A fond remembrance of a potboiler

"Her laughter was the only genuine expression. Unlike middle class girls, who even smile reluctanly, she used to laugh loud, and she used to break into laughter often. Her uncanny sense of humour always first resulted in surprise at her soroundings. Within a few seconds they would also join her, even the a distant observer would come lively. A zephyr would inebriate the sorrounding with humour afterwards,when she was gasping for breath with eyes filled. Her eyes moistened each time she laughed, but she never stopped short of busting into another bustling laughter."

"Eveything else was pretensions. She meant "yes" when we heard "no", and her silence as if screechined across ur eardrums. Another hearty laughter after such a melacholic silence was even more perplexing. Tear filled eyes could be a result of good amount of laughter, worrisome mood might be vying a consiracy. But then the first memory of a girl as an adolscent

Despite being in a co-ed school, the girls in our class had built an invisible boarder for themselves. They occupied the front rows, talked among themselves, gathered around the small garden near the school office. I wondered how they entertained themselves, without any visible movement, wihout much hu-hulla, any jokes and laughter. Probably they played the rural indoor girlish games, like the one played with brokern tamarind seeds and bengles, or kasadi, where they dug 33 small holes in the ground and played with tamarind seeds, or houshold number games involving as many persons available. They never played kitkit in the school, where you have to jump to some quares in one leg in several fashions along with a small piece of Khapar-(Khapar is something used to make roofs of house). Of course, all these was before she came.

It was a sunny day of december. Half-yearly exams were after one day only but in a rural school like ours, exams didnt creat much anxiety in the parents or enthusiasm in students. Exams used to pass like seasons making studnets sometime bright with greenery sometime dull with it's harse heat. Teachers were respected and unanswerable and gurdians were uninvoleved and unconcerned. As a result school was a nice playground, especially for few of us who enjoyed classes being patted by teachers and breaks leading the chaos. We were sitting that day on the boundary wall overlooking the main entrance, our teacher for that period was known for his late arrivals and he had not arrived till then. The experienced guide was briefing us about his first hand experience with a girl. He was lucky of course, for nature has bestowed him with a big and healthy body and now with a girlfriend. The entrance opened but someone not our teacher walked in. She was not wearing the unifrom and she had a bag hanged on her shoulders. " She is a newcomer, but she is late, she is late" cried out Ram. Although there was no penalties for coming late, but since the attendence was taken in the first class only, Ram was generally marked absent. He was told recently that he might have to pay some fine before being allowed to sit in the exam. But she did not seem to be concerned of that. "She does not know that" i thought, "cause she does not even know there are uniforms" this time i spoke out surprising myself. She was approching effortlessly like a paperboat gliding on a stream of water just after a fresh shower. We were as happily wating as the children who float the paperboat at one end of the culvert and wait at the other end with limitless enxiety. Sometimes it reaches, sometime does not. But this time it did, and she asked the biggest among us "where is class eight". Adu, stammerd out something which made her turn towards the class. He blurted out again, "we are from the same class". She turned again helplessly trying to controll her laugher and said " I am Arti".

Arti knew there was an exam and was prepared for it, she told. It made me nervous as I was worried of being stripped of the honour of class topper. In our school, the day before day of exam was usually a holiday. Not because we revisioned the lessions and assignments of the books, but we spent most of our time ensuring that at least we had a cardboard as the desk were uneven, two fountain pens which dont leak and spoil the papers, a geometry box, a set of pencil, sharpner and earaser. Many a times these demands were not fulfilled by parents or gurdians, so we went aroung aksing freinds and acquitance if they had any extra or could give us for the perticular day if they dont need them. Exam time were nice and enjoyable, there was no imposition of unifroms, prayer was not important and could be bunked, and almost everybody was well-equipped and sat in silence as if some kind of rituals were going on. But this time it was hard, the preparation day and through out the exam i was in fear of lagging behind. I had to write to Papa after my exams and he always expected me to come first. During the exam I fell ill and remained bed-ridden for about a week later on.

The day I went to school the weather had a different spell. I missed the first class (which we called period) and the next one was free. But girls were inside and talking to boys, some people were even enthusiasticaly reading the recently distributed library books. The second row is now occupied by four girls including Arti and we were shifted to the next. I protested, I could not listen anything from that far. Arti looked grimmed but with a flash replied, "there are enough space you can share a seat with us". It was quite an awkward suggestion and I would never leave my coterie easily. They had of course, reserved a seat for me, but they had switched sides. Exam results were announced the same day, I had once again come first but the news of the day was Arti stood second and she scored highest marks in Englsih and Oriya literature. I turned to Jasho who had been pushed to number three, there was no support. Only way out was to join the chorus and preserve my dignity. She was laughing in her usual way, as if rejoicingher vicotry over the class. " You were healthy the day i came first, you look so weak now. In fact, we were planning to visit you. see I have got this book for you" she said in with her moist eyes stopping several times for breath.

I paused, she had reigned over the class, my troops were mesmerised and taken over and now she was challenging me to accept an humiliating unconditional agreement. I could not mock the offer partly because of the ingune face or the doy eyes partly because i had to get back my soverniety.

Most of what happening was welcome. Regular library schedule, debate classes which were earlier considered as breaks, gardening had become an enterprise, sports had reached it's all time highest respect. Classes had also followed the same suit, in a different direction. Lectures were no more important, instead discussions were held. For library and debates (with papa only) where I had special privileges, it had become public amenities.

She was not apologetic, she had no guilt consciousness. In fact, she was trying to get me into the fold. I resisted her friendship, an obvious disguise of slavery. I became stranger and more so in the next few days. Long hours of the school became unbearable, seated quite and uninvolved in the class and in the intervals, myriad of thoughts started taking over me. Those invisible cobwebs never left me ever.

God's Own Dilemma

Sometimes or should I say more than often, I doubt my existence. I know I do exist physically and at least some people can corroborate the fact, but this is not the evidence that matters to the world at large.

Recently, when mumbai was marooned and transpost network was at disarray, we were stranded at Dadar station. There, crowd was huge and every single square feet was occupied. The restroom, the platform, the foot-over-bridge, the single express train that remained cancelled, all places were saturated. The floor everywhere was wet because of the incessant cat and dog rain, and the restless-uncertain and aimless feet. People were roaming, standing or if fortunate enough leaning against the wall, column or anything they found. Outside the station, water had rose waist high which could be worse a little far. People from Mahalaxmi, Chuchgate, Parel and other small stations had already gathered here before water soar critical level. Commuters had the general idea of the locality and did not bulge out of the safe place. True, platform is one the safest places in India, barring the railway officials and guards who may wish to earn some easy money and occasional thieves. Numerous nights I have spent on platforms, reading books and remaining clutched to my belongings at the relatively unused part of it. That night there was no such luxury.

I realised that I was lost in the tiny world, that I did not matter to anyone except myself and that my stay was meaningless and was for my own surival, as the rest of my life had been. I was running our of patience and the nightmare was seemingly neverending. Of ourse, Richard Dawkins was true, I (or my genes) was/were ensuring my/their own survival and I was no different. Oh..something pricked at my conscience....why should I, at the first place, wish to be different ? I am one of them, as selfish and social as anybody else suffering the nature's fury at the "human-shade"-Dadar. I was also looking for some dry place to rest on, and jealously kept it occupied as others had done. Advertisement hoardings, featuring beautiful celebraties and models had been beds for tired working class poeple, but wasn't that my idea just did not materialised because we were good boys ! So why was the longing to be different ? Did I solicit attention, or hero worship or at least stand out in the crowd? Obviously not that much. I wished special privilege for myself, to get back to ***, to have a good night's sleep. Alas, I was not lonely in thinking so.

I could not breathe more, the compartment of the only train standing was suffocating. The filthy odour form the toilet has filled it, which was frequently being used. I sprung out of the precious little space we shared in the upper berth and rushed out of the train. "Prabin...Prabin" cried out Ranjeet, "panch hi baje he ek ghanta our sut le". His voice was suggesting he was too struggling to catch forty winks. I could not stop. Ambivalence had made me impassive. I knew i could not be assured of my existence, the individuality was lost and only names and faces were floatin.....