Gestures 5n2f10

GESTURES

ZOYE

Copyright © 2016 by Zoye.

ISBN: Softcover 978-1-4828-8617-7 eBook 978-1-4828-8616-0

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Contents

Bread Crumbs

Two Ice Creams

Tie

A Rupee Ten Matter

December 1992

The Missed Flight (24/09/12)

A Night’s Sleep (16/10/2011)

They Are Kids Too

Three Flight Of Stairs

A Conscientious Traffioliceman (06/04/2012)

Sunday Breakfast

The Broken Knee Cap

The Rickshaw Ride

The Birthday Gift

The Collateral Damage –(4-10-15)

Patriotism

Farming Melancholy

Morale Lesson

Country Where Children Don’t Go To School (May-2016)

BREAD CRUMBS

S he was down with severe jaundice. And was on a strict diet of no spice, no fat and preferably no white flour Her mother was taking care of her K- Aunty, who was now-a days in the hospital due to very high sugar and a very massive heart attack. At home were only her three year old nephew who was sleeping and her middle sister Farah who had to leave for the hospital as she was on the night duty with her cousin Danish, for two people were needed to take care of K-aunty. Farah had made Fed- Parathas type of pan- cakes filled with potatoes/ radish etc for herself and Danish for dinner. Picked up her books and was ready to leave. She woke her up and told her that Betu’s parents would be home soon, as he was asleep it wouldn’t be much stress for her, And that she should close the door. Farah left, she returned to her bed but was soon forced out of it, due to continuous knocking by their neigbhour Paul Aunty. She invited her in but was slightly perturbed due to the serious expression that she had on her face what she said next literally took away the ground from beneath her feet. She said that her K- Aunty had expired. It was the 10th of August 1994 K as all her niece and nephew called her was just 45 years old, with a son in class 10th and a daughter in class 11th. The youngest among her siblings. The time stood still ‘No’ this couldn’t be happening. It was not true. Then the desire to reach the hospital as quickly as possible seized her With an infant at hand, the weakness of jaundice and the shock of loosing K’ did nothing to increase her speed. Besides she by temperament was not able to manage stress effectively. She rushed to take- off the clothes drying on the cloth line. Then she started packing a bag for Betu – his milk- bottle, water, power- milk, his diapers, three

sets of his clothes, towel etc. Next she changed and was going to wake Betu up, after writing a note for Betu’s mom, when there was a knock. It was Betu’s paternal grand -father. When he saw that she was so ill he said that no way was he going to allow her to go for the funeral, which would take place the next day, as relatives had to come from other cities. He insisted that she and Betu should accompany him to his home. She was so distressed that she obeyed. She had never been to their house house, not even once in all the four year that her sister had been married. By the time she reached their residence it was night. she spent a sleepless night. Betu’s mother who was carrying her second baby was forced to return, as it was very taxing for a pregnant woman to remain both mentally and physically stressed for such a long time, from the Imambara (a holy place of shia muslims) where K’s body was kept and all family and friends were spending the night there. She left very early for the Imambara When Betu woke up she in her weak state bathed him, and took him to the breakfast table. Betu’s paternal grand- mother put down some toasts with lots of butter on it for Betu to eat. In his young life he had never eaten such hard slices, through he managed to eat the most of it, but the corners were too hard, so he left them. His grand- mother on seeing this got very annoyed. started blaming his mother, for inculcating wrong habits and it went on and on. She knew that the child was for too small to take in all that shit. She knew it might prove fatal for her, yet she quietly ate all the hard, heavily, buttered bread corners that were left in Betu’s plate, in spite of a very delicate health status. It was the first and the last time that Betu ever had breakfast at his paternal Grand- parent’s home.

TWO ICE CREAMS

A afsheen was just two year old. His father was going to drop him at his play school when they met with an accident. He broke the elbow of his left hand. His father took him to Jeevodha Hospital, Ashok Vihar, Delhi. Then rang up his sister-in-law, Aafsheen’s maternal aunt, whom he used to call “Kaka”, to came with some cash. She rushed immediately The kid was much attached to his Kaka, as she was the one who used to take care of him throughout the day, since he was there days old. She took him in her lap they went to Sunder Lal Jain Hospital as the Jeevodha staff said that they weren’t equipped to deal with child emergency. At Sunder Lal Jain hospital X-rays were done, the baby was terrified of the x-ray machine and cried his heart out. But Kaka calmed him down by singing his favorite poems, while waiting for his turn in the Operation Theater He was finally taken to the Operation Theater where his elbow was set, it took an hour for him to regain consciousness. The doctor asked him what would he like to have. Milk! but his feeder was at home. ‘Would you like to eat an ice cream asked the doctor ‘Yes, Two’ replied Aafsheen. ‘Why, two? ‘One for Bhai (elder brother) was the innocent reply.

TIE

S he was waiting for a bus at Sardar Colony Mor, Rohini, Sector-15 New Delhi, Bus stop. Her fellow enger was, perhaps a class 11 th or 12 th boy, in school uniform which comprised of a tie besides a full sleeve shirt and tro A host of other people were also waiting there, belonging to all sections of the society, wearing clothes both of western and Indian styles. The bus was taking perhaps a bit too long she knew that and her fifteen minutes delay would mean she would be horribly late for her class. Then she noticed a studdy, old gentleman whose hair were completely white and was wearing a well ironed and starched kurta-pajama, driving an old vespa scooter stopped at the stop He carefully parked his vespa, opened the dickey took out a ‘tie’ of blue silk and stood surveying the crowd of waiting engers, deciding what would be his next move. The stillness of this being was quite intruding. Then as if coming to a decision he purposefully approached the school boy. Requested him to tie the tie for him. The boy was taken by surprise but did his bidding The man thanked him, carefully put the tie take in the dikky, started the scooter and went away. A man standing next to the boy said that the old man must be his grand-father but the boy smiled and said that no he was a complete stranger. She was s silent witness to this entire episode of a good – deed and silently bless the the young man for his spontanous good deed

A RUPEE TEN MATTER

I t was Eid Day- Eid-ul-Fitar, the biggest festival of the Muslims. During the month of Ramzan it is belief that Allah would not expect people to give an of the money they have spent and where and on whom they have spent it. Also all good Deeds done would be multiplied by seven during Ramzan till the day of Eid was over So all Muslims spend freely and gave away freely in the hope of attaining salvation But this dictum failed in one Muslim household on Eid Day. It was an ordinary middle- class house of a young- couple They were earning enough to have bought two bed-room flat, they could afford week long vacations to hill-sides to beat the heat in the summers- The lady of the house was able to add an item of jewellery of precious metal or stone to her collection annually. Their kids attended the best private convent school of the city. Who could call them poor! Not me for one. Moreover it was Eid! The lady was an organized person. She had bought new dresses for all the family - herself, her husband and her kids. Also new furnishing for the house-bed sheets, curtains, table-clothes etc. Lots of food, dry fruits, fruit, everything was in plenty She was a planner so the money to be distributed among the servants of the house had also been kept separately. Nothing was lacking, nothing was out of order. Her father, an old man had fallen an hard times. he didn’t have any money

He came to his daughter’s house called her to a corner and requested her to give him ‘Ten rupee’ His asking was like a match to a heap of dry leaves. She started shouting at him told him he was an irresponsible, good for nothing ‘ free loader. How dare he expect any help from her, why did he in his wildest dream expect that she would help him out. It went on and on as if there was no end to it, The old man heard her till she finally quietened down. Then got-up wished them ‘Eid – Mubarak’ and went away ‘sane Ten Rupees’

DECEMBER 1992

I t was the year Hindu Fundamentalism was at its peak. The Ram- Janam Bhoomi- Babri Majzid issue was been tossed as pizza- dough is tossed in Pizza- Hut or Mac-Donnel Kitchens Any body and everybody had an opinion on the issue. No two people parted without exchanging a dialogue on the issue. It was also the time when Indian Muslims were living in fear not felt so strongely since the ‘Partition’ in 1947 She was a Shia Muslim living at DDA, colony with her sister, a student pursuing a Professional degree to finally became a C.A.(chartered ant.)The flat was on the first floor, road facing. If one stood in the balcony one could see right upto the main road. The lane leading to the flat had a gate and on the left corner of the gate was the wall of the colony Police Station ended. Across the main road was the DESU (Delhi Electricity supply Undertaking) Colony. Where one of the flats was occupied by her school friend Aashish Aggarwal. He was pursuing his M.Tec, in computer Sciences. He was a ‘Bania Hindu’ Though their religion were different these two shared a strong bound of friendship. They celebrated each other’s festivals together. On Diwali her presence at the ‘Diwali’ Puja was vital. and it was she who then lit up his house with ‘Dias’ on Eid Aashish wouldn’t skip the kababs and seewia for anything in the world. But would this friendship endure the throngs of communalism that were flaring up, was a question yet to be answered. During the day time, she used to be alone at home with her infant nephew But now -a -days something changed. The quiet calm of the area was often disturbed by the loud channting of ‘ Har Har Mahadev’ and ‘Ram Sia Ram’ it followed by

strong worded speeches.These were more often than not very secular oriented, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to remain indifferent to what was the content of the speech being given. Even a liberal minded, educated and noncommunal person would find it difficult to contain herself. And often an urge took hold of her to throw something at the speaker and get into a verbal fight. But her religious teachings taught her ‘Don’t’ call their god’s names lest they call your God names.” Hence in her religion she found the strength not to retaliate. Also the fear not of death but of rape and other atrocities prevented her from doing so. Her fears were proved true a few years’ latter in Gujarat Roites 2002. Her concern for the safety of her nephew and the fact that she wouldn’t and couldn’t stoop down to their level- all this gave her the courage to contain her feelings Ever time she did a “Jahid’ with herself and won it. In this votile situation Aashish came one day. She heard the knock but was dead scared to open the door. But on persistent knocking opened it. On seeing Aashish she immediately relaxed. Though she had heard and read that in such situations the best of friends betray you. Yet she somehow couldn’t bring herself to doubt the authenticity of her friendship The minute Aashish stepped in he took her hand, which was unusual. As being a Muslims body touch was not a very welcomed proposition, and he had always respected her sentiments. He made her sit down, still holding her hand, now she knew something was very wrong and it was linked with her directly or indirectly. She didn’t speak but her eyes said it all. He could feel her anxiety in the tightening of her grip in his hand, But still she didn’t say a word. He took a minute to formulate his thoughts and in that minute she died a thousand deaths. Then he spoke

‘Listen, if ever, even in the middle of the night, you are attacked by the communal forces then just don’t think, get up and came to my home with all the family . –Just Don’t Wait or Think Have you understood what I mean! Have You!’ Her grip relaxed and she smiled.

THE MISSED FLIGHT (24/09/12)

T wo cars full of baggage and people moved into the Terminal- 3 of IGIA (Indira Gandhi International Airport), New Delhi. Two boys and four women alighted quickly. One of them bent to help out an old lady who hobbled to take of the railing besides her walking stick. The luggage was quickly loaded on the trolley. One of the women hugged the old lady, bade the rest of the party farewell and started to move to the entrance. Both the boys and one woman accompanied her She reached the point where only engers are allowed, from her bag she took out the ticket gave it to the security personnel’s there. Who took one look at the ticket and said, ‘you are a day late, this flight took off yesterday. That she was a day too late Anxiously she looked again it was the 24th of September 2012, it was 11.30 pm, off –course she had missed the flight Anyone would get really worried as not only she was going to suffer a loss of good Rs. 24,000-Rs 25,000, She might not get a ticket in the near future, forget about the next flight. But here the reaction was different. She was shivering as a leaf moves and flutters in a storm. Besides the normal anxiety which anyone on missing ones flight would experience, she was dead scared as to what would be the reaction of her husband Well any husband would definitely get annoyed, a few would even shout and same might even hit their wives, if they did something of this sort of careless. Quite natural reaction, after all Rs 25,000 was not earned in a day, grew on tree that one could pluck it up and wouldn’t mind throwing it away Then what was so unjust here ?

Well the fact that her husband was a good- for- nothing man. Who for the past five-six years was sitting at home doing nothing.Living off her hard earned money!

A NIGHT’S SLEEP (16/10/2011)

I f Mummy outlives me please see to it that you take her with you to live in your house. This was the request of Anisha to Jagrivi her younger sister settled abroad. When Jagrivi read this e-mail message she was puzzled. But as she read on, a sick, disgusting feeling gave way to puzzlement Anisha wrote that the previous day, which was a Sunday, their elder sister had taken their mother to khadi-Gram udyog, as the October sale on the occasion of of Gandhi Jayanti, (from 2md October, every year there is a sale in all government showroom of Khadi-Gram udyog to commemorate the birth of Mahatma Gandhi, the ‘Father of the Nation) had started on her way she had stopped at her rakhi-brother, who had desired to meet Auntiji [their mother]. He as usual was respectful and attentive but during the course of their conversation, had hinted that now in India there were old-age homes and that Auntiji could be send to one such homes while Anisha could live as a P.G. somewhere. Why do they need a houses uncle since had expired In the evening when Anisha returned home, she found her mother much disturbed on asking she narrater the conversations and was troubled that her first born seemed to be in agreement with him. Although Anisha assured her that nothing of this sort was going to happen to her, she was unable to sleep that night. The next evening she found her mother in a state of great anxiety Anisha held her old, fragile and wrinkled hand and tried to mitigate her fear. She told her that she was not he or her elder sister’s responsibility but her’s Also she didn’t approve of orphanages and old-age homes, infact she abhored them. In her vaguest dreams even she had never thought of incarcerating her to such a

place. But she was fuming “How could anyone, be so callous as make a 70 + lady feel so, insecure by their words” She would never forgive anyone who for taking her mother’s ONE NIGHT’S SLEEP.!

THEY ARE KIDS TOO

S he was away from home in India under the A.F.S (American Field Services) Programme She had been invited by one of her colleague a fellow AFS volunteer of the Indian chapter She was looking forward to the dinner as she hoped to get a break from the vegetarian, heavily, oiled and spicy food which had been her diet since she had launched in Delhi from Denmark. She was relaxed as she liked her company, was happy with the shopping she had done that day. When they reached her Indian colleger’s home they rang bell and a delicate looking beautiful woman opened the door After introduction were over, it was revealed that it was the sister. Unlike the girls of her age, she was dressed in churidar kamiz and duppta, very elegant and sophisticated dress. Coming up stairs she was shown around the house and then her hostess-plunged into giving the final touched to the sumptuous smelling meal. During her conversation she came to know that the sister was well educated, working, having a vast store of knowledge in various fields besides her own. She was able to satisfy her query with the of data, example etc. She was even very helpful, running all type of errands for her sister. Then her colleague was called to sort out same car-parking issue. And her sister took over the cooking. She followed her there she asked, ‘Do you cookYes, as my mom hasn’t entered the kitchen since my father’s demise.’’Oh! when did you lose you dad?’ ‘2010’

Then she suddenly had an urge to know something which was both perhaps very personal and at the sometime social, cultural and traditional issue too. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I really love my mom a lot, but cannot dream of living with her, how do you! ‘Well firstly it is off-course a matter of your feelings for your parents, secondly the Indian society is a close-knit society we grow-up knowing that at sometime in the future our parents would be our responsibility not only in the financial sence but even physically we would have to take care of them. Thirdly didn’t they tolerate our tantrum mis- behavior, dis-obedience and what not when we were kids, but they never left us alone, on our own, then, why should we? ‘But still? ‘Well it is their second childhood. We treat them as kids. She is a child I have to take care of’ Wow! Was the thought that come to her mind, with each ing sentence, the respect for this fragile looking woman grew in her eyes. What strong character! Wow! Today in an Indian kitchen, a total stranger had given her a lesson Which she would carry to her class-room and perhaps be able to impart this set, of Indian values in her Danish students.

THREE FLIGHT OF STAIRS

S he was a senior citizen. Who was suffering from high blood pressure arthritis, fissure and spondylitis. Thus her mobility was highly restricted. Whenever she did move around it was with a lot of pain and at a very slow pace. Her life had few joys, one of them being visiting her two grand-sons. Every Friday and Saturday when their maternal aunt had to go before their mother came, their maternal grandmother used to come to baby-sit, the kids. Though at time she would grumble that the kids were big enough to be left alone yet secretly it was the high- light of her entire week something to look forward to in a mundane and monotonous life, a thing which gave her the purpose of living. Now the kids used to on the ground floor, so it was not a big, strain to walk over to them. The walk took her fifteen minutes while the others took five minutes. She used to enjoy the little time she spent with them. Talk to them, even complain that they didn’t spend time with her, gave them money to buy chips and chocolate. When the kids mother came, she used to leave immediately. Every time she used to tell her second born that her first-born didn’t even wish her when she returned forget about spending a few minutes chatting to her. This state of affairs continued for ten long year, and the old lady thanked God that something was better than nothing. After that she lost her husband. She was broken as the marriage though not good had lasted for almost half a century., now the visit to her grand-sons was perhaps the only reason she was existing. Influenced by their mother behavior the kids were at times quite rude and didn’t

even come and sit with her, yet for her that time of the week was the most precious one But then her daughter sold her house took a bigger house on rent on the third floor! For a month or so she did continue her routine, but now it was an ordeal, very painful.After manoeuvring all there stairs she was out of breath gasping and in a bad state. Then one day her grandson and daughter shouted so much on her second-born. It went same way like thing, “Why do you call grandmom! ‘You will kill her’ You are selfish and paranoid’ ‘We don’t want her to came! ‘We would rather be left alone you mad women’. It went and on. She didn’t say a word. But the next Friday she told her mother not to came to her sister’s, as she would be home when she had to leave. She lied to her as she didn’t want to hurt her mom’s feelings. Though over the month she understood the reason for her not been told to came over to baby-sit. She was so lonely! It happened to that her husband niece was getting married inan other city. But she was not feeling very happy in health so she told her second daughter that she would not go, but she should go. The daughter was apprehensive, but then though it was a matter of just three nights, she would drop her at one of her cousin’s house But when she came to know that her elder sister was not taking her kids, she assumed that the three could spend the three days together for their mutual benefit Moreover what would the cousins say that why couldn’t two grown-up kids take care of an old lady who was otherwise fully self-reliant, did all her work and even cooked off and on. Telling her twenty-one years old nephew to get nani to their house, she left for the wedding.

On deboarding there, she rang up her mother to ask her about her where-abouts she had this gut feeling that all was not well. A premonitions that things were not going on as planned. Her mom told her that she was her usual self and that the grand-sons had not called her up, forgotten to pick her up. Anyway since she had come for the wedding, that even a traditional Indian wedding there was so much going on that she couldn’t get in touch with her mom again that day. The next-day the status-quo maintained and her mom was alone even at night. She was fuming, but refrained the urge to ring her nephews up. When she was back, her mother told her that she was not feeling very well so she had rang up her elder grand son who had not even done the curtsey of making an effort to go over to see what was wrong. She was very hurt And disappointed! Very!

A CONSCIENTIOUS TRAFFIOLICEMAN (06/04/2012)

I t was India, so cows were a common sight. A cow jostling shoulders with the people in a crowded market place was no big deal. Pedestrian avoiding to step on cow- dung was yet another thing which is a second nature to Indian, No Indian city big or small is foreign to all this. Not even Delhi, the capital. She was going to buy sarees for the wedding of her cousin with her sister. They were heading to M.K-2 in Rohini area of Delhi. Her sister was in the driver’s seat, the traffic was crawling. They sat guessing the reason for the jam.” It must be the traffic lights’ ‘Or some vehicle must have broken down’. ‘It could be a procession’ ‘Or even a Barat (wedding procession) or even a traffic drawl’ And all this time the car was inching its way forward. The car finally reached the point where the cause of jam was, it was a herd of cows sitting by the divider and chewing the cud oblivious to the menace they were creating. The jam was at least a kilometer long. Suddenly from nowhere a traffic policeman came, halted the squirmming traffic to a stop. Look around for a stick shooed the cows, who initially ignored his efforts but when he persisted they lazily got up and moved away. He then waved the traffic away. Her sister said, “If only I could have taken his video and up – loaded it on the U-

tube or the Face-book!

SUNDAY BREAKFAST

T he only time she ate food cooked without her assistance or by herself was the Sunday breakfast. On Sunday’s she had round one and a half hour to two hours to complete all the house-hold chores. Which included sweeping and mopping the entire house, dusting every nook and corner of the house, tidying up the entire place, washing sink load of utensils, filling up the drinking water, doing the laundry etc. The list was long and the time short. She had to reach her work-place lattest by ten. Moreover it was the only day the lady of the house wanted to cook at her leisure and to her taste. She didn’t have to worry about the menu of the day, besides she would leave for the day. Her diet was little she would either have a Paratha or a pair of slice and leave It had been two or three Sunday’s that there had been no breakfast for her. She had been going hungry to work. And as she never ate on the road or alone, she had to remain hungery, except for a cup of coffee or a glass of cold-drink here and there. So this Sunday after she had finished all her work, took her bath, dressed, all set to leave and saw no breakfast coming, she went to the kitchen took out the stale chapatti heated it, put same butter on it and started eating her nephew come and asked her what was she doing ‘Eating ‘Why ‘Can’t keeping going hungry every Sunday ‘For you, everyone, should eat early’ ‘I didn’t say that but at least breakfast can be prepared earlier and 9 o’clock is

not that early’. And with that she left. The week started and ended into yet another Sunday. As usual she was in a hurry, she was a silent sort of a person, who seldom questioned other people’s activities though very mindful of other peoples’ needs and requirements, was non- interfering type So when the lady of the house sarcastically called her for breakfast and her nephew rudely told her that now she had to eat before leaving. She took two slices buttered them ,an omellatte was litterally thrown at her, which she silently put in between the slices and left with tears in her eyes. The sandwitch was poison been forced down her throat, the insults, the sarcasim that had accompanied that breakfast were burning into her self-respect. The only reason she forced the sandwich down her throat was the lesson she had been taught- that food is God’s blessing so by not eating you are refusing ‘God’s blessing – which is a sin. She cried all the way to work, even during the day many a times her eyes were wet. It was 10th of March not a happy day in the family history as a well-loved person had died on this day. Her mood was sober besides it was yet again a Sunday and she was in a hurry. She was as usual going about her work when the lady of the house started shouting “What do you think I can’t do the work you do’ ‘If you don’t sweep, mop and dust will my house remain dirty. ‘Association with you is such a burden’ ‘You show you are strong you are just a weak person’ “I am just being kind in allowing you to do all these tasks’ Why should any body want to take on the burden of being associated with a person like you!

Why can’t I have meals at the time I want to! My kids also hate you! The comments, taunts and rudeness seems to have no ending. And all this time she never said a work finished all the work and left without Breakfast. Never to darken that door-step again on a Sunday!

THE BROKEN KNEE CAP

I n the crowded Orthopaedic Department of Aruna Asif Ali Government Hospital, Civil Line, New Delhi, near Tis Hazari Metro station, patients from all walks of life were present. She was a prefered patient as her Bhabi[brothers wife]was an opthalmologist in the same hospital The orthopaedist was paying special attention to her back pain, leg aches and to all the details of her ailment, she was narrating to him while they awaited her xray. The next patient was called in, a poorly looking person limped in. He was in a acute pain and could barely move. His agony was so severe that it was reflecting on his face The doctor a kind hearted person told him to sit down, and started inquiring about his medical history and the reason behind his visit. The man almost into tears told him that he was a rickshw puller and that it has been a week since he had been bearing the pain but couldn’t afford giving up a day’s wage to come to the hospital. But the accrntuating pain was now beyond his sustainable limits and pulling a rickshaw was almost impossible so he was forced to came over. The doctor examined his leg just to discover that the problem was centered round his knee. On close examination he discovered that the knee-cap was broken. To confirm his diagonises he refered him to the radiology department for a knee x-ray. He soon returned with his report. The diagnosis was correct, the knee-cap was completely shattered the fragments of the bone were so tiny that nothing but a knee- replacement surgery was the only treatment. The surgery even in the government hospital though almost free was much beyond the reach of the poverty –sticken rickshaw - puller. Forget about a

private one. The doctor recommended his case to the committee for such cases, so that the mimnal fee would also be wevered away. But with inhibition that this case would ever make it to the list. When the doctor asked him as to how did he manage to get his knee cap broken. Did you meet with an accident or fell down The reply was ‘sahab, pandra din phala ek sahab nay danda mara tha’ (sir fifteen days ago a gentelman hit me) One act of aggression a life time Of Impairment! Is it justified! If yes how! Will that man ever be able to return to him livelhood will he be able to ever walk properly! How would be his family! Fulfill his responsibilities! Were a few of the many questions which troubled her as she walked out of the hospital, being satisfied that nothing major was wrong with her health quotient

THE RICKSHAW RIDE

I was hurrying through the by-lanes of model Town, Delhi. It was 5.30 p.m and by 5.45 p.m I had to be at Dhruv’s Place. He would be waiting One habit of mine which was really liked by all my students was my punctuality. I knew that fifteen minutes were more than enough though the same distance would take anyone else at least But I walked fast really fast. Few people could keep a pace with me. When suddenly someone was jingling a cycle bell from behind I thought perpaps the person wants. Me to give him more space to over take me so I further shifted to my right. But the ringing presisted, and a voice said ‘ Rickshaw chaia munni’. (Do you want to take a rickshaw young girl) I stopped, turned and saw an old man in town clothes, pulling a rickshaw asking me the question I said ‘ Nahi” (NO) and further added Mai hamesha chal kar jati ho’ (I always walk and go) At my reply. The old man broke into tears saying that since morning he had been to earn only Rs 50 which would go for the rent of the rickshaw. While he needed Rs 300 for the medicines of his ailling son who was in the hospital. At this I sat in the rickshaw told him to take me to ‘F’ block ,what was his son suffering off. He said ‘Malum Nahi’ Bukhar hai’ (I don’t know same sort of fever]. His son had been taken ill in the village and after no medicine worked, he had brought him to Delhi for treatment But it had since been three months not much had improved he even had to send money to the village for his wife and daughter.

His lamentation touched me. I told him to stop at the chemist. Requested the pharmacist to fill up the prescription that the man had. My pockets were lighter by five hundred and ten rupees by the time I reached Dhruv’s house. I never told the old man the reason why I never took a rickshaw. I couldn’t afford paying Rs.10-15 to move from are students house to another pupil’s house. I was just a petty tutor. If I missed one dam class, I had to struggle the next month to make the ends meet I had to foot a tall bill of my mother’s medicines each month’ which I did by sacrificing all my personal needs. The only money I spent on myself was on the bus tickets I had to buy to reach my student’s houses, as I couldn’t possiabally walk ten kilometers. That the shoe I was wearing had a big hole in its role. And for months I have been postponing buying one, as same bill or the other took priority over my personal need of a shoe- a mere shoe! A rickshaw – ride was a ‘LUXURY’ for me, that i didn’t treate myself to a rickshaw ride even during my periods, when my back and leg’s a had so much pain that even a step was like walking a mile I didn’t tell him all this. I just hope and pray to Allah that his son gets better and would protect him from all financial worries, as I protect my mom.

THE BIRTHDAY GIFT

I t was my birthday but I had nothing to be happy about. Our family was going through turbulent times, among we three sisters we had only two kids in the family. And out of these two children the elder boy had been diagnosed with cancer. Our world was uprooted and was in an upheaval. My elder sister whose children were the two boys, was completely shattered. Her first baby’s life was dangling on a thread of medical miracle. Would that miracle happen was the pivotal question of the hour. All our efforts resources, prayers and wishes were diverted towards one and only one thing the child’s treatment – his recovery. When a person is having a serious diagnoses, it is not only him who is stressed out, but also his dear ones. The frustration one feels, the helplessness, the fear, no one who hasn’t been in that situation can empathize And physically it is draining too. Rushing from work or home to the hospital, preparing food, packing it carrying it to the hospital. rushing to get the medicines each time the doctor writes a new one, besides catering to the needs of the patient. Being patient enough with everyone, as all are so stressed out. Also you cannot take a leave and sit at home. As you need that money desperately how can you finance the treatment if you don’t earn. So all in all I wouldn’t wish it all for even my foe. Hence the thought of a brithday celebration, gifts etc was the farthest from my mind.I was as usual waiting for my little nephew to return from school at round 3.30 pm so that we could have lunch.

The routine was -he would come, have a glass of lemonale, take bath, offer namez have lunch by 4 pm. And then take an hour of afternooon nap. Latter I would help him with his home work and meanwhile prepare the dinner pack it up and by 6 pm. Start for AIIMS with the little one, as that was where the child was itted. But today when he jumped out of his school van he simply rushed in to where his books, guitar etc were kept. I went to the kitchen to fetch his drink then, he called me ‘kaka, kaka’ come here’. ‘One minute I am coming. And when I reached the room, he started playing “Happy birthday to you dear kaka.” On his guitar. I was so touched that tears oozed out of my eyes. I hugged him. He said that he had specially learnt how to play it from a friend in the van. I was overwhelved by his thoughtfullness. It was the best birthday gift I had ever recieved or would ever recieve!.

THE COLLATERAL DAMAGE –(4-10-15)

I was teaching a my student of class 12 th , a science student, an a very reluctant one too. Only one poem of the book Flamingo was left Aunt Jennaifer’s Tigers by Adrienne Rich. As an introduction to the poem I was trying to make him understand the concept of Domestic violence Explaining the concept I told him that domestic violence was just not only physical violence It was even sexual, emotional, financial and psycological. When I catch Vasu’s attention he tends to remain with me. I had his attention His view was that the relationship between the spouses should be a balanced one, not of unequality I agreed saying it was like the two wheels of a two wheeler, if one is punchered the vehicle cannot move. Then I went on to explain that to say that it shouldn’t be thought that domestic violance was a thing of the part of the dark ages. It was a grouse reality of the twenty first century too. Also that it was neither regional nor race restricted and that the victium could be any member of the family, not just the wife. It could be a daughter, an unmarried sister living in the family anyone! In fact it was rampage anywhere and everywhere. I started by giving a few examples the first of an alumnus of institutes, who was the bread winner of her family, earning a handsome salary, was not even permitted to buy a pair of gloves in the bitting winters of the west from her own salary and for the full winter she went to work with the glove of one hand only or that once in a blue moon when she requested her couch potato of a husband to drop her off to a conference or work by the car, which had been bought with her salary and ran on the petrol paid by her money, he would retort back that he wasn’t her ‘Fathers’ servant’ My student was surprised and shocked that domestic violence was a bitter fact even among the so called educated elite. And that women often endure it all for the sake of keeping the family intact.

All this while his mother was getting his room cleaned of termits. She was listening to it all. And then said, “Just like your Massi (Mother’s sister) whose husband hadn’t earned a penny for dog-years and she had ran the house, saved his life by getting his kidney transplant done. Yet almost everday he thrashed her up. The pain that was in her voice when she talked about her sister, reminded me of my own aunt-k, when once said that ‘Humshria has taken our sleeps away she was referiing to my mom, who was a victium And then of myself who listened and wittnessed everyday to the painful discourse of my sisters who tolerate domestic violence in one form or the other. And how my mind was never at peace. Then I thought this was collateral damage of domestic violence. The law talked of the victim and the predator But nothing about the silent, collateral victims The siblings parents, kins, nieces, nephews’, friends, neighbours -the list was never ending whether the victim shares one’s plight or not this long list of people suffer along with the victim. If ever the predator is punished he is repminded for the violence he indulged in but never for the collateral damaged. There people who apprentely were never actual victims were suffering all along. Their minds were never at peace-a little corner of their brain was always thinking about the victim. The pain, the frustration at the helplessness of not being able to do anything to ease the pain of the loved one takes it’s toil more often than not in the form of health problems-diabetes, heart aliments, cancer and what not. All stress-related disease, find soft-targets in these apparently un-related’happy’ victims of Domestic violence.This was massive colleteral damage I thought!

PATRIOTISM

H er husband was a bad tempered, wicked man, who had been living off her income since seven long years. Her marital abuse had began more or less within three to four yearsof her marriage. Verbal abuse like till when would your sit at home and eat off me’ ‘How will the bills be paid” ‘I am not your father’s servant to cater to your needs’, and it went an and an. The list of alligation was long and varied everyday. Being a Muslim household it was all wrong. The wife and her up-keep is the responsibility of the husband. Being kind carrying, respectful and responsible is a part of prime-duties of a husband according to Shria. But all this was missing from this house hold. She did all that was expected of a wife. Kept the house spick and span. The house was done up artfully and tastefully. Everyone appreciated it. Cooked good food, Was a highly educated alumnus of Delhi’s institutes. Well read, a brilliant debator and orator And at times he confessed that she was his biggest asset. She had been in a good job, It was out of her personal income they they had bought a bought a bungalow did it up, purchased a car, which by the way, was not allowed to drive and if ever she requested to be dropped to a work – assignment by her husband who would be simply lying in front of the idiot box surfing channels for want to seeing some programme This husband whose food, clothing, shelter and every penny he spend was out of her salary, used to shout at her ‘Do I have no other job to do but to be your driver’

And more often than not in –ve 25degree temperature she would not even get to be dropped, on a once in a blue moon request. This all and what not had been a part of her miserable life. When in May 2011 a lawyer’s notice for a divorce arrived for her to sign. She was much disturbed. And finally she shared her plight with her second sister living in an other country. Now this sister did her best to be of to her. As she couldn’t do much across continents. One thing that she could do, was to hear her out, whenever she called. She poured her heart out on the phone. She patiently heard her through for an hour or so daily. As emotional was the only thing she could offer. Which she did Almost everyday she heard her sister tell her all that she had been undergoing how scared of social smirch, how the word abhorable has been with the institution of divorce in Islam. And what would she do if the inevitable happened. This was like a Pandor’s box of troubles opening. Which meant a string of unpleasent things which didn’t have an end. This went an for more than on year. Then one day her sister told her that a couple who were also settled in Toranto but but belonged to the neighouring country to her place of origion and were very close to her besides being her well wishers had hinted that enough was enough and that, that man didn’t deserve her After all why was she enduring all this nonsense for ten long years. Why didn’t she call it quit. Wouldn’t she be much relaxed happy and at peace Also she would be free to decide about her future and that she was such a nice person and so many people would be willing to get into an alliance with her once she was a free woman. Then on one meeting Fatima directly said that she should not be scared of being left alone. Her brother -in -law who was settled in U.S. was doing well and would be any day willing to get married to her once she was free.

Her sister said, “The idea is not bad. After all you have one life to live though. And besides you have done everything within your power to get the man on track”. Instead he simply goes around slandering you, any and everywhere Among relatives, friends and acquaintances. No circle has been left which be had not tarnished with his accusation, that he was in a wrong marriage In fact what had she gained out of this marriage besides fourteen hours of backbreaking job, the salary of which didn’t go to her, was credited in her husband’s . To which she didn’t have access. To buy a pair or gloves in winters she was questioned. Everyday she did all the household chores with no help from that useless husband of hers And to top it all he played the injured party. After all why was she wanting to stick arround and let her life waste in the quick- sand of bitterness which was ruining her personality. Making her bitter and a very sad person. Islam taught one to celebrate life not to drag it about as a worn out coat,’ For once she heard her in complete silence. The she said’ How can I even think of this proposal, after all I am an Indian, I cannot even dream of marrying a national of that country” The only thought her sister had after putting down her phone was conversation was ‘ And we are always being labelled as traitors If this is not patriotism then what else is!

FARMING MELANCHOLY

I hate taking a rickshaw, I abhore the thought of another human being pulling me, drenched in sweat, pantting while I like a queen sit in the back And if it is raining the poor person gets soaked to skin. As these rickshaw puller are hailing from desperate economic situations they are more after than not mal-nutriated, skinny fellows with not an ounce of flesh or fat to spare. Most are addicted to pan-masala, guttka, A large number are alcohalics and quiet a few are drug addicts. That is yet another reason I despise the thought of facilitating their addiction, through the fare I pay after a rickshaw ride So it is only in dire cirumstances that I find myself sitting on one. Such a situation occured on the twentieth of september 2015. It was a Sunday.I usually have classes right from nine in the morning to nine-thirty in the night, back to back, with hardly a gap of ten to fifteen munutes in between, which I take to go from one students place to another’s. But this Sunday was different. The first term exam were going on and except for two students no one was taking a class as they had some other subject exam on Monday. So after teaching Arnav for two hours I had all the day to myself till the evening when I had to take up Parthfor two hours. Hence I decided to finish off same pending chores that have been pushed back and some other more urgent task took precedence over them. One such work was visiting my Father’s grave to over see its repair and maintananc which was in okhala- Jamia Millia Islamia grave-yard.

After a wait of about half an hour I got the bus-402 which goes directly to okhala from Azadpur via Modal Town. Thankfully I got a seat as I was carry besides my purse which in itself never light due to the weight of my umbralla- as I have a rain-phobia, I hate getting wet, same books, my writting pad, to facilatate very jottting down a story if one builds in my head and a million other little things which add to it’s weight. I had a bag which contained clothes whose matching items I had to buy. It took an hour and half to reach the grave-yard. There my Father’s grave was hidden under the under-grown there. Thus after saying the Fatia for him. I went in hunt of the mortician- Allah Rakha a mean, old man, who thrives on the sad desperate emotional exploitation of the people visiting the grave yard. I found him basking in the shade of a tree. I requested him to get the over growth removed and put some more sand on the grave to prevent it from cave-in due to rain Allah Rakha told me to give him the money. And he would get it done. We all heir’s of those buried there know he is not a man of his words and florishes on the fact that no one has the time to visit the kabristan often, And by the time of the next visit, he can convenintly say, “I got it done but it is so many months since you came”Though he never gets it done Therefore when I insisted that he should get it done right then. He started shouting, ‘ Go I would not get it done.The labour is off for lunch. It is Sunday come some other day’ I controlled very fury and very politely told him that I didn’t have an off on other days. That I had came all the way from Rohini a good 35 km and that it was not physically viable for me to came again in the near future. Some ladies sitting there intervened an my behalf and finally the labour was told to do the needful. When I turned to go he told me it would cost me Rs.2000, just to put two buckets of sand it down. I was scandalized ‘Give Rs. 2000 or else, it wouldn’t be done’. ‘Ok, I will give Rs 1500 Saying that I hurried behind the labour. Who removed the grass, got the sand,

levelled it. I landed up shelling Rs.1600, a hundered more, for the ‘ chai-pani of the labour. Satisfied I embarked on my return journey After 15-20 minutes bus number 402 came I boarded it took a ticket of Rs. 15 and sat down. I deboarded round 3 o’clock. Now I had to hurry, as I had to take a class at 5 p.m. so in desperation I hauled a rickshaw for Rs .40 for Kamala Nagar. As there was where I could buy the matching material that I needed for the items I was carrying. The rickshaw puller was a boy, not more than 17-18 years wearing a light green shirt and brown pants, very fair by Indian standards, which is unusual for a rickshaw puller who are usually very dark. He took me across DSSW and turned right from the bungalows of DU professors, instead of going across University Gate and then turning right towards St.Stephan College taking the detour he did finally hit the road of St. Stephen College. I asked him ‘ Bhai, why didn’t you take the straight road, it would have been shorter’ ‘I would have to ride over the chari(evaluated land area, a hill)’ ‘I would have got down at the chair’. I told him Thus I got into conversation with him I asked him where did he hail from. He said he was from Madhay Pradesh. “Isn’t it a long way from home’ ‘Yes, it is but due to hailstram our crop of soyabean was destroyed we have debt of Rs.60,000 on our head and ten family . So I have came to earns whatever I can.’ he told me. I recalled a news item I had read in March 2014, it had said something about 11.5 lakh hectares of crops were affected in 51 districts of M.P and neghibouring states.

I had never even dreamt of meeting a victim. And here I was in conversation with one. ‘But you people hardly save any money.You mis-use it to feed your addictions so what’s the fun of all this labour.’ I said ‘I am a high caste Brahaman. In our village we banish people who get addicted to any thing’ ‘Well that’s very good. Keep yourself from trouble’ Then he asked me that could I get him a job. Any job which wouold help him earn more. I enquired whether he was educated. His reply was that he had done his 10th But due to crop failure he had given up his studies and had came to Delhi to help pool in resources to pay off the debt and bear the living expences of the household. He had persumed that I worked in the Unversity Seeing his desperation. I asked him to give his number and name so that I could get in tocuh if I ever came across anything worth while. By this time I had reached Kamla Nagar, I got down paid him Rs.40 and left feeeling very disturbed at the appalling tale that I had just heard.

MORALE LESSON

H e was a 2+ toddler, a student of a presparatory school, in Civil Line, Delhi, very near the L.G’S official residence. Every day he was dropped in the morning by his father. At 12 o’clock his maternal aunt, Kaka, could be seen standing outside the school gates to pick him up. Before leaving the school premises, she used to take him to the loo, tell him to urinate, use the flush, wash his hands and then only did the aunt and nephew commence their homeward journey. They used to walk upto Mori Gate Terminal from where 169 number bus used to start. This bus used to take them home, to Rohini sector -15 The walk took them round fifteen minutes.From the school, they used to take a left turn, just a few meters ahead. Then walk for a kilometer before reaching the terminal.On the way, on the left were lots of trees, the road and the foothpath were slightly evalated on the right was a ground, where often police parades or training session were held. As Civil Lines is an elite area of Delhi, expensive luxury cars were seen racing down the road The little one used to alternate this age by moving from the lap his aunt to running or walking. She used to keep him busy by asking him about all that happened at school, teaching him about the nature that was around them, or simply making him count the Lancer cars, which were a fad at that time. One day they were walking as usual, when a Lancer stopped, a well- dressed middle age man get out, and facing the trees and vegetation opened his zip and started to urimate. Men urinating any and everywhere is a commen sight in India. It seems as if everyman has a weak bladder.

Why do we woman never urimate on the roads, even though we are in urgent need to do so we manage to control ourselves till we reach a proper- toilet But what she could do was to train her nephew not to urinate on the road. Hence the routine at shcool before leaving everyday Now this tiny being was walking with his Kaka holding her hand. What come over him she couldn’t comprehend but suddenly he untangled his hand from her grip and started running towards the urinating man. Her reflex action was running after hm, out of sheer fear of any unto do incident. But the young one stopped near the man doing his business, tugged at his pants and told him, ‘Gandi bath’ (bad thing, don’t urinate here The man out of sheer shock, quickly zipped himself and boarded his waiting car She had stopped a few yards away for the sake of decency.Thourgh she kept calling her nephew to come back. Which he did after he had told the man in so clear that he had no civic sence, and that he was in the wrong. She did hope that man, if he had even iota of shame in him, would never urinate on the road.Especially since the moral lesson had come from a 2+ toddler. She couldn’t possibly bring herself to scold this chit of a being, as he had done a very good deed, his first from many more to come.! She simply picked him in her lap as her heart was still ponding at the thought that had he slipped and fallen off the pavement what all could not have happened to him on a busy throughfare. He very innocently said, ‘I did the right thing Kaka! Didn’t I?” She rewarded him with a kiss told him he was a great kid and on reaching the bus terminal, bought him an ice- cream as an acknowledgement of his good deed.Hoping that even latter in life he wouldn’t hesistate to put a wrong, right!

COUNTRY WHERE CHILDREN DON’T GO TO SCHOOL (MAY-2016)

Iraq, a country so infected by insurgence by the IS (Islamic state) and Daesh that one is not sure of the next breath. The Iraqi’s are struggling to survive on all fronts. Their economy is in ruins. No family is there, which hasn’t lost a member to war. Not a day goes by when the coffins of several Martyrs are not brought to the Holy Shrines of Imam Hussain A.S.and Hazrat Abbas A.S. A huge numbers of kids are left to fend for themselves as the elders have been engulged by war In all the ten days that I was in that country. I didn’t see a single child going to school Then what did the kids do during the long day?. Mind it, it wasn’t holiday season! I probed furthers and discovered that each child had a sad, bleak and bloody story to narrate there is this boy, hardly 15years in age, who is taking care of a dozen or more others, all younger to him – siblings’cousines, second couines including a few infants. As all elders—male and females have been killed in the bombardment. He pulls a trolley ferrying luggage, deliveries and people all over karbala.While his younger charges try helping him by pushing from behind. Only God known how is he able to scrape two squares of meal for the dozen or more kids. And mind it no one begs or accepts alms. This and many more appally stories unfold when you did dipper. But what surprised me was no one steals. A closed shop merely has a curtains drawn over it. And no one will even dream of stealing even a pin, the owner might be gone for days but on his return he finds everything infact, undisturbed!! I didn’t even find beggers except one or two. The rest work hard to survive and are ready to lay their lives for their country.

These people are perhaps the most helpful nation I have ever came across absolute strangers come forward to give a helping hand.I had my mother on wheelchaire with me and acts of benevolence were many that I encountered. In side the Holy Shrine, there were stairs and I was wondering how would I navitage the wheelchair, when a boy hardly ten years in age virtually lifted the chair and brought it down the staris. I never went without help when I was having trouble navigating the wheelchair, absolute stranger out of no-where would take over and push it through the most tough patches and simply vanish. My sence of gratitute for this selfless nation grew with every gesture of kindness that I witnessed. And I best way I could repay them was to pray for them. To ask God to give a befitting defeat to the I.S and Daesh forces. This was a country where children didn’t go to school. As they had to fill their bellies by earning. These kids! May Their Tribe Increase! are a living embodiment of courage, piety hard work determination and character After I returned when I see kids—addited, kids stealing, kids begging and blaming it all on poverty and deprivation I think of the nation where kids don’t go to school!