He asked me to enact something in the first office party.
I did the sholay scene.
He asked me to stop wearing green.
I donated over a dozen outfits. Bought another six, none of them green.
He asked me to smile.
He didn’t need to ask, his presence always made me.
I
fell in love with my boss. Not my direct boss, but 3 rungs higher up
the ladder. He was kind, considerate, intelligent, beautiful, smelled
great and a killer smiler.
‘listen boss is in an angry mood, don’t do anything stupid today’ said smita, my team leader.
‘what does he do when he is angry?’
‘Screams, but sometimes he does even worse’
‘what’
‘says
we disappoint him. He looks so heartbroken you want to tend to him.
You feel like you should do whatever you can to make sure he isn’t
dejected ever. He is miserable. If its really bad, he stops cracking
jokes’
‘that is bad’
‘tell me about it’
later that night, I asked him if he would ever be disappointed in me?
‘no sweets. Why would you say that?’
‘nothing. Just shout at me or something, I mean get angry if you want, just don’t be dejected on my account. Ok?’
‘ok. But angry sex can be brilliant’
‘that’s ok, you can have angry sex, you can hurt me, you can do what you want, just don’t stop’
‘come here’
he would drop me home at 3 in the morning.
I wanted to stay over a night and he didn’t stop me.
Then I didn’t want to stay over and he didn’t stop me either.
Everyday,
I would leave office, go to a friends place or go out for coffee with
some friends and come to his house by 9. we would have dinner, make
love, sleep, awake at 2 am and he would drive me home.
One day he held my hand and said ‘how long have we been seeing each other?’
‘About a year’
‘Smita talks highly of you. She thinks you are ready for more responsibility’
‘I
don’t know. Do we have to talk about work at home? I mean you are
very clear that at work I should be very careful and make sure that no
one even thinks there is something between us. Why would you discuss
me with Smita?’
‘coz it is almost a year and we need to talk about your future and reward your hard work’
‘ok, whatever. I don’t want to know. Lets deal with work at work’
the next day I was summoned to his office.
Smita
& Paresh were already present and they seemed to smile a little bit
too much. Paresh was moronic all the time, this was a new high even
for him.
My boss, my love seemed to take protection behind the desk. He was standing, leaning on his chair.
‘Tisha’ he started. Then corrected himself to ‘Aada’.
The grin on Paresh was even bigger, Smita seemed hell bent on following every muscle on my face.
‘Aada,
its been a year since you joined us today, and I must say you have done
very well. Both your team leaders have only good things to say about
you. Before I tell you what I have in store for you, would you like to
say something?’
‘I resign’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I resign’
‘What
are you saying?’ his voice rose a pitch ‘here I am about to handover
your promotion letter to you and you say you resign? Why? What is
wrong with you? Why would you resign from something so good? You have
everything, you have had a great year and you are on your path to
bigger better things, why are you resigning?’
‘Coz I am disappointed in you Mr. Tiwari’
‘ME? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN BY THAT?’
‘Sir,
thank you for the opportunity to work with you and for the learning. I
will cherish each moment from this last year till the last days of my
life and yet I have to confess, I cannot accept a promotion with a
rider that says I have to leave town. You may not have much use for me
here now, but I have a lot vested in this city and there are others who
love me more and need me more. There are some who seek a new
challenge, a new conquest every year. As for me, the knowledge that I
am ready for bigger, better things is more than enough. I wish you a
bountiful year ahead’
by Amir Fathi - used under creative common - used only for illustration. This is not a photograph of the girl in the story.
posted Feb 26, 2010 10:46 PM by Prabhjot Singh Bedi
[
updated Feb 26, 2010 10:51 PM
]
From my balcony I saw her struggling.
She was in pink pjs with a white tee and trying desperately to sweep. The sweeping motion seemed like a stabbing routine directed at someone in particular.
'neha' came the response from the one being attacked in thought. So that was the tormented soul's name.
She was so pretty that a broom in her hand seemed perfectly in sync. Not a blemish on her, glowing like the morning sun she was bathed in, she did not reply to her mother's call.
She kept on stabbing. When every last one of the verandah tribe was dead and all the blood swept outside of the battle-field she looked at her choosen weapon with such disgust you would think it hurt her physically to sweep.
She threw the broom away, threw back her hair and stormed into the house.
She was back out in under a minute.
This time red hot anger rising to that delicate face. The anger having taken hold on her entire being was now pulverizing the clothes. She beat them until she was sure her mother was screaming from among them. She beat them black and blue till the colors bled to the drain. She drained the last of the muddy water, cleared her air, stood up and looked up.
The tea jumped from my hand, mimicking the heart's movement and I smiled the smile people tell me is welcoming with a dash of svave and a hint of knowledge. she smiled back. The smile of an air-hostess who has just been dumped by the pilot.
'want to come down and help?'
the statement wasn't a cry for help, it was a challenge.
I don't duel with beauty.
'nope, thank you. from what I witnessed, you need the practice'
she hung the clothes to dry. Along side the sparks seemed to hang in the air.
Every once in a while she would look up and notice me taking it all in. The stretch of the body to get the clothes safely across the line, the bend of the back to swoop the ones waiting for their place in the sun. The little muscles working, tensing and agonizing over if my eyes followed them.
When she was done, she plucked the spark and threw it at me 'are you done watching?'.
'are you done?'
'yes. It was a punishment. I don't do this everyday'
'so, when will you be a bad girl again?'
'ha ha. Typical. Couldn't you think of a better one?'
'you mean cleaner? Nicer? Ok. When will you find it in your heart to cleanse everything around you again?'
she smiled.
I smiled.
'neha' shouted her mother. 'If you've done the clothes maybe you can take a bath'
posted Jan 17, 2010 1:09 AM by Prabhjot Singh Bedi
[
updated Jan 17, 2010 1:12 AM
]
The
next door neighbor who seems irritated all the time, and is ready to
hit a child who is about to pluck a flower, once refused to let the
local authorities pull up the local park.he went on a hunger strike to save space for the very children he frightens now.
The
shopkeeper who will haggle over every price, weigh a little less and
give you grief over the rising prices of everything, feeds a 100
hundred hungry homeless every month.
The
teacher who is so fed up with the school, the management, the students
that she doesn’t believe in the guru-shishya parampara and would chew
your head off if you called teaching a noble profession, spends time
filing legal applications on behalf of the illiterate.
The
car cleaner who had to be told that he is paid to clean the car and not
just to throw water on it, tends to a small patch behind his hutment,
where he grows vegetables with all the patience and dedication of a
true farmer.
The
doctor who over charges and asks for all the tests possible to ensure
all his hospital equipment is in running condition all the time,
sponsors the education of poor children.
The policeman who slaps first, talks later.Takes
immense pleasure in hurting people and even rushes to a spot at top
speed coz he was told on the wireless that the body is found in a
mangled state, takes in stray cats and feeds them lovingly.
The
mechanic who works with machines, talks to them, cajoles them into
healing faster and going even faster, refuses to use electricity at
home as he believes he is harming the planet.
The
plain jane, skinny girl, who laughs on most jokes, clings to the first
ray of love, seeks companionship at the cost of herself, her modesty,
brutally murders her husband when he refuses to eat the meal cooked by
her.
posted Dec 5, 2009 6:40 AM by Prabhjot Singh Bedi
[
updated Dec 5, 2009 6:54 AM
]
Every morning! Without fail. Sun or no shine, rain or snow (no, never any snow), hot or very hot, she was there, every morning.
Of course the mornings when I wasn't around aren't included, but of all those that I was, she was there.
What was disconcerting to me in the start became something that soothed me, calmed me down, even gave me a sense of security. This 40 plus woman, sitting on a cheap plastic chair, looking out of her balcony every morning.
She would sit in one particular corner, face one particular road and stare. Sometimes I would see the head move, like scanning the perimeter but it would come back to that same sector of the universe. She would do that every morning.
I stay at one of those wonderful modern buildings that make you live one upon the other. My bedroom is right under the bedroom of the one above and I happen to know he is happier in his, than I am in mine. The apartment life makes it wonderfully easy to live. The sense of security, the absence of loneliness (you can see other humans and they do smile at you, but there is no need to know their names and find out why do they smile so much?) and the comfort of knowing that everyone suffers.
Since my father's demise (tragic and in the apartment) I am more attuned to the noises emanating from the humanity around me. They have been here forever, but it seems the people in them have only now awakened in my conscience. So there is the young couple who cant stop, the old couple who cant stop either (I am as baffled as you are), the middle age couple who really want the best for their children and hence shout it to them loud and clear, the drunk who needs his peanuts as badly as he needs the drink and the consummate multilevel marketeer who has been able to sell me tampons. She is good, let that be itched in print.
But the one who inhabits the same floor as mine is very weird. Maybe its the floor. All of us are weird, but this one does bake the cake as they say. So she sits there, everyday, staring at the same part of the world. Sometimes I think she's an anthropologist, just studying us humans up close and looking at our life, the daily rituals and maybe evaluating us.
'Your car was hit' she says one day to me as I pass and nod my head to her in a very city like greeting, a greeting that acknowledges the others existence yet clearly lets them know one is not interested in the knowledge of such existence.
'Yes. thank you'
'You are thinking, its obvious. If there is a dent on the car, it is obvious it was hit. You are wondering right now, why is this weird woman talking to me. Now you are thinking, maybe you should smile'
I do smile. I am very uncomfortable with people who can read my thoughts.
'Your dad told me you are a cynic. You tend to make fun of everything and everybody and you tend to believe no one, except the woman you are sleeping with and that too till you think you are the only one she is sleeping with.'
All i heard was, your dad told me you are....
I stopped dead in my tracks. 'My dad spoke to you?'
'Yes'
'About me?'
'About everything'
I spent the entire day sitting by her side on the building steps listening to her talk about the man. It seemed for all his quiet demeanor, his silent act was just an act. He talked to her, a lot and about a lot of things.
I bid her goodbye and thank her. She thanks me instead.
Over the next few months we talk more. Actually she talks but sometimes I am unable to contain myself and join in the conversation. She talks about life, death, all the stuff in between. Our immediate neighbors, the last ones on the street and all the ones in between. She talks about her morning tea, the last meal and all the meals in between. She talks about her first love, her last ever and all the ones in between.
'He went for a walk one day and never came back. he took my son with him'
This is the first time I have noticed she lives alone. For all my observational skills, I somehow miss this completely.
'Your son?'
'Yes. Three years ago he just walked out. At the end of the road there, she points where the small road turns, he stood, waved and made my son blow kisses my way. He never came back'
I am silent. I look at the road and feel him walking away. Although I have never seen the man or the child or the photographs, I picture a middle aged man in khaki trousers, white shirt and sandals with a son on his arm. The son is small, very small.
'how old was he?'
'Forty two'
'I meant your son'
'Five'
'He looks smaller'
'He was. We conceived with a great amount of difficulty and a lot of praying. Just when we gave up, we were blessed, but he was tiny. He looked half his age, but the doctors told us there was nothing to worry'
She turns to look at me. This is the first time I have seen her take her eyes of the road. 'How did you know?'
'As you were talking, I saw them there' i said, pointing to the turn in the road, 'he seemed small'
'You can see them?'
'No see them in real. I just sensed them or created a mental picture or something. Like one does when one is reading a book. I cannot see them. Can you?'
'No' she says. Then smiles and puts a warm hand on my cheek and says 'that's why I keep looking.'
Years later, I will be visited by the son. I know he will knock on my door with a photo in his hand and ask me if I knew his mother. I will sit at the exact spot and tell him everything.
I will help a son know his parent, as his parent helped me know mine.
posted Nov 13, 2009 11:52 PM by Prabhjot Singh Bedi
The shop is small the owner isn’t.
If you want any stationary item, in the retail format but at the price of wholesale this is the man to go to.
Babuji has been around for the last 20 years and it will only take you a simple innocuous comment like ‘I haven’t seen these in a long time babuji’ to get him to reminisce about the glorious days. It seems he still had the same shop, just that the customers were more caring then.
‘the customers were caring, means what, babuji. Aren’t you supposed to be looking after them? ‘I did' he said with a far far away look, 'but mostly they reciprocated’
The next time I visited him (had to buy supplies for the new month) I took along a little something. He gushed all about it. The sweet box was opened in a giffy and he was sharing the sweets with everyone around, proudly announcing the fact that I was the generous giver. Hmmm, wonder what the motivation for all his old customers really was, to see him happy, or to see him sing their praises. Today he is busy making space in one part of the shop.
-‘what are you doing babuji?’
-‘giving half the shop to these courier guys’
-‘why?’
‘I’ll sell more envelopes’
He laughed was so hard, I had to steady him. By the time he stopped he was misty eyed.
-‘Babuji, are sales ok?’
-‘Yes yes sir. The sales are better now than ever’
-‘Then why take on a tenant. You will be left with a very small portion of the shop’
-‘Sirji, people don’t come to the shop anymore. Everyone knows the brand they want, they just call me and tell me what they want, the quantity and I deliver it. I haven’t even seen some of my biggest clients, ever!’
-‘That’s good isn’t it? I mean you don’t have to go thru the hassle of meeting people, and also you can serve more customers like this. You should probably get a website and let them make payments online’
-‘Sirji, how true, how true. Spoken like a true new-generation. The other day I asked my son if everything was ok and he said he would call if it wasn’t. I look at my phone with more longing than I look at a plate of garam garam kachori’
This time the laugh was a little muted.
I bought what I had to and then wished him well with the new venture.
‘More envelopes’ he giggled, more people I thought to myself.
‘So I should call you while I am at the shop, looking at various colors?’
‘yes’
‘so which color do you want?’
‘why?’
‘coz if the color is there, then I wont call you’
‘no, call me’
‘why?’
‘so I can choose from the options’
‘but just choose something right now and I will bring that if its there’
‘but what if that color is not there?’
‘then I will call you’
‘so just call me’
As I sauntered back to my desk, I started wondering why do I even try.The
discussions are merely a game at getting me to accept something she
knew I wouldn’t do without playing the game, I mean discussion.
See,
since I hate taking orders this is the only acceptable way to make me
do what she wants me to do, while making me feel that it is the only
logical thing to do.
‘they have white, blue & pink’
‘do they have green?’
‘no.if they had green I would have told you that they have green’
‘so why didn’t you?, why didn’t you tell me they have green?’
‘coz they don’t HAVE green!!’
silence
‘have you asked?’
‘no’
‘why didn’t you ask?’
‘coz, I just asked them what colors they have, not what colors they don’t have!’
‘so do they have purple?’
‘no’
‘how do you know?’
‘The same way I know they have NO green! @! @# ‘
silence
some more silence
‘ok’
‘ok’
I hung up.
She called back.
‘so which one are you buying then?’
‘none’
‘why?’
‘coz you haven’t told me which ones you want!’
‘that’s coz you haven’t found out if they have purple!’
‘listen to me, and listen carefully.They have white, blue & pink’
a thoughtful silence
‘no yellow?’
‘NO, NO yellow, NNNOOOOO yellow!!!!!’
silence
‘ok, relax, buy white’
‘kool’
‘no, wait.Buy some white, some pink & some blue’
‘ok’
‘are you going to go to another shop?’
‘no’
‘why?’
‘coz, I found what I needed at this one’
‘hmmm’
‘you are sure they don’t have any green?Green would look so much better’
‘honey, do you want me to buy something or not?’
silence
‘ask him if he can arrange green’
‘no’
‘ he cant?’
‘ No, I cant’
‘you cant what?’
‘ask’
‘why?’
‘coz its irritating’
‘then ask politely.You know if I think about it you can be a little irritating sometimes.Say please’
‘P _ L _ E _ A _ S _ E !!!!!!!’
‘that’s nice, but too long drawn.Make it sound like you know, like not sarcastic or something, like genuine’
‘please can I just buy the white’
‘sure baby.You not feeling well?’
‘no, I am fine.Just want this over with.Tired of all this talk’
‘ok.Then have a juice or something’
‘no, I don’t want a juice’
‘it’ll do you good.You know, the heat and all that.Listen go to a shop and ask what juices they have, then call me, ok luv’
posted Sep 23, 2009 1:50 PM by Prabhjot Singh Bedi
I am up! stop screaming
five mins later….I am up!! STOP pouring water!
another five mins later…. I am up!!! Get naked.
When I finally woke up, she was looking so radiant; glowing from a fire within, like, like a brightly lit, well-designed shopping mall. I would have said something about dew and the sunshine and all, but really, I’ve never been awake at odd hours of the day.
So she was radiant, and then she was tender and then she was laid. I slept again.
You have no fascination for life.
That knocked the wind out of me. She didn’t mean to, I am sure, but she did. Apparently it was always so, she just never crossed the threshold. The one they tell you about at virgin prep school, the one that gets your man’s ego, the one that may not let him rise again.
And that is why she never mentioned it before. I was up again, this time wide-awake. You don’t give a candy to a kid and then smash the candy machine.
So, why tell me now? Why even blurt them out? I believe any relationship finally comes down to the truth or the lack of it. I like the lack of things, it makes it easier to resist.
You have no fascination for life you know, none at all.
It was stated simply, matter of fact, like the inscrutable result of a thousand year observation. Not a eureka moment, not something you would scream while running out of your bath butt naked. This was said as only truth can be, quietly with the presence of an ageless wisdom and peace within. People only shout the truth when they know someone will not agree. She knew I wouldn’t resist. She knew, I knew.
I like your ass! I am fascinated by its hypnotically swaying. That should count for something. The smile was weak, the tea lovely. She does make good tea.
When was the last time you missed something, she said.
Last week, only last week, I was…hmmm….
I couldn’t finish the sentence. She waited, I waited.
Oh come on! I do miss a lot of things. Some things I miss all the time, but some times I miss other things. Once in a while I miss everything.
A raised eyebrow, a lowered biscuit.
I miss not being able to do you and you know who at the same time. There, I said it. I miss it. I always have. It’s like it never happened. Coz you never let it. But I miss it.
Really? So when was the last time you tried, tried really really hard to make it happen?
Was she kidding, did she just say that to me. This is a trap.
It may not be as good as it feels in my head, so why ruin all that fun I keep having up here?
Smart answer. Take that miss hunter.
She placed the cup gingerly on the bed and looked in me. I swear, right IN me! She went in searching, somewhere a hope. She came up empty. The worm was still wiggling on the end of the line, but I refused to bite. Oh no, not today.
After she was dressed and ready to leave, she informed me that the loo was free. If that was in anyway to suggest that I should use it right away it did not come to me. Instead I sat up in bed and was trying not to fall asleep again when I asked her, in all seriousness do you mean that? No. She laughed and gave me a whack. I would never do a threesome.
No, not that. I mean the no fascination for life thingy. Do you believe, deep within that I have no innate desire to live?
Oh no, you do want to live, but you just want life to happen. Like a multi-dimensional movie playing all around you. You are the sole reason for it to play, but you play no part in it.
I don’t take part in my own life?
Of course you do. Once in a while you applaud, you cry and most of the time you make a lot of noise. But you are happy with the director’s view of things. Why bother enacting when popcorn and beer is on the outside?
My chance to raise an eyebrow, if its all an act, why bother at all then?
That was a tough line; she wouldn’t have a comeback for that.
Coz to some, it’s their life. To you, it’s A life.
Sometimes I wonder if I ever wanted to be. You know, the feeling when you are not questioning your existence or purpose, but the very fact that you are. If I ever could, I would just be. And then, maybe just then, I would have a fascinating life instead of ‘ a fascination for life’.
She was waiting. I couldn’t let her win.
You mean I’m living one of many lives I could?
Probably.
She regretted it the moment she said it. She saw me smile.
posted Sep 21, 2009 10:22 AM by Prabhjot Singh Bedi
[
updated Sep 22, 2009 7:24 AM
]
The shrill telephone ringer rang into his audacious dream. The dream was a vision of all that his life would be, powerful, the world looking up to him, people rushing forward to help him, all eyes on him, on his every movement.
He tried to ignore it, but the damn thing was incessantly crying.
'hello'
'good morning mr. G.
I am calling from MDKC bank and this call is being recorded.
You have defaulted for the 3rd time on your payment, hence we will be repossessing your car tommorow.'
'Hmmm. This call is being recorded?'
'yes sir'
'Could you send me copy? I want to know if early morning my voice sounds as sexy as I think it does'
click.
he sat up in bed.
Why does reality have to start like this everyday. The day starts fine considering the dream runs till early morning, but the moment I open my eyes...
They say early morning dreams come true. Although, he hadn't won a lottery yet, nor an oscar, nor invited to the oprah show (in the dream he was asking her questions and she was crying like a baby) nor had he had sex with his wife, ok ex-wife ever since his divorce (she kept telling him how he was the best she ever had) and the prime-minister had still not announced his appointment as special minister ('incharge of everything, including my office' the prime minister had told the world media) he liked to think, early morning dreams come true. He even kept a dream diary. They say if you keep a visual representation of your dreams and aspirations the universe makes them true. Well he had done his part, the universe seemed either busy or not interested.
The shower didn't work. It hadn't been working for a week now, but he always tried it, everyday, like it would fix itself. The number of microbes in that shower head almost made it a living thing. Aren't living things supposed to heal themselves?
The plumber was more expensive than the doctor who gave him a prescription for sinus that cost 750 rupees for 3 tablets.
He asked the chemist what were the other options, considering there must be some Indian pharmaceutical company that had copied, sorry developed a cheaper knock-off. The chemist looked at the bloodshot eyes, the grimace of a man in pain and said 'steam, its free'
He tried to steam it. The pain would ebb for a while then come back all the more painfully. All night this played out. By morning he just gave up, popped pain killers (thank fully those were still cheap) and decided to drive as much as he could before the bank came to take the car away.
Maybe he should run?
You mean drive off said his smarter self.
you don't have money for fuel.
Maybe its a good thing the car will be gone. The telephone will stop invading your dreams.
So, he drove off in the direction of a circular crossing to go round and round till the fuel ran out. The bank can tow the vehicle away he laughed to himself, and from one of the busiest circles in the city! why should he make it easier for them when they were so hard on him? Easy loan yes, but the repayment ? Tough.
The first circle around the circle was tentative.
He was behind the wheel after quite a while and this morning when he pulled out of the parking, he felt bad killing all the plants that had sprung up under the tyre.
By the time he started the second circle of the circle, he had started smiling.
An old memory had just erupted and he remembered his father taking his mom round and round the circles when she would be upset. she would sit in a non-communicative way, you know, with the hands folded across the chest and the looking-out-the-window-at-other-happy-people stance. On some occasions she would be so upset, she would refuse to talk to him too, let alone his father.
His father would then take them to the circle and start making funny noises, as the car started its circular motion,
'vrrrooooommmm'
'screeeccccch'
'yeeeeeeeeeee'
'oooooooooo'
and the circus would come alive. his mother, who up until then was sitting up straight would be forced by the car movement (centrifugal force for the ones who love science) to tilt a little towards his father. It would start innocently, but then father would increase the speed and she would be forced to open her arms, grab the overhead handle with her right hand and the hold on to the dashboard with the the left.
by the second round around the circle, he would be laughing and screaming in delight with his father, while his mother tried her very best to remain angry and upset. She would finally start laughing out loud and slap his father on the arm. That is enough she would signal. I forgive you and I love you.
he missed them. there was no one on his right to do the same. the first time he did it with his wife she puked. she had like a motion sickness thing. he hadn't done this ever since.
he looked at the other vehicles. All passing by, taking the circle very carefully and yet not appreciating the power of the circle. they would arrive at the circle with a fierce pace, brake hard and flick the indicators on. The rule was to allow the car on your right to pass through, but on the road, the one who got the nose in first went first. The indicator would switch after the first right and off they would go to live their lives.
He had started laughing like a maniac by now. how he needed this laugh.
why didn't he go round and round the circle more often he thought. was he busy? was it childish?
He noticed the policeman trying to get his attention.
He waved at him. The casual flick of the policeman's hand said to him 'what do you think you are doing?'
He shrugged back, pointing at the traffic around him, like he was somehow stuck or mesmerized by all that was happening around. He shrugged his inability to come out of this vortex. The policeman got into action and by time he had circled around to where the policeman was, he noticed all traffic had been stopped.
Everyone was waiting, for him.
All eyes were on him.
The policeman was holding everyone, important people, big cars, small cars, medium cars, cars with beacons on them for him, all of them.
The dream was coming true, as all of the reality was coming into view.
Slowly, as slowly as possible he pulled to the side.
Any slower and people would have had to push him to get to the side of the road, and then suddenly the car sputtered and went still.
He tried the ignition, nothing
Tried it again, nothing
He shrugged at the policeman, again.
The policeman walked towards him shaking his head and just when he was getting ready for an angry tirade, he heard the policeman call some other people around to come and push.
The world was now pushing him forward.
The bliss spread to his entire being.
As the car came to a halt at the side of the road, he noticed everyone noticing every detail of him.
he climbed out of the car, looked at the policeman and hugged him fiercely.
This was the architect of his dream. This was the man who made the entire world stop in their tracks for a nobody like him. All those busy people, lives to be lived, work to accomplish, meetings to rush to, all, each one of them, subservient to him. This policeman made strangers push him forward.
The policeman said something about it being ok and that he was just doing his job. But he would have none of that. He grabbed the policeman's right hand and raised it in the air, making a sweeping gesture to the entire crowd, like a referee announcing the victor after a knock out match. The crowd cheered.
The policeman beamed with pride.
Then he did something people would talk about for eternity.
He handed the keys of the car to the policeman and walked into oblivion.
posted Sep 18, 2009 5:49 AM by Prabhjot Singh Bedi
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updated Sep 18, 2009 5:58 AM
]
Every day he walked to work. He would stop at the flower shop, pick up 3 of the best Genda flowers. While continuing to chant his morning prayers he would nod a greeting to the milkman and pick up his 100 gms of milk.
The flowers were for his god. Seeing his god every morning would make his heart leap with Joy. The milk was for the stray dog outside the temple. the dog would get fed once he had paid his obeisance.
the routine was clock work and it gave everyone great pleasure. Since the florist knew the flowers were meant for god, he would choose the best 5 out of his entire lot. Of these the gentleman would pick 3.
Since the milkman knew a stray dog was fed everyday he would refuse other customers on some mornings just to make sure the man always got his milk.
The man never said much, and since he was always chanting his prayers one did not ask him much.
He looked like a normal office goer. Maybe a peon, or an honest clerk. Most people would be reluctant to think he was a manager or even an officer based on his clothing and demeanor. He had no spectacles but every step seemed measured, like he needed to know the earth below was really there. He walked with his hands slightly ahead of his body, and if someone was paying attention to his movements they would have thought he was walking in water, parting the water with his hands, all the time the feet grappling to find the next firm step.
The routine did not alter. Rain, shine, bitter cold or just plain beautiful. Whatever the day, you could depend on him to come ambling by. That same funny walk.
He never bought 4 flowers and never 2. He never fed the dog anything else. He never, never showed up.
The night was settling in as usual when the first raindrops hit the tin roof of the florist. It was a beautiful symphony, rising to what seemed an impossible crescendo. Only the notes kept getting higher and terser and the tempo, the tempo thought the florist was now an exploding volcano. The tender heartbeat that was a drizzle was now a downpour .
The milkman some steps away was laughing loudly. The water was now rushing into his small hutment. If only it would have been clean thought the milkman, I would have made myself some milk!
the florist, now worried ventured out from his home to see where he could go. The lights had just given out and neither would the rain stop nor the water from rising. It was now at his knees and he knew this wasn't normal. It was too much water, too soon.
As he took his first tentative steps in the dark, he suddenly fell forward into the water. A pair of sturdy hands held him steady and slowly raised him. Having found his footing, he looked up to find his loyal 3-flower-a-day customer. Still chanting his prayers. The florist mumbled a thank you but was jerked forward by the hand.
Without a word of protest he allowed himself to be led. He walked behind the man, and found himself walking like him.
It didn't seem odd at all. they were walking in water and this is how one walked in water.
Every moment the water level was rising. The man whom he was holding onto, now walked further, looking at the milkman's Hut. The water seemed a lot more there than anywhere else on the road. They got to the milkman just as he decided to pour his local whisky into all the water around him and drink as much as he could.
the milkman would later tell anybody who cared to listen or would buy him a drink that he was merely offering all his hooch to the gods to save him and as he had just poured the first peg the gods came to him. Actually it was just one god, who didn't really say anything, but he was glorious. He hauled him from the crumbling, drowning edifice that was his hut and led him by the arm to safety.
when his listener would inquire why hadn't he given up drinking if he believed in god that much, he said because that is what saved him. So what about the god himself, they would ask laughing loudly.
The milkman would raise his voice to the heavens and say 'He walked. He walked all night, saving every last soul he could. Even the dog he saved. That same funny walk, and the same prayer on his lips. He saved us all.'
