Vaibhavi died early this morning

"Vaibhavi died early this morning." I woke up this news.

‘Good’ I am happy she died.

I had no courage to stand her eyes. I had no courage to stand her voice in my ears. I had no courage to have her smell on my hand.

My roommate didn’t say anything over my comment. She knew how I felt.

Vaibhavi Srivastava – don’t know how to describe her. I can just say that she was an average next door college going girl. Neither an angle beauty nor unattractive, she had a charm of her own. She was those stereo – type girl who are neither very ambitious nor dull, who always has an ear for your all problems. Also in turn she would actually eat your ears with her constant chatter. I won’t say she was a sweetheart among boys but a girl whom any boy can take to his mom.

Like a good girl as expected she used to help her mom out in cooking and other kitchen – house hold stuffs. But she hated cooking. She once shared with me that she didn’t like cooking but then also she used to help her mom in cooking. She used to like that time spent with mom in kitchen discussing stuffs of here and there. (Ladies talks :P)

She always had a time for everything, for everyone. In between the mobile chats, orkutting, day dreaming she used to mange time for everyone. That too, with smiles.
She was funny, charming, joyful and had a great heart.

It was a Sunday morning. Just two days back her house got painted. There were stains on floors. As her mother was busy in preparing lunch, she offered to remove those stains using kerosene. She didn’t notice neither did her mother that in that hoch poch chaotic - crowded kitchen the kerosene caught fire.

It was too late.

The news came to me in early evening. I rushed to hospital.

She was kept in a separate room – in isolation. It was good for her and others patients both. There were extensive burns and risk of infection was very high. She had received severe burns on her face, arms, upper chest and legs. Not a part was left un-burnt. The room smelt rancid.
She had two eyes, one nose, two ears and a mouth. But is it what you call as face???
Her skin colour was different in different part. Colours ranged from ugly green to bleeding red. Arms were totally charred black. The flames had played a game on her skin but couldn’t on her sweet voice as it was the same young and sweet as before.

I had to take loads of efforts to drag myself inside her room in hospital. And there she was lying with pains in eyes but smile on face. I sat beside her, wanted to ask her the history of the event but somehow I couldn’t. I just kept sitting with her. She was like any other patient I had come across or I knew. But while talking to her I could sense she was going to fight. She is going to fight the fate through all those burns, the paining pain….. She gonna fight with courage that was oozing along with blood.

I returned home after sometime as she was going for dressing change under anaesthesia. I was back near to her next morning. She was awake. I sat beside her and there she was joking about everything through the pain. Earlier she was joking about how much pocket money she wasted on buying those fairness creams …. Phew only to end like this later!! And whether she will be allowed to bunk the coming exams on this ground or not? She had a doubt whether our strict college would grant leave on this ground?!

However unlike the movies and K serials her laughter at her own, the jokes didn’t end in a sob or tears. She joked a lot, I think and while laughing in that sense she reminded me of someone I knew very well …… she reminded me of myself.

As the days passed, lesser and lesser we spoke to each other. Naah her sporting spirit was not dying down but because she had be kept at sedatives as soon as she was out of anaesthetic effect.

Yet she would always call us, chat with us over every damn topic under the sun whenever she was awake in senses. She was interested in knowing the daily college affairs; she would update us on the goings of the hospitals, had advice for a friend’s love life, a scolding for me and blah blah blah ……

Everyday she used to warn us that we should come daily to meet her and not to take liberty of avoiding her as she couldn’t be there!! She would talk of her future plans and that she would do this and that after college. She spoke of how she would become something big once she is out of here ….. and we better be nice to her or we wouldn’t get a mention in her autobiography and more worse beware of reading a bad review of ourselves in her autobiography.

Things were difficult but smooth for a week and a few days. However on 12th day suddenly Vaibhavi succumbed to septic shock. After the physical pain now it was turn of microbes to further aggravate her worse condition. She was unconscious of what happening in her surroundings. Nasogatric feeds, drugs were struggling with the war to keep her alive but all seemed to be in vain. The next 3 days were a torture. Her condition deteriorated, stabilized and deteriorated.

She was fighting the battle very hard. Every day was a fight for her… for her family….for us.
I got a chance to see her on the 3rd night; she had succumbed into septic shock.
I was determined to get a mention in her autobiography, whatever the reason it may be.
Her eyes, her voice all were shut. It seems her soul was shut. Her face looked like collage of what was once skin. The room still had the rancid smell.

She was running under high fever still she was fighting. All were helpless doing what they could do to help her in her fight – antibiotics, blood transfusions, care and prayer. Slowly everything seemed to work, or it at least seemed to. It was 4th day after she succumbed to septic shock and 16th day after that terrible black Sunday morning, I went to see her. She was sleeping. But first time in these 16 days I saw a pool of tears in her closed eyes. She was fighting with her condition with all courage she had and knowing her so well I knew, the microbes which caused septic shock are not going to win so easily.

"Vaibhavi died early this morning." I woke up this news.

From the start, she fought courageously and heroically a losing battle.

‘Good’ I am happy that she died.

She was too nice person to have to struggle with this battle for lifetime. Now dead, she was freed from the curse that had smashed all her dreams. She won’t live up to see the destruction. It would have been painful to see sympathy in people’s eyes for her. A girl like her deserved adoration and admiration and not pity while she lived.
She was free now.

I needed a freedom too. I had no courage to stand her eyes, so strong in at such a tender age hiding pains and tears of her smashed dreams and desires. I had no courage to stand her voice, a voice that made us cheerful and at the same time broke us down with lost hope. I had no courage to have her smell on my hand, which refused to leave no matter how much soap and scrub I use.

My roommate didn’t say anything over my comment. She knew how I felt.

Vaibhavi didn’t see her 23rd birthday. She tried her level best to live life to the fullest with all smiles and courage and with an image of a girl full of life who was as good as dead the first time I saw her.
She must be flying high somewhere up, waving to us with a best of luck sign, making notes for her soon to be released autobiography.

Chao ......

Love

He knew it was wrong.

For her it didn’t even exist.

He knew it was forbidden for him.

She had no apprehension against it because she didn’t believe it.

He still gave it a try ... for pure fun, to enjoy company the way others did.

She gave it a try because she knew she wouldn’t be affected by it.

Both didn’t know it would become an addiction to them. They didn’t know they will become an addiction to each other.

They will fall for each other.

It had all started with a simple discussion over love. His response he wasn’t allowed it, so he never gave a thought to it. Her point was it’s pure physical attraction and nothing else.
Both were right.

He did whatever his parents expected. They wanted their sons to be doctor. His elder brother became an engineer, so it was up to him to be a doctor. So what if he didn’t like the field. His father had sacrificed his whole for them; couldn’t he do this much for them? His brother had married a north-eastern girl. Though his parents didn’t vocalise their resentment and grief, he understood. He had vowed not to go for love-marriage. So what if he hated arrange marriage. Couldn’t he do this much to make his parents happy?

She had no memory whatsoever of her father. There were few pictures, but she had kept them in a box, locked away. Her father had deserted her mother few years after their marriage. They had married against the wishes of their families. So, obviously, none came forward for Mom’s help. Her mother had a difficult time raising her daughter and running a household. All this because her mother was in love with her father. What a bullshit! For some odd reason her mother still didn’t hate her father, but there never went a day when she didn’t curse him for his cowardice.

So, obviously, they both were caught unaware with the feelings that started developing in their hearts for each other. They hadn’t expected it. This wasn’t what they were hoping for when they decided to rename their friendship to a relationship. A relationship of convenience. Just to have some fun, company and sex.

He was the first to realise and accept those feelings. But he knew she didn’t believe in love. He knew she would never accept. And even if she felt the same, there was nothing more to be done. He couldn’t marry her. So, he didn’t tell her. But from that moment on, he preserved the time he spent with her. He memorised every talk he had with her. He took care of her like none had taken of him. He was a support to her when she needed him.

But all good things come to an end. The end came with his engagement announcement. His parents had found a perfect bride for him. Their kundlis had matched and a mohurat had been drawn.

November 12.

He got the news on July 12.

She was shocked that he had given his consent to the marriage without even meeting the girl. His reasoning – what’s the point. Mom and Dad like her. Good enough. What will I look for in her anyway?

Soon after, he became a target of her jokes. His engagement was on September 26 and she made elaborate preparations for it. She selected his dress, got him a new hair-cut and even forced him to get a facial done. Isn’t that yuck? Well, it was ... for him.

Finally the engagement day arrived. She also came there and was instantly a part of the family. She helped them with preparations, attending the guests, tending to them. He often thought how good a daughter-in-law she will make to his mother. They were traitorous thoughts, but he couldn’t suppress them anymore, so he let them wander in his mind. He had come to a point where he could accept to himself that he loved her. Even if he couldn’t do anything about it, he loved her.

The engagement went well. She was among the teasers, teasing him about his to-be-bride. He was mesmerised with her laughs, smiles and winks. He always was, but now he knew he didn’t have much time and he wanted them to stick to his memory.

He went through the engagement and its rituals, but if someone had asked him how his fiancée looked like, he wouldn’t have been able to answer them.

But he realised one thing that day – he wanted to take a chance with her. He wanted to tell her at least that he loved her. She deserved that. He deserved that.

That was the first thing he did when they reached back.

She laughed it off and even teased him that how great it was to fall in love with someone else just after engagement. But, when he didn’t laugh along with her, she realised he wasn’t joking. He was serious.

He loved her.

Did she?

There was awkwardness between them after that. There were too many sorry’s and thank you’s in their conversations. Though he did miss the warmth they had, he didn’t repent telling her. Somewhere deep down he knew she loved him. He just wanted to hear it. That would be enough for him; to know that the girl he loved, loved him back.

She came to him one day demanding to talk. However he tried, he couldn’t stop his heart from racing. But all she said was that she didn’t like the awkwardness between them. She wanted things to go back to normal between them. She wanted them to be boyfriend-girlfriend like they were ... for the month they were left with.

He couldn’t refuse. He didn’t try. He hoped she would realise that she loved him, that she would accept she loved him, that she would tell him that she loved him.

They lived a month of lovers’ life even if they weren’t technically. Their relationship had a new passion ... something only a dying person can have in his remaining life. But then, wasn’t it the same? Their relationship would be dead soon, so they were living the life to the fullest.

They can still recount those 30 days to anyone who asked. No one knew of their relationship though. It was a secret which would be lost ... soon.

Finally only a week was left. He was to leave tomorrow. This time she hadn’t helped him with any shopping, hadn’t forced any haircut or a facial. Nothing. As if there wasn’t any marriage impending.

They made love that night, each of them for the last time in their life. Both knew it would just be sex from now on.

She informed him that night that she wouldn’t attend his marriage. That tonight is the last he would be seeing her.

He accepted it without a word. He wanted her to be there. He wanted her permission to marry his fiancée. It didn’t make any sense to him but he knew it was important for her to be there when he married his fiancée. Maybe he wanted her to share his pain. He hoped she would say something else ... what he wanted to hear, but that was the last talk they had...

There were too many rites and rituals to perform and he lost himself easily in them. She wasn’t in his mind during the day and he was too exhausted at night.

The D-day arrived. He was all ready in the clothes his parents had selected for him. He hadn’t bothered. Since that night, it was today only she had entered his mind. As he sat staring out of the window at the mandap, he could think of no one else than her. He wasn’t sure how will he go through all this without her. He closed his eyes, trying to picture her face and draw strength.

Tring-tring ... tring-tring ... tring-tring

Tiredly, he got up to receive the call.

“Hello!”

Silence

He knew who was on the line. They communicated in silence as the minutes passed.

She tried to give him the strength she knew he needed and she knew she couldn’t give him. She gave him the permission he wanted but wasn’t obliged to and she didn’t want to give.

“Hey, Mr. Groom, come, it’s mohurat now.” Someone was calling him.

He desperately clung to the phone, hoping she would finally say it.

She desperately tried to breathe out the words she had been holding back since a month.

His mother and cousins came into the room.

“Here he is! Talking on phone. Enough work, dear bro. It’s your marriage today.”

He knew he didn’t have much time.

She knew she didn’t have much time.

One of his cousins made a move to snatch the phone, but he ducked. He made a gesture to hold on for a second, something that annoyed his mom, but he needed to hear this. This was important. Somehow ...

She took a deep breath. She had to say this ... he deserved this ... she deserved this ...

“I love you.”

She said exactly at the moment his cousin snatched his phone away and his mother dragged him out of the room.

A lone tear found its way in their eyes, but they didn’t let it fall.

He had a marriage to endure.

She had a love to mourn.

Ek cup 'Chai'

I gulped the contents from the chipped china cup. I was late … but this ‘chai’ couldn’t be missed.

Maybe because this is the only thing from my past that had remained … lived on.

Neither the past nor the present is as depressing as it sounds … but the only relief is this ‘chai’. I was the one who used to make, serve and sell ‘chai’ few years back in the same place from the same stall. What a long journey I have covered …

It all started when I inherited the ‘chai’ lorry from my father after his death. That’s all you receive from a poverty-stricken father. Your dreams, wishes, aspirations don’t matter. It’s what you inherit from your father – responsibilities, profession, poverty – that decides your future.

So, my future was decided the moment I stepped up as a bread-earner from being a bread-eater. Life was pretty simple … wake up at 4:00 a.m., set-up lorry and leave the house with all the members snoring lightly, secure in the knowledge that a fifteen-year old boy was there to feed them.

It’s amazing and entertaining the gossips you hear while at work. Not only you find people of your own class chit-chatting with you but also the so-called shapers of our Indian fortune providing engaging stories to enjoy. Everyone feels free around a fifteen-year old boy who apparently understands nothing.

What an irony of life!

One can be pretty happy and content with life if one wants to be but then humankind wouldn't progress. Hell! We would still have been making tea in large earth-pots. Provided we had discovered tea.

So, when I had many reasons to be happy, content and satisfied with life, I wasn’t. One thing my father had done well in his time was choosing the best location for the lorry. There was a school, a college and bundle of offices around. So, I was pretty busy throughout the day. Another reason that boredom shouldn't have found its way in my mind, but it had.

So, I would end up contemplating life in general and my career in particular instead of going to sleep.

I wasn’t happy feeding my good-for-nothing siblings, who would only crib about lack of … well everything in their life. As if I was some Bill Gates! I didn’t feel satisfied caring for my mother, who had altogether stopped caring for herself and was still grieving for her husband two years later. I hated being pseudo-mother to my siblings and even to my mother. And what was I receiving in the end? Not even a word of recognition. What a waste of life!

So, after chasing these morbid thoughts in my mind for another year, I decided to take a holiday. Once in three years!

I woke up as usual and went through the same ritual and set my friend at the stall. I had the whole day for roaming around the city. And roamed around I did! To see the city after three years … trust me when I say it all seemed new. It had progressed whereas I hadn’t.

I was tired by the end of the day and realised one thing – I wasn’t happy doing what I was doing. Not only because of lack of recognition by my own family, but also by the futility of my random thoughts.

I needed change, desperately.

But, first, I needed to cut off the ties that had bound me down. The ties which weren’t helping or supporting me but which were tying me to the ground, teasing me with the freedom and vastness of the sky, with the prospect of flying through them one day, with the exhilaration I will feel one day looking down here.

I needed to be free.

And freed myself, I did.

Just like that … writing a page of my views on them. I left my inheritance to my mother for whom it was high time to take the responsibility.

I was free … at last.

I shook myself out of the thoughts. I looked down at the empty cup and handed it back to my brother, the ‘chai-wala’ of the lorry. He took it grudgingly. This chapped cup was reserved for me. The more the chapped, the better. His way of revenge.

I chuckled. Poor boy! Couldn’t afford to recognise me in front of his new party of friends. Something about pride and honour!

Bullshit, I tell you.

But he will learn … if he has brains, something I highly doubt.

I checked my watch. Ten minutes late. Might as well miss the whole meeting and enjoy another ‘chai’ just to infuriate my brother.

I threw another Rs. 100 bill on the small counter and my brother silently handed me another ‘chai’.

That’s the reason I am never refused a ‘chai’ here. See … all that pride and honour gone down the drain.

Bullshit, I told you.

By the time I finished my second ‘chai’, it was time for my second meeting. I walked down the lane, looking for the before-mentioned blue coloured Honda city.

Spotting one, I walked to it. A wealthily sexy lady was driving the wheel. The tyres might burst with the weight they had to endure … but my definition of sensuality starts and ends with money and she was sensual enough.

Putting on a sexy grin, I entered the car and we drove off.