of an eye she was out of my sight. “She must have legs of a P.T. Usha.” I wondered. I was feeling failed miserably when the miracle happened, she appeared in a hand pulled rickshaw. I also hailed one and started following her. I was determined to get my tab back at all cost. I had bought it just recently. After a while she left the rickshaw and I followed suit. She moved in a serpentine ally of a Delhi slum. Clandestinely, I kept following her until she entered a dilapidated hut.  I thought of barging into the hut but stopped myself from being foolhardy as there might be other hooligans inside. So, I decided to hide myself behind the wall of the hut so that I could keep an eye on her activities through a window sill that had a hole. After switching my phone off, I started peeping through the hole. There was a bearded man inside the room.

“Did you bring it?” He asked.

“He must be asking about my tab,” I thought.

She brought a thing that seemed exactly in the breadth and length of my tab wrapped in a paper out of her leather bag.

“Here is my Tab. Now I will call the police.” I was exhilarated on the success of my espionage efforts.

But what is this? He un-wrapped the paper and there was a foil shining, and shit it was a chocolate… not my Tab.

“Have it, this is what you were crying for, now devour it and keep calm, otherwise I will beat you badly,” the man said moving towards a corner where a kid of around 8 years was tied. He was sobbing. The man untied the rope of his hands but left the rope of his legs tied. He removed the sellotape from his mouth.

“Oh my god! This seems a kidnapping.” I talked to myself.

Leaving the kid alone with his chocolate they both came out of the room and stopped in the corner of the hut where no one could see them.

“Did you notice in his house any attempt to call the police?” asked the man in a whispering voice.

“No… it is only that my land lady is crying badly day and night for her son, they are arranging for the ransom money… isn’t it possible to release the kid… her mother is really in a bad state... and his father’s business has also hit a bad patch, he is finding it tough to arrange the 25 lakhs.”

“Don’t be an emotional fool, these business people never hit a bad patch, and they can always earn double the amount that they lose. So don’t worry about them, be happy, tonight we will be a lakhpati and I promise you that I will leave all bad things for ever and settle down with you. We will have a nice home, and get rid of this structure of tin, where we will raise our kids and they will become big people in society. Don’t you want a better life? Do you want to die a rotten old woman here in these slums?” the man gave her an emotional dosage as an antidote to dissuade her from thinking more emotionally about the plight of parents of the kid.


“Then do as I say.”

“Ok.” said the lady willynilly.

By now I had forgotten totally about my tab thing and my mind was only working on saving this kid from the hands of these people. But I was not a Kung Fu master to tackle the miscreants. The bearded man must have had a knife at least. If I confronted him directly, I could be sliced with his Rampuri.  So, I decided to call the police.

I brought my cell phone out of my pocket, switched that on by cupping it my hands completely to stop the sound from traveling to the ear of the kidnappers and informed the police.

After a few seconds my phone rang with a loud ringtone, which I generally enjoy, as I had forgotten to switch it off again.

“Who is there?” the bearded man asked and flew open the tin door beside the window, that I was really unaware of all the while that I was there. He grabbed me by scruff of my neck and dragged me inside the hut.

Despite my all resistance I was thrown inside of the house by the brutal force of the bearded man.
“Who are you?” he kept asking me repeatedly and without caring for my answer kept raining on me his fists and boots. My resistance was feeble and I was bleating.

I thought that these were my last moments on the earth as he was really poking my stomach and ribs with all savagery that he had in his body.

“Give me your phone…where have you called?… oh my god he has called the police, we need to run away now, but before running away I will finish this bastard, he has ruined my dream.”

 And he brought out a shining dagger that he had tucked into the roof of the hut.

As soon as he was to attack me with his dagger, the police barged into the room by breaking open the hut door. His attention distracted and I leaped towards the kid, clutched him in my arms and tried to run towards the side of police. But midway he again hampered my way by catching my hand and made a cut in my arm, the police then fired at him in his hands to overpower him. I put the kid down who was later cared for by other policeman and I put my other hand on the part of my arm that was spurting out blood profusely. I moved towards the ambulance that had come along with the police van. They quickly bandaged my hand, gave me some injections immediately to reduce my pain and lessen the risk of any infection. Later the kid was also examined by the paramedics.

The police bundled the culprits into their van and the kid and me were taken to a hospital.

I met the parents of the kid in the hospital; I felt a kind of bliss by seeing the relieved faces of the parents. They wanted to meet me but I left the hospital as soon as I was given a green signal from the docs, thankfully no ribs of mine had cracked. I knew they would thank me and be thankful to me. But I thought that only GOD deserved their thanks as it was only he/she who made me instrumental in saving the kid.

After three months, my hand had healed completely and by now I had completely forgotten the loss of my tablet. I was busy with my job and my family. On one evening when I returned fatigued by my job and crowd of metro train of Delhi, I noticed that door of my house was open and there was no light in my house. I entered my house really frightened about the plight of my family. I called out: Asha where are you? Papa Mummy where are you? Then, suddenly the lights of my house came to existence again with a blinding effect.
“Welcome Home!” a loud cheer welcomed me.

I could see some known and unknown faces. My family and my sisters’ family were also among some known faces and yes there was that kid also who had to go through a nasty experience of kidnapping some months ago. And I didn’t have any Idea about the unknown faces. Then, I was told that the unknown faces were from Lenovo India and they had chosen me for a bravery award. They handed out me a certificate and a check amount of 1 lakh rupees and a Lenovo Yoga Tablet!

I was happy, because I could see a sense of pride etched on the face of my family members.  I thanked God for giving me such an honour in my life.

That night I gave a small party to Lenovo India people, the family of the Kid and to my family. I enjoyed that evening very well. And now the family of the kid is my family.

P.S: This creative account is my entry for a contest being held at under title: Lenovo Yoga Better Way

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

When a mother thanked Dabur Chyawanprash!

Image Courtsy:

Radha took the temperature of her 10 years old son Raghav. The mercury pointed to ninety-nine. She heaved a sigh of relief as it had come down to this level for the first time in last 3 days.

The heavy blows of the wind mixed with the force of monsoon rains were making the window panes flutter. Radha shut the windows in.

“Will I be alright before the competition maa?”  asked Raghav as she came after shutting windows.

“Yes darling!” said Radha kissing her son on his mildly warm forehead.

After that she reclined on a chair beside the bed of her son who was sleeping without murmuring after days.  She had a file in her hands that she was poring over. The file contained the documents as regards legal battle pertaining to the custody of her son.  After the divorce, her husband was hell-bent on having the custody of their son. His argument was that because of her careless attitude Raghav fell sick often and that with her there was no future of his son.

Radha was a copywriter with a mid-sized ad agency while her husband Suresh was an art director with a big advertising agency. And this was where her husband tried to gain upper hand. He thought that with his upscale status he could give a far better future to his son.

She still remembered when her husband was in love with her during his struggling days in the ad world. Those were very sweet days. They had very middle class dreams. But as Suresh saw a meteoric rise in his career, his love for Radha started plummeting. He started dating a girl in his office behind her back. She was heartbroken when he first time put the divorce paper in front of her. She had thought it to be a joke at first, as they had a small scuffle a night before on trivial issues. She couldn’t stand the shameless confession of Suresh that now he didn’t love her anymore. She had cried inconsolably before Suresh but he did not budge from his decision. His argument was that now middle class Radha didn’t fit in his highbrow ambitions. He had only used Radha to break into the ad world. She had felt devastated and wanted to commit suicide but the innocence on the face of her son had stopped her from doing so.

Her son caught fever as soon as he was exposed to change in weather. And this always put hindrances in his swimming practice. He was very good at swimming but due to weak immunity, he fell sick and his practice became irregular. In next twenty days he had an inter-school swimming completion.

Next morning, Radha left for her job after putting Raghav in care of her parents.

“So much of traffic is today,” said Radha sitting in a taxi alongside her friend.

“Yes, the roads know that madam Radha is travelling today, so they have conspired against you,” said her friend jokingly.

“You won’t change Sumati.”

“I hate change… oh talking of change and here it is… see our ad-copy is gone from that big hoarding, now it is displaying the Dabur Chyawanprash Ad.”

“3 times more immunity… huh,” reacted Radha to the tagline of Dabur Chyawanprash.

“What huh… they are right!”

“You are reacting as if you don’t know the reality behind the slogans of ad-world, we ourselves whole day toil hard to think about some imaginary USPs to include in the slogan of a product.”

“No no it is not like that…  I have used it, see my son used to fall sick often irrespective of sunshine or monsoon, but for last 1 year that I have been giving him DaburChyawanprash, he hardly falls sick. And you know what even if he comes drenched in the rain, I don’t fear that he will fall sick… here comes the green light.”

The conversation with her colleague kept doing rounds in the head of Radha. In the evening she bought one pack of Dabur Chyawanprash. She started giving heap-full spoons of Dabur Chyawanprash  to her son from that very day.

Gradually, her son recuperated. But doctor had strictly prohibited water splashing for Raghav.  But as days of competition inched closer, Raghav started to urge his mother to take him to his swimming classes. After initial resistance, she finally relented.

Raghav enjoyed his stay at his swimming class like a kid of fish. Radha was still skeptical about over exposure of water to Raghav’s body.  Days passed but Raghav didn’t fall sick.

Finally, the day of the competition arrived. Radha was keeping her fingers crossed. Radha’s husband and Raghav’s father Suresh also made his presence at the competition but not to show any solidarity with Raghav &Radha. He wanted to witness an event that could cause his son to fall sick and in turn it would make his argument stronger that Radha couldn’t take care well of his son. Furthermore, he knew it very well that just 20 days ago his son was severely sick and by no means could he win any prize in this competition. He wanted to enjoy the adversity of failure on the face of Radha. He had become a real demon!

Anyways, the competition started, and as all contenders plunged into the pool ,Radha closed her eyes and started praying… no she didn’t want her son to come first ,what she only wanted  was that her son enjoyed his swim and didn’t fall sick.

“And the second prize goes to Raghav!” the announcer declared after sometime.

The happiness of Radha knew no bounds, she looked at Suresh with a sense of win in her eyes and ran to clutch her son in her arms. Suresh left the place in a huff.

When Raghav was presented with his runner-up medal, Radha thanked the ‘3 Times More Immunity’ aspect of Dabur Chyawanprash. Because had it not been for  Dabur Chyawanprash, this proud moment could never have been achieved.

Next day Raghav’s picture was in newspaper with winner and the third position holder.

By and by ,two months passed  by and Raghav was still to fall sick. The court declared the parentage of Radha the best for Raghav and now eyes of Radha could draw a glorious future for her son without worrying about immunity of her child. On the night of court verdict, Radha had thanked profusely God and DaburChyawanprash for the happiness in her life.

P.S: This fictional account is an entry to a contest being held at

Wednesday, October 30, 2013


Pic Curtsy:

In a world where everything is between black and white and success and failure, human qualities of sham, deception, and shenanigans get glorified in a way that they seem more appropriate than the qualities of probity and honesty.

Gradually abnormal replaces normal.

No doubt, people do get success sans walking the path of integrity, but little by little their grouse from their self-fashioned lifestyle increases. They want more from life but they don’t get it. Suddenly, they stop to realize the beautiful essence of life itself. Blinded by bucks and surrounded by success, they start leading a life that is lifeless!

In such a scenario, Preethi Srinivasan comes to tell us that how important it is to honor a life that we have. I read about her at and after reading about her I came to a conclusion that if courage could ever be personified, it would look identical to her.

When she smiles, she teaches us that how a gruesome guffaw of adversity can be silenced so calmly. Her soft-spoken but full- of- aplomb voice disagrees that uncertainties of life has capacity to decimate the zeal to survive. Her eyes have seen worst possible gloom, but still they have an effulgent glint in them that reminds us of her indomitable spirit.

Her unruffled persona seems to be making mockery of our seriousness for a restless psyche. Her theory of life management dwarfs all theories that we know about managing life.

They say that in every one of us there is a tiny part of God, but I think that in the persona of Preethi there is a colossal part of God, otherwise it is entirely impossible to go through so much and still be able smile. Through personalities like Preethi , God leaves its imprint on this universe.  In my opinion, God is about grit and Preethi is, every bit, grit personified!



Sunday, October 20, 2013

My Plati-Numb Day of Love

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon in Kolkata. I was enjoying my spare time with a book of Paulo Coelho -- my intellectual diet. After some time, my parents came to my room and exhorted me to take my wife to show around the famous Dakhshineshwar temple.

“These people will never understand value of finishing a book,” I murmured in my mind.

Actually, it was a ploy of my parents to make me closer to my wife, whom I considered a misfit in my life. She was from a small town in Bihar and a fresher for the hustle and bustle of a metropolis like Kolkata. It was for, just, last two months that she was residing in the city. I felt she was backward as she didn’t know English and didn’t have any intellectual leanings. She didn’t understand even a wee bit of the debates on the T.V channels ranging from coalgate scams to elevation of Mr. Modi as a prime ministerial candidate.

Yes she was naïve, but this is what I abhorred most about her.

 I wanted a life partner who had at least a little intellectual inclination. But she had zilch of it. Whole day she kept herself busy with kitchen chores and tending to the needs of her in-laws. She was happily ignorant to the happenings of the world.

Anyways, after a lot of goading from my parents, willy-nilly, I conceded to take her for the “pilgrimage”.

By an auto we reached the Mahanayak Uttam Kumar Metro station.  Metro trains are cheaper than hiring a taxi in Kolkata, so it was an obvious choice.

There was a big throng at the station in the afternoon as the metros didn’t do rounds in the mornings of Sundays.

I bought tickets at the counter after standing for half an hour in the serpentine queue. I gave one ticket to my wife.  I was trying to be aloof from her and she had to almost run, on occasions, to match up with me. I wanted to make things uncomfortable for my wife so that she never dares to come out with me in future. This male domination mentality was in every ounce of me.

Soon it was announced that train was coming on the platform.  Multitude of people gathered in front of gates of the train to secure their seats.

As the train pulled up, the crowd bundled us into it. However hard I tried, I couldn’t secure any seats for us. Quickly the train doors slid closed and we got packed in the train.  In the process of entering the train my wife and I got separated. I was standing in the male dominated area and she was in the area where women were in larger numbers. In Kolkata metros this separation of male and female side gets created on its own for the convenience. This way, at least, the chances of eve teasing gets reduced.

The train chugged along and suddenly picked up its speed.  After 4-5 stations, the crowd got thinner and now I could see my wife from a distance in her blue saree standing by holding the bars attached to the roof of the train. I was thinking that the ordeal of metro journey would deter my wife from any future excursions with me. I was wickedly happy for this metro mayhem.

Suddenly there was an announcement that the train would not go ahead Park Street metro station ,as a suicide had taken place and passengers were advised to get down on the Park Street metro station.  As train pulled up at the station there was an unusual crowd waiting for us.

I got down from the train and stood at a side of the elevator, waiting for my wife. And after a few moments, there she came in the blue saree. “But where is she going?” I thought. I called her, Suman… Suman. But she didn’t listen. I was really angry at her indifferent attitude. What does she think of herself…. Queen of Kolkata who knows every nook and corner of the city? Now, I decided to walk up to her.

I tapped on her shoulder to attract her attention and when she turned towards me, my face turned pale. It was not Suman. I quickly apologized to the lady.

Now my mind went numb. I could only hear the wordless murmur of Bangla language and see the blurred human frames. My wife had got lost. I tried to search for her trudging through the rush of the station. But she was nowhere to be found.

“Did she get down on any earlier station mistaking someone else for me as I mistook someone else for her?” I thought. Several other ominous and scary things started flitting through my mind and suddenly it occurred to me to make a ring on her mobile. Shit! there was no signal in my mobile.  I kept the mobile back in my pocket and started scanning every female face frantically again.

“It was all my fault. Why didn’t I hold her hand in the crowd?” I was cursing myself. My all intellectual air and male ego had gone for a toss and I was feeling week and trembling inside, typical of any ordinary husband whose wife was missing. Now, it downed upon me that how meaningful she was in my life. Beneath my snobbish façade of the intellectuality, there was a heart of a commoner that throbs for its near and dear ones.  Now, I realized that I loved my wife despite her shortcomings (from my standards). Now I didn’t want her to be a sophisticated soul, I just wanted her, the way she was. “Please goddess, return my wife,” I prayed.

With all sorts of thoughts jumbled up in my mind, I came out of the station to ring her again. The phone was ringing but no reply. I grew more anxious.  After several attempts, I decided to go inside the station once again to give it my last try before going to police station. As I entered the station, I heard an announcement in Bangla and Hindi that had my name. It said: “Mr. Neeraj Kumar of Tollygunge, wherever you are please come to the control room, your wife is waiting.” I felt a new leash of life being pumped into my lungs. I ran crazily towards the control room.

As I entered the room, I madly scanned all around the room and when I turned to my left she was there in her blue saree, standing anxious but clam. I hugged her tightly. She got embarrassed of my gesture. But I didn’t care about the people around me at that time. My most precious thing was in my arms and I was a relieved man. With my choked up throat and teary eyes I thanked the control room officers and with my wife came out of the station.

That day, I came to know that knowing English and listening heated arguments on the burning topics of contemporary India was not all to be called an intellectual. An intellectual was one who handled his/her situation with a calm mind amid the adversity. And to my mind it was my wife who was intellectual on those moments of separation to summon up all her gumption, in a relatively foreign conditions (for her), and go to the control room and seek help.

Later, I came to know that in the pushing and shoving of the station throng, she had lost her mobile phone. But I had no qualms about that. I had my most precious thing with me and at that day I came to know what a platinum day of love is called. It was that day for me.

 I found my love that day: Platinum and Pristine.

I thanked Godess  Kali for my wife’s safe return to me and took a taxi direct to the Dakshineshwar Temple. For the rest of the day, I held her hand like a child who clings to his/her doll even while sleeping.

After return from the temple, I went with my wife to a jewelry shop and bought for her a gleaming Platinum Ring to etch that day indelibly on the timeline of our lives as a day of love!

P.S: This is a fictional account for a contest being held at under title Platinum Day of Love.

Friday, August 23, 2013

Obituary to Human Soul

There used to be an element called human soul under this firmament. It used to care about pain and emotions of human body and mind. Some ‘eons’ ago it died a brutal death. Now resides an uncouth and gruesome demon disguised as human soul in the human body. You must be wondering that this is a mad person’s blabber. But my argument is that had human soul not died, we would not have been witnessing incidents that outrage the modesty of womb that nurtures life… and that too, on daily basis.

Be it Delhi, Mumbai or name any sleepy corner of India the heinous crimes of rape happen everywhere. Reams are written and volumes are spoken about whys of such incidents. Psychologists, sociologists, social activists and news anchors try to revive the cold human soul by their heated arguments…but alas their efforts go in vain. The beast planted in the human body at the place of pure soul guffaws at all endeavours of intellectual minds to terminate its deadly intentions. It roars and devours one more body, tears one more life even before the talk shows on television get over.

Someone again feels that earth is hell; someone again feels that she is only flesh. Amid the blabber of talk shows and clatter of printing machines, the pain of being bereft of joys of life begins to disappear only to be replaced by a new pain.

What are you doing? Trying to raise an alarm? You fool, don’t you know we are a soft state, we will deal softly with everyone even if they try to defile the womb that is very reason for our existence and therefore should be sacrosanct.

Oh! You are trying to invoke life to the dead soul… no problem, try friend my prayers are with you.

Sunday, March 31, 2013

The drought and the destiny!

Maharashtra houses Mumbai: the citadel of moolah. Famous film stars, sportstars, and business moguls all make an envious gang that any other city of India would love to cradle. Opulence is slave of this city. Some politicians of the state might give IIM alumni better ideas about running a business than Kotler .

Despite all positives ensconced in the state, its people are today bound to collect water from toilet of trains. People in general will feel squeamish about the use of water from toilet flush other than ablution of bottom. But hapless people from drought hit areas of Maharashtra are collecting water from toilets of trains crossing their place to quench their thirst and douse the hunger of their belly.

India is in the race of becoming a superpower. It has super brains that make the economy soar, it has intellectuals that can debate with their la- di -da english accent  at any international platform to prove how immaculately developed a nation we have become after the years of  independence.  Many a time they speak on the minute financial or strategic issue with such finesse that you can have an illusion of listening to an omniscient who has solutions to the world’s every problem. But how come their probing and piercing eyes overlooked the tragedy of drought hit region of our country?

India has enough rivers to quench the thirst of its children but despite the fact, today a part of the country is wailing silently due to dearth of water.

In the state that has glamour of film-stars, glimmer of sport-stars and gumption of political-stars, is it so difficult to bring relief to dry lands and perched throats?