The Telephone

She was six.

Her mother worked at an office, the name of which she could never remember.
Her father worked at a Bank. He was a banker. That's all she knew.
Her day started with her mother waking her up for school. She combed her hair into two, tight braids and dropped her to the gate of their house, to her bus. She watched her father as he peeped over his morning newspaper with a subtle smile on his face and over-pronounced affection in his eyes as she got onto the bus.
Both of them wave. She waves. The bus leaves.

That's her morning.

After six hours of Primary school - grade one, she was back home. The bus dropped her to the gate around 2 PM. At this time, there was no one at the gate, except her watchman. The old man opened the gate for her (someday soon she would be tall enough to reach it herself).  He smiled at her each time, half amused by her soiled clothes for she played in the streets with the puppies every day after school; her hair half-done, her cheeks red, her eyes shining bright.
Khaana Kha liya, beti? he asked her each day, without fail. She nodded affirmatively and flung open the front door to a dark hallway. She then closed the door behind her and entered the world where time would stand still.

She would watch the television for hours, for there was no one to tell her that it is not good for her eyes. She would somersault on her bed with her shoes on; something her friends would never dare to do lest their parents should find out.

She would have candy bars from her over stocked refrigerator as and when she wished. Well, who is there to stop her?
She was the little Princess of the house. Until the phone rang.

Don't ask her why, for she might never be able to tell. Is it the pitch of the ring screaming through the empty silence of her house or is it the voice of the grown-up on the other side? She could never tell.
However, each time that phone rang, her heart would stop beating and then within seconds accelerate to a speed just too proportionate to the sudden rise in volume in the air. She suddenly got aware of the darkness she had been in all this while. She suddenly got aware of her being the only one in the house - the fact she was actually enjoying until then. She was no longer alone, she was lonely. Sometimes she waited for the ring to stop, hoping they would not call again. However seldom did that happen. Within seconds of the ring stopping, heartbeat seeking its normal pace, the air is filled once again with that particular grown-up's second attempt. This time she picked up, the little brave heart.

"Hello?" She needed to sound strong or else the grown-up would want to know whether she is okay. That was never a good topic to venture into, she knew by experience.

"Hello beta! How are you?"
This one's simple. "Fine." Then she remembered what she was taught in school; "And you?"

"Arre we are also very fine, beta!"
After this the conversation was usually straight-forward. "How is mumma?" "How is daddy?" "When will they come home?" "How was school today?"She had her answers prepared for all of these and if answered correctly, they will not bother her anymore. The grown-up ended the conversation with a few sweet words and hung up the phone. She can then go back to her happy world. Eating candies, watching TV, jumping on the bed, hoping that she won't be interrupted anymore for the day until her parents return at night. 

The worst kind of grown-ups were those, who when she picked up the phone shouted enthusiastically,

"Hello beta! GUESS WHO?"
Her palm began to sweat each time she was asked that question. 'I don't know' was never a good answer since it was always followed by a disappointed 'you don't even remember me?' tone. She cleared her throat. She used a lot of 'erm'. She remained silent for what felt like an eternity till the grown-up gave up and revealed their identity. Then came the second dangerous question- "Do you remember me now?"
"Yes!!" She was smart, the little princess. She knew that was the only answer to the question. After this, she only had to answer the regular ones- "How is mumma? How is daddy? How is school?". No need to be scared of these.
Such was her fear of the Telephone.
Weekends were fine because her parents did all the calling. She did not get to hear the ring much.
If there was any call, it was most probably a bad news- someone's had a heart-attack, someone's getting a divorce (or threatening to) or someone's dead. The call is followed by the girl's mother hanging her head low and her father comforting her or vice-versa.
The Telephone was the carrier of heart-aches, she deduced. Nothing good can ever come out of answering the call...any call. Why have it in the house in the first place and spoil your smooth running life? She often wondered.
Her worst nightmare began when her parents installed a parallel connection on the first floor of her house. She no longer knew which one to run for. She knew that picking either one up would serve the purpose but at the time the phones ring in chaotic unison, her brain shut and she found herself running around the hallway for the first few weeks. It was traumatic, it really was.
She still remembers the first time she confronted the Telephone. The first time she knew that she was over her fear. Enough is enough.

She was fast asleep after her long afternoon chase behind the street puppy. The phone rang and woke her up from her deep slumber. She jumped off her bed, this time with no hesitation whatsoever. Picked up the one in her parent's room- "Hello????"
"Beta! You remember me??"
"NO. BYE."

Phone slammed down. Door shut. Back to slumber. 

She tasted accomplishment.
The Telephone never bothered her after that.

Silence

The long pause after a deep conversation,
The immediate gesture after harsh humiliation,
The soft smile that was meant to encourage,
Your best friend performing on the stage.

The crucial minute as the lawyer prays,
Before she begins to fight her case,
The vulnerable moment when a mother looks upon,
The doctor's hand to hold her new-born.

The grief that is shared on someone's demise,
Wishing the soul peace, quietly with closed eyes,
The inevitable fear, sitting in the exam room,
The inarticulate passion at the altar between the bride and her groom.

Be it joy or sorrow, big or small,
A brief moment of silence conveys it all.
'Silence is Golden', sometimes necessary,
Bearing immense meaning, setting emotions free.

The Hardest Goodbyes

For whom is a 'goodbye' harder? For the one who leaves or the one who is left behind?
I remember sitting with my closest friend in my house, just before I left the city of Kolkata for good. I was seven. So was she. To me back then, leaving a place for a new one was something as exciting as a vacation. I was in my packers' costume, something my dad came up with- a Jumpsuit, a cap on the head and a notepad in my hand. She walked in to wish me 'goodbye' with a card in her hand and an unusually unsettling countenance. I think we were too young to understand the concept of emotions or how one expresses it. She said 'I'll miss you', I reciprocated and hugged her with a promise to write her a letter every week.
So that was about it. Fifteen years now and on the phone with her a week back this is what she said- "In my twelfth grade, I used to go to your block for tuitions. Each time I crossed your building I could not help but smile, remembering you and wishing we could go back in time and relive those memories." All I could think of is the unsettling expression on her face the day I left.  For me, I had a whole new life to begin, while she was returning to the same one only without the someone she really valued.
Having said this, we can still never be sure of the answer. 'Goodbye' is just one word. Indicating closure. Sometimes unavoidable. Sometimes a choice. Sometimes... a necessity.
I was sitting in the University a few days back as I wondered which 'goodbye' personally was the most unsettling one for me? The one that was unexpected or the one that was unexpressed?
I recollected the way my mother cried the evening before I left for higher studies. I was too excited, just like the child in the jumpsuit so all I could manage was - "Relax! We will Skype everyday! It will be like I never left". A 'goodbye' unexpressed.
Reflecting on the same I realised that the hardest part of a 'goodbye' comes from the memories associated with the person involved and the fear of things 'not being the same'; the fear of facing the brief period of instability. A 'goodbye' to the dependency.
'Everything's going to change!' I exclaimed childishly to my pal a few days back as we were getting crazy selfies clicked. 'I can never be this weird in front of anyone else and now you are leaving!!!' She laughed for a long while trying to get words out but only laughing more each time she opened her mouth to speak. Before we knew, we went back to clicking selfies. A 'goodbye' unsaid.
Sometimes I wonder, what really makes us miss a person? We meet people on a daily basis. Different kinds, different (interesting) specimens. How do we still have the space to miss someone. Probably you miss a person as long as you remember how you used to feel when they were around you. Once you cease to remember that, you cease to remember them the same way. Then there are those who will never let you forget that feeling. The memories remain fresh and never fade away. That's when you realise that after-all, there wasn't a goodbye. There will never be one...

The Bawl of The Broken Pieces

'Two more miles,' I told myself as I dragged my feet across the road. Wiping the tears off my face, making way for fresh ones that were currently brewing below my lids, I took the turn on the right. It was past midnight. Ma and Baba are surely still in bed, munching on happy thoughts in their deep slumber. I hope Prabhas Kaka remembered to put back the gravy in the fridge post dinner. He has become very careless lately. Ma has been very upset with him. As it is Raya has been giving her so much trouble with her Math marks. Oh! Doesn't she have another test tomorrow? Well, this time when she fails, she can put it on me- 'My older brother of eighteen has run away from home'.
There is no turning back now. No there isn't. I just need to keep walking for two more miles. Then maybe a little further. Further till I finally figure out where these roads are leading me to. No, I am not eloping. Nor am I a byproduct of a family breeding on unhappy grounds. In fact, just a few hours back I put my dog to sleep in my drawing room while Ma sang, in our regional language, happy songs of love and hope that binds humanity together to my sister in her room. I always forget the lyrics.
'Just one more mile' I spoke out loud. That's when my knees gave way as I knelt down on the footpath. I gently pushed my body back to get the support of the wall. It reminded me of the time I was five and I ran down our lane with the street kids playing soccer. After the 'big game' we sat against the wall sweating in the heat and laughing till our cheeks turned red. It did not last long though. Baba did not like me playing with those boys. They were 'gawaar' he said; illiterate.
I stared down the street wondering whether this lane has ever witnessed a bunch of five to six years old boys play around jauntily in the peak of their childhood, their screams and laughter echoing in the ears of the passersby.  As I stared, I saw it right in the middle of the road. A pair of glasses, frame intact, a crack symmetric across the left rim. The dim streetlight suddenly seemed to refract sharply through the chipped edges of the glasses.
They were like a pair of eyes staring right back at me. I laughed at the horrific thought, nervously amused by my height of imagination at One in the night. Or was it Two?
I pulled my eyes to my watch but my gaze remained arrested to the abandoned frame in the middle of the deserted street. Probably we were the only two loners in town today- one's been forcibly isolated and the other chose to.
The thick frame suggested that it belonged to an old man, probably in his sixties. I guess he would be a little older than Prabhas Kaka. He never wore glasses. He said he eats healthy and never needed them. But Baba said he was fibbing. He does not wear them cause he does not want to look old lest Baba should ask him to quit. Kaka has been working for us ever since I remember my existence. Ma once told me that when I was two and suffered from dengue, Kaka prayed in several temples and swore to quit eating meat for the sake of my good health and long life. He still believes that I survived because of him while Baba of course tells me it is because of the Zillion medical care services imported for me. Baba is an atheist so I never argue about this with him. Actually, I never really argue with him on anything. I just... never do.
I wanted to get back on my feet and inspect my lonely companion much closely but my body did not comply. I tilted my head to one side. There was a blue sari swaying in the air in someone's balcony across the street. I stared at the miniature reflection on the glass and smiled. Ma had a similar sari with a golden border. I remember she wore it for the first time on Raya's first birthday. I was eight at that time and was writhing in pain from within as MY mother held this new kid of twelve months so affectionately in her arms. I am the only child of Ma and Baba and will always be. That was the year I got my first cellular phone. I had a good year at school- ' The only kid with a phone at that age'. I made so many friends so fast. That was the last time I longed for Ma and Baba the way I did at the birthday party. Longed for, openly. Cause after that, any time I opened my mouth to complaint I got my 'something new'. A new blackmail game I liked- reducing my emotions merely to a trick to get things done. Hey! But it was a trick that benefitted both parties. Cause boys don't cry. Boy's don't express their feelings. I was indeed, grooming to be their "perfect son".
My eyes streamed with tears once again, blurring my vision. I felt like I had those broken pair of glasses on. Viewing this world, through the cracks. But then, don't we all? Watching the subtle imperfections stream by. It was through my blur vision that I could see things more clearly.
I pulled myself up to my feet and marched towards the middle of the road. I picked up those glasses, the fragile pieces unravelling between my fingers and finally settling in the pit of my palm. It had the letters 'GUCCI' inscribed on the side. I laughed at its destiny.
I threw away the pieces and kept the frame in my front pocket. My 'branded' companion for the miles that remain. Maybe a little further. Further till I finally figure out where these roads are leading me to. It's time to put the broken pieces together...

The Sleepless Slumber!

It's 12 AM. Alarm set for 7.
Big day tomorrow, a lot to get done.
Two research papers lying on the couch, one assignment.
Time to wrap up for a good night's sleep.
Lights out, eyes shut.

Tick-tock, it's 1 o'clock.
What's that in the hall? Is that a light flickering?
No it is not. It's the laptop screen in the other room going on and off.
Oh! I think I have left mine running too.
But no, not now, eyes shut.

It's 2 AM. Alarm set for 7.
That song I heard from the movie today.
My flatmate and I singing along, a merry evening spent together after quite long.
There was something catchy about the tune.
No! That's enough. Shut!

Where is the clock? It's 3 AM??
'Three WhatsApp Notifications' - do I check or not?
Maybe it is from my pal in London, I wonder what she is up to on a Sunday evening.
But no, I need to sleep now.
Big day tomorrow- 4 hours to go!

Three hours. The alarm shall go out.
Remember my teacher from first grade, yelling at me for sleeping late?
First grade was like ages ago! Now all like a dream! A sleepless dream!
Wow! Have I really come this far?
Tick-tock, just end the self-talk!

5 AM.
1 Mississippi; 2 Mississippi; 3 Mississippi and four.
People hovering in my thoughts, the various battles fought.
The adventures with Homies, the fun with my Roomie, friends lost, the various lines crossed.
Time for life-reflection now? I think NOT!

6 AM, I hear the birds chirp awake.
I see the silver-lining of the clouds, literally.
The city's first metro runs across, now never been awake for this one before!
Should I go for a morning jog?
Oh who am I kidding? Keep staring at the door.

7 AM. The alarm went out.
Monday it is, big day, a long week ahead.
2 Research papers lying on the couch, one assignment completely undone.
I wonder what I should start with; tick-tock, 7 on the clock,
My eyes shut all at once and I happily doze off...

Hymn to the Rising Sun

It is six in the morning.
It is a new day.
It is six in the morning and it is a new day.

The routine must begin.

The sun has risen and so has hope.

It is a new day with new hope.

The sun has risen and so has fear.

The fear of what is to come on a new day.

It is six in the morning and there is more fear.

New hope with more fear but the routine must begin.

It is six in the morning.

It is a new day.

Just like any other day...

Hope against fear.

The Value of Twenty-Something!

I woke up this morning to a phone-call from a friend I have not been in touch with for years now. She said she happened to have a dream about me as a senior executive manager of a large MNC and called up to find out whether it was true.
"Yeah, twenty-two years from now I would be double the age and right about there," I laughed casually.
"Good going! Dream big... You are only twenty-two after all."
Since that fifteen minutes conversation those words have been reverberating in my head. For someone who has had her fair share of rejections in job-offers, University offers and people, just like many around me, it seems funny as to how I could have saved myself of the temporary "grief" from time to time if only I had realised the value of what I have in hand- the value of twenty-something.
People usually ask you questions like- "Where do you see yourself in five years?"I would rather have someone ask me- "Where are you TODAY?" Believe me that is a much tougher question to crack. (Personally, I have no clue. But will soon find out!). As ambitious individuals trying to chase (or trace) our dreams we must first know our starting point. Another question I would like to ask myself (which again I have noticed not many people around me doing) is- "Where you were five years back?"; basically reflecting on how much I have managed to change (transform) for both good and bad through sundry experiences. Why is it important? Well, I sort of think it acts as a catharsis to when you invariably end up blaming yourself for everything that goes wrong. That's when you tell yourself that you have set it right before and you will do so...once again.
Moving from the age-group of identity crisis towards that of existential crisis the brilliance behind the entire process is that by the end of it we are bound to find the answers. No, I am not in an overly optimistic mood today (not really) but all I am doing is stating facts that I have observed in my life and in the lives of many people around me. Last year, one of my closest friends got rejections from every University she applied to and every job interview she sat for while many of us were bagging offers. She is currently on her flight to Chicago to pursue her MBA in Kelloggs Business School, one among the top ten B-Schools across the globe. As I was wishing her good luck for her journey to come I could not help but reflect on the thought that at the age that we are in there are more doors opening than closing. I never really believed in the whole- 'Opportunity knocks the door only once' phenomenon. At least, every person I know around me has proved it wrong. I wondered, what would have happened if she sat disheartened in one corner the whole year while the rest of us were pursuing our dreams instead of simply working harder and putting in doubly efforts to chase HER dreams?
Accomplishment comes with not just hard work, but the right ATTITUDE.
Personally I don't take rejections that well (hence, the post). I have no idea how a set of human-emotions fuse together at such moments and completely shut your rationale. But the truth is, there is no such thing as- "This/he/She/It was THE one that was meant for me!". If only one can regard situations as challenges rather than struggles, more of us will be in less of depression each time a door closes. More of us will be less afraid of being ambitious. More of us will be less fascinated by taking the easier path. Lastly, more of us will be ACTUALLY LIVING our twenty-something.
More on the lines of note to self, this is a note to all. Next time a door closes, be assured you have the key... if not for this door, for the one that will lead you to your answers. Let the adventure begin!