Flipping through the pages of her diary, Pushpa reached a page she always had avoided reading. With the grey in her hair overshadowing the black and a pristine white Sari hugging her would-have-been-stunning-30 yrs ago figure, she was lying down on the cranky swing at night. The stars were looking at her from the sky and she was finding a star amongst all of them. A star who she knew had been gracing her diary’s half torn page since almost 25 years. She always read her diary but the moment her finger felt the torn page she shut it close. But tonight was different. The swing swung in steady motion and the night stopped growing dark but Pushpa still was looking at the page, feeling it with her somewhat wrinkled hand. Putting her spectacles on her teary eyes and wiping those tears before wearing her specs. A jagged cloud covered the full moon, snatching away with it whatever of the blue moonlight that was soaking the wide backyard of Pushpa’s ancestral bungalow. She looked at the empty terrace which was looking at her blankly, with a strange sorrow in its environs.
“Why did you not tell me before, Pushpa? Did I not you with all my life? Did I not give you all the happiness you ever dreamt off? Did I not just love you with all my heart? Why did you not tell me Pushpa..?” he had said with tears in his eyes.
“I didn’t know myself…” she had said.
“Can you not live with me anymore..? Has that night changed the entire dynamics of our relationship?” he asked her with a glint of unmistakable hope in his wet eyes.
He was standing on the terrace. It was a no-moon night. They had been married for 5 years then. Wearing a white Kurta and a distinctly visible scar under his right eye, he was looking at her standing a few steps behind him, in her mauve colored Sari, her neck down and a succinct guilt in her body language as her hands kept fumbling with each others, lips pursing tightly against each other and eyes, stoic.
“It’s over then.” He said and hugged her tight. He looked into her eyes and was about to kiss her before he sternly turned back.
“I didn’t know myself, Shri…” she said.
“I wish you did...” he looked back and smiled.
Before she could blink her eyes, he jumped off. That was the last time he hugged her.
It was 30 years back. She’s been wearing a white Sari since then. What happened that night was what was written on that torn page of her diary.
She had tears in her eyes as she looked at the terrace then looking at the ground, where Shri had fallen straight into an iron rod which the construction guys had erected. The rod had pierced straight through his heart. Swoosh and he was gone. His heart bled as he died. It was bleeding ever since he read that diary page and tore it before reading the end. The moment he had reached the page’s end, he stopped tearing it.
“Is this… true...?” he had asked her, terrifyingly shocked at the revelation.
“Yes”, she said, without an iota of doubt in her mind.
He slammed the diary close and paced towards the terrace. She followed him, her mauve Sari fluttering as she ran behind him.
The torn page was fluttering. The cloud had moved, the moon lit up the backyard again. She sighed and started reading.
27th October 1973
Tonight was the weirdest night of my life. It shook me out of a few misconceptions I had been living with, sleeping with. When I boarded the train compartment of the Mumbai bound train, mom was weeping as usual. She always cries when I leave. Mothers are bizarre creatures; they cry when they shouldn’t and become stern in a situation that would bring anyone to tears. Dad came into the compartment with me. A first class compartment is quite a luxury. I was thinking about Shri as I was sitting at my window. He loves me so much. I always wanted to have a person like him to spend my life with.
I could hear the compartment door slide open. A heavy looking black suit-case was pushed in and was followed by its occupant. Our eyes met. Smiles were exchanged. I got back to reading my Mills n Boon which I have been reading after I married Shri. I can see him in all the romantic heroes in these novels. My fellow passenger was pretty modern looking, gracing these newly arrived trousers; I don’t remember what they call em, but Rajesh Khanna and Zeenat Aman have made em a rage amongst college youths. That movie also has made the college kids go in a frenzy trying drugs and all. The country is going to the dogs. Why do they make such movies? Anyways the kid with me offered me a wafer which I couldn’t refuse pushing us into a conversation. We were similar individuals with similar backgrounds and problems. My marriage though happy isn’t satisfactory in a certain way and I know the problem lies with me and not with Shri… there’s something that gives me that emptiness every time we…
The clock had hit 12 and we had come closer. Our hands holding each other and we continued to talk. I was shocked when I got to know a few things about my fellow passenger, stunned would be the word. I didn’t know how to react. I left that hand for a tense moment. But I was convinced that it was not wrong. It was just natural to get attracted. Some people land up in bad marriages which are good. And then love is not the only thing.
I went with the flow allowing a stranger to kiss me, feel my body and play with it like Shri never had. The fingers, the lips and the very passion exuded in every little touch were making me feel like a woman for the first time in my life. I never knew that I could feel this much. The train continued to speed on. So did us.
4 in the morning as we lay silently in each other’s arms, Pune arrived. The stranger got up and bid me goodbye. We exchanged addresses for further communication. But did I do the right thing? Shri loves me so much…
“Don’t feel sad Pushpa. Sometimes you never know” the stranger looking at me through the window as the train steamed out of Pune Station.
“You are right. I never knew. I can never forget you” I said, holding that hand till the platform ended.
I kept on looking at that unclear image till my eye could catch it. She was beautiful. Sukanya was rich, born and brought up in the States before she came to India for a vacation and caught the same train as mine. She was different and she told me about it. I was also the same, just that I never realized what it exactly was.
It was just that I never knew that I was a different kind of a woman. How do I tell this to Shri? He just loves me so much… God. Help me.
I will write to Sukanya tomorrow.
Tough day. The night would be tougher. He seems to be in the mood tonight.
-Pushpa.
With tears in her eyes, Pushpa closed her eyes. She reclined on the swing, pulled another blanket and closed her eyes thinking about the last thing she ever spoke to Shri.
“I didn’t know myself, Shri”
She never knew. She never wrote to Sukanya again. She never approached similar women. She stayed like any other widow would.
Maybe it was Shri’s love that kept her from doing so.
Maybe it was her way of saying, “I am sorry, Shri”.
Something she wanted to tell him in person. He never listened. She fell asleep on the swing, the terrace still staring blankly at her and one particular star shining brighter than the others.
-Nikhil Mahajan
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Two Minds - 2
Lakshmaiyyah could not believe what he heard. Sometimes you don’t feel like trusting your senses and sometimes you feel that there weren’t any senses at all. He was experiencing what can be labeled as the juxtaposition of these two feelings. He could see a hundred dreams; rather unfinished tasks come crashing down in front of his eyes. His farm which was swept away by the waves could never be brought back to birth, his daughter would remain unmarried, maybe for the rest of her life, his house would fall in a few days, though it sustained the Tsunami, it would definitely not stand another scant rainfall.
“Stand aside man. The name’s not in the list. You don’t get the money.” The commissioner shouted, disturbing Lakshmaiyyah’s thoughts. Wiping those three odd tears which had been trickling down his eyes with his unclean brown handkerchief, he stepped aside.
“My wife died. Parvati Nair…” the next man in the line said. The commissioner got back to looking in his sheet. It was a job for him. Looking at the serpentine queue standing in front of their eyes, the commissioner’s two assistants were smiling sarcastically. Maybe they were thinking about how people came flocking to collect money for the death of someone so close to them and return home smiling after they get it.
“I used to think death makes people sad. Now I know, it gives them a reason to be happy.” one of them said as Parvati’s husband hugged his small daughter tight and rushed back home, relieved, after getting the compensation money.
“It makes them happy…” Lakshmaiyyah said, because, “It gives them another reason to live…”
The commissioner who had turned a deaf ear to the assistant’s comment looked at Lakshmaiyyah, zapped a bit. The assistants smiled and looked away.
“Death doesn’t have to breed death. It propels life to move on. My son’s death doesn’t make me happy. But this money does, rather, would have, because… it stops me from seeing my wife and daughter die…” he almost shouted and walked off, his white lungi shining whiter because of the sunrays. After looking him walk off, the commissioner cast an angry glance at the assistants, who promptly put their necks down in fake apology. Another silent moment later, he looked at the long queue ahead of him, smiled, and said, “Next”. “Queues have to move on. So does Life.” He thought to himself.
The sun had risen after long. The sea looks beautiful when the sunrays bounce back after clashing with the surging waves, creating a collage of vivid imagery of light and the seven colors. The pristine beach was shining a bit, the white sand and the blue water, the yellow gleaming rays of the sun, making it eloquent and silently beautiful. Lakshmaiyyah was sitting on the beach, with his legs folded and palms pressing against his forehead. Totally clueless about what has to be done next he could feel the lukewarm wave hit his weathered, cracked feet.
“You don’t exist” he looked at the sky. He was talking to the God he now knew didn’t exist. A starfish came near his feet, with another wave, spiraling him down memory lane.
“Appa, how many fish stay in the sea..?” little Rama had asked him, standing on the beach, as a tiny starfish had hit his tiny feet along with a wave.
Sitting in the sand, with his feet stretched and eyes closed, head pointing sunwards, Lakshmaiyyah was baffled at this question. He didn’t know how to answer it.
“Appa tell me…” Rama demanded a quick answer, making Lakshmaiyyah open his eyes.
“There are as many fish in the sea, as many stars are in the sky” his sister had answered the question before Lakshmaiyyah could provide little Rama with a more logical answer.
Rama was a bit baffled, before he realized his sister had made a fool out of him. He ran behind her, angrily as she fled towards the boat standing at the shore, through the gushing waves.
“Don’t run into the deep, Rama…” a smiling Lakshmaiyyah said.
“Aye Iyengar!!! Saab wants to see you” one of the assistants shouted from far, bringing Lakshmaiyyah back to the present. He nodded and began to get up looking in the direction where Rama had chased his taunting sister as another wave hit his feet.
The wave had become warmer. And Rama had gone too deep in the sea to hear him again.
Wiping his tears with the by now totally wet, brown handkerchief, Lakshmaiyyah approached the commissioner. The queue of compensation seekers had ended and the commissioner was far more at ease, reclining at his chair, sipping freshly brewed filter coffee from a yellow plastic mug with Vivek Oberoi’s photo across it.
“Sit Lakshmaiyyah” he said, softly.
Lakshmaiyyah obliged, sitting on the ground, looking up at the officer.
“See, now Rama’s name is not in the list. So there’s no way in which you can get the money.”
Lakshmaiyyah shifted in his place a bit uncomfortably.
“But”, sounding profound the commissioner continued, “There’s a small kid who you might adopt. He was found at the coast of the next village. The government provides 30 thousand rupees to the person who adopts kids who lost their parents. You seem to be a good man. You will take care of him.” He stopped, taking another sip from the mug.
Lakshmaiyyah was silent for a moment. He didn’t know what to do.
“Look, you lost your son. This kid lost his parents. He will complete your family. Treat him as his own. And then he gets with him the money you need to get back to your feet” the commissioner said, gauging Lakshmaiyyah’s state of two minds.
After a few moments, Lakshmaiyyah said, “Ok, I will take him home”
“Good then, he is there, sleeping on the backseat of the jeep. He was on a heavy dose of sedatives in the hospital. Sign these papers and take him with you.” The commissioner said matter of factly getting up from his chair and handing Lakshmaiyyah a 30 thousand cheque and some papers. Lakshmaiyyah took the cheque and signed the papers, his hands trembling a bit.
Lakshmaiyyah hesitantly started walking towards the jeep. He looked up in the sky and opened the back door of the jeep. As he looked at the child sleeping, with minor bruises on his face, he couldn’t believe his sight.
It was his own Ramakrishna in the jeep, sleeping peacefully in a blue-black blanket. With an unusual euphoria visible across his face, Lakshmaiyyah picked Rama up and kissed him on his cheeks and hugged him close to his chest. The kid was too under sedatives to notice his father’s outburst of love.
But as the moment of euphoria faded, Lakshmaiyyah felt a pang. If he told the commissioner that this kid was Ramakrishna, he would not get the 30 thousand rupees. But if he went off silently, he would get Rama as well as the money. He had two options, either sharing his happiness with the kind commissioner, who gave him the chance to adopt the kid or walking off with the cheque without thanking the man who gave him his kid back. One option was stressing on his needs, the other was playing with his integrity.
Lakshmaiyyah had never experiences the battle of consciences before. With his two minds battling against each other, racing to get their own things done, their own thoughts succeed, Lakshmaiyyah was getting pulled between the two consciences, with little Rama sleeping cozily near his heart.
But the money was necessary. He would need the money even more now, as Rama was back. Lakshmaiyyah decided to walk off silently. As he took his first step from the jeep, Rama opened his eyes and looked at him, smiled and said “Appa…” in a very sleepy, saccharine voice, before sleeping again.
That one word broke the dam of tears which Lakshmaiyyah had built in his heart. He wept uncontrollably, kissing Rama every time a lump came up his throat. He knew that he had to thank the commissioner. No money would ever get his away from the guilt if he didn’t express his gratitude.
He rushed towards the commissioner, with the cheque in his hand. Before he could speak a word, the commissioner spoke,
“You can call the kid Ramakrishna, Lakshmaiyyah. And you can have the cheque” he smiled.
Shocked, Lakshmaiyyah said, “Sir, You knew..?”
The commissioner looked at him, smiled and said, “Go home Iyengar. Your wife and daughter are waiting”
Lakshmaiyyah stood there baffled as the commissioner turned and walked away. He looked at him walk away and then looked up in the sky.
“You do exist” he said, smiled and turned back holding Rama closer leaving behind the beach alone. Gleaming, shining and smiling, in the newly risen sun.
- Nikhil Mahajan.
“Stand aside man. The name’s not in the list. You don’t get the money.” The commissioner shouted, disturbing Lakshmaiyyah’s thoughts. Wiping those three odd tears which had been trickling down his eyes with his unclean brown handkerchief, he stepped aside.
“My wife died. Parvati Nair…” the next man in the line said. The commissioner got back to looking in his sheet. It was a job for him. Looking at the serpentine queue standing in front of their eyes, the commissioner’s two assistants were smiling sarcastically. Maybe they were thinking about how people came flocking to collect money for the death of someone so close to them and return home smiling after they get it.
“I used to think death makes people sad. Now I know, it gives them a reason to be happy.” one of them said as Parvati’s husband hugged his small daughter tight and rushed back home, relieved, after getting the compensation money.
“It makes them happy…” Lakshmaiyyah said, because, “It gives them another reason to live…”
The commissioner who had turned a deaf ear to the assistant’s comment looked at Lakshmaiyyah, zapped a bit. The assistants smiled and looked away.
“Death doesn’t have to breed death. It propels life to move on. My son’s death doesn’t make me happy. But this money does, rather, would have, because… it stops me from seeing my wife and daughter die…” he almost shouted and walked off, his white lungi shining whiter because of the sunrays. After looking him walk off, the commissioner cast an angry glance at the assistants, who promptly put their necks down in fake apology. Another silent moment later, he looked at the long queue ahead of him, smiled, and said, “Next”. “Queues have to move on. So does Life.” He thought to himself.
The sun had risen after long. The sea looks beautiful when the sunrays bounce back after clashing with the surging waves, creating a collage of vivid imagery of light and the seven colors. The pristine beach was shining a bit, the white sand and the blue water, the yellow gleaming rays of the sun, making it eloquent and silently beautiful. Lakshmaiyyah was sitting on the beach, with his legs folded and palms pressing against his forehead. Totally clueless about what has to be done next he could feel the lukewarm wave hit his weathered, cracked feet.
“You don’t exist” he looked at the sky. He was talking to the God he now knew didn’t exist. A starfish came near his feet, with another wave, spiraling him down memory lane.
“Appa, how many fish stay in the sea..?” little Rama had asked him, standing on the beach, as a tiny starfish had hit his tiny feet along with a wave.
Sitting in the sand, with his feet stretched and eyes closed, head pointing sunwards, Lakshmaiyyah was baffled at this question. He didn’t know how to answer it.
“Appa tell me…” Rama demanded a quick answer, making Lakshmaiyyah open his eyes.
“There are as many fish in the sea, as many stars are in the sky” his sister had answered the question before Lakshmaiyyah could provide little Rama with a more logical answer.
Rama was a bit baffled, before he realized his sister had made a fool out of him. He ran behind her, angrily as she fled towards the boat standing at the shore, through the gushing waves.
“Don’t run into the deep, Rama…” a smiling Lakshmaiyyah said.
“Aye Iyengar!!! Saab wants to see you” one of the assistants shouted from far, bringing Lakshmaiyyah back to the present. He nodded and began to get up looking in the direction where Rama had chased his taunting sister as another wave hit his feet.
The wave had become warmer. And Rama had gone too deep in the sea to hear him again.
Wiping his tears with the by now totally wet, brown handkerchief, Lakshmaiyyah approached the commissioner. The queue of compensation seekers had ended and the commissioner was far more at ease, reclining at his chair, sipping freshly brewed filter coffee from a yellow plastic mug with Vivek Oberoi’s photo across it.
“Sit Lakshmaiyyah” he said, softly.
Lakshmaiyyah obliged, sitting on the ground, looking up at the officer.
“See, now Rama’s name is not in the list. So there’s no way in which you can get the money.”
Lakshmaiyyah shifted in his place a bit uncomfortably.
“But”, sounding profound the commissioner continued, “There’s a small kid who you might adopt. He was found at the coast of the next village. The government provides 30 thousand rupees to the person who adopts kids who lost their parents. You seem to be a good man. You will take care of him.” He stopped, taking another sip from the mug.
Lakshmaiyyah was silent for a moment. He didn’t know what to do.
“Look, you lost your son. This kid lost his parents. He will complete your family. Treat him as his own. And then he gets with him the money you need to get back to your feet” the commissioner said, gauging Lakshmaiyyah’s state of two minds.
After a few moments, Lakshmaiyyah said, “Ok, I will take him home”
“Good then, he is there, sleeping on the backseat of the jeep. He was on a heavy dose of sedatives in the hospital. Sign these papers and take him with you.” The commissioner said matter of factly getting up from his chair and handing Lakshmaiyyah a 30 thousand cheque and some papers. Lakshmaiyyah took the cheque and signed the papers, his hands trembling a bit.
Lakshmaiyyah hesitantly started walking towards the jeep. He looked up in the sky and opened the back door of the jeep. As he looked at the child sleeping, with minor bruises on his face, he couldn’t believe his sight.
It was his own Ramakrishna in the jeep, sleeping peacefully in a blue-black blanket. With an unusual euphoria visible across his face, Lakshmaiyyah picked Rama up and kissed him on his cheeks and hugged him close to his chest. The kid was too under sedatives to notice his father’s outburst of love.
But as the moment of euphoria faded, Lakshmaiyyah felt a pang. If he told the commissioner that this kid was Ramakrishna, he would not get the 30 thousand rupees. But if he went off silently, he would get Rama as well as the money. He had two options, either sharing his happiness with the kind commissioner, who gave him the chance to adopt the kid or walking off with the cheque without thanking the man who gave him his kid back. One option was stressing on his needs, the other was playing with his integrity.
Lakshmaiyyah had never experiences the battle of consciences before. With his two minds battling against each other, racing to get their own things done, their own thoughts succeed, Lakshmaiyyah was getting pulled between the two consciences, with little Rama sleeping cozily near his heart.
But the money was necessary. He would need the money even more now, as Rama was back. Lakshmaiyyah decided to walk off silently. As he took his first step from the jeep, Rama opened his eyes and looked at him, smiled and said “Appa…” in a very sleepy, saccharine voice, before sleeping again.
That one word broke the dam of tears which Lakshmaiyyah had built in his heart. He wept uncontrollably, kissing Rama every time a lump came up his throat. He knew that he had to thank the commissioner. No money would ever get his away from the guilt if he didn’t express his gratitude.
He rushed towards the commissioner, with the cheque in his hand. Before he could speak a word, the commissioner spoke,
“You can call the kid Ramakrishna, Lakshmaiyyah. And you can have the cheque” he smiled.
Shocked, Lakshmaiyyah said, “Sir, You knew..?”
The commissioner looked at him, smiled and said, “Go home Iyengar. Your wife and daughter are waiting”
Lakshmaiyyah stood there baffled as the commissioner turned and walked away. He looked at him walk away and then looked up in the sky.
“You do exist” he said, smiled and turned back holding Rama closer leaving behind the beach alone. Gleaming, shining and smiling, in the newly risen sun.
- Nikhil Mahajan.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
TWO MINDS
I am going into an uncharted territory with this one. Hope all of you like it.
Presenting a short story that celebrates human spirit and the triumph of a word the world seems to have forgotten... humanity.
-Nikhil Mahajan
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
The sea was unusually calm that day. Unfurling the sail of his small boat, the fisherman clad in his usual yellow ganji and green lungi, looked at his fellow on the boat who was looking towards the sea.
“What are you looking at, Venkat?” he asked. He had never seen Venkat tremble like that while fishing. Without a word spoken, Venkat looked back. There was distinct fear in his eyes. Before he could ask him a word more, he could see an unusually large wave surging toward at a steady pace, behind a trembling Venkat. Now he understood why Venkat had never trembled like that before. He hadn’t seen death before either. He just put his head down for a moment.
“Mom has to be taken to the hospital tomorrow… Its Laxmi’s engagement next week… Rajan’s school fees have to be paid… Who is going to do all th…”
Before he could complete the thought or look up, he was pushed down in the extreme depths of the sea by the monster wave. Its strange, the sea that used to feed him everyday, had consumed him today.
Tsunami had struck. It was 24th December 2004.
Two months later. 4th February 2005
Most houses in that small coastal village in Tamilnadu had been destroyed in the unforeseen fury of nature. But more than just houses, hundreds of homes were devastated, some lost their loved ones, some didn’t stay alive to see their loved ones again. Death was done with its one act play and all the lead characters had bowed out. These people had never thought that a 7 letter word could spell doom for them, altering their lives in a way in which it could never be rectified again.
A few film stars had come, sympathized, built a few kachcha shelters and left taking alongwith them scores of TV reporters who had been there to cover the filmstar’s act of charity more than the plight of the people who really had bore the brunt of nature’s act of desolation.
The houses that once stood tidy along the coast were now replaced by sheets of steel and plastic a bit far from the coast now. The anguish and cries of women and children and the silent tears of the men were now replaced by an air of genuine hopelessness and an ardent sense of loss. Gloom was making its presence felt through the dried eyes of people who were still looking at the sea, with anger and hope; anger because it had taken away everything that they had and hope because they thought maybe the Tsunami would strike again and take with whatever was remaining letting there be only sea, sand and a few sheets of iron left.
“The commissioner is here” shouted one of the lucky fishermen who hadn’t gone into the sea that day.
All eyes turned in unison towards the sparkling white ambassador that was swaying its way through the green rice fields to the village, something that was now called a rehabilitation camp of people from different villages which were affected. Most of them strangers but with the same story. Life always brings you to people who can relate to you. This time, it was death which had got these people together.
Following the ambassador was Lakshmaiyyah wearing a white dhoti and a tattered brick red cotton shirt. His blue slippers were splashing water as he was walking towards the swarm of villagers who had by now collected around the commissioner who had come to give the people remuneration for those deceased in the calamity. Lakshmaiyyah, who had a house quite far from the beach, was, for the first time going towards the rehabilitation camp.
An old wooden table with a shaking leg was set. A villager rushed into the medical aid centre set up, to get a white colored plastic chair for the commissioner to sit. The commissioner who was a decent looking man in his late 30’s had the arrogant air of a typical government officer about him, but somehow looked endearing. Something in him was generating warmth, making the grief-stricken villagers feel comfortable. He was wearing a grey-colored Safari suit atop a pair of black leather chappals. He took out a list of people who were listed as dead, officially.
Lakshmaiyyah was now pacing faster towards the queue of people who were standing to collect remuneration. His eyes were wet, not of the slight drizzle, but of memories, memories of Ram, his 5 yr old son, who the waves had taken away.
Ram had always been enticed by the sea. He used to run towards the beach every morning, his elder sister following suit. They used to play in the salty water bringing effervescent, sweet smiles and sounds of cackling laughter to them, as Lakshmaiyyah watched them play from a distance.
The sound of Ram’s innocent laughter was booming in Lakshmaiyyah’s ears as he joined the serpentine queue. The state government had declared a compensation of 20000 for the family of each deceased. The cheques were being distributed after the verification of the names in the list. As people were collecting the money, they were feeling even sadder, as their loved ones gave them a ray of hope after going into pitch black darkness themselves. 24th of December fetched them an amount of money which they would have taken at least a year to earn. The price they paid was worthless. 20000 would give Lakshmaiyyah an opportunity to build a house he always wanted. It couldn’t return his son’s laughter though. 24th of December had changed their lives in a totally irreversible way.
He was sitting in the verandah of his old house that day, looking at the list of grocery they had to get for his daughter’s engagement which was the next day. He also had lots to do that day, the house had to be decorated, and the guests were to be invited. He was quite consumed in his work when little Ram came to him, asking him to come with him to the sea. Lakshmaiyyah had shouted at Ram when he kept insisting on going despite of his continuous denials.
A disappointed Ram had ran towards the sea, crying. Lakshmaiyyah had smiled and thought to himself, “Why do you have to run, when you are gonna come back to the same place?”
Unfortunately for him, Ram never returned from the beach after then. Ram in all probability had died with tears in his eyes. Or maybe he was smiling… After all, his father was saved.
Lakshmaiyyah’s thoughts were disturbed with the solid voice of the commissioner,
“Who has died?”
Lakshmaiyyah had replied, “My son, Rameshwaran Iyengar”
After pondering the list for a while, he said, “The name is not in the list.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
Let me know what you felt about TWO MINDS. Also tell me about similar experiences of yours... I will put up the best one next Sunday alongwith the culminating chapter of TWO MINDS.
-Nikhil Mahajan
Presenting a short story that celebrates human spirit and the triumph of a word the world seems to have forgotten... humanity.
-Nikhil Mahajan
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
The sea was unusually calm that day. Unfurling the sail of his small boat, the fisherman clad in his usual yellow ganji and green lungi, looked at his fellow on the boat who was looking towards the sea.
“What are you looking at, Venkat?” he asked. He had never seen Venkat tremble like that while fishing. Without a word spoken, Venkat looked back. There was distinct fear in his eyes. Before he could ask him a word more, he could see an unusually large wave surging toward at a steady pace, behind a trembling Venkat. Now he understood why Venkat had never trembled like that before. He hadn’t seen death before either. He just put his head down for a moment.
“Mom has to be taken to the hospital tomorrow… Its Laxmi’s engagement next week… Rajan’s school fees have to be paid… Who is going to do all th…”
Before he could complete the thought or look up, he was pushed down in the extreme depths of the sea by the monster wave. Its strange, the sea that used to feed him everyday, had consumed him today.
Tsunami had struck. It was 24th December 2004.
Two months later. 4th February 2005
Most houses in that small coastal village in Tamilnadu had been destroyed in the unforeseen fury of nature. But more than just houses, hundreds of homes were devastated, some lost their loved ones, some didn’t stay alive to see their loved ones again. Death was done with its one act play and all the lead characters had bowed out. These people had never thought that a 7 letter word could spell doom for them, altering their lives in a way in which it could never be rectified again.
A few film stars had come, sympathized, built a few kachcha shelters and left taking alongwith them scores of TV reporters who had been there to cover the filmstar’s act of charity more than the plight of the people who really had bore the brunt of nature’s act of desolation.
The houses that once stood tidy along the coast were now replaced by sheets of steel and plastic a bit far from the coast now. The anguish and cries of women and children and the silent tears of the men were now replaced by an air of genuine hopelessness and an ardent sense of loss. Gloom was making its presence felt through the dried eyes of people who were still looking at the sea, with anger and hope; anger because it had taken away everything that they had and hope because they thought maybe the Tsunami would strike again and take with whatever was remaining letting there be only sea, sand and a few sheets of iron left.
“The commissioner is here” shouted one of the lucky fishermen who hadn’t gone into the sea that day.
All eyes turned in unison towards the sparkling white ambassador that was swaying its way through the green rice fields to the village, something that was now called a rehabilitation camp of people from different villages which were affected. Most of them strangers but with the same story. Life always brings you to people who can relate to you. This time, it was death which had got these people together.
Following the ambassador was Lakshmaiyyah wearing a white dhoti and a tattered brick red cotton shirt. His blue slippers were splashing water as he was walking towards the swarm of villagers who had by now collected around the commissioner who had come to give the people remuneration for those deceased in the calamity. Lakshmaiyyah, who had a house quite far from the beach, was, for the first time going towards the rehabilitation camp.
An old wooden table with a shaking leg was set. A villager rushed into the medical aid centre set up, to get a white colored plastic chair for the commissioner to sit. The commissioner who was a decent looking man in his late 30’s had the arrogant air of a typical government officer about him, but somehow looked endearing. Something in him was generating warmth, making the grief-stricken villagers feel comfortable. He was wearing a grey-colored Safari suit atop a pair of black leather chappals. He took out a list of people who were listed as dead, officially.
Lakshmaiyyah was now pacing faster towards the queue of people who were standing to collect remuneration. His eyes were wet, not of the slight drizzle, but of memories, memories of Ram, his 5 yr old son, who the waves had taken away.
Ram had always been enticed by the sea. He used to run towards the beach every morning, his elder sister following suit. They used to play in the salty water bringing effervescent, sweet smiles and sounds of cackling laughter to them, as Lakshmaiyyah watched them play from a distance.
The sound of Ram’s innocent laughter was booming in Lakshmaiyyah’s ears as he joined the serpentine queue. The state government had declared a compensation of 20000 for the family of each deceased. The cheques were being distributed after the verification of the names in the list. As people were collecting the money, they were feeling even sadder, as their loved ones gave them a ray of hope after going into pitch black darkness themselves. 24th of December fetched them an amount of money which they would have taken at least a year to earn. The price they paid was worthless. 20000 would give Lakshmaiyyah an opportunity to build a house he always wanted. It couldn’t return his son’s laughter though. 24th of December had changed their lives in a totally irreversible way.
He was sitting in the verandah of his old house that day, looking at the list of grocery they had to get for his daughter’s engagement which was the next day. He also had lots to do that day, the house had to be decorated, and the guests were to be invited. He was quite consumed in his work when little Ram came to him, asking him to come with him to the sea. Lakshmaiyyah had shouted at Ram when he kept insisting on going despite of his continuous denials.
A disappointed Ram had ran towards the sea, crying. Lakshmaiyyah had smiled and thought to himself, “Why do you have to run, when you are gonna come back to the same place?”
Unfortunately for him, Ram never returned from the beach after then. Ram in all probability had died with tears in his eyes. Or maybe he was smiling… After all, his father was saved.
Lakshmaiyyah’s thoughts were disturbed with the solid voice of the commissioner,
“Who has died?”
Lakshmaiyyah had replied, “My son, Rameshwaran Iyengar”
After pondering the list for a while, he said, “The name is not in the list.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
Let me know what you felt about TWO MINDS. Also tell me about similar experiences of yours... I will put up the best one next Sunday alongwith the culminating chapter of TWO MINDS.
-Nikhil Mahajan
Monday, July 24, 2006
Maybe 2
Here is the culmination chapter of Maybe.
To read the story before... And i suggest everybody read it once so that you dont feel like an eskimo wandering in a desert as you reach midway of part 2.
Klick Here : http://nikkarmakonfessions.blogspot.com/2006/07/maybe.html
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Part 2: MAYBE:
To read the story before... And i suggest everybody read it once so that you dont feel like an eskimo wandering in a desert as you reach midway of part 2.
Klick Here : http://nikkarmakonfessions.blogspot.com/2006/07/maybe.html
=============================
Part 2: MAYBE:
Swiveling his black leather chair with a frustrated jerk, Omi went to the window. As he looked outside the window of his white-n-red cabin, he could see that it was raining outside; pouring at that. As the rainwater trickled down outside his glass window the view outside began to blur. Omi’s mind was not in a very different state than the view-from-the-window. Too much work was anyways taking its toll on him. At 24, he had a totally screwed back with a couple of slipped discs and a strained ligament. Today things had worsened. As he was continuously thinking about Nisha, Shweta and Jhanavi the Hair Oil Ad Campaign he was in-charge had gone for a toss. A freshly printed pamphlet lying on his table was awaiting his approval. His secretary, Rita, looking at him standing like that, had kept it on the table without speaking a word. As the view became totally unclear Omi suddenly came out of “Nisha-Shweta-Jhanavi” trance and looked at the pamphlet. He then looked at his watch which was shouting 3 p.m. “Board meeting at 5. I have to make a presentation for this hair oil…” After this unexpected strike of sudden realization Omi almost ran to his table.
As he looked at the front page of the pamphlet he knew how Shweta had come to know about his office. She was the lead model in the hair oil campaign. Wearing a striking shade of beige and with an obvious wig, Shweta was looking straight at Omi through the pamphlet. “She still is very beautiful” he wondered aloud. Then he looked at the bottle of hair oil in the right bottom of the page. The first thing that came to his mind after watching it was Nisha. He remembered Nisha who used to apply some really sick hair oil every Friday night. The girls’ hostel never got water on Saturdays citing which she couldn’t wash it off in the morning, forcing herself to come to college like that. Omi used to get so angry with her then. Today he was smiling. He then looked at the punch-line which simply said, “Apply it every night and then Just Chill”. Just then Rita came in again. This time she had come for apparently no reason. She used to come in Omi’s office quite a few times just like that. Today, she was wearing a red mini-skirt with a white top and black jacket. On a normal day, Omi would’ve gaped at her as she bent down at the perfect angle to pick up the planner which she had dropped down, very obviously, on purpose. But today was different. He didn’t even notice the velvety details of the thong which probably the whole office was talking about by now. As she left the room without a word being exchanged Omi threw another look at the pamphlet which was aesthetically done in a shade of off white which went very well with the Shweta’s beige costume on the cover. The off white for no particular reason reminded Omi of Jhanavi’s dress she had worn when they had gone to Lonavala for a weekend getaway.
Busy thinking about that trip when he and Jhanavi for the first time had… “Ahem… ahem” he thought to himself and brushed all physical thoughts away. He was too pestered mentally to get a few more physical complications ruin things further.
“Omi, idiot you gotta work” he warned himself and looked at the pamphlet again. And volla… The shade of off white seemed to have transformed into Jhanavi’s image, the oil bottle’s picture transformed into Nisha and Shweta was any which ways there.
Quite miraculously the punch-line also had changed to three kick-ass lines…
“Maybe Shweta is the girl, Omi”
“Maybe Nisha is the girl, Omi”
“Maybe Jhanavi is the girl, Omi”
For a moment this picture of three girls and three punch-lines was projected on the wall behind his table. Omi almost screamed out of frustration and was almost going to pull his hair off, when he realized that the whole projection on the wall thing was a figment of his imagination. Everything was normal on the surface again. The problem was inside. Inside his brain. As he looked at the pamphlet again, he could see only Shweta and the tagline “Just Chill” Suggestive? Not really. Think again? No way.
Omi looked in his watch and now it was shouting at the top of its voice, 4 PM. He had a board meeting at 5 and he hadn’t done his presentation as yet. Let alone the presentation, he hadn’t had a look at the pamphlet either. Since his mail came in the morning, he was thinking about these three girls. Girls have a strange trait. While at college they stay in your minds and don’t let you study. While at work, they still stay in your heads and don’t let you work. That is the trait. Whats strange about it is that while you are busy screwing your own life and thinking about them, they pretty nicely manage to do their work, study and even think about Tom Cruise’s break up with Nicole Kidman or what Tulsi would do in the next night’s episode of Kyunki Saans bhi Kabhi Bahu thi. Omi always had felt like killing Ekta Kapoor by making her watch her own serials for 7 consecutive days, serial after serial. Today he was feeling like watching all those serials himself. His memory rewound straight to college days when he wanted to watch the football world cup and his mom used to put up a fight more aggressive than the world-war 2 so that she could watch her saas bahu sagas. Yes. Tulsi was alive then. Yes. Tulsi is still alive and kicking. That again is another story. Even baa is alive. How? Ask Ekta.
Anyways, Omi rewound to those days of school and remembered the fights with mom. For a change he was thinking about some other woman than these three. And suddenly his brain had an idea. “Mom!!!” he screamed in excitement and called her up. They say… “No matter how stupid they sound, moms’ are always right” Omi never believed in this and had always done his own thing. But today he thought otherwise.
As Omi blabbered to his mom about how crucial a state he was stuck in, his mom told him to do just one thing. Ask all girls one question. And ask them to answer it in one sentence. Omi was smiling for the first time since morning. He opened his laptop and typed a fast email; sent it to Nisha, Shweta and Jhanavi. He also sms’d all of them and asked them to reply to it before 7 o clock. Totally at ease with the problem now, Omi
Relaxed on his chair and started reading the pamphlet. The view outside was still unclear. The view in his brain was… crystal clear. He looked in his watch. It was showing 4:45 p.m. Omi again smiled at himself as he thought, “How can I be so stupid? Can a watch ever shout and scream?” All this while, the watch was silent. Omi was shouting. Now, both were silent. Omi left for the board meeting. As he left his cabin, he smiled at everyone, waved at people and yes, noticed the velvet… and yes, gaped at it. After all he hadn’t told mom about it. And then. No matter how much they grow up, boys remain boys. The board meeting went off fantastic and Omi was happier than ever because the hair oil campaign had gone off very well with the high command. Omi had proved once again, that he was the best and youngest creative director Koncept Advertising ever had.
As he returned to his cabin, he could sense his heartbeat growing faster. His pulse racing against time as he opened his mailbox.
The three replies went on like this:
Nisha, as usual, was the first one to reply
She said, “Because I love you Omi.”
Jhanavi was the second.
She said, “Because I love you Omi”
And then Omi opened Shweta’s mail.
She said, “Because you love me Omi.”
As he read the third mail, Omi was all smiles. Mom was right when she had asked him to ask the girls…
“Why do you want me to marry you?”
And then she had told him, “People always say that more than you loving a person, its important that the person loves you. But that is wrong. What is important is that the other person knows that you love her. No relationship can ever sustain till it rests on equal ground. In every relationship, loving a person is secondary. Knowing that he loves you is the more important. Omi, the girl who knows that you love her, is the right one for you.”
As Omi sent two ‘I am sorry’ emails to Nisha and Jhanavi, he was feeling sorry for them coz they were going to be sad for at least a month after this rejection, Nisha for an year maybe. But then he was happy because he would not be responsible for making them sad throughout their lives.
Omi was happy. He thought of breaking the news to Shweta the next day. After all they were going to work on an ad film together after a long time. The cappuccino was waiting. The blue handkerchief was one that Omi had given to Shweta on their first shoot. He still had it with him. He still loved her. And she loved him. Maybe that was the way things were meant to happen. Slowly.
And unlike last time, the ad film was gonna be complete this time. The rain had stopped, and it was dark outside. Omi could see the neon lights and headlamps of streams of cars on the road outside. Everything was just so bright and clear. He just looked in his watch. It was stuck at 6:55 p.m. He looked in his laptop and that was exactly when Shweta had sent him that email. Just 5 minutes before the deadline.
The watch had stopped. Or had time stood still for Omi and Shweta? Was it just a coincidence or was it a signal from the upper hand which Omi saw after taking his decision…? No one knows.
Omi took a cup of cappuccino, stretched his arms and stood in the window. Thinking about Shweta, cappuccino and the emails.
Life is so strange. It puts you into complicated situations with simple solutions. It just one word that leads you to the solution: Maybe…
-Nikhil Mahajan
As he looked at the front page of the pamphlet he knew how Shweta had come to know about his office. She was the lead model in the hair oil campaign. Wearing a striking shade of beige and with an obvious wig, Shweta was looking straight at Omi through the pamphlet. “She still is very beautiful” he wondered aloud. Then he looked at the bottle of hair oil in the right bottom of the page. The first thing that came to his mind after watching it was Nisha. He remembered Nisha who used to apply some really sick hair oil every Friday night. The girls’ hostel never got water on Saturdays citing which she couldn’t wash it off in the morning, forcing herself to come to college like that. Omi used to get so angry with her then. Today he was smiling. He then looked at the punch-line which simply said, “Apply it every night and then Just Chill”. Just then Rita came in again. This time she had come for apparently no reason. She used to come in Omi’s office quite a few times just like that. Today, she was wearing a red mini-skirt with a white top and black jacket. On a normal day, Omi would’ve gaped at her as she bent down at the perfect angle to pick up the planner which she had dropped down, very obviously, on purpose. But today was different. He didn’t even notice the velvety details of the thong which probably the whole office was talking about by now. As she left the room without a word being exchanged Omi threw another look at the pamphlet which was aesthetically done in a shade of off white which went very well with the Shweta’s beige costume on the cover. The off white for no particular reason reminded Omi of Jhanavi’s dress she had worn when they had gone to Lonavala for a weekend getaway.
Busy thinking about that trip when he and Jhanavi for the first time had… “Ahem… ahem” he thought to himself and brushed all physical thoughts away. He was too pestered mentally to get a few more physical complications ruin things further.
“Omi, idiot you gotta work” he warned himself and looked at the pamphlet again. And volla… The shade of off white seemed to have transformed into Jhanavi’s image, the oil bottle’s picture transformed into Nisha and Shweta was any which ways there.
Quite miraculously the punch-line also had changed to three kick-ass lines…
“Maybe Shweta is the girl, Omi”
“Maybe Nisha is the girl, Omi”
“Maybe Jhanavi is the girl, Omi”
For a moment this picture of three girls and three punch-lines was projected on the wall behind his table. Omi almost screamed out of frustration and was almost going to pull his hair off, when he realized that the whole projection on the wall thing was a figment of his imagination. Everything was normal on the surface again. The problem was inside. Inside his brain. As he looked at the pamphlet again, he could see only Shweta and the tagline “Just Chill” Suggestive? Not really. Think again? No way.
Omi looked in his watch and now it was shouting at the top of its voice, 4 PM. He had a board meeting at 5 and he hadn’t done his presentation as yet. Let alone the presentation, he hadn’t had a look at the pamphlet either. Since his mail came in the morning, he was thinking about these three girls. Girls have a strange trait. While at college they stay in your minds and don’t let you study. While at work, they still stay in your heads and don’t let you work. That is the trait. Whats strange about it is that while you are busy screwing your own life and thinking about them, they pretty nicely manage to do their work, study and even think about Tom Cruise’s break up with Nicole Kidman or what Tulsi would do in the next night’s episode of Kyunki Saans bhi Kabhi Bahu thi. Omi always had felt like killing Ekta Kapoor by making her watch her own serials for 7 consecutive days, serial after serial. Today he was feeling like watching all those serials himself. His memory rewound straight to college days when he wanted to watch the football world cup and his mom used to put up a fight more aggressive than the world-war 2 so that she could watch her saas bahu sagas. Yes. Tulsi was alive then. Yes. Tulsi is still alive and kicking. That again is another story. Even baa is alive. How? Ask Ekta.
Anyways, Omi rewound to those days of school and remembered the fights with mom. For a change he was thinking about some other woman than these three. And suddenly his brain had an idea. “Mom!!!” he screamed in excitement and called her up. They say… “No matter how stupid they sound, moms’ are always right” Omi never believed in this and had always done his own thing. But today he thought otherwise.
As Omi blabbered to his mom about how crucial a state he was stuck in, his mom told him to do just one thing. Ask all girls one question. And ask them to answer it in one sentence. Omi was smiling for the first time since morning. He opened his laptop and typed a fast email; sent it to Nisha, Shweta and Jhanavi. He also sms’d all of them and asked them to reply to it before 7 o clock. Totally at ease with the problem now, Omi
Relaxed on his chair and started reading the pamphlet. The view outside was still unclear. The view in his brain was… crystal clear. He looked in his watch. It was showing 4:45 p.m. Omi again smiled at himself as he thought, “How can I be so stupid? Can a watch ever shout and scream?” All this while, the watch was silent. Omi was shouting. Now, both were silent. Omi left for the board meeting. As he left his cabin, he smiled at everyone, waved at people and yes, noticed the velvet… and yes, gaped at it. After all he hadn’t told mom about it. And then. No matter how much they grow up, boys remain boys. The board meeting went off fantastic and Omi was happier than ever because the hair oil campaign had gone off very well with the high command. Omi had proved once again, that he was the best and youngest creative director Koncept Advertising ever had.
As he returned to his cabin, he could sense his heartbeat growing faster. His pulse racing against time as he opened his mailbox.
The three replies went on like this:
Nisha, as usual, was the first one to reply
She said, “Because I love you Omi.”
Jhanavi was the second.
She said, “Because I love you Omi”
And then Omi opened Shweta’s mail.
She said, “Because you love me Omi.”
As he read the third mail, Omi was all smiles. Mom was right when she had asked him to ask the girls…
“Why do you want me to marry you?”
And then she had told him, “People always say that more than you loving a person, its important that the person loves you. But that is wrong. What is important is that the other person knows that you love her. No relationship can ever sustain till it rests on equal ground. In every relationship, loving a person is secondary. Knowing that he loves you is the more important. Omi, the girl who knows that you love her, is the right one for you.”
As Omi sent two ‘I am sorry’ emails to Nisha and Jhanavi, he was feeling sorry for them coz they were going to be sad for at least a month after this rejection, Nisha for an year maybe. But then he was happy because he would not be responsible for making them sad throughout their lives.
Omi was happy. He thought of breaking the news to Shweta the next day. After all they were going to work on an ad film together after a long time. The cappuccino was waiting. The blue handkerchief was one that Omi had given to Shweta on their first shoot. He still had it with him. He still loved her. And she loved him. Maybe that was the way things were meant to happen. Slowly.
And unlike last time, the ad film was gonna be complete this time. The rain had stopped, and it was dark outside. Omi could see the neon lights and headlamps of streams of cars on the road outside. Everything was just so bright and clear. He just looked in his watch. It was stuck at 6:55 p.m. He looked in his laptop and that was exactly when Shweta had sent him that email. Just 5 minutes before the deadline.
The watch had stopped. Or had time stood still for Omi and Shweta? Was it just a coincidence or was it a signal from the upper hand which Omi saw after taking his decision…? No one knows.
Omi took a cup of cappuccino, stretched his arms and stood in the window. Thinking about Shweta, cappuccino and the emails.
Life is so strange. It puts you into complicated situations with simple solutions. It just one word that leads you to the solution: Maybe…
-Nikhil Mahajan
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I hope that i have lived upto the expectations that part 1 had created. Maybe is in actuality a movie script titled Shaayad and is pretty long. I have cut it short, removed almost 50 scenes and converted it into a short story format. There is a scene in the film where all the three girls come in the same frame. Adding to the cunfusion.
I got a tremendous response to the interactive bit of Maybe and i am thanking everybody who gave their feedback
Out of the 15 emails i got and the 10 odd phone calls and the response Shin-Shin got here are the stats:
70% people thought that Omi would go with Nisha.
29% people thought that Omi would go with Jhanavi.
But only One person predicted the actual end which i am sure nobody else predicted. The person is Sukie from Amity Lucknow.
Way to go Sukie. I was so flattered with your email there.
I sincerely hope Maybe... lived upto the expectations.
Do feel free to give me honest feedback.
Many Thanks,
NM
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The above work is protected by copyright laws. Copying Maybe or any part of it without the prior permission of the author would lead to serious legal consequences.
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SHAAYAD is registered with the Scriptwriters' association of India under the name of Nikhil Mahajan.
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Copyright: Nikhil Mahajan
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Saturday, July 15, 2006
Maybe...
Love… Love is the base of all emotions.
It catches you unaware… unexpected…unprepared.
People try to run away from love…
But after a few miles…they bump into it.
The most magical, enchanting and unimaginable feeling of your life…Love.
They say…Love is complicated…
But had it not been complicated… It wouldn’t have been love.
In my first post here on Karma ‘n’ Konfessions, I am gonna tell you guys a story. A story of a guy who is as average as you and me are. I cant remember when I had written it. But I am sure it was one of those times when I was in the most interesting phase in my life. A phase of self doubt and confusion. A phase which engulfs all of us within itself at some point of time in our lives.
Everybody has his own life… Everybody has his own terms for living it.
Every person on earth constantly makes a constant and sincere effort to live his own life according to his own terms… his own rules.
Some succeed in doing so… Some don’t.
Omi, like me, fell in the latter category.
Omi was a weird guy. A flirt of the highest grade, Omi never knew what true love meant. All that he knew abut love was a boy and a girl getting into a relationship. Perhaps that is why he never knew the true meaning of love. In spite of this he was liked by one and all. He was a computer engineer and had loving parents and great friends who supported him in all walks of life. But the problem with Omi was that he could never do what he wanted to do, and whatever happened was never even thought of. This is Omkar Joshi and his story.
Omi was sitting in his plush cabin at The Koncept advertising company where he was working as a creative director. Omi had never imagined that an ordinary engineer like him would end up earning a hundred thousand rupees per month doing the job of a creative director in India’s leading Ad agency. A Day like this, when he did not have much to do in his office was also one in a hundred thousand. Sitting calmly on his chair, Omi was thinking about his friends who also like him were losers at one point of time but were now earning like hell doing variety of jobs ranging from Finance management to Acting. “Academics don’t matter…” he thought. He started sipping his cappuccino. He preferred Cappuccino because it reminded him of a coffee joint. A place that had changed his life forever… He was stirring the coffee. The stirs reminded him of the twists his life had taken in the last 6 years. “If… If, for once had I kept my f****** ego away and called her, maybe…things would have been different today.” He thought. His thoughts were disturbed by a knock on his door.
It was the office peon. He had brought the daily mail. He placed them on Omi’s table and left. It was kind of funny. People still wrote letters in the blitz klieg age of emails and sms’.
As Omi started going through the letters, one specific letter caught his eye.
It had to catch his eye… after all… It was Nisha’s letter.
Nisha Deshpande:
Nisha was Omi’s best friend. She had met him in his engineering college and was his batch mate. She was a simple girl with equally simple dreams. All she wanted to do in life was to study, get a good job and eventually get married to a guy who would care for her… who would love her. She had made a self pact that she would not fall in love with anyone during her college days… that is exactly when she fell in love In love with the guy who was her best friend. Yeah… Nisha loved Omi.
Everyone in the college including Omi knew about Nisha’s feelings for him. But Omi being Omi chased hot babes and succeeded in getting them. Not once during their engineering years did Nisha tell Omi about her feelings, basically because she was too busy listening about his feelings for other girls. She was a good girl, but… Omi never realized this fact.
One fine day… Nisha left for the US of A on a job assignment.
It had been two years since she left. Omi had not tried to contact her, but she stayed in touch. Love makes you do things your ego doesn’t permit you to do. Ultimately either your ego wins… or you win.
Nisha won…. In spite of no replies from Omi… she stayed in touch.
Omi lost… He couldn’t call Shweta even once… One phone call and his life would have changed…
By the way… Shweta was the girl who Omi loved…
She was the girl who came into his life… and added a new word in his dictionary…LOVE.
Shweta Kulkarni:
She had met Omi accidentally. She was hot at first sight and cute at the second sight. A model by profession she had a major attitude problem. But her attitude was justified basically because she knew that she was worth the entire attitude. She was also a good person at heart. Envy for other girls, whenever she entered a room, other girls would suffer from a huge inferiority complex.
Shweta and Omi go back a long way. When Omi was struggling to get a model for his first ad film campaign, Shweta, who was also a struggler then, worked with him and that too for free. Though the campaign did not work out for any one of them, they became good friends and Omi insists on working with Shweta. Omi fell in love with Shweta and for once he came to know what true love is. Shweta also started liking Omi, but the problem was the ego clashes they had between them. Their egos and attitudes didn’t allow them to express their feelings in front of each other and as a result they got hooked up with different people.
Shweta got into a relationship with Rahul.
Omi got into a relationship with Jhanavi.
Nisha was still waiting for Omi…
Omi really liked Jhanavi, but he never loved her…
By the way Jhanavi was Omi’s girlfriend.
Jhanavi Kapoor:
Sweet to an extent of being irritating and cute to an extent of being sweet… Jhanavi was the most talked about girl in college and was totally swept off her feet by the Oh-so-creative Omi. Omi was totally pissed with the fact that he could not get into a relationship with Shweta when Jhanavi entered his life. When Omi came to know that Shweta had found a boyfriend, he knew that he had to give Shweta an answer… An answer slam in her face. His answer to Shweta was a question for Jhanavi and Jhanavi’s answer was a disappointing one for Nisha.
Omi and Jhanavi had a steady relationship for two years. They broke off just a day before their send off.
Omi had not seen Shweta for two years.
Omi had not seen Jhanavi for two years.
Omi had not seen Nisha for two years.
At least he got to see Nisha’s letters.
So coming back to the letter his peon had got for him, Omi could see the typical Nisha stamp on it. Nisha on every letter used to write "OPEN WITH A SMILE" on the back flap of it. No matter how childish it looked, it still managed to bring a smile on Omi's face. And today was no different. He smiled and opened it.
As he started to read the letter, he was shocked, because for the very first time in 6 years had Nisha told Omi bout her feelings for him.
Omi was dumbstruck by the fact that the girl still loved him after seeing his n number of affairs…
“Maybe Nisha is the girl for me... or isnt she?”
As Omi was thinking about Nisha as his prospective life partner, his mobile phone rang…
“Hello, is that Omkar Joshi?”, enquired a familiar sounding female voice from the other side.
Not able to recognize who it was Omi said,”Yeah, but may I know who is speaking?”
“So after two years, you are not even able to recognize my voice… Anyways this is Jhanavi… Jhanavi Kapoor…does that name ring a bell somewhere?” She said in a sarcastic tone.
Omi had to recognize the name. They talked at a length. At the end of the conversation Jhanavi told Omi if they could try and rebuild their broken relationship.
Omi asked her for a little time…
She gave all the time he needed.
Omi was dumbstruck by the thought that the girl still loved him after a breakup and a long period of two years after that.
“Maybe Jhanavi is the girl for me... or isnt she?”
Omi was thinking of Jhanavi as his prospective life partner when he heard a knock on his door.
“Come in”, said Omi without looking at the door.
The door opened.
“Hi Omi, can I come inside?” asked the voice from the door.
Omi looked at the door. After that he couldn’t look elsewhere.
It was Shweta.
They had cappuccino together and struck up a great conversation after an initial pause when they were just looking at each other…and sipping cappuccino.
Yeah… The cappuccino reminded both of them of a coffee joint.
A place that had changed their life forever.
As Shweta was leaving she said,” Sorry Omi, I could not call that day…”
They could not even exchange good byes.
The silence did all the speaking.
Omi was dumbstruck by the thought that the girl got over her ego and said sorry to him when, actually it was his mistake.
“Maybe... Shweta is the girl... or isnt she?”
He sat silently for a few moments when three thoughts started buzzing in his mind simultaneously.
“Maybe…Jhanavi is the girl”
“Maybe…Nisha is the girl”
“Maybe…Shweta is the girl”
Omi had never been this confused in his entire life.
Rather life had never been this confusing.
Three girls… all of whom loved him unconditionally…
All of whom he had not seen in the past two years…
All of whom were asking him to marry them.
All of us are spiralled into such space at least once in our lives.
It is not always three girls...
It can be two career options...
It can be a right turn or a left turn...
It could be about two of the places you want to rent...
Confusion is one of the most beautiful things in this world.
Its just so confusing.
==========================TO BE CONTINUED==================
What does Omi do next? Where does life take him..? Nisha, Shweta or Jhanavi..? Which of the three does Omi finally go with?
All these questions will be answered in the next post...
I have the whole story with me but just to make K n K a bit of fun as we always wanted it to be... I am giving an interactive edge to it...
Kindly think about the situation by slipping into Omi's shoes for a while and tell me If you were Omi... who would you have gone with... and Why?
You can mail me your responses at nikhil_mahajan1984@hotmail.com
MAYBE will be taken to its end this weekend. Also alongwith will be the 5 most convincing suggestions from our bloggers. I will be also giving a general readers' trend alongwith this.
WATCH THIS SPACE.
But i would really like you guys to tell me how you like the story. And if u will go to a theatre to watch this film. All comments are welcome.
Hope i live upto the expectations and high standards set by my fellow Konfessioners Sarang n Shin-Shin.
Thank you all for the awesome response to Karma 'n' Konfession.
-Nikhil Mahajan
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE ABOVE WORK IS PROTECTED BY COPYRIGHT LAWS. USING ANY PART OR WHOLE OF THIS PROSE WITHOUT PRIOR PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR WOULD LEAD TO SERIOUS LEGAL CONSEQUENCES.
'SHAAYAD' IS REGISTERED WITH THE SCRIPTWRITERS' ASSOCIATION OF INDIA UNDER THE NAME OF NIKHIL MAHAJAN
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It catches you unaware… unexpected…unprepared.
People try to run away from love…
But after a few miles…they bump into it.
The most magical, enchanting and unimaginable feeling of your life…Love.
They say…Love is complicated…
But had it not been complicated… It wouldn’t have been love.
In my first post here on Karma ‘n’ Konfessions, I am gonna tell you guys a story. A story of a guy who is as average as you and me are. I cant remember when I had written it. But I am sure it was one of those times when I was in the most interesting phase in my life. A phase of self doubt and confusion. A phase which engulfs all of us within itself at some point of time in our lives.
Everybody has his own life… Everybody has his own terms for living it.
Every person on earth constantly makes a constant and sincere effort to live his own life according to his own terms… his own rules.
Some succeed in doing so… Some don’t.
Omi, like me, fell in the latter category.
Omi was a weird guy. A flirt of the highest grade, Omi never knew what true love meant. All that he knew abut love was a boy and a girl getting into a relationship. Perhaps that is why he never knew the true meaning of love. In spite of this he was liked by one and all. He was a computer engineer and had loving parents and great friends who supported him in all walks of life. But the problem with Omi was that he could never do what he wanted to do, and whatever happened was never even thought of. This is Omkar Joshi and his story.
Omi was sitting in his plush cabin at The Koncept advertising company where he was working as a creative director. Omi had never imagined that an ordinary engineer like him would end up earning a hundred thousand rupees per month doing the job of a creative director in India’s leading Ad agency. A Day like this, when he did not have much to do in his office was also one in a hundred thousand. Sitting calmly on his chair, Omi was thinking about his friends who also like him were losers at one point of time but were now earning like hell doing variety of jobs ranging from Finance management to Acting. “Academics don’t matter…” he thought. He started sipping his cappuccino. He preferred Cappuccino because it reminded him of a coffee joint. A place that had changed his life forever… He was stirring the coffee. The stirs reminded him of the twists his life had taken in the last 6 years. “If… If, for once had I kept my f****** ego away and called her, maybe…things would have been different today.” He thought. His thoughts were disturbed by a knock on his door.
It was the office peon. He had brought the daily mail. He placed them on Omi’s table and left. It was kind of funny. People still wrote letters in the blitz klieg age of emails and sms’.
As Omi started going through the letters, one specific letter caught his eye.
It had to catch his eye… after all… It was Nisha’s letter.
Nisha Deshpande:
Nisha was Omi’s best friend. She had met him in his engineering college and was his batch mate. She was a simple girl with equally simple dreams. All she wanted to do in life was to study, get a good job and eventually get married to a guy who would care for her… who would love her. She had made a self pact that she would not fall in love with anyone during her college days… that is exactly when she fell in love In love with the guy who was her best friend. Yeah… Nisha loved Omi.
Everyone in the college including Omi knew about Nisha’s feelings for him. But Omi being Omi chased hot babes and succeeded in getting them. Not once during their engineering years did Nisha tell Omi about her feelings, basically because she was too busy listening about his feelings for other girls. She was a good girl, but… Omi never realized this fact.
One fine day… Nisha left for the US of A on a job assignment.
It had been two years since she left. Omi had not tried to contact her, but she stayed in touch. Love makes you do things your ego doesn’t permit you to do. Ultimately either your ego wins… or you win.
Nisha won…. In spite of no replies from Omi… she stayed in touch.
Omi lost… He couldn’t call Shweta even once… One phone call and his life would have changed…
By the way… Shweta was the girl who Omi loved…
She was the girl who came into his life… and added a new word in his dictionary…LOVE.
Shweta Kulkarni:
She had met Omi accidentally. She was hot at first sight and cute at the second sight. A model by profession she had a major attitude problem. But her attitude was justified basically because she knew that she was worth the entire attitude. She was also a good person at heart. Envy for other girls, whenever she entered a room, other girls would suffer from a huge inferiority complex.
Shweta and Omi go back a long way. When Omi was struggling to get a model for his first ad film campaign, Shweta, who was also a struggler then, worked with him and that too for free. Though the campaign did not work out for any one of them, they became good friends and Omi insists on working with Shweta. Omi fell in love with Shweta and for once he came to know what true love is. Shweta also started liking Omi, but the problem was the ego clashes they had between them. Their egos and attitudes didn’t allow them to express their feelings in front of each other and as a result they got hooked up with different people.
Shweta got into a relationship with Rahul.
Omi got into a relationship with Jhanavi.
Nisha was still waiting for Omi…
Omi really liked Jhanavi, but he never loved her…
By the way Jhanavi was Omi’s girlfriend.
Jhanavi Kapoor:
Sweet to an extent of being irritating and cute to an extent of being sweet… Jhanavi was the most talked about girl in college and was totally swept off her feet by the Oh-so-creative Omi. Omi was totally pissed with the fact that he could not get into a relationship with Shweta when Jhanavi entered his life. When Omi came to know that Shweta had found a boyfriend, he knew that he had to give Shweta an answer… An answer slam in her face. His answer to Shweta was a question for Jhanavi and Jhanavi’s answer was a disappointing one for Nisha.
Omi and Jhanavi had a steady relationship for two years. They broke off just a day before their send off.
Omi had not seen Shweta for two years.
Omi had not seen Jhanavi for two years.
Omi had not seen Nisha for two years.
At least he got to see Nisha’s letters.
So coming back to the letter his peon had got for him, Omi could see the typical Nisha stamp on it. Nisha on every letter used to write "OPEN WITH A SMILE" on the back flap of it. No matter how childish it looked, it still managed to bring a smile on Omi's face. And today was no different. He smiled and opened it.
As he started to read the letter, he was shocked, because for the very first time in 6 years had Nisha told Omi bout her feelings for him.
Omi was dumbstruck by the fact that the girl still loved him after seeing his n number of affairs…
“Maybe Nisha is the girl for me... or isnt she?”
As Omi was thinking about Nisha as his prospective life partner, his mobile phone rang…
“Hello, is that Omkar Joshi?”, enquired a familiar sounding female voice from the other side.
Not able to recognize who it was Omi said,”Yeah, but may I know who is speaking?”
“So after two years, you are not even able to recognize my voice… Anyways this is Jhanavi… Jhanavi Kapoor…does that name ring a bell somewhere?” She said in a sarcastic tone.
Omi had to recognize the name. They talked at a length. At the end of the conversation Jhanavi told Omi if they could try and rebuild their broken relationship.
Omi asked her for a little time…
She gave all the time he needed.
Omi was dumbstruck by the thought that the girl still loved him after a breakup and a long period of two years after that.
“Maybe Jhanavi is the girl for me... or isnt she?”
Omi was thinking of Jhanavi as his prospective life partner when he heard a knock on his door.
“Come in”, said Omi without looking at the door.
The door opened.
“Hi Omi, can I come inside?” asked the voice from the door.
Omi looked at the door. After that he couldn’t look elsewhere.
It was Shweta.
They had cappuccino together and struck up a great conversation after an initial pause when they were just looking at each other…and sipping cappuccino.
Yeah… The cappuccino reminded both of them of a coffee joint.
A place that had changed their life forever.
As Shweta was leaving she said,” Sorry Omi, I could not call that day…”
They could not even exchange good byes.
The silence did all the speaking.
Omi was dumbstruck by the thought that the girl got over her ego and said sorry to him when, actually it was his mistake.
“Maybe... Shweta is the girl... or isnt she?”
He sat silently for a few moments when three thoughts started buzzing in his mind simultaneously.
“Maybe…Jhanavi is the girl”
“Maybe…Nisha is the girl”
“Maybe…Shweta is the girl”
Omi had never been this confused in his entire life.
Rather life had never been this confusing.
Three girls… all of whom loved him unconditionally…
All of whom he had not seen in the past two years…
All of whom were asking him to marry them.
All of us are spiralled into such space at least once in our lives.
It is not always three girls...
It can be two career options...
It can be a right turn or a left turn...
It could be about two of the places you want to rent...
Confusion is one of the most beautiful things in this world.
Its just so confusing.
==========================TO BE CONTINUED==================
What does Omi do next? Where does life take him..? Nisha, Shweta or Jhanavi..? Which of the three does Omi finally go with?
All these questions will be answered in the next post...
I have the whole story with me but just to make K n K a bit of fun as we always wanted it to be... I am giving an interactive edge to it...
Kindly think about the situation by slipping into Omi's shoes for a while and tell me If you were Omi... who would you have gone with... and Why?
You can mail me your responses at nikhil_mahajan1984@hotmail.com
MAYBE will be taken to its end this weekend. Also alongwith will be the 5 most convincing suggestions from our bloggers. I will be also giving a general readers' trend alongwith this.
WATCH THIS SPACE.
But i would really like you guys to tell me how you like the story. And if u will go to a theatre to watch this film. All comments are welcome.
Hope i live upto the expectations and high standards set by my fellow Konfessioners Sarang n Shin-Shin.
Thank you all for the awesome response to Karma 'n' Konfession.
-Nikhil Mahajan
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE ABOVE WORK IS PROTECTED BY COPYRIGHT LAWS. USING ANY PART OR WHOLE OF THIS PROSE WITHOUT PRIOR PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR WOULD LEAD TO SERIOUS LEGAL CONSEQUENCES.
'SHAAYAD' IS REGISTERED WITH THE SCRIPTWRITERS' ASSOCIATION OF INDIA UNDER THE NAME OF NIKHIL MAHAJAN
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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