DO NOT TOUCH ME.

I dance-walked from work to the bus stop. It was a Saturday !! This meant that I had 1.5 days to myself. To cook, to experiment, to trek, to read and do everything the other 5.5 days at work wouldn't let me. To live the life work had taken away from me. The life I was living in the wide-eyed dreams of the 12 year old me.

My bus stood at the stop, ready to leave. I panicked and rushed to make it just in time through the massive 50-human-barricade which even hung outside the bus.

Sandwiched between a mob of fish-paan-sweat-smoke smelling travellers in the bus, I struggled to reach my pant pockets for my handkerchief. The pushing and unsuccessful dodging had smudged the lens of my glasses to render my vision blur and make me practically blind. As I tried to clean the lens amidst the shouting, howling and chatter, the driver hit the breaks. It threw all the passengers including me to the front, but my glasses managed to get thrown a little further, out of the bus. I kept my cool and sat on the seat reserved for the Physically handicapped. I could not see. Colors and odours moved in and out. I waited desparately to get out at my stop.

"Excuse me, do you mind holding my bag for a minute while I pay for my ticket?" asked an innocent voice. 14/15 I thought.
"Sure!" I said, "provided you help me count my money".
She thought I was blind. I did not care to explain.
I took her bag and she helped me count. The bus was too crowded and she could not get a seat. I offered to hold her school bag until she got off.

A few minutes and 2 stops later, I smelt alcohol enter. The smell kept lingering and did not leave. I heard the driver shout "Men go back. Ladies in front". But I still smelt alcohol. He was there. He did not move.
The next few minutes were mute, yet disturbing in an un-describeable way. The women were still talking, there was loud music playing from someone blue and the sound of traffic was deafening. Yet, there was a disturbing silence.

I held the girl's bag to make sure it was still there and she was still on board. I wanted to check, for some reason. Alcohol was still there too. I was worried. Maybe because I could not see. Or watching too much CID and reading the news paper was making me overly anxious for nothing. Thoughts and fear rushed through my head.

"DO NOT TOUCH ME". a voice screamed. A voice I almost failed to recognise. That same innocent voice that helped me count my money.

The next minute, she took her bag from my hold, said a warm "Thank you" and walked out of the bus.

I did not see her after that and I probably never will. I only know her by her voice.

The Subramanian.

"Ask them to stop laughing and screaming so loud".
Said the man who once bought us surprise goodies just to see the zest in our face and tone.

"Get me out of this bed and room".
Said the man who once repaired the broken and counted his money and wrote his story in this secret grotto.

"Tasteless. Tasteless food. Ruchi e illay"
Said the man who never-ever in his life made a fuss about food.

That is what cancer does to people.
On the 11th of January 2007, it took him away from all of us.

It was a Thursday night. I was packing my bag for school next day. The phone rang. My mom answered. But I did not wait for her to hang up and tell me. I knew. I just knew. After all, that was the one moment I always dreaded.

As dad drove us to my uncle's place, I sat numb. No thoughts. Nothing.

I shivered and struggled to climb the stairs to his room. There were a few neighbors and relatives. I walked straight to his bed, held his hand and kissed him. I kissed him hoping he would wake up. I've always been scared of dead people. But that was my grandfather there. And he cannot die. He has to wake up.

His body had given up. The medicines and the patches, the doctors and the saints who had promised to keep him alive, failed. He was 78 and always healthy. But he died. Just like that.

I was 12 then. I am almost twenty today. And in all these years, I have not met another Subramanian.

He would come to my rescue every time I forgot a homework was due ( every Wednesday, when I had art class). He would help me with math too. I remember the magnet band he wore during terrible headaches. But I did not notice the combiflams he gulped to ease his pain. I wish I did.

He would always, always take my side. For him, I was always right. Now when I am yelled at, there is nobody who would yell back for me. Nobody with whom I can snuggle and sleep. His room was my hide out when I was at war with the world.

The many sides to my personality,( yes, the temper too) come from him. He taught me the value of money. We had a joint account. We would save up in both metal and paper, and he would update me on how much we have saved so far ! ( I would calculate-Another 12500 rupees before I can buy a pup or 100 new clothes. That was a tough choice)

He was extremely hardworking. You could never find him taking a nap in the afternoon. He was always on his feet. Fixing, cleaning, searching or simply entering accounts in his diary. Every summer he covered our books. Every afternoon he walked to my school to give me hot lunch and lime juice. That was the best part of the day for me. He was a great cook. I miss his special sambhar.

While my parents were out at work, he was my mother, father, friend and everything. I never missed my parents. Today, I have my parents and friends and so many happy people around. But there is a void. Like, everything I have always wanted is here but yet nothing means anything. Nothing makes a difference.

Whats the point of everything? My grades, friends, relationships, achievements, events , life feels worthless when I cannot tell him about it.

Unconditional love and support. Care and concern. I've experienced it. Therefore I know how it feels to not have it. I wish he could come back. I wish he could  buy my birthday chocolates from monda market( I swear I am okay with eclairs now. I wont trouble you for melody). I wish we could tap our feet to your serial's music. I wish I had accompanied you everywhere you went, even the market. I wish we had more time together.

For carrying me around all the time when I was a big fat heavy baby to carrying my tantrums when I was bigger, fatter and heavier, I love you thatha. And I know, if you were here today, my life would have been very very very different.

                                                                                                                    I miss you.

O' Captain my Captain

I took my seat in the last row, not too hopeful. Teachers come and teachers go. To make us better they vow. 14 years in school taught me though, to not believe what they show ( I love rhyming my sentences).

He was old and wise(I could tell with his pot belly and pepper). He did not seem too happy. A little grumpy and not too nice(there I go sentence rhyming again).
He came not to teach, but to enlighten. He did not have to try. It just came to him naturally !
He used to take us back into infinite history and we would be clueless why ! A day later or sometimes two we would know how to connect the dots. My questions were never stupid to him, he answered them all. You could ask him anything under the sun and be rest assured, he would know the answer. I yawned less, sat straight. Curious to know more, for his classes I would wait.

O' Captain my Captain !

Now that you aren't around, I am on an endless wait wondering when you will come. Will I ever see you in the otherwise lifeless classroom? Who will teach me the things you teach, who will tell me the things you tell?
You told me stories behind all things simple and complex. You gave me perspective and pushed me to my best. I see how I've developed, from a year back to a year later. If only, I could have you for ever.

O' Captain my Captain !

Nothing seems worth it now. The ship is not going to be sailing for long. It is December. It feels like everything has changed yet nothing has as I take my seat in the last row, with the relaxed hunch and attitude lax. But thank you sir for a year of hope. Even if it was for a period so brief, after 14 years of mediocrity, having you was a relief.

O' Captain my Captain !

You cannot leave. Not until you have taught me all you know. We have to reach the port. There is another sailing left. Another ship to board.

Gravity (No, not the movie)

I wanted to feel gravity. One last time. Just once, I wanted to feel my feet firm on the ground. Some ground, any ground. 

The black hole had a gravity of its own. This region was slowly engulfing me in it. It wouldn't even let my light escape. It was slowly consuming me. I felt my pulse go down. I was giving up in body and soul. Naive and unquestioning, I believed that there was a whole new world inside the black hole, away from the miseries the world bestowed every day. I was truly elated by the dreams of this world in the black hole, full of love, hope, peace and smiles. Each dream it showed, each desire it sowed would lift my feet a little above the ground and take me a step closer towards it. Each day I felt closer to the bright light of the sun and the burning stars. The black hole had taken over me. It had alienated me from my world. My world's gravity could not hold me. No force could for that matter. It was just so powerful. It was definitely an 'out of this world' feeling. It suffocated me, dragged me towards it, took a piece of my mind and a piece of my soul, and did it again and again. But the black hole, it also healed me, gave me dreams to dream, hopes to hope, a different world and a different me. I never realized. Was it a friend or a foe? I never understood. I let space and time decide. I felt wrong and right. I felt low and bright. I felt bad. I felt good. I could never know my mood. The world in the black hole was bizarre yet beautiful. I couldn't stay. I couldn't move. I let space and time decide. I did not want to reason or fight, I let it lift me off my feet. I let it take me closer to its heat. 

There was no world of love and peace. There was no warmth or life. The black hole had cheated me into its cold dark space. Nothing could escape it now, not my voice, not me.

Not knowing if I was staring into nothing or everything, I closed my eyes to the deep darkness. 

I wanted to feel gravity. One last time. Just once, I wanted to feel my feet firm on the ground. Some ground, any ground. 

It shook me inside out. This bright beam of light. Like an answer to an unsaid prayer, it came to me to stay with me. The light was now stuck with me. Light cannot escape the black hole either.
It kept me company and spoke about the world it came from. It spoke about it's world's monotony and miseries, sorrows and griefs. As it spoke about the rare rainbows and the gravity, I realized it had come from the same world as me. It did not give me dreams to dream and hopes to hope. It lit me silently and touched my soul. It did not promise to take me away, a single word it did not say. It wanted to give me ground and grip, wanted me to be better and not crib. Slowly I felt the light move into me, it was no more out there, it was within me. I felt it in my head, I could now see better. My vision was clear and my heart felt lighter. My pulse went up and my spirit rose higher. Determined now to leave that space that wasn't mine, I dared to fight it's gravity to reach mine. How much I traveled, I cannot say. Was it my speed or that of the light in me?
How long I traveled, I do not know. the distance seemed nothing with the light in me. Through the dark and cold, the light wouldn't leave my hold.
 The black hole was once a star, a star I knew. It burst into this dark nothing that slowly took with it everything. 

I wanted my feet back on the ground. I started my journey home bound. 

I am not home yet, but I will be soon. As long as I have that light in me, I wont stop and someday not too away, I will be home, catching that rare rainbow and feeling the gravity. :)

Moral- Light can escape the black hole if it finds its medium. And the medium probably never knows it is one, until a light makes it believe it is one :P

p.s. Needless to mention, this is non-fiction. 

The story teller

I was 10 and little. Half way through my story, I went blank on stage. It was a story of a wife who was extremely scared of her husband. So much that, when the dinner hen flew out of the basket and escaped, she cooked dog meat for him instead of chicken meat.

I grew up listening to bedtime stories and family gossip. As much as I enjoy listening, I enjoy playing story teller today. I tell a lot. And I cook a lot. I find a connection between these two forms of art. I think its important that both have the right ingredients in the right amount. Order is essential, but creativity and imagination can sure stir out a nice dish. You cant over heat it or let it cool for too long. And yes, they both come straight from the heart.

Coming back to the story, it set my grey thinking. The man used to cane his wife and that was why she was terrified of him. He was a bad bad man. Then why did she tolerate him? She was just being the good wife I suppose. But which good wife cooks dog meat for her husband? So maybe, she was not all that good. I cannot help but think that she probably left the hen escape on purpose and cooked dog meat to teach him a lesson or take revenge. But in the story, the man eats the meat happily without realizing that he is feasting on a dog. She is relieved and then they live happily ever after. That was how it was supposed to end.

I wonder if the man's temper took over his ability to tell dog meat from chicken meat. I wonder how the wife was relieved that he did not find out the truth. I wonder why the story had no mention of her guilt. I wonder how the story went against all odds and ended with a cliche happily ever after instead of a happily never after. I wonder what moral the story had to tell. I knew the story to the end. I wasn't scared of the stage or audience. Yet I stood there, blank and frozen. I couldn't say a word. I did not believe in the story. I did not trust its end. But ever since, I've been a story teller and I tell from my soul. Take you to all those different worlds.