The Cure !!

The young boy sitting on the sidewalk was repeating the same thing for the past five minutes.

His palm on his cheek. Then on his knees.

Cheek, Knee.

Cheek ,Knee.

“ What are you doing ? “, he asked the child.

“ Putting mommy’s kisses on my knees. I hurt myself while playing. Mommy says her kisses protect me always. I’m putting them on my knees”, the boy chirped.

 He felt his heart begin to heal…

“I was tempted to end my own life ! Why should I, God, when you’re with me !”, he cried.

He'd seen the right path, his faith back in action !

___________________________________________________________________________________________
This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.
This week's challenge is that the post must contain , " I was tempted."

Linking this to 100 Words on Saturday 2014 # 9 at Write Tribe.

 

The Second Chance.....

I stared at the tyre in what was a mixture of anger, frustration, disappointment and helplessness.

I had to be at the venue of the interview in an hour.  I had started quite early from home, thanks to my friend Sanya who had lent me her car, but the heavy traffic affected my time table.

I was relieved to take the diversion to the left from the main traffic signal, and this road was deserted.  The head office of the Choice Riviera Group of Companies, where I was headed to, was still fifteen kilometers away. I was being interviewed for the post of their Public Relations Executive. This was very important for me and my future.

But, half way into this deserted road, my car had decided to stop and not move further. I had got out to check what was wrong, and found the front tyre kissing the ground, much to my dismay.

Oh!! The tyre couldn’t have chosen a better time to get punctured.

How would I make it to the interview in time ? How long would I have to walk to find a garage ? How could I leave the car here ? How would I find a cab , on this road that stretched endlessly to the horizon ?

 Questions of all sorts continued to plague me as I continued to stare at the tyre, as if that would make it spring  to life.

I considered rescheduling the interview. But that was lame. I took the immediate step of pushing the car to the shade of a tree on the roadside , and calling Sanya. She didn’t respond, and I remembered she was out of town on official purpose. I sent her a message about the car and the location where it had gone to rest.

Then I started walking along the road, turning back now and then for any vehicle that might be a godsend to me.

I might have gone on for about five minutes, when I turned back to see a car speeding up towards me. Thanking God, I moved  a little towards the middle of the road, put my hands out and tried to attract attention. I hoped the driver would stop the car and give me a lift, at least to the nearest location from where I could hail a cab.

But I was in for a surprise.

Just as I waved my hand, the speed of the car increased and instead of stopping near me, it went ahead, swerved, lost control, crashed against a tree on the roadside and went still.

I stood speechless, thinking how close I had come to being hit by a car. And that car had crashed.

“ There’s something terribly wrong between me and cars,” I thought to myself as I gingerly moved towards the car, sensing no movement inside.

The sight that met my eyes chilled my bones with fear.

The driver had fallen face down on the hand-wheel, and had been knocked unconscious. From what I could see, he seemed a well-built, middle-aged fellow. Lying on the seat next to him was a briefcase and some stamp papers. Blood was dripping down from the hand-wheel. There was fresh blood on his thighs too. But what caught my attention was the backseat.

Sprawled there, with some rough cloth stuffed into her mouth, a red dupatta wound tight around her neck, eyes closed, was a young girl. She was squirming in pain and her hands had been tied with  a metal chain behind her body.

My mouth went dry for a minute. For a moment, I thought I had come straight into a bollywood movie. I didn’t know what to do.

Had I just foiled an attempt to kidnap ? Was he the wrong guy ? Or was she the bad one here ? I couldn’t decide.

The girl inside started writhing all the more in pain, and she repeatedly tried opening her eyes, even though she couldn’t keep them open for more than a second.

Something in me told me I had to do something. I couldn’t leave this place like this.

I tried opening all the doors, but wasn’t successful. I was afraid of the legal implications of breaking into the car. That was the last thing I wanted to be caught with.

I rang the police helpline. I briefed them of the situation, and gave them the location. I told them about the girl too.

Ten minutes later, the girl had managed to sit up on the seat. She was trying to spit out the cloth from her mouth, when she saw me and gestured frantically with her eyes.

By then, the ambulance arrived, followed by the police.

The police broke into the car with their tool kit, and rescued the girl, releasing her from the chain and  the mouthful of cloth, as the volunteers from the hospital transferred the unconscious man to the ambulance. The girl was given water to drink, and she too was taken to the hospital for a check-up and treatment.

“ I appreciate your thoughtful gesture, Madam. So sensitive of you, to stay back and help. Do you mind coming to the police station with us? We need to record the account of the eye-witness as a part of the FIR,” the Inspector spoke to me. I was surprised at his gentle approach to the issue.

“No issues, sir. I’ll come along. Thanks for being so friendly,” I blurted out.

He smiled and asked me to get into his jeep which I did.

The police station was nothing like what I had heard. It was neat and organized. Inspector Jagat, as I learnt his name was, instilled confidence and trust the way he spoke. Yet, he had the aura of someone

you would never want to mess with, and that reflected on the way his subordinates behaved with him.

The FIR was being prepared and I was asked to narrate how I saw the accident. I had to tell them about my fiasco with my car, my wait for another vehicle and all that ensued.

That was when it hit me. In the frenzy caused by the accident, I had completely forgotten about the time, and I hadn’t sought a rescheduling , either.

I frantically looked at my watch. I was half an hour late for the interview.

I had lost the chance, I knew it.

Disappointment clouded my face, and Inspector Jagat, who  had just returned from a phone call, seemed to read it.

“ Lost the chance for the interview, right ? ,” he asked with concern, and I nodded.

“ But you have just saved a life. In fact, more than one life. The girl was being kidnapped by the man. He’s her dad, and her parents are divorced, the mother has remarried. This man was abducting her  from there, and planned to hold her hostage for ransom. If not, he was planning to sell her off. The car is a stolen one, and the dress that he’s wearing is rented from some drama troupe. It seems he was a patient of hypertension, and his blood pressure suddenly shot up when he was driving, and that’s when he saw you. And the BP hit him hard, and he lost consciousness and the car crashed against the tree.”

I couldn’t say whether I was aghast at the details, or relieved to know the truth.

“ The man is conscious now. He confessed all this to our team. Doesn’t seem he could’ve completed the task anyway. Too much of a chicken, confessing so easily,” Inspector Jagat continued.

“And what about the girl, sir ?”, I asked.

“She’s fine now. Waiting for her mother at the hospital. They’ll be brought here to record her part of the statement soon,” he said.

I nodded.

“ Would you like to wait, Madam ? Or do you wish to go? We’ll call you in case there’s something we need to know,” he said.

I thanked him, and walked out of the police station and hailed a cab home.

I wanted to call the HR at the Choice Riviera and apologise that I couldn’t make it to the interview. At least, that much had to be done.

Just as I picked up my phone to place the call, it started ringing. I attended.

“ Ms Shivani, this is a call from The Choice Riviera, Head Office. Is this a good time to talk to you?”, the caller said.

I braced myself up for a long conversation as I said  yes.

“I’m calling on behalf of the MD. He’s asked me to inform you, that you’re to attend the interview for the post of the Public Relations Executive, at our office  at 10 AM tomorrow. Will that be fine with you?”

Wow ! I couldn’t believe my ears ! Such a stroke of good luck !!

“Yes, sure. Definitely,” I said, making no effort to conceal my happiness.

“That’s fine, Ma’m. Thank you. See you tomorrow. Have a nice day. ” The line got disconnected.

I hadn’t lost the chance after all. I had been given a second chance. And I would make the most out of it.

My phone beeped suddenly. I checked it to find a text message.

“ Hope you’re happy with the second chance. You deserve it. I spoke to the Riviera MD. He’s my friend. All the best for the interview. Jagat.”

I smiled again as I typed out “Thank You so much” in reply.

I would indeed make the most of my second chance.

=====================================================================

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.
Every weekend, we give out creative writing topics for the love of writing.

All for love.....

It's been a week since mom brought me that envelope.

Today, I open it slowly, excitedly thinking what I shall find inside.

He smiles happily  at me from the photograph. A smile of contentment.

The young girl next to him looks strikingly pretty, her coy smile making her face glow in anticipation of a wonderful future.

Both of them are dressed in the traditional wedding attire.

A beautiful moment of happiness, captured for eternity.

“ Me and her, for you to see”, there’s a signed note inside the envelope.

Crisply written, with his signature at the bottom. I can sense vengeance oozing out of every word.

I look at the photograph once again and close my eyes in memory of that day.

The day he had come home to meet my parents and seek my hand in marriage.

I can see myself sitting on the sofa in the drawing room. He’s sitting directly opposite to me, and his eyes are fixed on mine.

I can see they are hurt.

I have just denied my love for him,  signifying the end of our relationship.

I’m doing my best to blink back my tears, and my eyes are growing tired with the effort.

He’s still looking at me , numb with the shock of having to believe that I’ve been fooling him all these days in the name of love.

“Is that all, Riya ?”, he whispers after a while.

I nod in the affirmative,  wishing he would look away, get up and go.

I don’t want him to see me go weak at my knees and cry my heart out later. I can’t do that if he keeps looking at me like this. I am powerless to look at his eyes anymore.

Oh ! If only I could tell him how much I would love to be his wife !!

But no, I can’t. I need to end this.

Now.

I need to shut him out of my mind and my life.

I get up from my seat and speak to him.

“ Look, Sanjeev. You’re no more than just another guy for me. I can never imagine being tied to the vows and woes of wifehood. Don’t expect me in your life. And I’m least bothered about what you feel or do with your life. Please go out of my home. Now. My parents are about to return from their evening walk.”

I don’t tell him that they love him like their son and but for my compulsion, they would’ve never let things take such a turn.

I ignore the ‘why’s and ‘how’s that are writ large on his face as he looks at me with sad eyes.

I turn back and walk into my room.

I choose not to hear the footsteps and a vague ‘Riya, please listen’ behind me.

I enter the room and slam the door shut.

A small colourful card , my younger brother’s handicraft, hanging at my door handle, seems to scream at him . Do Not Disturb.

Inside the room, I cry and cry as the whole scene plays itself before me, shredding me to bits, torturing me, threatening my sanity.

When I open the door after a long time, my home is quiet, but two pairs of sorrowful eyes are looking at me from the far end of the hall. Mom and Dad.

They’re aware of my break-up with Sanjeev.

I break into a run and hug my mom tight.

“ Dr.Viswanathan wants us to reach early next morning,” she says with surprising calmness as I start sobbing again.

“ Don’t cry, child. We know it’s tough. But you’ll be brave and handle it well,” Dad says as he strokes my hair lovingly, as he used to do to put me to sleep when I was a child.

I  open my eyes as the doors to my room open, and my nurse  Martha comes in with a tray full of medicines.

 “Is it time already ? ”, I ask.

She nods a yes , smiles and says, “don’t worry, dear. You’ve been brave so far. You’ll have all the strength in future too.”

“Hope so,” I manage to say, and laugh lightly.

“Your mother’s waiting out there,” she says, helping me put on the green coloured robe that I’ve grown to detest.

“ Haven’t seen her for a whole week, now that you've put me in isolation for so long,” I reply with a mock cringe, as I try to imagine how emaciated Mom has grown over the past few months.

“ Who’s that on that snap?”, Martha asks, as I unsuccessfully try to hide it.

“ A friend of mine, she’s sent me her wedding snap”, I grin.

“ Dr. Viswanathan is waiting. Shall we go ? ”, she asks as she opens the door.

I can see the Do Not Disturb board that she has put on the door on my request.

It’s the very same board that had hung on my door that evening, as I shut Sanjeev out of my life.

Mom must have given it to her.

As Martha wheels me out of my room to go to the Chemotherapy centre, a lone tear escapes my eye and there’s a flurry of emotions in my heart.

I’m happy for Sanjeev ; he’ll always be special to me , in every way.

I’m not sure how much the chemo session will extend my life.

As I turn back and glance at the ‘Do Not Disturb’ on the door, I promise to myself that I’ll come back to this room, at least once.

The snap is still there.

Him and her, for me to see. =========================================================

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.
Every weekend, we give out creative writing topics for the love of writing.
This time your entry must contain, ‘Do Not Disturb’.

I knew her.....

I pretended to be busy with my cooking, as Anusha got ready and packed her school bag.

" Ma, I'm leaving. Will be late this evening, have extra classes ", she said, as she put on her shoes and straightened her tie , glancing at the showcase glass.

" Ok, shall make the vegetable puffs as dinner starters, then. You wanted them na ? ", I asked.

She nodded, " Yeah, that's fine Ma."

I waited till her bicycle turned the corner. I went to my car, and then drove it out of the garage. She needn't know my mission. I knew where she would go.

I saw her cycle at a distance, waiting for the signal to change. My car was at a safe distance from her cycle. She wouldn't see me, even in her rearview mirror.

The signal turned green. But instead of turning left, in the direction of her school, she took the straight road, to where he lived. I followed, all the while maintaining the safe distance.

He seemed to have been waiting for her arrival. He hugged her, as she got off the bicycle and parked it under the big Gulmohar tree on the roadside. She took out a gift-wrapped box from her bag and handed it to him. He beamed. Clearly, he hadn't expected this from her. She stood there with a happy smile on her face as he unwrapped the gift and took out a book.

One thing that they didn't know was that they were being watched.

I drew in a sharp breath and let out a low whistle as the scene unfolded in front of my eyes.

I knew what book it was. It was the fresh copy of, ' Chicken Soup for the Brothers' Soul'.
I had bought it for her from the International Book Fair, at Pune last month. She had loved it when I gave it to her.
Somehow, the mother in me knew what she would do with it.

She hugged him again, kissed him and started back on her bicycle. She rode past me as I ducked in to avoid her seeing me. She wouldn't expect me there, and she didn't look at my car as she sped away on her cycle.

I started my car and drove back home, all the while thinking about how sensitive a daughter I had.

He was Kesar, the twelve -year old son of our house-help, Jaya. Jaya would tell us how difficult it was for her to raise her kids, with a drunkard husband and an ailing mother-in-law. Her work as a domestic help in many homes was just enough and she was somehow pulling on. We helped her as much as we could.

Anusha had heard and seen all this, so she had sort of 'adopted' Kesar as her younger brother. She would give him her old school books, and ask him to read. He was a student at the local school, and he loved to learn.
Anusha would teach him, on weekends.

Today was his birthday, so Anusha had chosen to give him the gift.

I knew of her involvement with him, but chose to keep quiet. I never let her know I knew her secret.

I would surely do my best to help all I can with his education. God has given us enough to be of help to others.

But not yet. I would wait for Anusha to come and initiate the topic , with me.

I knew my daughter. She would come to me, soon.

I smiled as I opened the garage gates and parked my car inside.

I had a daughter I could always be proud of.



This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda. We give out creative writing topics each weekend for Indian bloggers.

God was with her....

This was her hope and prayer, she somehow wanted to make it.

But the lady in the pink sari looked at her with contempt writ large on her eyes, sarcasm lacing her voice, annoyance and irritation dripping from every inch of her face.

“ 88 % Marks ? And you think you stand a chance among our elite students? I am sorry, I wouldn’t even dream of applying in our school, if I got just 88% in my tenth, and never at all for the Science group. I wonder what made you think you can seek an admission here for the Eleventh ! Our seats are reserved for the best of brains here. We have no seat for you. Better look out for some schools who can actually take you in for your low marks. ”  

Saying this, the Principal glanced at her deputy. The latter smirked.

So that was it. She wouldn’t get a seat there.

It was the year 2000.  She had just returned to her home town in Kerala, after clearing her Secondary School with 88 % marks from the National Capital where her father had been working, and had wanted to join her alma mater, the school where she had been a student before. She loved the school, she longed to be back in its cradle, to relive her wonderful days of learning there.
But she had just been turned down.

What hurt her most was not the rejection, or the prospect of seeking admission elsewhere , or her marks being called low. She had enough faith in herself. What troubled her was the behavior she had to endure from the Principal. This wasn’t the way a teacher was expected to behave. She had no rights whatsoever to discourage someone in so harsh a manner. She could've done it politely and peacefully. Yet she had made her feel sorry for having come there.
This hurt her. 
She glanced at her mother who was sitting next to her, and got up from her seat.

“ Thank you, Ma’m. Sorry for troubling you,”, she said.

As she turned to leave, she made a silent promise to herself. A promise of redemption.

God wouldn’t let her fail, would he ?

She applied in many other Government schools, and a few turned her down as their seats were full, and some shortlisted her as the 100^th or 150^th in waiting, because there were many students like her, waiting to get into schools after their Board exams.

One day, she received a call from a school run by nuns. She was happy at last, as she got the call even though she was 150^th in their list. She waited in anticipation in their auditorium as they were calling out the names of girls who had made it to their roll, straining to hear her name being called.

When they reached the 141^st name on the list, the seats got filled and further admissions were cancelled. She was asked to return.

She had lost again. Her tears were silent, this time too.

But, wait. God wouldn’t let her fail, would he ?

That evening, the State Minister of Education announced that further seats had been granted to all schools affiliated to the Government, owing to the growing demand and the school she had been to that morning was the first on the list.

She was called again the next day and admitted to the Commerce Stream. By then, she had composed herself to accept any stream of subjects she could get into, as she knew she could make it work.

The next two years were a challenge in her life. She valued her opportunity to study as a chance which many had not been blessed with, and she worked hard to prove her mettle. She took part in competitions, represented her School at the State Level Contests in Elocutions, Declamations and Writing Contests and won prizes. At the end of two years, she wrote her Pre-University Boards.

Despite all the efforts she had put in, the fear lurked in the back of her mind, had she not done enough? What if her marks weren’t enough to take her to a good college ? What if she had to face the likes of the Principal woman, like she did two years ago  ? What if disappointment awaited her ?

God wouldn’t let her fail, would he ?

June 20^th, 2002.

The results of Pre-University Boards for Kerala were declared on this day, at a press conference by the State Minister of Education.

She had topped the State in the Commerce Stream and was declared ‘ The First Rank Holder’ for the year.

Her sweet vengeance was complete. No one would now tell her she wasn’t worth being admitted to any college. She had an answer for all of them.

Three years later, now a graduate in Commerce, she enrolled for Chartered Accountancy. Her father had again been transferred to a far-off city, and this time she couldn’t accompany him as she and her mother had to take care of her ailing grandfather at home. She couldn’t join classes either, as she had to travel to the next city for the same. Staying away from home wasn’t an option she could choose, given her circumstances.

God wouldn’t let her fail, would he ?

She chose to do her own studies along with her internship, and with enough support from her parents, grandparents, her college lecturers and mentors, she cleared her CA exams.
In one go.

God hadn’t let her fail.
He had been with her.
Has been with her.
And, will be with her.






This is a true story. No prizes for guessing the ‘She’ here :-)==============================================================
This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda. We give out themes for creative writing each weekend for Indian bloggers.

This time your entry has to have one sentence that is repeated at least thrice in your post.

======================================================

Was it bliss ?

“ Ms. Neharika, here’s someone to see you”, Sylvia opened the door and announced to her.

Neha looked up from her desk.

“ Yes, I’m expecting him. Ask him to come in. And tea for two, please”.

She was reading the interview of hers that had been published in the recent issue of  “ The ArtSpace” magazine.

Her life till date, her student days when she was just another girl, and her growth from that point to the famous Kathak exponent that she was now, had been widely covered in a semi-biographical, semi-conversational style.

The reporter had done a good job.

She remembered the conversation she had had with him over the phone.

She was then on a trip to Orissa , to meet her Dance guru. That was when she  had got the call from “The ArtSpace” team. The editor had first called himself and transferred the call to the reporter , requesting her personally that the latter had sought anonymity. That puzzled Neharika, but she nonetheless accepted it, because she knew the editor well from previous meetings.

The reporter was a very soft guy, who knew to ask questions or seek clarification without sounding offensive.

The call had lasted a little more than an hour, and at the end of it, she had poured out everything about her life.

How she had wanted to dance as a young kid, and how her father had beaten her once, breaking her ankles, when he found her dancing to the tunes of a bollywood number.

How she had secretly pursued her dreams, never breathing a word of it to anyone, masking her absence from home in the evenings, in the name of private tuitions.

And also the one incident that changed her life.

She had joined college, and on the freshers’ day, a group of guys from her senior batches had cordoned her off from the rest of her new gang.

They were drunk. Drunk till they oozed booze.

One of them , Ritesh,  asked her whether she knew how to dance.

She replied in the affirmative.

He threw a pair of anklets at her, as if her had them ready, and asked her to dance.

On the basketball court.

She said, she wouldn’t do it, as she thought the art was sacred and not to be insulted this way.

He slapped her, and mouthed expletives.

And that moment, she was come over by the real streak of vengeance.

She wore the anklets, and danced, danced and danced, till the whole college including the teachers had gathered, watching her, applauding her for her courage, presence of mind and strength to face the miscreants.

She hated the situation, she hated Ritesh for making her do it.

She would have stopped dancing then, for the insult she had had to endure.

But that had only been the beginning.

Later she started receiving  mails cloaked in anonymity, praising her for her performance, requesting her to dance at college festivals and  celebrations.

All the mails came from the same person, she was sure, because the handwriting was the same in all.

Neharika tried finding who the hidden admirer was, but she couldn’t. Mobile phones weren’t common then, and facebook wasn’t even heard of !

She loved these mails, and would look forward to receiving them. They thrilled her, and they gave her the boost to perform.

Often she got calls from television channels, where she was given opportunity to perform. Her father had realized his folly by then, and she performed at events in and outside the country. By the time she graduated , she had carved a niche for herself in her chosen field, and soon she turned a professional Kathak artist.

That was three years ago.

Neharika had been spoken out all this to the reporter, and he had done her justice by publishing all this in detail.

Surprisingly enough, the day before, she had got a call from none other than Ritesh.

“ I read your interview on the ArtSpace,I’d love to see you, Neha”, he had said.

“ Oh !! So, you still alive ? What makes me so likeable now, Ritesh ? So you remembered what you did to me all those years ago? You want to seek forgiveness, now? After all these years? Still drunk, eh, Ritesh ? “, Neha had let out her pent up frustration.

“Neha, please”, Ritesh had pleaded.

“ Yeah,  I want to see how you face me after humiliating me so much, Ritesh. Come down tomorrow evening. 5 O’ Clock. And by the way, call me Neharika,” she had replied and disconnected the call.

And here he was, as Sylvia had announced.

The tap on the door brought Neha back to her senses.

Ritesh was at the door, smiling at her.

“ Oh, come in, Mr Ritesh”, Neha spoke with a mocking voice.

“Hi Neha, sorry, Neharika. Nice meeting you after so many years. So long , isn’t it ? “, Ritesh spoke soothingly, as Sylvia came in with the tray of tea and cake.

That was all she needed to flare up.

“ Look here, Ritesh. I’m not the very same person you tried intimidating years back. Even then I’ve stayed away from you. I’ve never wanted anything to do with you. The insult I bore from you that day on the basketball court is enough to fuel me for a lifetime. I shall not forgive you for mocking me and my art. You’ll never do that to any girl hereafter. I think I made sure of that when I took up your challenge.”

Ritesh tried to say something, but Neha gestured with her hand.

“ No, Ritesh. I don’t want to listen to any apology or soothing words now. I don’t need it now. I’ve achieved in life, I’m famous, rich. And in a couple of years I’ll be married to my love. I’ll have a perfect family.I don’t want you haunting me anymore. I’m an achiever. You must know this, for the way you humiliated me”, Neha spoke rapidly and fiercely, with hatred oozing out of every word.

“ You may go, I don’t want to see you again.”

Ritesh got up from his seat.

“ Ok, Neharika. I promise not to disturb you again. You’ll never see me. All the best in all that you do,” he said, and walked out of the room.

He smiled to himself as he walked away.

Neha would never know him to be the secret admirer she had had. He had been mesmerized by her that day when she danced to his command.

He had realized his mistake and wanted to admit it and his love for her.

 But he had never been able to do it  before her.

She had only had hatred for him then.

And he had taken to writing her secret mails. And watched her grow and succeed in its shade.

She would never know he was the reporter who had covered her story on “The ArtSpace”.

She would never know the pains he had taken to mask his voice, lest she should find him out and refuse to talk.

She was happy as the achiever that she was. She was in love and ready for a happy life.

She needn’t know all this.

Ignorance indeed is bliss, he thought to himself, as he walked back to his home, letting his thoughts be washed away in the happiness of seeing her happy.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda. We give out a creative writing theme each weekend for Indian bloggers.