His cell-phone played a popular western classical number as NB watched it blink. He had just ignored the twenty-eighth call from friends and family and the unknown. Hate messages kept pouring in as he stared at the ceiling fan with blank eyes. He could mute the cell-phone but not the loud sarcasms exuding out of the text messages. A sudden loud bang jolted the otherwise lazy evening. NB who was visibly jarred for a second came back to normal realizing it was Diwali, a yet-another festival in the long list of a lousy Indian calendar.
His social networking account displayed over 500 friends, far too many to the credit of a loner. NB couldn’t trace back the origin, the journey, and his final transition to a polar bear in hibernation. The dormant hide-away phases had become far too frequent now, almost to the extent where NB started doubting his own sanity. A strange sense of sadism had crept in his life as he stared back at his mobile, waiting for another call he could ignore.
Winter was unusually cold this year and NB’s addiction to a cup of warm ginger tea had intensified manifolds. As he walked into the kitchen, the steel pan with remnants of a previous midnight tea fended him off. To feast his sore throat on a cup of hot tea, he’d have to diligently wash the tea powder and the sticky leftovers. “Your problems aren’t as big as you present them. You love being in pain” – one of the several text messages read.
NB rubbed his palms as the boiling water made his kitchen a little warmer. Over the past few years, he saw close friends losing their patience on him. Once greatest admirers of his art had now turned passive, and the nearest ones gotten withdrawn. Serial blasts of firecrackers lit up the world outside as NB added tea leaves to the simmering water. Ginger, pepper, eggs, guitar, harmonica and books…perhaps these were his only trusted friends now. They wouldn’t seek your attention nor shower you with guilt trips when on certain day; bouts of speechlessness shackled your tongue. Some of them would perhaps decay, displaying colours of contempt while some would stay intact, not uttering a word.
NB wouldn’t stare deep into people’s eyes anymore, as a strange fear would engulf his conscious each time. What began as a slight discomfort in public gatherings had now turned into a complete lack of composure in long lunches and coffee breaks. Happy, smiling people would get him anxious. NB couldn’t connect to anyone. Or was it just momentary? A power cut and the subsequent darkness were perfectly timed. Just when NB had prepared his profound mind to accept the implied meaning of the power failure, fireworks lit up the window pane displaying his own dark shadow amidst the bright walls…
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Mangrove Chronicles - Part III
The lump in my throat was a lot more prominent now as I tried to feel the wooden platform beneath my numb foot. We were ten criminals on a dwindling ferry who could no longer face each other. Once again I thanked the fading lights. Everyone pretended to look into the dark, each one knowing the limits of his vision and morals. More than a minute had passed since the boy jumped into the tides. More than a minute had passed since we tried closing our eyes hoping that the world would turn blind. Every passing second made us believe that our tender offering had reached the predator.
I tried hard to spot any trifling signs of despair on Kashi da’s face. He stood still, like an old tree that didn’t bear new fruits or fresh leaves for anyone to read what it was going through. Ever since the boy met the tides, there wasn’t a single clamour that would suggest his condition. Our worst fears were coming true. Suddenly a hand appeared out of the rapid tides pleading for help. Kashi da didn’t waste a second to get his kin on board.
There was no warm clothing to offer to this panting, half-dead boy who was shivering with cold. His face shouted aloud the horror he faced in the swirling undercurrents. His breathlessness prevented him from realizing the attention he was receiving from the worthy city dwellers for the first time. He would have been too shy to notice anyways, as he avoided eye contact. “I was dead…I was dead” is all he could utter. Not a single leaf moved of the old tree.
The boy opened up a little once his shock gave away to the euphoria of being alive. The tide had greeted him with animal corpse and thick vegetation from the swamps that entangled his body. Something down there was making him choke. Something would not let him hold his breath. Restlessness kept growing on Kashi da’s face, a face that lacked the ability to portray compassion even if he was left with any. He wasn’t interested in the young boy’s stories anymore. Maintaining the fine balance of the shaky boat, Kashi da asked him to do the unthinkable.
With the tide reaching its full fury, and the constant fear of poachers, Kashi da would give it one last fight. He asked the young boy to give himself to the tides once again. This time he had to try and start the boat’s motor whose blades seemed to have been jammed. Did the ferocious predator rip his heart off during one of those seven encounters, and leave Kashi da’s body intact to decay among other living souls? While we made livid glances at him, his nephew looked at the full moon with blank eyes.
In the tide country, they don’t question the old and the experienced. Another big splash, another violent tremor and the countdown began. My count had reached close to eighty when I heard a thudding sound that gradually grew with each second. While most of us expected it to be a rescue boat having forest rangers, it turned out to be our own motor. The little boy had given it a new life while risking his own. As Kashi da helped him up, he looked happier despite the shiver in his teeth. He had successfully detangled a large fishing net trapped under the boat’s propellers. The boat had finally started, making the loud thudding noise of the motor perfect music to our ears.
As the boat finally cruised along, taking us back to safety, we spotted the natives of the delta waiting at the edges of their little islands. They constantly gazed at their large fishing nets, completely ignoring our presence. The nets lay submerged inside the water, with only large, dark, kerosene-jugs attached to the nets acting as the floating markers to be spotted. Strange how the full moon creates beautiful yet scary mirages in the water. The cigarette was lit again as the Gangetic dolphin debate resumed…
I tried hard to spot any trifling signs of despair on Kashi da’s face. He stood still, like an old tree that didn’t bear new fruits or fresh leaves for anyone to read what it was going through. Ever since the boy met the tides, there wasn’t a single clamour that would suggest his condition. Our worst fears were coming true. Suddenly a hand appeared out of the rapid tides pleading for help. Kashi da didn’t waste a second to get his kin on board.
There was no warm clothing to offer to this panting, half-dead boy who was shivering with cold. His face shouted aloud the horror he faced in the swirling undercurrents. His breathlessness prevented him from realizing the attention he was receiving from the worthy city dwellers for the first time. He would have been too shy to notice anyways, as he avoided eye contact. “I was dead…I was dead” is all he could utter. Not a single leaf moved of the old tree.
The boy opened up a little once his shock gave away to the euphoria of being alive. The tide had greeted him with animal corpse and thick vegetation from the swamps that entangled his body. Something down there was making him choke. Something would not let him hold his breath. Restlessness kept growing on Kashi da’s face, a face that lacked the ability to portray compassion even if he was left with any. He wasn’t interested in the young boy’s stories anymore. Maintaining the fine balance of the shaky boat, Kashi da asked him to do the unthinkable.
With the tide reaching its full fury, and the constant fear of poachers, Kashi da would give it one last fight. He asked the young boy to give himself to the tides once again. This time he had to try and start the boat’s motor whose blades seemed to have been jammed. Did the ferocious predator rip his heart off during one of those seven encounters, and leave Kashi da’s body intact to decay among other living souls? While we made livid glances at him, his nephew looked at the full moon with blank eyes.
In the tide country, they don’t question the old and the experienced. Another big splash, another violent tremor and the countdown began. My count had reached close to eighty when I heard a thudding sound that gradually grew with each second. While most of us expected it to be a rescue boat having forest rangers, it turned out to be our own motor. The little boy had given it a new life while risking his own. As Kashi da helped him up, he looked happier despite the shiver in his teeth. He had successfully detangled a large fishing net trapped under the boat’s propellers. The boat had finally started, making the loud thudding noise of the motor perfect music to our ears.
As the boat finally cruised along, taking us back to safety, we spotted the natives of the delta waiting at the edges of their little islands. They constantly gazed at their large fishing nets, completely ignoring our presence. The nets lay submerged inside the water, with only large, dark, kerosene-jugs attached to the nets acting as the floating markers to be spotted. Strange how the full moon creates beautiful yet scary mirages in the water. The cigarette was lit again as the Gangetic dolphin debate resumed…
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Mangrove Chronicles - Part II
There was a sudden lull in the atmosphere, the kind you’d feel in late winter evenings only to be broken by the routine azaan from the nearest mosque. Except for there were no mosques around, not even human beings, only a pin drop silence caused by the sudden outage of the boat’s motor. High tides had just set in as everything around seemed to move in a hurry. The tide carried vegetation, waste, animal corpse and everything frail it found on its way. As nature displayed its might in full fury, the most atheists of people stared out with their mouths wide open.
The wind hitting our faces had just grown colder. I silently thanked the fading lights that concealed the terror on our faces. “Would I have the guts to play the guitar while the titanic sank?” I wondered with a nervous smile. Just as I realized we weren’t carrying along a guitar this time, the boat quivered. Left at nature’s mercy with a dead motor, the boat started playing to the music of the tide. As the boat started moving downstream, we saw the full moon moving to our right and further. The boat was revolving in the middle of nowhere and everyone held on to the wooden railings. The whisky seemed to have evaporated off the gang as they performed the balancing act carefully.
The barely visible gloomy faces revealed that our spirits were sinking faster than the boat. Every single second of the next twenty-odd minutes we breathed a little less, and a lot slower, hoping to prolong the twelve lives hanging on a balance. It was pitch black now and our dark skins glowed under the full moon. A slight movement, a little sneeze or a minor itch could cause the boat to shake violently. Everyone hoped not to be the first one to fall off the boat with the dark creature waiting for its prey right beneath our feet. Was Kashi da waiting for a divine intervention or did his prolonged, dark life turn him into a sadist who enjoyed watching people being dragged, drowned or devoured to death? Would he live another day to tell the horror story of another kin’s loss, this time to the tides?
The kin, his fifteen year old nephew had been his helper since the last monsoons. We hadn’t bothered to talk to this young teenager throughout the journey. He had displayed several attempts to come closer to us, look at our fancy cellphones and music players, perhaps imagining a life outside the confines of the tide country. A bright city life where four legged creatures would be behind the cages, where everyone would wear bright clothes and wide smiles, and the day would start once the sun went down.
It was his time to go down now, right under the boat to investigate the issue. A man of few words, Kashi da asked him to “stay safe” as he prepared to take the plunge. The entire gang that was battling to cope with the fear of losing their lives, now had a new emotion to deal with. The air was suddenly thick with guilt as the young boy looked at us for one last time. He was to risk his life for ten drunken men from the city whose lives were obviously more prized. Before anyone blinked, he had jumped off. The boat shook viciously.
The wind hitting our faces had just grown colder. I silently thanked the fading lights that concealed the terror on our faces. “Would I have the guts to play the guitar while the titanic sank?” I wondered with a nervous smile. Just as I realized we weren’t carrying along a guitar this time, the boat quivered. Left at nature’s mercy with a dead motor, the boat started playing to the music of the tide. As the boat started moving downstream, we saw the full moon moving to our right and further. The boat was revolving in the middle of nowhere and everyone held on to the wooden railings. The whisky seemed to have evaporated off the gang as they performed the balancing act carefully.
The barely visible gloomy faces revealed that our spirits were sinking faster than the boat. Every single second of the next twenty-odd minutes we breathed a little less, and a lot slower, hoping to prolong the twelve lives hanging on a balance. It was pitch black now and our dark skins glowed under the full moon. A slight movement, a little sneeze or a minor itch could cause the boat to shake violently. Everyone hoped not to be the first one to fall off the boat with the dark creature waiting for its prey right beneath our feet. Was Kashi da waiting for a divine intervention or did his prolonged, dark life turn him into a sadist who enjoyed watching people being dragged, drowned or devoured to death? Would he live another day to tell the horror story of another kin’s loss, this time to the tides?
The kin, his fifteen year old nephew had been his helper since the last monsoons. We hadn’t bothered to talk to this young teenager throughout the journey. He had displayed several attempts to come closer to us, look at our fancy cellphones and music players, perhaps imagining a life outside the confines of the tide country. A bright city life where four legged creatures would be behind the cages, where everyone would wear bright clothes and wide smiles, and the day would start once the sun went down.
It was his time to go down now, right under the boat to investigate the issue. A man of few words, Kashi da asked him to “stay safe” as he prepared to take the plunge. The entire gang that was battling to cope with the fear of losing their lives, now had a new emotion to deal with. The air was suddenly thick with guilt as the young boy looked at us for one last time. He was to risk his life for ten drunken men from the city whose lives were obviously more prized. Before anyone blinked, he had jumped off. The boat shook viciously.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
