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Friday, October 25, 2013

The trip



As the green landscape bade adieu to the speeding car that wheeled through what could be used by high-school teachers as an example of oxymoron- the beautiful badlands, Barun experienced lack of oxygen. Psychologically. And a little later, biologically. Or may be, in the other order.
Too educated to experience the slowdown of time around him, he wanted the journey to end. It had been back-breaking. He had never driven so far up. And for so long. As trees almost disappeared from his rear-view mirror, he smiled at what was printed on it: Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear. Lies, his heart protested. He turned on the music to divert his attention from the reducing oxygen level. Within minutes, he knew it wouldn’t work. He undid one button of his shirt to let air in.
Barun slowed the car down in the middle of the road. There was no vehicle in sight. He killed the engine and heaved a deep sigh. Looking at the watch and then outside the window, he knew it was time for sundown, except that he didn’t feel darkness was imminent. His mind asked him not to trust the watch. He took a Diamox to fight altitude-sickness. Instant relief wasn’t promised. At least, he saw no signs!
For Barun, it was no longer a journey- it was a challenge. He had fought at home and at office to earn this break. He was escaping the pollution, the population and the games of probability he was tired of playing. He did not know why he acted like he did. You could call it madness. Or revolt. Or a burst of energy bottled only to be released like shaken soda.
He hadn’t spoken to anyone for almost a day! None except the tea-stall or dhaba owner where he stopped to get himself rejuvenated. He did not feel very good. He wanted to make a phone call. He knew he could not. There was an intense feeling of simultaneous push and pull- one forcing him away from the regularities of civilization to the world of unknown and the other luring him towards familiarity with utmost energy. This was a dilemma he hadn’t expected. Familiar triviality versus Alien grandeur!
As brain overruled his heart, he jumped into the car, tied his seat-belt and gave life to his engine. He was headed for the nearest village. As he approached, he saw houses converted to motels to accommodate travelers scattered here and there. A few, very few- were up to his ‘standard’. He checked in one of them. He badly wanted a hot-water bath.
“It takes half an hour to boil water here.”
Disappointed, he went to the bathroom and washed his face with cold water.
“Is there a phone here? An STD booth?”
“Yes, sir, there’s one down there but it usually remains offline.”
“What do you have for dinner?”
“Whatever we eat, we’ll serve you. Rice, dal, chapati, vegetables. It will be very tasty, I promise. If you want chicken, we can get it for you tomorrow.”
He wouldn’t wait to have chicken the next day and taste was the last thing on his mind.
Barun heard weird sounds all night and kept squirming in his bed. He wanted to run away. In the morning he left without even a cup of tea. As he drove through the curves, he lived in constant fear of death. What was happening? Was it because of the lack of sleep last night? Was it acrophobia? Was it loneliness? Was it his difficulty in accepting his new way of life?
As the tires rolled dangerously close to the edge of the road, Barun woke up in sweat, gasping.
On his bed. In his room.
The first thing he did was to go straight to the next room where his daughter was getting ready for school. He picked her up and hugged her.
“Papa, when are you leaving for your tour?”
“I’m not going. We are going”, smiled Barun, visibly transiting from a state of relief to that of happiness.

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Father to his son

A little boy held his father’s hand,
As he passed by the statue so grand,
He asked his father, “Why is a crow perched
Atop that old man, why’s there no guard?”

Taken aback, the father replied,
“On 2nd of October do we bring garland,
Sweets and flowers for this sage,
Who wished to see the tricolor fly with grace!

Political undertones that strip the mass of clarity,
Other hundred scars that mar the face of verity
Too critical of us we are, too many problems, dear?
Don’t our prayers the trillion gods hear?

That old man still believes in the power of charity,
The strength of self-healing, the valor of solidarity-
The crow wouldn’t mock his soul
If we could set the wheel of his ideals to roll-

If we could see what he saw, son,
If we knew Freedom was not free,
If we knew the old man needn’t a crown,
More than a poor traveler a tree! ”