because I write....

because I write....

Sunday, June 15, 2014

The Swerve

As his car stopped again only after making a countable rotations, Sanjay's vacillation appeared to his word this time. Nodding to the old temple of some unknown goddess alongside the road, he murmured - 'O god ! Why did you make these poors in the world? What can they give to the world? They are just an obstacle to  the world's progress as they encumber the important people like me.'

Sanjay had come to Kolkata for two prime purposes. He had a business meeting with one of the renowned trader in Salt lake and he had to thank goddess Kali for his fulfilled business successes. He was to reach the famous Dakshineswar  temple for sure . It was difficult to sense even for him  that his meet to the goddess Kali was mandatory for the devotion he had or for making room to next offering once he could make for next success . Whatever be the reason , but he was quintessentially representing the people who turn religious once they hit the much coveted fame and prosperity.

Sanjay was a famous icon in the southern suburb of the city now. Not that he did not toiled to achieve and maintain the status quo, not that he did not go thorough the Crest -troughs contour of the sought after affluence he embraced , but there was something that kept him out of the ilk of zillions , who worked hard similar to or even more than Sanjay, but still collapsed to garner even a bit of what he had. Luck is indeed where preparation meets opportunity .

The driver got the chance to ride the car once again - of course at snail pace and for short while. It was five in the evening already and Sanjay was tensed that he won't be able to catch up his plans. So was his driver somewhere , perhaps, for not being able help his master in this regard. 
Looking towards the window pan and trying to be relieved , Sanjay heaved a ostensible sigh of relief .
What was the date when he moved Kolkata ?  He could not remember the date. Nothing was eccentric in that . He too would be convinced with the same some years back . The brains with inadequately filled stomach can  think only to meet the next end or the next day and strictly not to the numbers that come and go in the lives of poors. Such days and numbers are the jewels of rich, who always seek an excuse to be happy . But, perhaps , he too was not agreed now. While his car was moving ahead, Sanjay got enough time to ruminate back in his past.

The year was 2008 . The river Kosi was proving its sobriquet ' Sorrow of Bihar' apt. Kishanganj region of Supaul was heavily affected by the flood . People were forced to vacate the place with their little basic paraphernalia. Sanjay, an unemployed literate or better to say a disguised employed  farmer, was bound to leave the place with his small family. Already anxious of his struggling life, Sanjay looked to the the flood water nearby and murmured in the sky with tears - ' O God! Why did you give birth to poor people like me ? Of what use are we in this world? Why do you test always to poors? '

With not much money and wealth, he preferred to stay with his one acquaintance in slum region of north Kolkata. This disaster too would have been taken casually , if political parties were not trying to consider this flood a perk for their success in forth coming election. The paper works were magically fast this time and the promises to the villagers were fulfilled soon.

 Sanjay unwillingly emulated his friend and invested part of precious amount he had as  flood relief compensation  in construction business, while part in lobbying political influences to keep the former running.  His luck made a toss- this time a good one- and he earned the rainbow soon.  Most often, money brings intelligence as well. Sanjay started his own business with the winning amount with some partners in Kolkata. Heydays didn't took too long to arrive.

The traffic was not much by now. The driver picked up the gear once again to make a swerve and reach the rendezvous temple . But, Somewhere Sanjay was realizing 'the swerve' that affluence imprints on one's thought.

PS : This story is just a product of my imagination and I am learning to imagine strong plots.  :)

Saturday, June 14, 2014

And I will not die again.

I am tired of my life. I don't have right to disturb everybody whether or not they say a word for this. But.....
but , what to do ? I can't take care of myself . It's better to end this life.
My half of the body is paralyzed. I am lying on the bed since six months. In the beginning , I thought that this was for a short duration and soon I would recuperate . But , it persisted on . I don't feel anything in my lower half of body . To put in words , I am half dead.  Yes! a half dead.
I always ask my mother - 'Why did this happen to me?' and answer is a silence most of the time and some consolations for the remaining times.
My grief increases many fold when the relatives visit to see me . I should not doubt their intentions but I feel bad for each meet . They talk of god, fate and bad luck. They talk of karma. I listen them silently, nod for them mechanically and giggle with them wryly .  Do they think that I can't get up again? Do they attribute my suffering to me? I don't know . Definitely not much . But, Unbeknown to how others react - do they hide their tears or do they content for successfully fulfilling their formality - I sense a pair of eyes whose corners turn watery whenever I become successful to control my water - my mother's eyes.

I visit doctors every alternate day or every week . I don't visit the same face for many times. I am treated less like a patient and more like an experimental bot . I am no longer fascinated to this profession now. Sometimes I am asked many weird questions. I fail to understand their relation in the course of treatment .
'What is the color of sky? ' 'What is the result when 42 and 37 are summed up? ' blah blah .
The doctors give justification that I might have fallen a few times, considering my incapability to balance myself and hence were those question to confirm my mental condition. Alas ! I am given clean cheat every time.  Sometime I feel too bad. If I were not patient or they were not my doctors , I would have definitely asked them something like 'square root of 3' to prove those questioners inadequately sane. But...
but... I am helpless.

I have not seen my school after first terminal examinations. My friends visit me sometimes. Their words of optimism don't match their facial expression . I don't let them see the darkness in my eyes.
Sometimes I try to read some books laying on the bed. My parents herald my this effort as a step in my recovery. I too don't give up. Now, I don't solve mathematics problems, but read them . I don't know when will I solve them.
Sometimes I falter. I cry  and cry a lot . I ensure that I am not being watched. Soon, I envelop the ostensible veneer of optimism, bravery and confidence. I don't want to hurt my parents.

***
Today is Christmas . I am giving up all my hopes. I already have lost faith in god and now same is true for doctors too. There is no sliver of recovery.  I don't cry now. My tears nerve have dried, perhaps. People don't visit to see me now. Friend are busy with their are exams.
I don't want my mother to take me to toilet every-time.I am 15 and I feel bad  and embarrassed. 
Today I have got the complete leaf of Tencodep tablets (sleeping pills). My grandma takes these pills. She forgot the pills near my bed.
I am willing to die now. You don't have right to be burden on others' lives. I will gulp all the 10 pills together on 2nd Jan - I decide.  I don't want to spoil family's very first day of new year.

***
Crumbs! I can't die too. One new doctor is experimenting on me. And, though he is not famous doctor, my parents have too much hope on him. I too will cooperate him till 2nd Jan. I don't want to be called as 'coward ' . I am just helpless. When all blessings, wishes, offerings and treatments failed to make me stand, I am giving one experimental opportunity to this mediocre doctor too.I have zilch in hope.
I am holding my tears and girding up  for new avalanche of injections and pills.  Anyways, I have been injected a hundred of injections and five hundred pills hitherto - I calculate. Not a matter of bravery , but a matter of helplessness. I will not allow anyone to play with my body after 2nd Jan.

***
'I don't know this experiment' I reply. I try but in vain to hold my tears. It is something like flood of tears breaching all boundaries. I didn't cry eve before in front of my friends.  My chemistry teacher holds me. He loves me . I appeared this laboratory after eight months. I missed several papers in final exams as well.
' Here is the real genius' told my maths teacher in the class in my appreciation ' You can't score 57 genuine marks in mathematics without actually solving a single problem unless you are a real genius' .
On my class teacher's suggestion and principle's consent , I am promoted to next class.

Things have changed now. The world is as beautiful to me now as it was eight months back - perhaps even more beautiful. I love myself more than I did so ever before. I can walk now, I can run now and I can play now.  Amid all this, I learned two important chapters that no school will teach me. First, there is a god . Because He has many people to visit, He may be bit late , but He does listen for sure. He tests his beloved ones occasionally.
And.... Second...
Life is beautiful. Not all do recognize the preciousness of this bounty .

And.... I decide... I will not die again... ever .... and ..... forever.

Sumit J