Brown

My name is Robert Browning. Born 1812, died 1889. 12th December 2009, exactly 280 years have elapsed after my demise………..and how the world has changed……..
It was roses, roses, all the way,
With myrtle mixed in my path like mad:
The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway,
The church-spires flamed, such flags they had,
A year ago on this very day……..
It was I, who wrote this…..so many years ago…….and yes, it has been 163 years since we eloped, Elisabeth and I….oh, and those were the days……
I shuddered at the thought of eloping with someone, the one thing in life I would never probably experience. I fidgeted with the brownie in my hand and inspected it carefully, only with my eyes, not my mind. Mind was somewhere else, floating, in the vast expanse of the universe I have created around me. Brownie-Browning – So that’s where Browning came from, trying to trace my way back the train of thoughts to recollect why I had been thinking about Browning for over the past few minutes. I suddenly realized that all this while I had been contemplating the brownie between my fingers and a poker-faced expression was staring at me with big soulful eyes.
I blinked and came out of the trance and threw him a furtive glance. I must have looked embarrassed, for with raised eyebrows he leaned forward and probed in his archaic, pompous manner “Pray tell me, what the matter with you is? Why is it so special - that brownie that you behold?” We knew Ricky for the past 35 years or so and were accustomed to his queer, antediluvian language and I nearly smiled that he did not substitute ‘thou’ for ‘you’ on this occasion. My usual self would normally take note and go bantering at him but not today. I looked at him, glanced away and finally met his eyes “Nothing, man. It’s just that I have not been keeping well” He reached for his wallet and carefully pinched out two hundred rupee notes and tucked them inside the leather folder placed on the table. Before I could say something else, a chinky waitress attired in a red outfit appeared from somewhere as if by magic and asked permission to clear the table. Once done, she flashed her plastic smile with the mugged up “Thank you, sir. Have a pleasant day, sir”. We thanked her and slouched our way out of the café. “Hmmm….not feeling well, is not it? I reckon it is for that reason that you spake to me yesterday over the telephone?” he smiled, something which he rarely did and I observed his countenance as we traced our way through the umbrageous corridor of flora back to his office. His frail constitution and balding pate embellished by a crown of white hair made him look like he 70 although he was only 55 years old. I raised my hand to feel my hair and convinced myself yet again that they were there, intact, despite the hairline threatening to recede since quite some time. I returned his smile and he continued expressing himself more with his emaciated hands than with his vieux jeu speech “I am told you are now a man worth his weight in gold? Am I to believe that? Travelled every single nook and corner you have. And what have we got yonder? Some wrinkles to cover your forehead, that is all, is it not? ”

......to be continued.........

Fall from Grace.....

My days are black,
And the nights too.....
No, Im not a racist
But to your plastic eyes,
Maybe a belligerent feist!

Bound and broken,
torn and tied,
leashed on to the fence,
in your kitchen garden
meandering in emotional windstorms.....

Dark days, darker nights,
whimpers, crys and sighs.....
No, for me there are no human rights,
Just pin pricks - pricking pins....
Glass of water, some Aspirins.

Coddle me, kick me,
Abuse and squabble....
Do as you please, capricious life!
Passing time - timing passes,
Impasse, I am in thrall....

Flip through my book,
Version Me of life.....
Let it begin, let it close....
Page 1, page 2, page3, page 4.....
Epilogue.....

Schizophrenia - In my darkest hours.....

Do people really care if I live or die?….. if I hit the scum or fly?
Do I really care?
For, the labyrinth that I now perceive myself in
Engulfs me deep into it …….me, as well as my pain
And with it, an ounce of happiness…which I used to feel in Easy Monthly Instalments…
When I was awake…….. But am I now in slumber?
You shall know but you’ll tell me not………
For your lips are pursed with greed or lust, hell bent on making me bite the dust…

Frayed ends of sanity is all I have to cover me up and salvage my pride
Pride – What for?
For that elusive happiness which came and went?
Or the times which saw me fly?
It makes me think, laugh, sneer……and eventually I loose control, break down and cry……
Tears don’t appear, but still I cry, I feel no pain, but still I cry……
You shall know but you’ll hold me not…
For your hands, begrime with sleaze or sins, throw my indigence to the disposal bins…

Black light helps me find my way through this tunnel of hope……
Hope –What for?
For an absolved life that will never be?
Or restitution of the lost realm which once existed? Did it?
Pangs and sighs! Pangs and sighs!
Do you care for my pangs and sighs?
You shall know, but care, you will not………
For your mind stands blinded by this mist of conscience barriers and barricades

So what if people do care if I live or die? ….. if I hit the scum or fly?
Do I really care?

Hospital

It looked as if all emotions of joy were banished from the face of the earth and only pain and suffering reigned. The faces I saw around me all wore more or less, the same expression – sorrow, mourning, extreme grief. I had been a wide eyed witness to this darker side of human emotion for the past 3 days but I admit I found it difficult to get over the feeling of depression that time. So I preferred to veil myself in the Food-Court inside the hospital premises with the convenience of having the tea and eatables well within reach and above all the comfort of not having to witness those gory scenes of plaster-clad limbs stained in deep red. Moreover, corridors and waiting rooms of the complex were full of people and the stench of sweat, urine, vomit, stale food, bidis – all mixed together produced a foul odor that reminded me of the smell of rotten onions; so much so that it made me think that the next line of patients to occupy the ICUs were in the making, right here in the waiting rooms. Some of the people prayed, some were talking to friends or family over their cell phone with a finger stuck in the other ear for clarity within the chaos; the weak-hearted wept, the strong-hearted tried to face the situation boldly. There were people who fought with the hospital staff for want of special attention to their cases. But there was hope. As always, and as the old adage says – ‘Only one thing keeps us alive and that is Hope’. Hope….funny how a simple four letter word can bring so much comfort to your heart. It really does. Even as I sit here to write, there is a guy sitting next to me silently reciting the ‘Hanumaan Chalisa’. Eyes swollen for the lack of sleep, the poor guy is praying for his father. I was in his shoes 2 days ago, but now the danger is over and my father has recovered quite a lot, touch wood.
“Hello, friend!” a cheerful voice greeted me. I looked at the tall, fair, mustached Afghani figure walking down the hall towards me. I got up and managed a grin. “How are you this evening buddy? I hope your friend is fine.”. “Yeah, fine says the doctor….. But they don’t let me visit him too often. Now, Allah has plans for all of us, you see. So, all must be safe in His hands. No one knows when He shall pull up which string.” Lifting his hands up above his head, he continued with his thick accent “We are just puppets; we can do nothing but hope for the best.” He nodded and looked at me as if to drive the point down my throat and when he was contented that he had succeeded, he continued towards his favourite seat at the corner of the hall.
I sank on to my chair and resumed typing my thoughts while the Afghani plugged on his laptop into the power socket reserved for the fly-catcher tube-lights. “The internet is very slow today” he remarked, “How is yours running?” I told him that I was not using mine and offered him the modem so that he could give it a try. “Coffee?” I asked him. “Ok. But it’s on me tonight, last time you paid for it.”, he replied and together we strode towards the vending machine which lay dormant for quite some time as the number of visitors usually thinned down at night. I gently shook up the sleeping attendant’s arm and the Afghani handed out a 50 rupee note for the coupon. As we returned back with the cups to our respective places of comfort, I couldn’t help thinking of how two people from far off lands can share so much under circumstances. We may never even see each other again afterwards. “What are your plans after your friend gets well? Return home to Afghanistan?”, I asked him. “No, I need to know more about India. Maybe we can spend the rest of the vacations roaming around. India has got a lot of places to see – At least that’s what the internet tells me.” He winked. I nodded a ‘hmmm’ in approval and focused back on my work. The Hanumaan Chalisa guy had by now fallen into a deep sleep. God bless him.
Several scentences later, I looked at the time on the bottom right of the screen, 2:34 AM it said- Time to check up with the nurse. I walked towards the waiting hall, a few blocks away from the food-court and as I entered the hall, the stench once again greeted me. At night the waiting hall looked more like a morgue - the attendants sleeping on the green cloth chairs with white sheets covering them head to toe. Others, less fortunate then the rest, had prepared their beds on the floor. I walked up to the security person and showed her my attendant’s ID. “Is there any message from bed no. 2136?” She checked the register and found no entry against 2136. “Could you please let me talk to the nurse?” She dialed a number and handed me the receiver. “Yeah?” said a voice on the other side. “Ma’am, this is Mr. Kapoor’s son this side. How is my father doing?” “2136? Oh, he’s absolutely fine. He’s in a deep sleep right now. Had his dinner and went to bed at 10 o’clock sharp. Don’t worry child, he is fine. He’ll recover very fast.” Her palliating words brought tears to my eyes. “Thanks ma’am, thank you very much.” I placed the receiver back where it belonged and thanked the security person.
On my way back, I stopped a while and looked skywards. A hundred thoughts flew through the mind – The agony I had caused my father on numerous occasions, so many times had I consciously disobeyed him and had been so wrong. I had been a flagitious son. Ashamed of myself, I realized how important possessions become once one has the fear of losing them. It applied to family as well. I looked at one twinkling star to another and they seemed to laugh at me. Fighting hard to shun the negative thoughts, I walked back through the partly constructed corridors towards the cozy confines of the food-court.
Through the glass walls of the giant hall, I could see a group of young people seated near my table, laughing and talking in loud voices. The Hanuman Chalisa guy was sitting upright with a cup of tea and staring into space as if attained some divine nirvana; Afghani was busy staring on to his screen; the group was deep into a heated discussion and I strode towards them to greet them. “Gaurav, how are you? And how’s Uncle now? Better, I hope? ” Ishu greeted me, as animated as ever. Accompanied by his sisters and a school friend, Ishu looked as if he had not known sleep since ages. “Dad is fine. What about your dad and mom?” “Well, (sigh) Dad is fine now they say, but the danger is not over yet. There is a gall bladder stone which they haven’t removed as yet since it may lead to complications. Mom is still under danger period and shall require 3 more days to be out of danger at least. Both of them need to be in here till about 2 months they say. Well anyways, lets go and have a breath of fresh air outside. I have lots of things to talk to you.”
I exchanged greetings with the others in the group and took his arm. Ishu’s parents had been admitted a week ago. His father’s kidneys were damaged and his mother was the donor. Sudden diagnosis and hospitalization had left the kids confused and morally broke. Life was in a mess. Home to hospital and back without sleep, timely food, care, and daily needs……..it was too much for teenagers……..
“Gaurav, I’ve realized what family really is.” He commented when we were outside. “It consists of Mom, Dad, brothers, sisters and you….. Nobody else…..no Mama, chacha, fufa, tao…..no….nobody…….” I looked into his eyes, red and swollen with the lack of sleep. “You need some sleep, kid.” “No yaar, I need a shoulder to cry. Do you know what my so called relatives have been doing all this while…..DRINKING…..I hate them yaar….I despise the look of them……When life was rosy, all where there to enjoy it with us and now……We have been counting bottles of blood for the operation and now I’ve lost count………I first quarreled with the doctors, now I am asking them for my parent’s lives…….I just hope everything falls back into place....” He carried on in broken sentences and once again, I looked skywards at the stars; they didn’t seem to laugh now. I offered him a shoulder and he cried till he had drained the last drop of tears till there wasn’t any of the salty liquid left in the buds. The pain I had been feeling all this while subsided with his tears and I felt the clouds give way to an absolved soul like the clear weather after heavy thundershowers.
“Come, lets have some tea before I see you go off to sleep”

Sugar loot....

I was waiting there.......right at the boundary of the giant mall, with a trolley full of stuff you are likely to buy while setting up a new household. There were utensils, vegetables, soaps, detergents and all sorts of other nonsensical items that made sense to me while I picked them up at the mall. It made me wonder that I would invariably go home, unpack the stuff and ask myself the million dollar question - "What made me buy all that? Its such a waste.......". Yet people do buy all such stuff which appeals the eye, exhibitioned in the brightness of colossal, air-conditioned malls; so much so that some hardly bother to take a look at the price tags. We are no different from the rest........even this 'Big Bazaar' mall in Patia is no different for that matter. Rather, they are one step ahead the rest of the lot.......these guys offer free of cost, 5 kgs of Sugar for every 1000 bucks worth purchase of goods from the mall.....
"Mu jauchi prize-ta neba pae (I'll go and collect the prize)" said Niranjan. 'Prize', his expression to describe 30 kgs of Sugar which we just 'won' thanks to a mega-purchase. 30 kgs of Sugar.........can you beat that....... I could already see the ants invading our kitchen. They would come through the hole in the window near the sink marching on ruthlessly towards their target, packed in non-bio-degradable plastic that people call 'polythene'. "Kabaak gift kori dim (I'll gift it to someone)" I thought aloud and at the same time smiled at the idea of gifting 25 kgs or so of Sugar to somebody..........Sugar, of all things!.........
"Kal se aaj jyaada bhir hai (Its more crowded today than it was yesterday)" said a feminine voice, interrupting my train of thoughts. I looked at the source of this statement and saw a bunch of youngsters with Infosys ID cards hanging from their high-held necks, their shoulder drooping on to one side with the 5 kg weight of their laptops. These guys make Bhubaneswar look like another Gurgaon.... or Bangalore rather.... "Eiketa aaji kae kg ceni jiki ahe kunu thik nai (Wonder how many kgs of sugar do they win today)...."
"Cling....Cling......". The sound of coins made me look in the direction of the entrance to the mall, bang opposite to the podium on which I was standing, an old man of about 55-60 and a kid, about 5 years old squatted on the pavement. Although they didn't quite look like beggars, but the word HUNGER was written clearly in their eyes for everyone to see. Few passersby threw coins at them, others ignored the wretched pair, a young boy came down his car and handed out some change.......I recalled how my sister always kept some biscuits ready with her for such occasions. "It is the best policy", she used to say, "If you give them money, you never know if its going to fill their stomach or some crook's pocket".
I turned my gaze to the direction which Niranjan had left to collect his "Prize". "Whats taking him so long? Finding a suitable trolley to transport 30 kgs of sugar, I guess". Window-searching the fast-food stores at the periphery of the mall revealed nothing of interest.......Pizzas, burgers, puffs, blah, blah......stuff with hardly any nutrition value but high 'purse thinning' and 'stomach inflating' value was all there for the Infys and the TCSs and the Wipros to devour...... but nothing for the old man and the boy ......no panacea for their HUNGER......temporarily I mean........
"Chalo jeeba, mili gola Prize (Lets go, got the Prize)" Niranjan, smiling ear to ear came with a trolley full of 'you know what'.......Without a word, I pushed my trolley towards him and dashed back to the main entrance to the mall, leaving him to take care of both the trolleys. I went straight to the biscuits section and found what I was looking for - "Parle G" biscuits 220 grams @ 10 bucks each......I took 4 of the packets and paced towards the billing counter.....Roughly a kg of the biscuits shall be sufficient for both of them to sleep the night in peace......10 long minutes at the counter, while the same old nonsensical items passed through the bar-code reader, their purchasers happy to pay the ridiculous sums with plastic money......."Don't they ask themselves the same question? Don't they say - What did I buy this for?" Anyways, I handed out the 40 bucks for my purchase and rushed toward the exit............ Niranjan stood there with an Auto-wala and a security guard, the stuff loaded onto the auto......."Dekhontu agya, dharma sohiba nahin........Se chup-chap bosuthila, jea chahuthila, se douthila se nouthila, aau kana (See, its such a disgrace, they were quietly sitting there in that corner, whoever felt the need to give them something gave them alms, what harm did they do to you?)" the heated auto-wala directed with all his energy to the security guard........Niranjan shook his head........they had chased them away........trespassers not allowed......Such was the rule of the land........One look at the security guard showed that it was not his fault........He was only obeying orders.......

We took off in search of the outcast pair but didn't see them again....... I clutched the packets of biscuits in my hand and for that moment that packet of 'Parle G' was worth much more than all our other purchases and the 30 kgs of 'FREE' Sugar..........