Late in the night a man in his early thirty’s entered a building. He was tense and a bit curious.

From the main hall he took the right corridor, went straight till the end and took a left turn, he was again in a hall but a smaller one this time.

He enquired about something from a lady sitting at the help desk. She guided him to take the last corridor to the left and go to room number 120.

His hand was on the knob. He was not sure of what he would find in the room. He entered. He went slowly to the bed. From the bed he picked up something very carefully. He went on staring it and a bead of water appeared in his eyes and then he was completely in tears.

He was looking at his baby for the first time. It was his first child.

His wife, who was sleeping on the bed, was now awake, saw him and asked, “Isn’t she beautiful, Anmol?” he was not able to reply immediately. He just kept on staring at his daughter and after sometime replied, “Yes, she is.” And in a very low voice which probably only he heard said “she is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.”

She was his daughter. Their daughter. Anmol’s and Tara’s daughter.

At that very moment he knew he would take a lot of care of her, he would love her more than anyone he has ever loved, except for his wife, in his whole life. Not just because doctors have told them that their baby would be the only one they could have but because he has always wanted his own kids.

He put her back and touched her forehead lightly with his right hand. Baby twitched and went back to sleep again.

Both of them named her Parchaii, their own shadow.

Parchaii was a mischievous child. She was always up to something. She always kept Tara running after her. Anmol loved his daughter’s wittiness. They bought her everything she put a hand on. Though they hardly let her go out of house but Pari was always trying to get a chance to get out and go to the park in front of their house where other children used to come and play.

They feared Pari would get hurt. She used to see other children play. She used to plead with her mother to let her go out but nothing worked. Slowly and slowly little girl understood she would never be able to play with those children who are always covered with mud. She stopped arguing.

Pari was not that good at studies and her parents were worried because of her careless attitude towards it.

In school, only periods she was interested in were crafts and games. She could run as much as she wanted in the ground with a football, play cricket and basketball with her friends during games. Make beautiful nothings out of waste.

Whatever friends she had were in school and no one near her home so her evenings went with her father solving crosswords and playing in backyard. Anmol taught her to play shuttle and chess.

One evening Anmol came with a box of sweets and called for Tara. Parchaii too came running. He was excited as he has got a promotion.

He told them, “As I have got a promotion, we have to shift to headquarters”.

Both Parchaii and Tara wanted to know, “Where?”

“We are going to Gandhinagar. It’s a big city and is around 200kilometers from here. And the best part is – Parchaii you would be studying in much better school then this one.”

“But daddy I don’t want to leave this place. I don’t want to leave my school and friends.”

“Come on Pari you’ll make new friends. You’ll be studying with children of high profile people.”

“But I don’t want to.”

“Enough of this. Go and start packing your bags. We are leaving day after tomorrow.”

“What? Day after tomorrow!!! But we can’t, my school year in not over yet.”

“You don’t worry about it. I have talked to your principal and she agreed to give you school leaving certificate and I have talked to your new principal; she will be meeting you the day after we reach there. Everything is arranged.”

“Daddy how could you do this to me?” and she ran away weeping.

“Anmol are you not being a bit tough with the girl. She is a teenager now and you know how children behave in this age?”

“Tara you tell me – what should I have done? Leave such a good opportunity just because she doesn’t want to go?”

“I m not saying that but you could have disclosed to her slowly. First you could have prepared her for it. It doesn’t matter to me but for her… you know leaving friends behind… is a big thing. Just think about your school and college days.”

“Yeah, you are right. But what’s done is done. Please talk to her.”

“You know she won’t listen to me.”

“Ok, I’ll talk to her but after going there.”

For two days Parchaii didn’t talk to her father. During whole journey she was silent. Anmol had made a point to talk to her immediately after reaching the destination and so he did and was able to convince her that in her new school she would find more friends.

She met her new principal the next day she arrived. She was immediately given a seat in 8^th standard. First day Anmol dropped her at school.

Pari found it strange that there was no uniform. One can wear casuals to school. She was a bit nervous. In the class she hardly talked and only replied when teacher asked her something.

At last they had a games period and she was free to go in the grounds. She didn’t even wait for anybody else and went straight to sports complex next to their block. Got a basketball and headed towards court.

Some boys were playing in half court.

She called out, “May I play with you?”

Every one of them laughed.

She got real angry and was wondering what was funny about her question? Didn’t wait for there reply and went to other half court.

“Hey, you are Parchaii right.”

“Yeah, how do you know my name?”

“I am in your class.”

“Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t notice you.”

“It’s ok. No one ever does.”

“Hey, want to play?”

“What basketball? Obviously not. I have never played it before.”

“Come on it’s not that difficult.”

“Ok, if you say so.” And he entered the court.

“What’s your name?”

“Manas”

“May I ask you something?”

“Who are those?” pointing towards other half court guys with her eyes.

“Why? Did they say something to you?”

“Not really. But when I asked if I can play with them, they …”

“What? You asked them what? Listen Parchaii..”

“Call me Pari”

“Whatever, but you are never going to talk to them. And most important never ask them anything and even more important never walk through their corridor.”

“But, why?”

“Because they are seniors.”

“As if this matters..”

“Of course it does. What kind of a girl you are? I thought, you are just a bit strange on seeing you when you entered the class in those clothes but I never thought you would be this much weird.”

“Now what is wrong with my clothes?”

“You didn’t notice? What’s wrong? Girl… you are wearing a shirt and jeans.”

“So? You are also wearing that.”

“Uff ! Girls are not supposed to wear jeans.”

“But principal told me I can wear what I wish.”

“Principal knows nothing.”

“Then what are girls supposed to wear?”

“They wear skirts with t-shirts, frocks and some of the seniors wear minis also.”

“Now what are these minis??”

“Now I m sure you are not a girl. Every girl in our class wishes to wear minis when they’ll be older. “

“How do you know that?”

“I just know. Ok leave this. You must have a boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend means a boy who is your friend right. I have lots of them.”

“What? How do you manage them?”

“What’s in it to manage? We all used to play together in school even girls used to play back home.”

“No you didn’t understand me. I am asking about your boyfriend. Not friends. Every girl has a boyfriend.”

“Means only one friend among boys? I didn’t get you.”

“Leave it. You don’t have one. You are a strange girl.”

The bell rang and both of them went to class. No one else talked to her in the class rest of the day. She went home very depressed. Tara could see that Pari was not well. She asked her what happened. Pari told her about the day and the strange boy and about all her class mated – they didn’t even bother to talk to her.

She went to her room and didn’t do anything, just kept watching cartoons. Tara was worried. She called Anmol at office and told everything. He also got a bit tense but thought of an idea.

In the evening when he returned, “Pari, where are you? See what I have got for you.” She came running, “What is it daddy?” “You have to come downstairs to see it” “please show me please.” “Let’s go girl”. On going downstairs he unveiled her present – brand new ranger cycle. “Daddy I love you” and she hugged him real tight. “But you have to promise me you won’t take it out of colony in any case.” “I promise daddy. May I try it now?” “Yes sure. It’s all yours.”

She didn’t know how to cycle but learnt in a weak.

Meanwhile Manas became a real good friend of hers. He was the only one who never laughed at her strange ideas and helped her in everything. He used to tell her strangest of the things about girls and how she should behave to make more friends among girls but she considered them stupid and never cared if they were her friends or not as she has already got a friend. Though she sometimes thought he was a goon but he was a friend of hers and when you are friends it doesn’t matter.

She used to tell Tara about the day’s events which almost always made her uneasy. She had started to worry why her daughter not able to make more friends in school. She was not able to make her mind about this Manas boy whether she should let her daughter hang around with him. But Anmol always used to say they are children and Pari has to learn about this world. And Manas is one who is doing so. He is letting her know what different kinds of people are there.

Pari didn’t make anymore friends in her school but she was happy and was considered intelligent by her teachers.

And what added to her happiness was – Manas and his family were shifting to their colony. She was very excited about it and kept on singing it whole day.

After coming of Manas she hardly stayed at home. She was always out on her cycle roaming, playing cricket with him or working out math problems at his home.

Now Anmol started getting worried about her daughter. She practically spent no time with her parents now. Mostly when he was coming back home Pari was taking her cycle out and their conversation reduced to “hi daddy, bye daddy.” Which was not acceptable to him.

And one fine day when he fortunately found her at home getting ready, he told her not to go out and study at home. She told him that she and Manas study together.

“No you are not going out and study here.”

“But we help each other in problems.”

“If you need any help, I am there.”

“But daddy…”

“No more arguments.”

She didn’t go. But she cried that whole evening. She was not able to understand what has happened to her father. Tara tried to explain her, her father’s anxiety. But she couldn’t.

Every day Anmol was putting new restriction on her and she didn’t do anything but cry. She was not able to understand why she was not allowed to play anymore or go cycling.

One day Anmol came and announced that Pari is going to join new school in her 11^th standard. She couldn’t take this anymore.

“What’s wrong with this school?”

“Your new school is better than this.”

“This is what you said about this school also when we came.”

“But it’s good for your studies that you join the new school.”

“No it’s not. I am a topper here. What more good can that school do to me?”

“You are arguing with me?”

“No daddy I am not.”

“Than, you are going to new school.”

“I won’t”

“Why don’t you want to leave?”

“Because, all my friends are here.”

“You don’t have any friends except for that boy.. What’s his name..”

“Manas”

“Yes him. You are leaving.”

“No I won’t.”

And she banged the door and took her cycle and went on cycling, crying. Manas saw her crying and went after her. He called her but she didn’t listen. He tried to catch her but it was too late and she was already on main road and before he could do anything …

Next day’s newspaper read… a 10^th standard girl crushed to death by a speeding truck on the national highway.

Note : This is my first story. If it is boring do pardon me for wasting your time..

Have you ever thought what the life of a mosquito must be like? …..ok I think I know what you are thinking. No I haven’t lost it….not yet.
It was one of those jocular moments when three people (Akshita, Subhasree and me) who did not have any immediate deadlines to meet got together for half an hour and discussed stuff that can best be termed crap.

It all started with an innocent remark Akshita made saying she had hosted a feast for mosquitoes in her room the previous night and she badly needed an all-out.

I who was already frustrated (I who….sounds a little odd….Word doesn’t show me any errors though) after a whole day of unsuccessful attempts at trying to publish a web catalogue, started to think that mosquitoes were very lucky creatures. We humans have to study, find ourselves a decent job, work hard (read meet deadlines ….how I’ve started hating that word….guess that is what an unreasonable deadline can do to you) at our workplace and then when we get paid for our work go shop for food, cook and then eat. (Ok sometimes u can just go to a restaurant and eat.) But all a mosquito has to do is find somebody to feast on. It doesn’t have to do anything else.
But I was proven wrong. I was made to realize what a difficult life a mosquito leads. Don’t believe a mosquito’s life is difficult.

Sample this…..

While we humans study from books and other sources….supposedly mosquitoes also learn about which angle is best suited to have our blood without getting killed. They do case studies on how their ancestors were killed so that they do not face a similar fate. They learn from their experiences, whose blood is sweet and whose is not so, who should be the regular target and if they have Malaria (guess that should have been diabetes) and their doctor advices them not to have sweet blood then under such circumstances whom should they target and so on.

Some gyan that….. Source : Subhasree who understands the plight of mosquitoes more than one of their own kind

And then the discussion shifted to who would be no 1 on our hit list if we were allowed one murder in life and who should help whom …..I told u we were discussing crap.

——-*

Days are passing by one after other.

Have lots of work to do each day.

An aim to be fulfill every minute.

There is always something to look forward to.

Peace of night and calmness of day.

Companionship of friends that makes one feel secure.

But still something is missing…

Something is not there…

Warmth of home,

Fights with brother,

Weakly outings with family,

There is something that heart longs for…

But what it has is emptiness all around.

——*

this is the outcome of a very busy schedule, i think…

Yuck… Chii …. Karela bhi koi khane ki cheez hai… bhagwan ne karela banaya hi kyun…. banaya to banaya.. logon ne ise khana kyun shuru kar diya??? ….. there are much much better things to eat… these are some of the first reactions when we hear karela or read it anywhere…

Now imagine this….

A child and mother go shopping for vegetables… and the child wouldn’t rest unless and until mother buys it… and goes on and on with… ‘mummy karela , mummy karela… mummy karela kharido naa..’

Is that kid out of the senses??? God knows…

Mother asks father, ‘kal kaunsi sabji banau??’ …. And from no where this troubled kid comes and starts yelling ‘mummy kal karela … plz plz plz’

The child really really needs to see a doc…

In the class, the teacher asks her students about their likes and dislikes among vegetables and everyone but this child favors karela for the most hated sabji.

Isn’t that kid a maniac…. Kis pagal ko karela achcha lag sakta hai???

You people want an example…. It’s me.

I hear shouting in the corridor and enough banging of doors for me to think something is wrong. I scramble out of bed ramming my knee into the table and glancing at the watch in the process. It’s quarter past midnight. I open the door to see what’s wrong and my presence is immediately acknowledged. I hear something like “Sruthi di hamara assignment postpone ho gaya.” So that is what the hullabaloo is all about. I say “Wow gr8″ thinking “good but u din have to wake the whole world up to tell them this.” However the excitement gets to me too and I become a part of the celebration…..one of the idiosyncrasies of being at GH!!!

Being a hosteler at IIIT has been wonderful experience. I have experienced a mixed bag of emotions, found a few good friends and collected enough memories of campus life to reminisce later. As much as it irritates me to wait for hot water at the common bathroom when the person inside has absolutely no plans of ever coming out or the goose bumps I get if I have to meet BLN, or the gym full of broken equipment that we have, I have absolutely enjoyed the long walks at 12 in the night, shared lunches and dinners, movie marathons and endless sessions of dabbling, arguments and informal counseling. Though the erratic behavior of my wing mates irritates me at times, they have been my support system over the past two years. They have shared my joy, my effervescence and my sadness all alike. I have vented out my emotions to them and they have listened to me without judging. Life without them becomes so boring that when they are away for holidays I go home too. Even as I write this I am actually in a wing mate’s room making plans to go jogging at 11 in the night…..talk of idiosyncrasies.

So we have to work really hard to save ourselves from that exceptional class. Here are some of the descriptions of the zealous work…..

Sir has taken the attendance, he just turned towards the board…. one guy stands up carefully, one hand still on the chair (for precaution)….. starts walking….. sir is still writing… .. guy stars jogging….. hey … hey… sir is about to turn…. he runs for his life… … sir turns to class and dutifully explains something which to tell u the truth I am hardy able to understand… again sir turns to board… another guy ready to make his move….goes jumping out of the class….. again sir turning re-turning scenario repeats and this time no caution… nothing ……. Bang!!! … azadi ke sangharsh ka ek aur saccha sipahi is out of the class….

Some of us take more shantipriya marg …. …. try to sleep of the class. Fortunate ones are able to sleep away whole class without being noticed, some less fortunate people get caught and are being asked to pay attention …. aur who log jinka luck se dur dur tak ka koi wasta nahi hai…. are being asked to come and sit in the first row…

Some others try to utilize the time efficiently and horn their artistic abilities by drawing out wonderful cartoons, some discuss work related to other subjects, some do their pending assignments or in more formal terms copy them…..

And and …… bhagwan ke ghar mein der hai andher nahi…… there are still those, who listen to Prof obediently, make proper notes…. my salute to them….

As far as I go, I like paper crafting at that time…

Aakhir itni mehnat ka phal hamein mil hi gaya!!!

Prof allowed us to walk out whenever we wish….. but I am sure dal mein kuch kala hai……

Well has any one of you seen someone dying before your eyes??

I have … not just once but twice and both the incidents were poles apart in their circumstances.

I came face to face with death at a very early age when I saw my maternal great grand father passing into another life. I suppose I was in 5^th or 6^th standard, I don’t remember the class exactly but that night is pasted like a film clip in my memory. I was at Naniji’s house for vacations. My mother and Naniji were trying hard to put me, my brother and my cousin (Vicky) to sleep but obviously we were not very obedient children. My Nanaji had gone to ‘bade nanaji’s room’ (this is how I used to address him- Bade Nanaji) to see if he needed anything. Instead he asked to see my mother and my Naniji. Nanaji came and said in a strange tone which I was not able to recognize then, ‘baabu bulaw s, jaan alla s, chaalo.’ (It’s in Haryanvi, means, ‘Father is calling, he is about to leave. Come.’). We all went.

Bade Nanaji asked to see his younger son. Immediately a call was made. I was clinging to my cousin’s sleeves, bugging him with my questions, ‘kya ho raha hai?? Itni raat ko chote nana ko kyun bula rahe hain?? Naniji kyun rone waali hain??‘…… he took both of us, me and my brother, to the room and said, ‘tumhe subah pata chal jayega, ab so jao.’ But as I have told you earlier, we were not that obedient, we went out again. I saw my mother saying something in bade nanaji’s ears, may be a prayer or hymn, I don’t know what. She asked to get Ganga Jal. I ran and got it for her. She put some of it in his mouth and started praying again.

Everyone was praying for him, praying that he would pass away without any misery. All of us were there to fulfill whatever he wished in his last minutes.

Then he left us all, went without making a sound.

I didn’t cry. May be I was too young to know what death meant.

Elders were sad and their eyes wet. Though they were saying, ‘life should be bade nanaji’s alike. He led a happy life and had a comfortable last hour.’ He was in his 90’s then….

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Time passed, new memories came and faded away but this one remained as it is……………..

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Now it’s the time I entered my 12^th standard. Too much stressed with all those competition preparations. Then, came those cherished holidays. We were constantly asking our father to take us to see Naniji and Nanaji, to Rohtak, where my friends were, and to our village, to see Dadaji.

And on one fine afternoon we set off for Rohtak from Chandigarh. I was going to see my friends after a very long time. I don’t know when I slept off thinking about them……

Crreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeekkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk…………BOOM!!!!!!

Before I came to my full consciousness, we had hit something. I saw something hitting the left edge of the windscreen – my side of the car.

I was wide awake by then. Car stopped and we all came out.

Then I saw the most horrible of the scenes that I have ever witnessed.

A person was lying on the road. Blood oozing out of his body and had made a puddle around his head. His white dhoti and shirt were all stained. His limbs were shivering and an arm of his was bent in an awkward angle. His mournful cries were like poison to the ears.

I don’t know when I had started crying. I was pressing my mother’s hand so hard that she had to ask me to leave it.

In a minute or two several people had gathered there. All were afraid to go near that suffering person, out of police’s fear or I can’t imagine what in the world. My father asked people to help put that man in the car so that he could be taken to hospital, but no, no one was bothered about that. They were more bothered about discussing the bend of the road which has taken several lives on that very spot of the road.

None of the guy’s relations were there, none was there to soothe him and whatever prayers were coming, were coming out of pity.

Later he was taken to the hospital. But fate didn’t wish him to live any more.

After a few days I came to know that he was from Rajasthan, a 54-55 years old man, and none of whose relations lived there with him. And on the day of accident he was drunk in the middle of the day. The intoxication which he had induced on himself for pleasure took his life, and, left an alcohol hating girl hate that horrible thing even more.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

None of us know how our deaths would come…..

None of us know who would remember us after we are gone…..

Only thing we can take care of is how people are going to remember us after we have left this world….

To bear grief with blossom.

Climbing the stairs made me feel like I was entering a new world. The touch of the cold floor on my bare feet, serenity of the place and tranquil atmosphere helped me forget who I was, from where I belong. I got mesmerized by the scenery. Though there were hundreds of people, including pilgrims and tourists like me who must have come on advice of some friends, but still it was so silent, so calm that one could here one’s heartbeat. …..To enter the temple, first of all we have to take a round about it in a queue. As I was getting closer to the main temple, the pace of the queue gradually slowed down. Still there was no eagerness, no hurry….. At last, I entered the temple but was not able to see the Venkateshwara. Carvings on the walls, the sculptures at the entrance kept me busy. Then, He appeared. Made out of black stone, had marigold garlands around His neck with a long tilak on His forehead. A silvery, inverted lotus shaped umbrella was over His head as if trying to save Him from getting more tanned.

Came out of the temple, placed a kumkum tilak on my forehead, took prasad from purohit and went to the adjoining  terrace. From there whole Hyderabad was visible. I could see Hussein Sagar with the Buddha standing on a podium in the lake. His hands were folded, eyes closed as if praying or thinking something. I stood there watching him while holding the railings. Then a thought stumbled into my head, ‘I should come to this place again’, and so I did, again and again.