By the riverside

   It was difficult to tell what was the reason behind this mysticism, whether it was the orange of the setting sun, or the mild breeze with the fragrance of freshly wet soil, or the charisma of her company - the two seemed to have gone with the flow of the river in front of them. In this small hill town in India the evening was no different for anyone else but the two who seemed to have met after a long time. 

   In the back of his mind a strange duel was going on; strange because he was fighting himself. A part of him was urging him to never let her go and another part, as if the same person, was saying him that every single tick of the clock was a knock of the inevitable - the separation that was imminent. A delayed flight was something that has given them a few moments to treasure. She hugged him for one last time and left to catch the flight. He kept staring in her direction till he could see her. Till that point he didn't know, neither did she know, that they were going to make a couple for a lifetime and may be for many more lifetimes to follow and that they would fall for each other and get married and a friendship would turn out to be a lifetime of celebrations of being together. But as they say, you never know what future holds; he didn't know then, either.

   He was brought back to the present time with the sound of conch shell from a temple located somewhere on the bank of the river. Her hand was still on his and she was resting her head on his shoulder looking at the setting sun, as if remembering the same evening he has just been to. It was then, that she looked at him and smiled, as if reading his mind and saying, "the mysticism by the riverside was because, we have been traveling to and fro in time down our memory lane". He smiled back... and they left, hand in hand, as if reassuring the special bond they shared.

That Girl in Floral Georgette

Life has been very different for him since he has come out of the safe bounds of his home – some ten years ago. He was one of those guys, who had aspirations that were different from his cohort. He wanted to explore and experience things and make a world of his own dreams. 

The journey started with the university as its first resort and then there was no looking back. Cities changed and changed was a part of him. With time and changing places he acquired experiences and developed a different taste for life – partly because of his way of living and partly because of his goals. Things were going their way and he was going with the flow, looking around and enjoying the journey called life. 

Then one day things changed when he first saw her – that girl in a floral georgette. Yes, that is how he first referred to her over a cup of tea with his close buddy. He did not know her name, nor did he know if he would ever see her. He first saw her in a train and from there the journey began. They met and in due course shared their visions. They had few fundamental things in common and had very different outlooks. He was slow, she was fast; he believed, she did not; he wanted to walk and she preferred to run. Still one fine day he asked her out and she agreed, because they had one very important thing in common – the belief that they can be complementing each other well. 

To her, it was strange, and to him, it was a dream come true. They had their own limitations and they both knew it. The subtle truth was – they knew this togetherness is temporary and to put it on a firm pedestal it will take a lot of perspiration from his side and lot of inspiration from her. Even after knowing all these they were on a journey from girl in floral georgette to the lady in silky Scarlet. 

While driving along the west coast with the sun moving along, he simply looked at the vacant seat of his car, smiled and drove on. Some journeys never end...

To whom it may concern

In this world, there are very few who don't love the country they live in, regardless of its geography, climate, terrain and other such externalities. All have reasons, both, very similar to, and very different from each other. 

When I look at my country, I have every reason to love her. After having spent thirty best years of my life I can say this, I love India because it's not just a country, it's a panorama of cultures, beliefs and ways of life. I don't know how many different cultures and ways of life, I'd have come across had I been in any other country, but I'm sure it can't outnumber Indian diversity. 

I live in a country, which is not one because of religion or language or economics, which are the binding factors for most of the world's biggest countries. We are one because of this diverse culture. It's strange, but truth be told, we are one because, from east to west and from north to south, we grow up listening to the same stories in different backdrops, those have their bases in Indian mythology. We all observe same festivals with different names. We wear similar clothes with different names. There are many such things which look different to the rest of the world, but same to Indians.

When one closely observes the cultural backdrop of India, one finds no Aryan, no Dravidian, no Hindu, no Muslim, but an Indian. The beauty of the panoramic Indian culture lies in the fact that, it's colorful, and amazingly the color and fabric of east is liked by the west, the shade of south adds to the magnificence of north. Those who believed that India wouldn't have sustained as a country are now history - a history every single day of which is an example to the rest of the world.

Yes, we have shortcomings, we have differences, we have deficiencies, but which country doesn't? Those who say, India has an outdated culture, a backward mindset and India is socially insecure, I would just say this, we are a country of over a billion and here even exception runs in thousands. This is one of the reasons that what happens in your cities goes unnoticed and what happens here makes enough noise for you to look at us. In the end, it doesn't make us any less competent, because India had improved in every way over last few decades and it will keep on doing so, and its culture will evolve with every passing day. The corrections that the people are making today will, in the future, look like small patches over this vivid sketch on the globe called India, adding to its timeless beauty.

Memories

It was the onset of another beautiful evening. He was sipping his usual espresso shot, and was introspecting the developments that took place over recent past. The evening breeze on the balcony of seventeenth floor was adding to the magic of the ambience. What he was thinking was, how he was on an official visit, when he first met her. They had had conversation over phone a few times before that, but it was all professional. There was nothing that he could remember, he liked or disliked, in particular. However, he judged her to be childish and a little arrogant, may be. He was not sure of the later because it was too early to judge someone.

Their first meeting was more out of formality than interest. It was all mechanical. Even after that they talked several times thorough messages and calls but it was more of courtesy than pleasure. This was quite common, he thought at that time, in the professional circles. He was wondering now, how all those are making sense, almost after six months.

Those 'forget it' and 'leave it', he once hated have become anecdotes commonly shared. Those short busts of conversations that he had with her over evening tea breaks or lunch, now seem to be memories.

He hardly realised that the espresso was over...

The distant music

The rumbling of the engine marked his arrival. His khaki soiled with grease was loud enough to tell that today as well, the  car might have broken down in the highway. The weather was windy and the wind-chime was jingling. He rested his torso on the old wooden easy chair, and the creaking sound again reminded that it has lived its life to the fullest. He, as if, retorting back to the tantrums of the chair, leaned over the back-rest. He closed his eyes and put his grease coated hands over his lap, as if trying to comfort himself. 

There was a distant music coming from across the grassland that extended to a kilometer or more. This reminds me that there was a time when this brown wooden house used to have a life of it's own. There used to be cane chairs laid in the veranda, and a beautiful center table with intricately chiseled legs  added to its glory. The trees, now brown, were the natural green arch, and the flowers during the winter and spring used to fall on the entrance to form a carpet; as if welcoming every single visitor to the house. He and his wife used to be the proud residents and owner of this beautiful farm house; now deserted. 

Lying on the chair, perhaps, he was trying to think what happened over a span of time that the house once beautiful, is so abandoned now. The house that used to be the center of social activities and festivities is now like a make-shift tent - not sure of its own destiny. The aura that he once radiated has been overshadowed by the growing beards on his face. The taut posture he used to have is now looking slack. He was confused, he was in utter discomfort. 

A few years back,almost around this time they used to sit on the veranda, looking at the sunset and soft instrumental music used to play in the old HMV gramaphone. After the sunset it used to be the time when they planned for the future. He and his companion were a pair that people thought were rare. Indeed rare it was - they complimented each other like the two halves of a circle. Without one the other is not a circle even. He was a ranger, a young, honest and energetic gentleman and she was an accomplished dancer. Weekends used to be the time when they used to go out, across the hills to have their own time.  Every single festival in the region was observed in this house. The frames on the wall are the memoir of that bygone time.

A sudden knock on the door brought him back to reality. He, as if, woken up from a dream, stared blankly towards the door. There was a man, perhaps the only man who he was close to. It took the man, not even a second to realise, what must be going on in his friend's mind. He put off his bag, drew a flask and after a while they were having coffee. The clock struck six, the blackness was engulfing the reddish grey at the horizon. It was just an hour since he has come back, but to him, it was as many days as he had lived with her. Everyday, in that one hour he remembers, every single moment they had spent together, not even a single detail was ever missed. 

He stands up and escorts his friend to the door. The jeep leaves behind it - a trail of dusty air. He looks at the sky, then looks in the direction of the distant music. Then he looks at the deserted hall. His eyes were telling, he was tired. His lips were trembling. He looks at the cupboard and takes out a photo frame, looks at it like he was looking for the first time, cleans it with his shaking hands and then looks at the mirror. Perhaps the person in the mirror is the only other person staying in the house to accompany him. He puts back the frame, closes the door of the cupboard and sits on the chair - to die again. 

My phone rang, I woke up, it was 4 am. I had a morning flight to catch. While going to airport my mind was wondering, love is probably the biggest strength and perhaps the biggest weakness. The person died four years ago and I still remember the evening, I had our last coffee together. Suddenly I realised that the FM radio of the taxi was playing the same music, I heard that day, coming from across the grassland.

Life can't be any stranger...

The Shaking Flame

The blowing lake breeze and the shaking flame has never been so charming ever before. Every time she shifted the lock of hairs falling on her face and tucked it to her ears, it was becoming more difficult to tell which was more radiant - the beautiful smile on her face or the shaking flame. It was half past eight in the evening, and there it was; a perfect setup. The parapet made up of pine wood, two cane chairs, a center table and the candle and two souls. The reflection of all this in the lake, as if doubling the effect.

This was the first date they were having, and the full moon was promising to make it a good one, may be the best they will ever have. The music that was being played in the background, an old George Michael number, was adding to the smoothness of the red wine they were sipping at that moment. In this small hill station, this is usually the time locales prefer to head home and sleep for the next tiring day to dawn; and for the tourists, like they two were, this is the time to share and make new memories. They were sitting on the overhang of an old restaurant, the brown coloured walls of which were adding a velvety touch to the surrounding.

It was just a year since they have met, and this special date was to mark the anniversary of their meeting. The speciality of city life is that, it is fast and people are so engrossed in their daily lives that they hardly get an opportunity to steal some moments for themselves. So was the story with these two - they met, they met again and then met more frequently, but eventually on phone calls. And this is how it took him one year to ask her out for their first date. Thanks to the short interactions they had with each other, face to face, in the course of their professional proceedings that she agreed to come to a place which is five hours drive from their city of residence. 

Sometimes he was looking at her face, sometime at the flame and sometime in the lake and the reason of this was the apprehension he had in his mind, "Will she speak in affirmation?" Today for the very first time he was counting more on someone else than on himself, because he was expecting an answer from her to the proposal he had made to her three months back. It was not a business deal, that he can manoeuver but a moment that he has no control on. He was very much in his own thoughts, when she spoke to him the first word, his name - and he came out of the state of trance, he was in. For the first time it so happened that he was unable to decide, where to look for the next few moments, before she answers - on the glowing face that was beaming with grace or the shaking flame that was unsure of whether it will stand the test of time.

Running s(h)ort of

The road was shining, every drop of rain adding to its glitter; the green moss over the parapet of the old house, by the seventh street; the blowing breeze and the green leaves swinging in rhythm. The Royal Enfield bike vehemently making its way through the pot-holes, on the narrow tar road, with green meadows on both sides. He was lost in his old memories - good and bad, sweet and sour. Just then, almost out of nowhere he heard a distant music, a song from an old Bollywood flick. It was coming from some distant place, but it captured his attention all of a sudden. Sunken in his thoughts he continued his ride.

He knew every single bend, ups and downs of this road. He had travelled numerous times on this same route over weekends in last five years - since the time he has joined this new job. He comes back home every Friday evening sees the same trees, same meadows. There was nothing new, yet this music, as if, telling him to take some time out and listen to his heart. As if telling him to go back to that old college building, sit with friends, have that chai and samosa in that college canteen, jamming on the same old numbers he has grown up listening to.

He proceeded with the steady pace, subsiding those thoughts, as though, telling himself not to get distracted. He could see the lights far off telling him that he would be home, may be, in the next half an hour. The mood was jubilant with the thought of next two days that he will be spending in solitude, with himself, away from the crowd of a big city, gossips of the office, chaos of professional life. Suddenly he felt that the music has come closer. He could now hear the song, "kahin door jab din dhal jaaye...". Almost then a small roadside tea stall caught his attention - a small hut with earthen chulha, small bursts of smoke coming out of it, a small table and an old fashioned tape recorder . The rain has now turned into a drizzle. As he approached the hut he felt an urge to halt there for a while, have some time with himself. With the first sip of the chai he asked himself a question - how is it that over last five years, he never noticed this place? Prompt came the answer from within, busy life and glitters of the fast city life hardly gives time to be vis a vis with self and realise what we really need...