Short Story 6 - The Stench.

Story theme : Flashback

A flashback or involuntary recurrent memory is a psychological phenomenon in which an individual has a sudden, usually powerful, re-experiencing of a past experience or elements of a past experience.

These experiences can be happy, sad, exciting, or any other emotion. The term is used particularly when the memory is recalled involuntarily, and/or when it is so intense that the person ‘relives’ the experience, unable to fully recognize it as memory and not something that is happening in ‘real time’.

A literary flashback is an interjected scene or point that takes the narrative back in time from the current point. Flashbacks are scenes from a time period that precedes the primary story arc.

Flashbacks recall scenes of emotional power. They replay memories that haunt the characters, although they can also be intensely happy moments.

Flashbacks explain why characters behave in certain ways in the story. They bring out essential details or crucial moments from the past that has a significant bearing to drive the present psychologies or decisions of the characters in the story.

*****

The Stench.

No! Not here, not again…! Ayesha inhaled a deep breath.

‘Inhale. Exhale. Inhale . Exhale. Slow…concentrate…concentrate only on your breathing…’ Ayesha tried to imagine the stoic voice of her yoga instructor to soothe her hassled mind.

‘Breathe…’ she told herself. ‘You are 14 years old. You have control over yourself…You will not throw up. You can’t throw up here. You cannot throw up here!’ Ayesha allowed her mind to issue strict instructions to her digestive system to settle down, even as it threatened to spill the contents of her evening snack and coffee, all over the sparkling floor of the air conditioned bus. She thanked her stars for being the only passenger at this time of the night…the last thing she needed was an audience to her spectacle of disgust...

But the smell! That horrid stench of rotten eggs that assaulted her nostrils with the intensity of a raging tornado…she knew there were no eggs here…not here. Not in this spotless vehicle of one of the cleanest cities in the world. After all, Singapore was legendary in its strict upkeep of cleanliness.

But, her insides heaved again as she struggled to keep the rising bile from blasting out of her throat unto the black floor of the Volvo. Why had she stayed up so late at the University? She could have completed the project tomorrow…but then, she’d been caught up in the tempo of editing those HTML codes…

Besides, there was absolutely no fear of travelling alone, at all times of the day and night here. After all, Singapore isn’t touted to be one of the safest countries in the world for nothing.

‘Please, la’ she gasped as she gripped on to the railing near the Malay man in white uniform, who drove the vehicle.

He turned sideways to give her a small glance before he turned his attention to the road.

‘What la?’ he asked, without looking back at her. ‘Are you okay?’

‘No, I want to throw up…, please stop the bus!’ she gasped, patting her chest in a downward movement, just like her mom did, whenever she had these bouts of nausea...

‘Oh, cannot la, I cannot, rules…’ she heard the driver say with conviction, even as she tried to blink away the haze of tears that now pooled around her lids, in her breathless attempt to hold back her churning stomach.

Maybe the dumbass didn’t understand her English, she realized. This, despite the fact that she spoke the local version of English or ‘Singlish’, complete with the tag ‘la’, an equivalent of the Indian version of ‘yaar’.

‘I am going to vomit now, stop the bus, la!’ she gasped, as she felt the pungent odour of semi-digested Kwetiau goreng, her favourite flat noodles meal rise up towards her throat.

The next instant, her chest heaved violently and she retched. The light brown fluid exploded out of her mouth and all over the front seat, behind the shocked man.

Five minutes later, she got off the bus at the next stop, although it was nearly half a mile away from Jurong East, where she resided. The driver didn’t question her, although he knew it wasn’t her stop to get off.

She would never forget the aghast look on his face for a long, long time. All she wanted was to get away from the stink that she had raised within the previously spotless vehicle.

A good walk is what I need now to settle my stomach, she told herself, as she began a brisk stride towards Jurong, in the sweltering, humid night.

And the gory images arrived, as she knew they would, to assault the confines of her mind, even as that fateful evening flashed upon her unwilling senses.

How many more years would it take for her to forget that wretched incident, that happened two days after her sixth birthday?

She had loved the blueberry cake that Dad had bought for her. She’d loved the presents that all the guests had brought, lapped up all that attention like a sponge lapping up water through its thirsty pores.

Soma had eaten her cake that evening. He smiled that charming smile at her before thanking her parents profusely for inviting him into the house to participate in her party.

Soma uncle was a kind, soft-spoken man. He gave her chocolates every other day, called her sweety, chocolatey, milk chocolate…oh the names he called her always made her laugh.

That’s why she’d agreed to accompany him to the shop to buy something.

It was strange, try as she might, to this day, Ayesha could never recall what it was that they were supposed to buy that day.

Soma had stopped the white Omni van on the road with parks on either side. He closed all the windows and switched on the AC in full blast.

‘Uncle, why did you stop?’ she asked, still licking off the remnants of the 5-star he gave her earlier.

‘To play, sweety. Let’s play a new game shall we?’ Soma smiled.

‘What game uncle?’ Ayesha was beginning to feel cold, the AC made the interior of the van frosty. But why was Soma uncle sweating so much?

‘A game where you do something to me and milk will come out, sweety…like magic!’ His voice was a croak now.

‘Magic? Wow, then let’s play uncle…’

But Soma proceeded to remove his pants down to his knees.

‘Shame, shame uncle…’ she cried in embarrassment.

A raucous laugh emanated from him then. That was the first time she realized that his eyes had taken on a different hue, a feral tinge…

He pulled out a dirty white towel that had turned yellow with age or maybe grime…and tied her eyes shut with it.

‘Uncle…why? What are you doing?’ Her little hands tried to pull the thin cotton cloth off her eyes. He held both her wrists in his huge grasp and pinned them against the upholstery above her head.

‘It’s a hide and seek game, sweety! You can see the magic afterwards, okay?’  His voice came in short gasps as if he couldn’t breathe, as he pushed her flat on her back on the rear seat.

‘Excitement, the bastard was excited that he would forcibly extract a blow-job from a six-year old child,’ Ayesha exhaled harshly, as the venom of hatred spewed itself around her mind.

She walked faster now, heedless of the beads of sweat that coursed down her face and back. How innocent she’d been! Tears threatened to pour down her cheeks, as she made her way on the red-tiled pavement. The ghastly visions continued, as if the flood had unleashed itself, with no way to stop its assault on her mind…

The stench had been unbearable. That horrid odor of rotten eggs assaulted her tiny nostrils, even as she felt something slimy being forced into her mouth. She gagged then, and wanted to retch the 5 star, the vaangi baath, the orange juice she’d consumed after returning from school…she wanted to throw up everything. But, he didn’t allow her to.

She heard the church bell go Gong-Gong-Gong in a gruesome, unholy rhythm as the organ in her mouth went in & out, in & out, as if to match the holy call of the divine…

Hard fingers grabbed her head in a rough movement and tightened around her hair, she tried to scream in pain when a black shadow descended over her senses…and then, there was nothing.

Cold water. She felt icy cold water on her eyelids and opened them into blurry upholstery, before focusing on him. A raw agony hit her then, with the force of a sledgehammer being driven into her gullet. She closed her eyes shut in dreaded horror, but yanked them open when two rough hands grabbed either side of her head, crushing her little ears against her scalp and turned her face into…those eyes! Those dilated pupils that reminded her of the ruthless hunger in the gaze of wild animals on National Geographic channel.

‘He wasn’t human, he never was…he only wore the mask of one,’ thought Ayesha in suppressed fury, as she gave a vicious jab on the push button that allowed pedestrians to cross the road at the traffic light. Cars whooshed by like tornadoes on fire, as she shifted from one leg to another on the pavement, waiting for the green pedestrian light to glow. And the images in her mind continued their gruesome dance…

‘Don’t tell anyone! Anyone, understand? You know what I’ll do to you, if you tell anyone what happened here?’

His face was so close to hers, she could smell beedis and something else…sickly sweet and nasty…on his breath. She tried to shake her head to indicate that she wouldn’t, but he held on in a vice-like grip, his nails digging painfully into her scalp. She could only stare in terror at this new face, this glaring monster she didn’t recognize anymore.

‘I’ll cut you up! Understand?’

He let go of her head then. And moved his right hand over his left, in a chopping motion, like she’d seen the butcher do while mincing meat, the time she’d accompanied their house maid to buy mutton at Russel market, a few months ago.

‘I’ll cut you up into little, little pieces...chote chote tukde…chak-chak-chak-chak…and fill you in a bottle,’ he finished, as his lips twisted into a vicious smile.

Ayesha watched the hand go up and down on his broad palm; wide eyeballs followed the malicious motion in mute horror…chak-chak-chak-chak…

The chilly air had formed copious tiny droplets of water on the windscreen, but Ayesha only knew the intense heat of sheer terror, as her breath began to come in small convulsive gasps…

Darkness…the blessed cloak of darkness settled upon Ayesha then and when she did wake up hours later, mommy was cradling her, rocking her to and fro, a torrent flowing down her cheeks.

‘My baby, oh my poor darling…’ Mommy’s voice broke as she valiantly tried to hold back the sobs emanating from her abdomen. Dad was on the phone with someone, his voice barely recognizable with vehement rage…

‘Yes, inspector, the rascal worked here for four years, he drove our car, helped around the house occasionally…no, we don’t know where he could have gone, he lived somewhere in Murugeshpalya…’

She settled into mommy’s embrace to return into the soothing darkness.

She hadn’t known then, all those years ago.

She hadn’t known that she would throw up in any vehicle with the AC on, for years after that incident. Isn’t that why she avoided travelling by AC buses or even the famed Singapore MRT? But today, it had been late and she’d decided to risk it one more time…

She hadn’t known that she would be terrified of bio laboratories for life and avoid them like the plague, for fear of coming into contact with those display bottles…

She still avoided drinking from bottles and would go thirsty for hours on end, because all she ‘saw’ within those harmless plastic containers were pieces of pink flesh…with the whiff of putrid eggs…

She hadn’t known that the stench was the demon that would hound her, lingering just below the surface of her existence, to prey on her peace and sanity…all her life.

Dad even shifted his garment business to Singapore because the psychiatrist advised a change of scene for his lovely daughter. Had it helped? She’d never know, perhaps she didn’t want to know.

The wall clock cuckooed ten times as Ayesha unlocked the grill gate and then the teakwood door behind it, with her spare key-bunch. She stepped into the spacious 3 BHK apartment and called out in her usual gaily tone, ‘Mom…I’m home.’

*****

Some portions of the above story are based on a chilling true incident, as recited to me by the mother of a girl, who turned 12 recently. The girl was subjected to recurrent sexual abuse by a plumber employed by her school, within the premises, when she was six. The trial against the perpetrator and the well-known Delhi-based school in Whitefield, North Bangalore is still pending in court. The names of the characters have been changed to protect the identity of the child.

The story uses the theme ‘flashback’, where memories of a past trauma feel as if they are taking place in the current moment. It is possible for victims of sexual assault to feel like the experience is happening all over again. During a flashback it can be difficult to connect with reality. It may even feel like the perpetrator is physically present. 

*****

Child sexual abuse* can result in both short-term and long-term harm, including psychopathology in later life. Indicators and effects include depression, anxiety, eating disorders, poor self-esteem, somatization,sleep disturbances, and dissociative and anxiety disorders including post-traumatic stress disorder.

 A statement released by Loius Georges Arsenault, UNICEF Representative to India states, “It is alarming that too many of these cases are children. One in three rape #victims is a child. More than 7,200 children including infants are raped every year; experts believe that many more cases go unreported. Given the #stigma attached to rapes, especially when it comes to children, this is most likely only the tip of the iceberg.

According to data compiled by the National Crime Records Bureau (#NCRB) for 2015, 8,800 cases of rape on children were registered across the country under the Protection of Children Against Sexual Offences Act (#POCSO). In 2,227 cases, or 25.3 per cent, the offenders were found to be employers or co-workers.

In the case of children, the data reveals:

·    Neighbors were the biggest abusers in such cases in 2015 - 3,149 (35.8%).

·     In over 10 per cent of cases last year, children were subjected to #rape by their own family members or relatives.

·    In 94.8 per cent of cases, children were subjected to rape by someone known to them.

·    14,913 cases were registered under #POCSO in 2015.

*Sourced from Google.

*****

Nature trails - 2

Cubbon Park on Museum road, #Bengaluru, has always been one of my favourite Sunday haunts. Although renamed as 'Sri Chamarajendra park in 1927, it is still known as Cubbon Park. 

The best thing about the park is the sheer greenery that welcomes you , no matter which entrance you approach it from.

Although I can never stop clicking pictures of everything that catches my fancy, there are a few shots that remain my all-time favourites.

This region is not part of the main park, per se. Rather, it is the area that is adjacent to the court building, on the rear side. One can buy fresh fruit from any of the numerous vendors and talk a leisurely stroll in one of the most peaceful lung-spaces of garden city.

There is a neat stoned pathway that allows you to walk under the canopy of some of the tallest trees in Bengaluru. These trees are so tall that one has to crane one's neck to the maximum, to see the branches reaching out to the sky.  

The best part of this walk was the chirping of countless birds housed in these branches. A sight for sore eyes plus music to the ears...what more could one ask for?

Short Story 5 - The Answer

Story theme : Existentialism & Absurdism.

Have you ever felt like you don't know where you're going, or if you're making any progress at all in your career or your life? If so, you were most likely having an 'existential moment.' 

Existentialism is a philosophical and literary perspective that focuses on the experience of an individual person and the way that he or she understands the world.

Absurdist fiction is a genre of literary fiction that focuses on the experiences of characters in situations where they cannot find any inherent purpose in life, the philosophical condition of being ‘nothing.’

The hallmark of the genre is the study of human behavior under circumstances (whether realistic or fantastical) that appear to be purposeless and philosophically absurd.

Absurdist fiction posits little judgment about characters or their actions; that task is left to the reader. Also, the ‘moral’ of the story is generally not explicit, and the themes or characters' realizations, if any, are often ambiguous in nature. 

The theme is inspired by the French philosopher, Albert Camus who published his manuscript ‘The Myth of Sisyphus’. Camus considers absurdity as a conflict, a confrontation, an opposition, or a divorce between two ideals.

The human condition is absurd, the confrontation between a man’s desire for significance/meaning/clarity and the cold, silent universe. There are specific human experiences that evoke notions of absurdity.

Such a realization or encounter with the absurd leaves the individual with a choice: suicide, a leap of faith or acceptance. Camus concludes that acceptance is the only defensible option. The leap of faith is ‘philosophical suicide.’

 A man can choose to embrace his own absurd condition. Man’s freedom and the opportunity to give life meaning, lies in acknowledgement and acceptance of absurdity. If the absurd experience is truly the realization that the universe is fundamentally devoid of absolutes, then we as individuals, are truly free.

*****

“Thus, I draw from the absurd three consequences, which are my revolt, my freedom and my passion.

By the mere activity of the consciousness I transform into a rule of life what was an invitation to death and I refuse suicide.”

-   Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus

*****

“When there are no more problems to tackle in life, life becomes completely meaningless.

Life without challenges, is equal to death”

*****

This short story is based on the theme of Absurdist fiction/Existentialism, where the protagonist exists in a meaningless state of mind and yet, submits to it, accepts the same and eventually finds a way out  of it.

*****

The Answer

Why?

A simple word it was.

A complicated word it was!

A million questions within the question. A billion ‘whys’, within the ‘why’.

Which of the questions were more important now?

WHY?

Why was I even alive?

Why wasn’t I dead yet?

Why was I spared?

Why me? Why only me?

Why did they all have to go before me?

Appa, amma, thaatha, paati, little Ramani...that innocent soul who was still a child at heart…

And the baby! Akka's little infant's half-burned body had been found under the suitcase with silk sarees. It had fallen from the racks above the seat they had chosen for them, because it was ‘safer’ in the front.

Why?

Why had they even gone on that wretched tour? Why could they have not stayed at home? Why did the whole family decide to travel all at once? Why didn’t they chosen a better vehicle, a better travel agent?

Why hadn't they heeded the warning of that old sweeper at the guest house they had stopped at, the previous night? Why didn’t they take him seriously, when he told them that those roads in the Western Ghats were treacherous for their landslides at this time of the year?

Why?

Why did they choose to travel to Tirupathi during the monsoon?

Why did the divine Lord of the Seven Hills decide to take them all away, soon after he gave them his blessed darshan? Not even an hour had passed since they started out for Mangalore…never to reach their earthly abode called home…

Why had I been unable to move or react, when I felt the huge vehicle tilt on its side, as if in horrific slow motion? Why did I see the gaping gorge rise up towards me through the open door of the bus, and yet, not even let out a scream? Why did I freeze up like a dead statue, at the time of absolute peril?

Why?

Why had I lost consciousness after I felt that bump on the back of my head? Why did I wake up to eerie stillness, without even realizing that I’d fallen 16 feet into nothingness?

Why was I the only one to be thrown out of the ill-fated vehicle, only to land on a tree branch, with minor bruises to show for it? Why was I rescued by passing villagers, while the bus, with everyone else still inside its deathly confines, rolled further down, 32 feet into the chasm and go up in flames at the bottom?

Why?

Why was I, Ganesh Arumugam, MBA, Senior programmer in HP, chosen to be the sole survivor of the most horrific accident of the decade?

Seventeen lives. One family. MY family. Gone. Gone forever. Never to return.

But here I am! Alive and well. Barely bruised.

Why?

Why was I spared? I have no family to call mine anymore.

Why do I need to work? Why do I need a job? Why do I even need to live this cursed life?

“Annaa….”

The small voice was barely a little more than a whisper. I ignored it.

A tiny hand tugged at my shirt sleeve.

“Annaa, I’m hungry…”

I stared down at the brown little hand, before my lashes to focus on the watery eyes that gazed dolefully into mine.

Why?

Why wasn’t this…four year old child leaving me alone?

Why did I have to bring this child home with me in the first place?

Why did I even follow the ‘rescue’ team to the morgue in the Government hospital, on that fateful day, with the charred, ghastly remains of some of my family?

Why had I noticed this child sitting cross-legged next to the two cold, steel containers that housed the bodies her parents? Why did she look up, to lock her unblinking gaze onto mine? Why did she smile at me?

Why?

Why then, did my numb mind find a semblance of normalcy in that guileless smile?

Why had I asked her name? And Lord Venkateshwara, why did she reply ‘Navya’!?

Navya…The new one...a new beginning…a wonderful name, I’d insisted as being perfect for the new member of our family. The name I had chosen for Akka’s baby, my lovely niece, who perished in the accident…

Why does fate play such cruel games with us mortals?

I felt a teardrop land onto my upturned wrist. Navya still stared at me, but the tiny droplet had escaped from beneath her lids.

She put her thumb into her mouth and began to suckle on it with an audible sound.

I was jolted out of my reverie of ‘Whys…’

Why was I alive?

Her eyes held the famished look of a child who has lost everything. Those bottomless dark pools, still shone with the light of hope. Hope…

Hope…that the gangly fellow who picked her up from the morgue, would protect her from the cruelty of the world. Hope, that the 34-year old guy who’d adopted an orphaned child and brought her to his modest two BHK flat in Chennai, would raise her as his own daughter…

I smiled at Navya, even as I allowed unabashed tears to flow down my five-o-clock stubble. I pulled myself up from the wooden rocking chair that served as my faithful brooding companion every evening, to switch off the fan.

She slid her tiny hand into mine and skipped along to the door, dragging me behind her, wiping her eyes with the knuckles of her other hand.

“Come, let’s go out for dinner, you like Chinese food, don’t you?” I chuckled.

*****

Nature trails -1

One of my most enjoyable experiences was during my visit to the Biocentre on Bannerughatta Road, #Bangalore. It is the Department of Horticulture at Hulimavu, opposite to Meenakshi Mall. 

It is surprising that most Bangaloreans are aware of the famous mall, but unaware of the nature-pocket that is diagonally opposite to it. The first thing that hit me was the sheer number of trees lining the roads that goes on and on forever. Lined by Chickoo trees on either sides the place is enormous.

Although there are innumerable varieties of flowers and flower saplings for visitors to enjoy or purchase, I've always been drawn to the wildflowers that grow haywire around the untended open spaces. This click is one of them.

I stopped my vehicle along the way when I spotted these red 'berries', as I first thought they were. Turned out that it was a coffee plant that caught my fancy. Never knew that these cherry-colored fruits would look this succulent and appetizing...coffee anyone?   

Short Story 4 : Lucky.

Story Theme : Two sides to a story

Nature is fundamentally chaotic. It has no distinctions of right and wrong. Natural occurrences have no obligation to favor a particular outcome. Only the rules of cause and effect hold ground. Nature is both the creator and the destroyer.

Humans , though a part and product of this very nature, are antithetical to its chaotic foundation. One of our fundamental survival tactics is the imposition of order onto chaos. This results in us viewing our world in a monochromatic manner: the good and the bad.

The characters in our stories, fictional or otherwise, also act as the flag bearers to this line of thought : There’s a protagonist who fights the antagonist and defeats him/her to the delight of many a reader.

Reality however, works its charms upon us in a kaleidoscopic fashion. Many instances in life keep reintroducing us to the most obvious truth, that what we perceive to be polar opposites exist within an entity, and complete it.

Humanity is the very manifestation of scattered seasoning:  a potpourri of qualities in contradiction to one another, all combining to paint the picture called life, each adding its own hue, texture, depth and contrast. The wise of our race recognize this, realizing that our full potential cannot be reached without exploiting them all.

We may be unable to control certain events or situations that occur in our lives, because it is beyond our capacity to do so. However, our beliefs and perceptions determine how we respond or react to them and to the people around us.

This story is based on the premise that sometimes, life allows us to see both the sides of a coin, and gives us a chance to examine our long-held, adamant beliefs and choose to change them.

*****

Lucky

‘I hate my parents.’

Nikhil turned towards his friend in surprise.

‘What? What did you say?’

‘I said, I hate my parents.’  Sujan replied.

‘Oh, so…that’s the problem, is it? Is that why you’ve been down in the dumps from the past month?’ 

‘Yes, and I’m waiting for the day I don’t have to depend on that old man to finance my studies anymore, and not listen to his wife’s droning advice either…’ Sujan’s voice held intense disdain.

Nikhil took a gulp of his scotch and regarded his friend quietly.

‘I’m sick of them. I’m sick of all the rules. I’m tired of all the expectations they thrust on me. I wish I wasn’t even born to such…selfish, miserly people.’ Sujan continued. ‘I mean, look at you! Your parents are so cool! They even let you booze and take your girlfriends home.’

Nikhil detected more than a tinge of envy lacing Sujan’s tone. It wasn’t the first time Sujan had expressed comparison of this nature between them. In fact, Sujan had been at it constantly ever since he had visited Nikhil’s sprawling bungalow, three years ago when they had become friends in the first week of college.

‘So, what exactly is your problem now?’ Nikhil asked, refilling his glass. He poured a top-up for his friend before handing the glass to him.

‘My dad has refused to let me pursue my PG in the John Hopkins University. He says he can’t afford it! And mom! Mom supports his decision. In fact, they want me to find a job, now that my degree is over.’

‘Hmm, so why don’t you just find a job, then?’ Nikhil asked, nonchalantly.

Nikhil’s tone infuriated Sujan even more. He plunked his empty glass on the wooden table-top and glared at his companion.

‘What do you mean, find a job? Easy for you to say, isn’t it, ‘Mr. Industrialist’s son!’ Sujan’s voice held undisguised spite. ‘You don’t have to worry about building a good future, you lucky scoundrel…your dad has laid it out for you in a silver platter, hasn’t he?’

‘Oh, cut the crap, idiot! That’s not fair! I still have to work for my future, I still have to study and pass these useless exams. It isn’t as if those foreign universities offer seats to undeserving people…’ Nikhil argued.

Sujan picked up his backpack and stormed out of the restaurant.

Nikhil didn't know that his parents had gladly allowed and financed his siblings to pursue their dreams, despite all the hardships they’d endured. His dad sold their site in Mysore to fund his elder son’s medical seat. His parents had always loved his brother more, the lucky rascal…

And Ma had sacrificed all her ancestral jewelry as dowry, to get his sister Sona married to the guy she’d fallen in love with. The selfish female was fortunate enough to have had the best of both worlds…

And I’m the scapegoat, destined to pay the price for being the youngest in the family, he thought bitterly. His parents had always been partial to their first born. After all, the elder son would upkeep them during their yesteryears, wouldn’t he? And their daughter was the darling of the family, of course, she’d care for them more than anyone else…

‘Good riddance! Who wants to take up the responsibility of those two, anyways?’ his thoughts were malicious, as he made his way back to the hostel.

***

Three days later, Sujan was seated on the carved teakwood swing in the enormous balcony of Nikhil’s room, overlooking the expansive swimming pool of their bungalow. He had come to apologize to Nikhil for his behavior the other day.

Nikhil is so lucky to have been born in a stinking rich family. He is so blessed, to live amidst this, this profuse lap of luxury…Sujan’s thoughts were wistful, as he waited for his friend to return from his gym session. What’s taking him so long? He should have been here ages ago…

Just then, he heard loud voices from the lower floor, and then…Crash! He jumped up from the swing in alarm. Maybe someone had fallen and was hurt!

He rushed into the room and crossed over to the half open door, when he stopped short, in shocked confusion.

‘Oh, go to hell, asshole! Yes, I am in love with Edward. I have been with him for over a year now. What are you going to do about it? What have you been doing anyways? Have you ever been there for me? Do you think I don’t know about your affairs with all those harlots when you travel on your so-called business trips?’

Sujan stood rooted to the spot. That was Nikhil’s mom, Raina auntie’s voice!

‘Shut up, bitch! Look at you!’ It was Uncle’s voice. Sujan was appalled at the language between Nikhil’s parents, as much as the nature of the exchange between them.

Nikhil’s father continued, ‘Just look at you! You’re just an ugly, gross, fat shrew who knows nothing about keeping a man happy! Yes, I have been with others on and off, and why not? Haven’t I provided you with all this extravagance? 

     And don’t think I don’t know that Nikhil isn’t my son! I have known the truth about him since a very long time, you slut! You ought to be glad…and grateful, that I’ve provided for that bastard all these years, despite knowing the truth! I even put up with all his drinking and womanizing…’

‘Ha! Provided for him indeed! What choice do you have? The whole world would laugh at you if they got to know that you’re incapable of fathering a child…and don’t pretend you care for Nikhil! You allow him to do as he pleases only because you neither have any control over him, nor do you even care how he ends up…’ Raina auntie’s tone spat venom at her husband.

Sujan felt the earth move beneath his feet. What was he hearing? He shouldn’t even be here, listening to this horrible conversation! He had to leave, without their knowledge…

He tip-toed further back into the room, quietly went through the other door, crossed over beyond the balcony to the spiral steps in the corner that led into the rose garden, and made his escape from the side gate to the back street, hoping no one had noticed his presence there. He returned to his hostel room in a daze and spent the rest of the day pondering over what he overheard at Nikhil’s house.

After tossing and turning through a sleepless night, Sujan went to his usual haunt Shree-Sagar, for breakfast the next morning. For the first time in years, he was unable to enjoy his food. His favorite masala-dosa tasted like leather and the coffee made him nauseous. He finally called his mom, trying to ignore the guilt that ate into his insides.

‘Ma, I’ve decided to start working after my results are out…’ he began.

‘How are you, beta? I was just about to call you!’ His mother’s high pitched voice interrupted him. ‘Your Bhaiyya called from California. He has agreed to sponsor your studies in that university you chose. You know, your dad had sent him an email, reminding him of all the sacrifices we made for him to let him study medicine. We both feel that it is time for him to return the favors he received, as the eldest of the family…’

Sujan was dumb-founded.

Ma continued, ‘And Sona didi has agreed to pitch in too, beta. She  pawned most of the jewelry we gave her during her wedding, without her husband’s knowledge…her in-laws will raise hell if they ever got to know, but she will manage somehow…you can use the money she sends for your other expenses in America, beta…’

‘I’ll call you back, ma…’

Sujan hung up the phone and broke down in tears, unmindful of the curious stares of the people around him.

*****

Orange Parrot.

PARROT FISH

It is strange how we never get to visit some famous places in our own cities, despite having the time and means to do so.

I visited Cubbon park after a very long time and came upon the Government Aquarium at its entrance. It was a shock for me to realize that I've lived in Bangalore for so many years and yet, never visited the largest and most famous aquarium in the city.

And the Aquarium was a true revelation. Although, a lot of species of those water marvels did catch my attention, this one is by far the best.

Apparently, the name 'Parrot fish' is derived from their fused teeth, which bear a strikingly close resemblance to the beaks of parrots. It was no wonder that I thought of these glowing beauties as the cutest and most attractive among all the hundreds of exotic varieties of fishes exhibited there.

Just as I was about to move ahead to the next display, another one of those lovely orange creatures peeked out from inside the clay pot in the centre of the aquarium and then glided smoothly into view. Alas, it made itself comfortable behind the rock before I could capture a good view of both of them together.

At Rs.10 per ticket, the Bangalore Aquarium with a humongous collection of fishes from all over the world is definitely worthy of a visit.