A Wall of Fog

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He opened his eyes as he felt something solid under his feet and tried to gain balance. It was like someone had picked him up, and plopped him gently on the ground. Now eyes wide open, it did not seem like a normal ground. It didn't seem like anywhere he'd been before. There was an eerie silence, and yet his ears were ringing. The ringing that he felt after listening to loud music constantly. In front of him was a wall of thick fog, the kind that he experienced every winter; but this time he did not feel cold. 

Gingerly, he took a step further, hoping to see what lay on the other side of the fog. But it continued with him, it was like a tunnel, not dark, yet not lit up. He kept walking. With no recollection of time. With no memory of how long he had been walking. "Is it a dream?", he wondered, looking at his hands. And a shiver ran down his spine. His hands looked the same, yet weren't like his. The jagged lines had smoothed out. The calloused edges had eased. The ugly scar, just below his right thumb had faded. Instinctively, his hand moved to his forehead, fingers searching for the stitches, which he presumed would still be raw. But all he could feel was smooth skin. No pain. No stitches. Flustered, he shook his head to break away from the dream, closed his eyes and turned around.

"Take a deep breath."

"Count to five."

"It always works." 

He willed himself, opening his eyes. But, he was still there. Amidst deep fog. He continued walking, knowing that the dream would eventually end. Until he heard his name.

He blinked and the fog had disappeared. And in front of him, stood an old gentle man. Gentle, the first thing he thought of looking at the man. His kind eyes. His warm smile. His soft voice. Calling out his name. He responded, "Where am I?"

"In transition."

"Before I get to choose between heaven or hell?" He chuckled.

The old man smiled. "You don't get to choose, because there is no hell or heaven."

"Then why am I here?"

"To answer one question."

He sighed. Eyes expectant.

"Who would you be?", the old man continued. 

"If they wipe away your work?

If they strip you off your talents?

If they seize all your possessions?

If they take away all your money?

If they un-changed what you have changed?

If they take away what you have brought?

If they destroy what you have created?

If they forget who you are?

Would you still be you?"

The old man's kind eyes were piercing him now. Probing for an answer. He held out a glimmering shard of glass to him. "Look into this mirror. You will know the answer."

He took the mirror in his hands. The razor-sharp edges not hurting his fingers. Taking a deep breath, he held up the mirror in front of his face. The mirror reflected a thick wall of fog, instead of his reflection. In the mirror, in his own reflection, he did not exist. He had ceased.

The Plan (A Story)

 “I have planned it for the 21st of next month; I think that’ll be enough time for you to prepare.” Imran said, ticking a few points in his planner.

“Okay, I am sure, I’ll be done with the arrangements and booking by then”, Aman nodded.

“All the best then”, Imran smiled, “I’ll be looking forward to see your work”.

“Thanks, it is going to be a wonderful experience working on this.”

“Thank you for your time.”

They stand up and shake hands. Aman takes a leave.

A few tables away, two ladies are sitting and talking:

“He assured me, he can arrange everything by 21st November.”

“That’s perfect, you’ll have enough time.”

“I hope so.”

“Don’t worry dear, it’s going to turn out perfect”, Ramya assured Zara.

“I hope it does”. She smiles nervously.

Ramya’s phone starts buzzing.

“Hey, I need to take this call. You order for me, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Alright.”

Imran was nervous. For the first time in his life. He’d never planned something this big for someone so close to his heart. He just wanted it to work out. He took out his tab to check the next appointment, relieved to know that there was only one left for the day, he put it down and looked around the café. It appeared to be busier than usual. And then his eyes fell upon her. He could make out the eagerness in her eyes. It had always been easy for him to read people’s faces. But this face seemed a little different. It wasn’t that of a stranger. He knew how those eyes would look when angry. He knew how the lines would form on the forehead when she would think something serious. His eyes moved to her hands.  There wasn’t any ring on her finger. He felt he knew how those fingers would tap the table when anxious, and then…

She tapped her fingers on the table and scrolled through her cell with the other hand. Why had she started feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden? She looked up to glanced around. As her eyes fell on the table at the right, she met with two eyes staring right back at her. They each held the gaze for the same time and then looked away.

“Hey did you order for us?”, Ramya asked, hurrying up to the table.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I got lost in my thoughts and forgot.”

“Okay, that’s fine. I’ll have to leave. Ash is caught up with work, so I will have to pick up Rehaan from school. I’m so sorry to cut it short”

“Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to apologise.”

“Do you want me to drop you somewhere?”

"No, I think I’ll stay here and have a coffee before heading home.”

“Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow then.”

“Yea, Bbye,”

“Bye.”

He went up to the counter and ordered himself a coffee. While waiting for the change, suddenly he smelled a familiar fragrance. It made him turn and look at the side. And there she was again. Talking away cheerfully with the cashier.

Without planning, he blurted out, “Can I join you?”

She is a bit taken aback, “I think so”.

They find a table and sit down.

After a few minutes of silence and coffee sips, he asks her, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Neither did I”

“So what are your plans for the rest of the day?”

“I’m going to meet mom in the evening, and you?”

“Oh, I have a meeting in an hour”, he looks at his watch “and I better be leaving now”.

“Okay, I’ll see you tonight.”

Smiles, hugs and kisses. They leave. Separately.

Making sure he’s not in her sight anymore, he takes out his cell and dials a number. She hails a cab, open the door and gets inside. Takes out her cell and dials a number. 

 

“Guess what dude, I’m going to propose her!”

“Mom, I found you a son in law!”

Images are from here and here.

The Story Behind Our Song (Part 2 of 2)

Continued from here.

Dear Dishy,

I am writing this letter sitting in Jenny Auntie’s café. I know you don’t like summers but I wish you were with me right now, enjoying this beautiful May afternoon with me. There is this huge Jacaranda tree opposite to the café. I can see it through the window next to place I am sitting. It seems as if someone has sprayed a deep mauve color into the sky.

Dish I can see our future, as I sit here. I imagine us getting old together. I imagine retiring with you on a farmhouse. I imagine talking walks with you under the warmth of the sun in winter afternoons and under brightly lit sky in the summer nights. I imagine looking at our grandchildren as they play in the rains. I imagine barbeque parties in our garden. I imagine a house full of photographs. Photographs that tell our story. The story which began long before we met. The story which won’t end with us. The story which will continue with our children and their children and then their children. And the story, which the whole world will read one day.

There was no rhyme or reason behind this letter. Just one of those moments when I wanted you near, when I wished I hadn’t waited for so long.

I am sending you few photographs I took near the café, to let you feel the beauty of the Jacaranda tree in full bloom. And I am sending you a few smiles to make the coming few months easier.

Love always,

Harit

That was the first letter he had written to her. The edges were now frayed and deep creases were marked where she had unfolded and folded the letter a hundred times. The only thing that was touched by just the two of them, she would read the letter whenever she miss Harit. Though they had shared more than twenty letters over the past six years, for some reason his first letter would always remain precious to her.

The captain’s announcement broke her thoughts.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have just been cleared to land at the Indira Gandhi International Airport. Please make sure your seat belt is securely fastened. The flight attendants are currently passing around the cabin to make a final compliance check and pick up any remaining cups and glasses. Thank you."

This was not how she was supposed to come back to India. She sighed and put the letter in her pocket. She was supposed to be feeling edgy with butterflies fluttering nineteen to a dozen, instead she felt queasy and jittery as every moment passed.

The phone call had come at 5’o clock in the morning. Groggily she glanced at the number. She pressed the receive button quickly and muttered, “Harit?”

It wasn’t Harit on the phone. She couldn’t recall half of what the caller had said. All she knew that he needed her, that she had to leave for India today. He didn’t have much time they had said.

The ride from the airport to the hospital seemed longer than her 9 hours flight. Disha enquired about him at the reception.

Harit Shah. Room no. 402.

He turned his head towards the door as he heard it open and smiled wide. Too weak to sit up, he stretched his hand towards her. She smiled back and walked towards him. Her throat was tight, but Disha didn’t want to cry. She would remain strong for him. There would be plenty of time to cry when… she couldn’t think further. She knelt near his bed, holding his hand in her palms. They gazed at each other, making up for the lost time, for all those years spent far away. She wanted to take in as much as she could, she wanted to create a memory that would stay forever within her heart and not on some paper or mails or photographs.  The way his left cheek dimpled when he smiled, the cut on his forehead, the way he blinked before looking back into her eyes, the way his nose crinkled as he smiled.

It wasn’t how either of them had imagined it to be. It was supposed to be a scene right out of a movie and not in a hospital room. But it still seemed perfect. The way their hands fit together. The way her smooth palms warmed his cold hands.

After a while, he motioned her to pick a notebook lying on the side table. She flipped it open, and read the five words written in his hand, “The story behind our song..”

10^th May, 2009

Disha smiled as she got of the phone with the editor. He had loved the book. Harit was right, summers are beautiful, she thought, looking up towards the bright summer sky. She got up from the bench and plucked a flower from a low lying branch of the huge Jacaranda tree. And placed it next to their photograph inside his notebook.  Their only photograph together. As she looked into his smiling eyes, she whispered, “Our story will continue Harit.”

Pictures from here, here, here and here

The Story Behind Our Song (Part 1 of 2)

31^st March, 2009

The bells on the door tinkled as Disha entered the café. The place was exactly like he had described it to her, and exactly like she had imagined it would be. He would sketch an image in her mind, just by his words and make her feel the ambience even through all the distance. Everything that surrounded her was new and still very familiar. The sunlight streaming through the skylight onto the bookshelf. The maroon armchair, from where he had spend countless afternoons, talking to her, laughing with her, fighting with her, listening to her, crying with her. The huge windows on the south. The big Jacaranda tree opposite to the café. She even knew how the tree would look in full bloom during the summers.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee made her yearn for one. She ordered a latte and smiled at the owner, Jenny Auntie, as if she was a regular there. She moved to the bookshelf, while waiting for her coffee. She found a few of the titles familiar. He had made her read every book he liked. When Jenny Auntie called her name, she collected her coffee from the counter and settled into the maroon armchair. For a moment, it felt like he was holding her in his arms. She smirked at herself for the thought. After all he hadn’t ever hugged her. She set her mug on the table nearby and turned on her laptop. She was meeting his (and now her) editor today. She wanted to be sure that he would be interested in their manuscript. It wasn’t just a manuscript to her, it was her story. Their story.

 November 10^th, 2006

Dishi10: Where have you been? I’ve been waiting since an hour and a half!

Harits: I had to meet these pesky clients and they weren’t leaving me. I even told them I have to go to the hospital for some tests.

Dishi10: What tests?

Harits: And finally when I started holding my breath so that my face could turn red, and they would believe I am actually sick.

Dishi10: WHAT TESTS??

Harits: That’s when they let me go.

Dishi10: What tests you idiot?

Harits: No no, no tests honey, I just made an excuse. So that I could talk to you for a while.

Dishi10: The while’s going to end in 15 minutes now.

Harits: I know I am sorry, next time if I am going to get late, I will text and inform you.

Dishi10: Did you check for the tickets?

Harits: Oh..

Dishi10: You haven’t yet?? Only two weeks left!! What if you don’t get any?

Harits: Then I’ll charter a plane.

Dishi10: Aww.. my hero, you don’t need to do that. You can come here when I am old and haggard, living in some retirement home

Harits: Okay okay, I’ll book the tickets right now. Please show up when the flight lands.

Dishi10: :)

Harits: What?

Dishi10: Two weeks!

Harits: Yes, two weeks baby! I love you.

Dishi10: I love you more.

Harits: Hey, Jenny Auntie sends her love. And now she wants to meet you.

Dishi10: Tell her that Harit is a coward and doesn’t want to meet me in India.

Harits: She says she’ll kick his ass for you.

Dishi10: Thank you Jenny Auntie. Harit, I am leaving for a meeting now.

Harits: See you love..

Dishi10: in two weeks.

Harits: :)

Hey luv, 27 Nov ’m coming 2 u.

Will u recognize me?

U’ll b d 1 wearing d biggest smile ;)

U bet, I will!

26^th November, 2006

11:37 am

The number you are trying to reach is presently out of coverage area. If you are an airtel subscriber…

Disha cursed him, “Darn it Harit, where are you?”, fed up with hearing the audio message again and again.

12:10 pm

Trying to call you. Your cell number is unreachable. No one is answering your home number. Cold feet??!

Message sent.

5:00 pm

Your flight leaves in two hours. I will kill you if you don’t board it.

Message sent.

7:00 pm

The number you are trying to reach is presently out of coverage area. If you…

More than angry, Disha was anxious. This was not something Harit would do. He won’t back out like this. Even if he wanted to, he would tell her first. No, something definitely must’ve gone wrong. She called up the airlines asking whether there had been any cancellations. “I’m sorry Ma’am, there has been no cancellation under the name of Mr. Harit Shah.”

“Can you tell me if he boarded the plane?”

“I am sorry Ma’am, I am not supposed to give out any information. It is against our company rules.”

“Well thank you very much.” And she slammed the phone down.

30^th November, 2006

The number you are trying to reach is presently unavailable. Please try again later..

Three days had passed since she heard from Harit. She had even gone to the airport, hoping he would surprise her.

To be continued...

Note: Pictures from here, here

We'll Dream Together

“Mooooommmm”, eight year old Mickey knocked on her mother’s bedroom door, “let me in!”

“Mick, patience sweetie. Birthday girls are always supposed to be patient!”

“Really?” Mickey got all excited. “I’ll go and get the Operations game!”

“Mickey, you know that’s not what I meant”, Jaya called out through the door. “Just fifteen minutes more darling and we can go. By the time you get dressed, I’ll be downstairs, waiting near the car. Now hurry up!”

“Olwyt.. Iv yew say sow”, Mickey faked a sulk and headed to her room. She was jumping with excitement inside. It was going to a fun evening for her and mom. First going shopping and trying on 50 dresses before they select 5. Her mom clicking pictures as her darling daughter posed, much to the annoyance of the staff; then dinner at their favourite Mexican restaurant, followed by a huge birthday cake just for her and mom, that they would gobble after going back home while opening her presents. She couldn’t wait!

Jaya and Mickey made a good pair, being strong for each other. Sometimes Jaya felt that Mickey was stronger than her. She took it upon herself to make her mom smile, every day, surprising her with hugs, leaving short letters under her pillow every Thursday morning, before she left for school, their weekend ice cream walks, when Mickey would try a new flavour every time and make a face when she didn’t like it but still would finish the whole of it till the last lick. It was like silently, unknowingly, Mickey was teaching Jaya to find happiness in small things. The hilarity of eating a gross flavour of banana and rose swirl and acting like it was the most delicious flavour she had ever tasted, Mickey had the most cheerful soul. She could see her old  self in Mickey’s eyes and she was proud of it.Proud that even when she would be gone, Mickey will have these memories to keep her strong. And she would smile. Jaya worked every day for that. To make her smile, to make sure that Mickey would remain strong even after she was gone. Jaya broke her reverie, not that it would happen in another forty years or so. She had a healthy and happy life ahead with Mickey. She collected all the pages lying on her desk, glancing at the clock. Six minutes and Mickey will storm into the room this time. She finished quickly, tied the pages with a blue string and put the bundle into the red velvet folder she’d stitched. Pleased with her work, she smiled and put the folder in the drawer. Two minutes and Mickey will be here! She quickly changed her top, and rushed to the door. As she swung it open, there she was with her mouth open wide, a big frown and a hand that was held to bang at the door, almost punched her mom in her stomach. And they both burst out laughing. 

“You look so pretty, birthday lady.”

“Where is my gift?”

“Is that how you accept a compliment?”

“I didn’t accept it Mom. I’ll accept it along with my gift.”

“You know the deal, you’re supposed to wait till we get back home.”

“I hate waiting!”

“I love you!”

They jumped into the car. An eight year old with a big smile and twinkling eyes, her dark gleaming hair falling on her shoulders and a thirty two year old with short hair, petite frame, brown eyes with the same happiness in her eyes as her daughter.

“Red or green?” Jaya asked, as she started the car and moved out of the driveway. They’d invented this game on one boring Monday, where they would guess the signal just before they turned towards the main road from their house.  

“RED”, Mickey screamed as she turned on the volume of the music player and started singing along... “Ain’t no mountain high enough...”

------------------------------------------------------------
MANY YEARS LATER


“Ain’t no mountain...” The words brought her to a standstill. It had been years since she’d heard the song. 10 years to be exact, how she’d managed that was still a mystery to her. Her mind was again flooded with memories. Her eighth birthday. Mom in her pale blue top. She in her strawberry red frock. Red or green. Turn the volume down a little Mick. Her mom singing along with Marvin Gaye. Listen Baby. The signal. Red. She won. A loud horn. And... That’s all she remembered. That’s all she could remember. She moved towards the radio, staring at it as if it were a live thing. A birthday dedication. The RJ chirpily said, this song is dedicated to a very special birthday girl... she wasn’t interested in hearing the rest. She rushed to her room, threw open her cupboard. And  rummaged through her clothes. There it was, pushed at the  back of the shelf. Wrapped in white tissue. Did it still smell of her? Or was she just imagining it. She pulled it out and sat on her bed, cross legged. Slowly she removed the tissue, like she was opening her gift for the first time, the gift she had received 10 years ago. She felt a gulp in her throat as she touched the smooth red folder. The velvet faded, over the years but still soft to her touch. A smile was slowly creeping on her face as her eyes welled up. “TO THE BIRTHDAY LADY”, bright blue bold letters. And below it, a Polaroid shot, a sleepy almost 8 year old with an amazingly bright mom. Hugging her daughter tight. She opened the flap... and read the first page. 

Dreams and Memories

Happy Birthday my little lady! No I haven’t put it down as your 8th birthday, because I want you to read and look at this on every birthday. So now, even if I don’t get to gift you something new on your birthday, you’ll always have a gift with you. A gift of memories and dreams. Go ahead Mick, you have made a lot of special memories and now it’s time to dream some more. Some mothers tell their daughters what they dream for them, some tell them to do what they'd dreamt for themselves. Your mom, the loving woman she is, shares here...what she dreams to do with you. So every year, when you or rather we go through this book, we can turn back the pages and tick off the memories we've made and then turn the pages to the memories we are going to make ahead.  And remember, no matter where you are and no matter how old I get, we’ll dream together. Happy Dreaming my baby!

As Mickey turned to the next page, she burst out laughing, her mom with a scowl on her face as Mickey stuffs a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. She knew the reason of the scowl even before she saw the next picture. Her mom smiling unwillingly into the camera, her face red and swollen cause of the allergic reaction from the custard apple ice cream. Mickey forgot about the pain she was feeling in her gut few minutes back. She turned to the next page. Six year old Mickey with an evil smile on her face, as she held tight to a fat ugly noisy stinky cat. The next picture, a missing cat poster, with their neighbors address.  She turned to the last page, and took out a CD from an envelope pasted in the back cover. She got up  from the bed, inserted the CD into the player and jumped onto the bed again. 

Listen, baby

Ain't no mountain high

Ain't no vally low

Ain't no river wide enough, baby

She smiled wide and brought out a felt pen. All these years, she hadn’t been able to do it. Make memories without her mother. But today, she no more felt alone. Mom was here with her, in her memories, in her dreams. Nagging her, teasing her, loving her, scolding her. And she began scribbling notes on the pages, next to the sketches Jaya had drawn all those years back. A scrawny girl with a trophy and a big smile. She scribbled about the essay competition she won in 6th grade. A pimply girl with a scowl. She scribbled about the day she got her first period.  A tall girl, blushing cutely and holding a heart in her hand. She scribbled about her first valentine’s when she was 16. And she continued. Scribbling. Reliving all the memories with her mom. Dreaming of the future with her mom. She would never be alone. Her mom had taken care of that. 

~The End~