Promise

January 16, 2010, she died of cancer. She was just 22. We were friends from school, right from childhood. On that rainy night, I still remember, she told me she was sick, my face a mask of confusion. She said that she was sick of being sick and she hated God for doing this to her for no reason, and that was when I realized what she meant by that “I am sick…” And then she asked me, “Would you write?” a peculiar expression on her face, “Would you write about me… after I’m gone?” her last few words were barely audible, but I ran away without replying, because not a single word came out of my mouth, just a few sobs, and then I was quiet. I came back home and didn’t talk to her for 3 days. She cheated, I said, we were supposed to be friends forever, but she’s leaving, she’s going… she’s breaking her promise.

At last she came to my home, came upstairs to my room, said nothing but just looked at me with pleading eyes, and all I could say was, ‘you’re dying!’, and we hugged each other and cried silent tears, cried for the precious little time we had… cried for her, for me, for us, our friendship… and we cried our hearts out, and then I told her between sobs, “yes, I’ll do it…”.

Days passed on. We rarely talked about her sickness. On Saturdays she would disappear for treatments and would be back by Monday, and during weekdays neither of us mentioned the weekend. It was like an unwritten but mutually understood rule that we won’t talk about her disease and even if the topic came up, we would steer clear of that topic.

We talked a lot, in class, then on phone. We had so many things to talk about- boys, classes, career, life, music, latest trends, movies, anything and everything but cancer.

At rimes she would grow really quiet. I remember she was really upset and silent after our 10^th board exams, when we were all enthusiastic about selecting subjects for our career. I was worried about her, so I confronted her and this was the answer I got, “Even if I study really hard, it’s not like I’ll be able to do something with this life, slipping slowly out of my hands. It’s like someone is slowly sucking breath out of me…” I stayed quiet. What possibly could I have said to console her aching heart?

Later our ways parted, we both moved to different colleges. But we still kept in touch through phone, mails, letters, chats, texts etc. Now, the time we spent with each other was much lesser, but the bonding grew stronger with each passing day.

Gradually, she stopped calling, texting and we drifted apart. I got busy with my life, new friends, more funny friends who could have more fun instead of sitting quietly fearing exertion.  I got way too busy to notice that she was cutting me off from her life. I took her presence for granted, because for me she was like the constant sun, I would keep moving travelling farther and farther but when I would turn and look, she would be there, smiling, shining, my guiding light, my best friend. But one day, when I turned my sun was gone, it was all dark and I didn’t even notice because I grew so used to dark. I realized that all the new friends were unreal, fake. With masks of friendliness, and with mean a core inside.

Then one day, years later, I got a call from her father. She was sick, terribly sick and in hospital. She wanted to see me.

“I’m sorry…” I started to say as I entered the sterile hospital room. She was lying in bed, her head bald, and her long black hair gone.

“I didn’t keep in touch, I forgot you…” I tried again, but she interrupted me with, “No, I’m sorry. I was the one who drove you away. I never wanted to hurt you; I wanted you to get as unattached as u could get… I’m sorry…” Her voice sounded exhausted, strangled.

“…but I couldn’t help missing you so I asked papa to call you.”

And then she looked into my eyes and said, “I’m dying… but I don’t want to die…” and a tear slipped down the edge of her eye, “I want to live… I’m scared, I think I won’t be able to see tomorrow’s sun, but it’s cool… I don’t mind. I’ve lived enough to make new friends, to have fun, be happy, laugh, and differ between wrong and right. Even if he’s taking my life, he gave me you and my family who all love me…” and then she turned her face the other way.

“Done with your filmy dialogues?” I asked with a fake teasing smile, “Now sleep…”

And soon she drifted off to sleep thanks to the heavy sedatives she was being given; I fled the room and never went to see her again until her funeral. Call me a coward, but I didn’t have the strength to see her dying.

January 16, 2010. She died of cancer. She was just 22, yet she was old enough to understand the deep bond of friendship, old enough to accept the fact that she was dying gracefully. I never saw her whining or complaining or pointing out mistakes in anyone. She was always happy with things as they were. And today I’m keeping my promise. The promise I made to her on that rainy night when we were kids. And although she’s gone, she lives, in every story I write, every book I publish and she smiles at me and tells me that she’s proud of me.

New Shoes

"Yes, ladies and gentlemen, all different varieties of footwear, just for 100 rs. per pair. Trendy, comfortable, and pocket-friendly..." the salesman bragged on about his 'fabulous' shoes and how wise a decision it was to buy his shoes from the temporary road-side stand on the busy sidewalk of a city-road lit by a trillion-zillion twinkling lights marking the festive season.
Tomorrow would be the big day and people were out and about shopping for the festival. Everyone was chattering to someone and looking around in awe, walking slowly, everyone... except one, he was walking fast, really fast, head bent down, not daring to lift his eyes from the dirty sidewalk, fearing that the rich lights and festivities would make his dull day even duller.
 "yes, just hundred bucks for a pair of these white shoes..." were the words that caught his attention. He looked up at last and saw the stall, glittering with beaded lights and a small crowd gathered around it, looking curiously from shoe to shoe.
He looked at his feet clad in old, worn out slippers and with a sudden pang in his chest felt desire swell, swell until it turned into a monster, he wanted those white shoes.
He moved closer and looked again, looked at those white shoes, exquisite and delicate, white, almost emitting a sheen, that was when reality sneaked into his thoughts...
He was poor, very poor, he thought.
He had a home to pay for, even if it was just a rented room in a dingy, stinky neighborhood with narrow lanes where stray pigs and dogs roamed as if they owned the city. He had a wife and two kids to feed, all this with his meager salary... 100 rs. was a huge amount to him. He's doing fine in his slippers, he decided and giving one last look to those shoes he turned.
"Do you want these, sir?" asked the salesman as he was about to walk away. He turned, temptation tugging at his senses, "Umm..." was all that he said.
"These are unique, sir... latest fashion, last piece left... and sir, you're very lucky because you're even getting a discount on these..."
"oh good..." he said, never batting an eyelid, never moving his eyes from the object of his desire, "can't I have a close look?"
"Sure sir, there you go..." said the salesman as he handed him the shoes.
Should I buy these? Nah! It would be an extravagant expenditure for no reason...
But when he was about to return the shoes, he just couldn't let them go. It was like his hands had a mind of their own and this mind had no reasoning skills, all it knew was greed and desire. And his hands held on to those shoes greedily while his mind wanted to give them back.
And that was when he gave up and let this dangerously greedy mind take over and took out the money from his right pocket on an impulse and those shoes were his. It felt so good. His shoes. His new shoes.
He started again for his home, holding his shoes in his hands, looking more at them and less at the path he was walking on. It was just his feet accustomed to the path, that were carrying him and making him stop and then start again at right places and making him turn where there was a turn.
But the streets were crowded because of the festival and his feet were not used to walking in this thick crowd and all of a sudden he got pushed by someone, toppled and lost his balance and there went his new shoes right into a puddle full of mud.
He sat there on his knees for a long time, not saying anything, not aware of the people passing by, just looking... looking at his shoes drenched in mud. And then with sad slow movements, he picked them up and started for his home again, head bent down, pace slow, with his new shoes clutched to his chest.

If she had wings, She could fly...

I saw a little girl holding a huge hand in her tiny fingers in my mind today,
white and red polka dots on the black dress,
her tiny feet taking one step at a time,
a little afraid at first, afraid to fall.
Her father, her mentor encouraging her,
and soon chuckles of feeble laughter
reverberating through the silent park,
and then she let go of the hand, the support preventing her fall,
landing on her padded bum looking around in a confused haze.
Her father stood back and watched never making a move to help,
"Get up baby" was all he said.
She stood up once again on her tiny legs and wobbly knees,
and took a step forward, a tiny one...
just testing if she can walk on her own,
then another, then another..
A small smile breaking on her round face,
each step more sure than the previous one.
Each new step telling of her confidence on herself.
And soon she's running around the park,
feeling the exhilarating independence.
In that moment, if she had wings, she could fly...

My Mother's Childhood

I remember the day my mother told me of her childhood,
a naughty sparkle in her eyes.
And I travelled far off lands with her,
and we danced and sang and played with our dolls,
and stole berries from her neighbour,
and then ran off hand in hand.
And that day I saw a different side,
so different from the one that cooked and cleaned and fussed and scolded,
and I saw my mother's inner child.
I remember the day my mother told me of her childhood,
and will remember it all my life.

Home Away From Home

I got out of the car with a real bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I assumed this might be motion sickness, though I knew this feeling and was sure it had nothing to do with the 10 hour long drive. "It's a bad idea." My mind kept repeating over and over.

"Sarojini Naidu Girl's hostel", read the building I was about to enter.

"You don't have to do this. Go for the college in your hometown.", the pessimist part of my brain told me.

"Oh, Come on! This is just a hostel, many people live in hostels, to gain education, it's no big deal." said the saner part of me. But I had decided to go with the pessimist in me. I groaned.

"Everything all right?" asked my Dad. "Yep" came the white lie, though I was scared stiff.

We stepped inside the building which was in a desolate condition. I could see girls all around me, sitting on the tables in the mess, looking up at me. I gulped. I hated being the 'newbie'. I could see them checking my clothes out, then my height, built. "Darn it!" I thought.

A scary looking woman came out and greeted us, she was the warden of the hostel. She asked me to fill up a form and then showed me a room on the first floor. With the paint peeling off and half the wood of the extremely small closet eaten by termites, the place had a gloomy and shabby feel to it. The only good thing about this room was... well, nothing good about the room save the view from the window.

"Umm...What say??" asked my Dad uncertain what to say. I replied with fake smile, "I like it, it's large, has a window and a bathroom as well." , "ya , a bathroom which smelled worse than a public 'sulabh complex'" was a thought I kept to myself.

"OK beta, Take care, study well, Don't worry, We are just one call away." said my Dad. "No, you guys are 10 hours and 755 Kms away. ", I thought. I gulped my tears back and smiled my fake smile again and kept it plastered on my face until his car was out of sight. I was all alone for the first time in my life. I had been dreading this moment ever since I made up my mind to come to this city for my college education. I dragged my feet to my small room on the first floor, aware that every girl around me was watching me with curiosity. I was sure I looked like a lost puppy.Correction, a lost puppy fighting tears. I reached my room and closed the door behind me and was all ready for a nice cry when i noticed another girl in my room. "OK, I'll save the tears for later." I thought.

She was my room partner. I had not anticipated that I will find my roomie this soon. I was somewhat glad and somewhat worried. "Hey." I said tentatively. She smiled at me. "OK, this one seems friendly." I thought.

"Hi. I'm Meera and you?" She asked.

"Sandhya Aneja, What's your full name?" I asked.

With a shrug of her shoulders she replied, "Meera. I don't have a surname. I like it this way." she said with a finality in her voice.

I thought keeping my mouth shut would be the best thing to do.

It wasn't that I was unfriendly but I felt a bit awkward around new people and it took me time to get over it. The cocooned atmosphere at home had done this to me. Meera seemed to be the same kind of person. We carried on unpacking and making our beds.

Later at dinner, I sat with a few other "freshies", they were good to talk to and kept my mind away from the fact that I was away from home and was eating horrendous mess food. OK, I knew I was eating ugly awful mess food with each bite. Never forgot about that.

After reaching my room, keeping the promise I had made to myself, I did cry myself to sleep, missing my nice fluffy soft pillow at home.

Next day, I got up early and got ready ahead of time to go register for my classes. Near the main staircase in college, I bumped in to a huge bunch of students, seniors. "Oops! sorry. Umm.. Can you tell me where the office area is." I said.

"Freshie ho??", came the reply.

"umm.. yes.", and at that, they started cheering and a few of them started circling me.

My common sense told me I was at the wrong place at wrong time. I stood still.

"Chal beta, introduce yourself.", said one guy with a wicked grin, "in shudhdh hindi."

That was just the beginning of ragging A.K.A "intro" as it is called in colleges these days.

And so I washed clothes, waited tables in canteen and mess, danced, sang, copied assignments and did God knows what just in the name of "intro".

For the next few weeks apart from seniors; teachers and a few fellow freshies made my life miserable. Introvert as I was, my only solace was the sanctuary of my room and when I wouldn't be running errands for seniors and working on infinite assignments, I would sit by the window and cry silent tears missing home and longing for the sense of belonging. In case my parents called from home, I would fill my voice with fake enthusiasm and tell them of my imaginary friends and whatever imaginary things I did with them.

My first assumption about Meera proved right and thus we talked only when it would be utterly necessary. And one month passed just like this.

Now atrocities by seniors lessened and I got used to the grueling schedule and the  heaps of assignments.Also my crying sessions by the window reduced.

But what remained was the loneliness I felt at times, as if I was standing still watching the world pass me by. And the worst thing about feeling lonely is that it turns seconds into minutes, minutes into hours...
Then this problem was remedied as well. During one lab-class I was paired with a bespectacled girl with wayward curly hair. She seemed quite friendly, and we talked, talked and talked for 2 hours while doing our work. I felt like everything I had kept bottled up in the past one month was spilling from my lips. She was a hosteler as well, and lived in the same hostel. I was amazed that I never saw her. Priyamvada was her name.
"So, are you gonna do this assignment tonight?", she asked at the end of the class.
"umm.. ya, may be."
"Hey!! Why don't we do it together, You can come to my room , if you want to, my roomie won't mind at all. " priyamvada suggested.
"ohk, its not like I've got anything to this evening"Isaid, "apart from sit all alone by the same old window, and look at the same old road with the same old people passing by", I thought.
That day I went to her room in the evening( abandoning my "sitting by the window" ritual) and met her roomie, Vaishali, who just like her was friendly and kind. Now whenever I would find spare time, I would go to their room and we would talk and joke and laugh. For the first time I had someone who I could call my friend in the hostel. And for the first time after I had come to the hostel, I started seeing it as a place where I belonged. And with passing time, the hostel building seemed less desolate and less gloomy and more lively.
That year on Diwali when we were all leaving for home, I felt like I was leaving my home. Everything about college and hostel was imprinted in my memories, the mess, library, classes, ragging and friends.
And I was looking forward to coming back to my 'home' away from home. 

Hero Worship

Why I am fascinated about these things,
What a pity, I can't get these things because there are no links.
I am fascinated by the most loved-by-all character 'Harry Potter',
"Wanna be like him" that's what I said forgetting it's me not Potter.
Coming to real life I thought I got a perfect match,
Me and Daniel J Radcilffe together rejoicing on England's victory at the last catch.
What a pity, I realised that it's not possible for me to have him,
He is a star, He is famous and I a normal girl far away in another country just dreaming about him.
Most of the teenager's like me definitely will be dreaming of a star,
To take them, they will come with red carpet, lights, cameras and a limo.
Sad that this beautiful dream in their eyes will remain a dream,
Hope it will not hurt much as this dream will be replaced by another dream.
Hope it will be easy to forget the fantasy world even though the characters are real,
Hope it will be easy to go back and leave being so much unreal.
At last may we get our perfect match but not a star as most of them are proud,
We will get our match as we girls knows how to confess aloud ;)

63 Years Of Freedom. Are We Really Free?

This 15 August, 2010, we are going to celebrate our 63rd Independence Day. Its been 63 years since we gained freedom from the claws of British Raj. There are going to be celebrations in Schools and Offices. Almost all the TV channels will do an Independence Day special. But one question that arise in my mind is that "Are we really free?".

Or are we still stuck in the chains of may social evils, prejudices, social divides etc. ?

We live in a country where we can get rid of a Rs. 500(my laptop doesn't have the new rupee symbol) traffic challan by bribing the traffic officer with Rs. 50. Where we can't get any of our work done without "chai-paani". Yes, corruption is one of the biggest problems faced by our country. And be it anything big or small we'll always find corrupt politicians and officers easily involved with it. Be it the 'Commonwealth Games' or the much popular 'Indian Premier League'.

Our political parties don't know any way other than 'bandhs' of protesting against anything. And these supposed peaceful 'bandhs' usually end with people gathering up and burning 'roadways buses' and breaking windshields of cars and trucks.

And when we thought 'Terrorism' is going to be a big problem to fight against, 'Naxalism' rose and spread through entire nation like forest-fire. Neither the government nor the armed forces were prepared for this and as a result we lost many jawaans at the hands of naxalites.

Poverty and Illiteracy have still not been dealt with. With the rich becoming richer and poor getting poorer, this rich-poor divide is becoming larger and larger with each passing day. And even today, though we claim that one day our nation is going to be a superpower, around 33% of the total population is still illiterate.

Talking of population, population explosion is also one of the major problems. As of April 2010, the total population in India was 1.18 billion.Already containing 17.31% of the world's population, India is projected to be the world's most populous country by 2025, surpassing China.

We can still see young children cleaning plate and serving meals in small 'dhabas' and restaurants when they should be studying in school. When they should have a book in their hands, not broomsticks.

Many politicians and political parties still use caste and religion as a means of attracting their 'vote-bank'. And if it does't work they use language, state, north-south etc. to divide people making mockery of the so called secular nation.

Then there's the Jammu and Kashmir Issue. After the unrest in 2008, the movement for separation has gained a boost.

Obviously there are many other problems faced by our country.We can only be free and completely Independent in the true sense of the word only after we get rid of these problems. We dream that we will be a strong country by 2020. The vision 2020. But going at this pace India is going to be a developed nation only after 2056(maybe later than that).

Now it is up to us (as we know almost all the leaders are good for nothing) that we work towards finding solutions to these problems and break free from this mesh of big and small problems. If we all work at individual level, the vision 2020 is quite achievable. We just have to work for it.

At last, Wishing a very Happy and Prosperous Independence Day to all the Indians out there. :)