Clock's gimmick.

I am a sixty two year old lady who is about to turn sixty three in a few hours.



It has been two years since I retired from the post of Head of the Department at a renowned college in my state and now I am in Seattle, living with my daughter. I did not really want to come here and intrude in her personal space but my dear daughter doesn’t think so. She loves me a lot; she had forced me and booked my tickets. My son, who lives in Ontario, is coming over to celebrate my birthday as well. I am not supposed to know about it, though. They have planned a surprise. My husband, and her dad, is here with us too. With a good job, a perfect husband and successful loving kids, I do not have much to desire for.

At sixty two, my hair has grayed. People tell me to dye, but I find this very ‘sexy’, to use a modern adjective. My face has wrinkles and it has started to sag.I am supposed to either turn into an absolutely boring, dull and pesky woman or get some facials in order to lift my skin, dye my hair and look a tad younger. They don’t let me be. Life was mayhem earlier, but now I have adapted myself. Aging has given me a lot of gems. Age has provided me with such intellect, that you don’t find in books or religious texts. I know I have become physically weak and the pain in my knees forces me to use a stick at times; but internally, I have become very strong and full of might. Life has given me a lot and now that death can swallow me any moment, I don’t repent because I have lived a full life. A good job? I got it. Married into a good family? I got it. See my children kiss success? I got it.

I am lost in my thoughts, but I can sense my daughter approaching me from behind. I know she will close my eyes from behind like she has been doing since childhood and then give me a tight hug, humming the birthday tune for me. She does the same, but along with it, she flashes two tickets for the cinema. With undue excitement, I agree to go along. I am standing near the long queue for popcorn while my daughter is still deciding what to buy. A strange man shoves by me from my side. I have seen him somewhere. I know him, but wonder who he is.

*

“Sorry,” he mutters.

He has a French accent. I think I know him. Well, I know him pretty well.
Peter. I know he will not recognise me. Peter. This man, here in Seattle? After all these years? Peter. I know him pretty well. Peter. He is the man I had first fallen in love with. Peter. He used to live across the church I visited every Sunday with my grandmother. Peter. We had a relationship of almost three years. Peter. He told me one day how he had to leave me because he could not focus on studies. Peter. I came to know later on that he had fallen in love with some other woman. Peter. After I got married to Paul, he got married to Zara as well. Peter. I can see him fighting with the guy in a distant candy corner. Peter. He smells of alcohol. Oh, Peter!

*

My daughter and I had a good time at the movie. I almost fell asleep on my daughter’s shoulder and she stroked her fingers through my hair like I always did through hers’. I am lying in my bed, next to my husband right now and the clock says it’s three in the morning. Aging doesn’t let me sleep properly. I absolutely forgot about Peter, but now he seems to be on my mind again. My husband turns and pulls me in his arms, making me rest my head on his shoulders. He plants a slight kiss on my forehead. He has been doing that every single day since we got married. I love him and he loves me. I can hear my son whispering to my daughter in the next room. They are planning me to surprise me in the morning with his presence.

But, Peter.

And suddenly, my elder sister’s words resound in my head. She was wiping my tears and questioning in her hoarse, heavy voice.“With a good job, a perfect husband and successful loving kids, will this break-up matter forty years hence?”

Well...

Demanding Little Sister.

Ever since my little sister was born, I have been very jealous of her. Until my mother’s tummy protruded, I was the only subject of attention for everyone but thereafter, everything changed. My mother suddenly started to ignore my talk about the happenings at school and told me that she wanted to sleep because the baby in the stomach tired her out. My friends at school told me that she was doing so because I may have been adopted. Whenever daddy came home from work, my mother would only talk about the baby and it seemed that she had absolutely forgotten me; this somehow convinced me even more that my friends were right.

My sister was expected to come to this world on the sixteenth day of June, back in 1997. But she, being the restless kid she turned out to be, decided to come into the world almost a fortnight prior to the expected date. The clouds had poured the entire day and night. It seemed to be a battle between the demons and the angels. The thundering clouds well mirrored the storm inside me. I was already planning how I would never let her sleep in my bed and how I would choke her.


Several years of her childhood had passed and my attitude towards her did not get better. My mother would spend the entire day making faces at her, feeding her, changing her nappies bathing her and to sleep. The only hope on which I would face the day would be my daddy’s return but it seemed to me that he too would enter the home just to hug my little sister and offer her a bunch of balloons. I used to feel as ignored as the orange marigold among a bunch of red roses.

*

It was an odd afternoon when she came back from school and despite my evident indifference towards her, hugged me. I tried pushing her away but then I noticed some warm liquid oozing out of her eyes.

‘What happened, Piya?’ I was concerned.

She tried explaining the problem to me but as always did not succeed. This was another problem with Piya. She was always very strange with her actions. She could never put her worries into words. We always had to make an estimate and decipher what it would be. Had it been any other day, I would have told her to stop disturbing me.

But that day was different.

Piya was crying a lot. The sister inside me was worried for the first time. I started noticing her hands and expressions to understand the complication. Just when she was about to give up, I saw a strange mark on her hand. Somebody had hit my little sister. I was suddenly filled with a sense of anger and rage. I called up my mother and she came back home immediately from work. We had put Piya off to sleep, and decided to visit her school for further investigation. The kindergarten teacher told us how she had ‘accidently’ hit her because Piya would never be able to differentiate between M and W.

We obviously wanted to report her; but then, that was not what my mother was concerned about. Our priority had to be Piya.

*

“Your daughter is diagnosed with PDD-NOS and ADHD,” the lady in white coat declared. My mother and I looked at each other with question marks on our faces.

“Piya is suffering with autism. Autism is a lifelong developmental disability that affects how a person communicates with, and relates to, other people. It also affects how they make sense of the world around them. People with Asperger syndrome are often of average or above average intelligence. They have fewer problems with speech but may still have difficulties with understanding and processing language.”

Everything had become very clear. “Piya stares for too long and expresses too little” “Piya is not able to draw a straight line” “Piya always hums songs and is least interested in listening to others.” Every complaint, every imprecation had become very clear. We knew what was to be done.My mother, as I thought she would, should have started shedding tears but she did not.

Appointments for the therapy sessions were taken even before I could realize.
Piya would obviously demand more attention now, but that did not make me jealous anymore.

*

Today is Piya’s seventh birthday and she has improved by leaps and bounds..

I have left home to pursue higher studies.I never thought I would miss Piya so much until I moved away to the university. I can speak to most of my friends and family when I miss them, but my sister Piya doesn't like the telephone. She would only be able to manage 'Hello didi' and 'I'm good' when I ask how she is, before dissolving into a fit of giggles and running away. It breaks my heart when my parents tell me that she asks spontaneously if she can see me, as she doesn't quite understand why one day I was there and the next day I wasn't. I try to make sure I spend time with her when I'm home. I just hope she doesn't think I've abandoned her or that I'm not ever coming back.

My heart aches to see her struggling with things we don’t even notice. Though, whenever I meet her, she never fails to put an instant smile on my face by pointing towards the poster in her room which reads “I am not dumb, mad or deaf. I am different and different is good.”

Finally.

“Where are you? Have you packed everything? Do not carry those useless dresses... Give some of them to a needful person and get rid of extra baggage... Are you sure you will be able to carry so many suitcases alone?”

“Maa, please stop it now; I need to take a bath before I leave for the station. I am busy. I am hanging up now!”

“No, no wait! One last thing. Did you eat properly? Did you ask that person at the mess to pack some lunch for you?”

“Yes, I did. See you,” I sounded irritated and hung up.

I belong to the old city of Hyderabad and had come to Bombay for my studies. My college got over last week and now, I am going back to live with my maa before I begin with a job. I still remember the first time that I had travelled alone. It was four years back, when I had come to Bombay for college. Maa asked exactly the same questions back then, too. I don’t understand why it is so necessary to treat me like a little school-going kid always. I mean, I understand, she is my mother and everything, but still? Well, whatever I say, I know that at the end of the day, if I do not get a call from her asking me about my dinner, I would not attain a peaceful sleep.

I have packed up everything and now it is time to leave, finally.

Hostel was mayhem. Such gross food, enemies in disguise, long lonely nights and the boiling rooms. I missed my welcoming and cosy room so much. I am so excited thinking about the after-hostel-life. Maa’s food, air-conditioned rooms, no shortage of money, I can watch television whenever I may; such bliss! At the back of my mind, I feel guilty already for hanging up so rudely, but it is okay. I will make up by calling her after I reach the station or maybe, when I board the train.

I am going back, finally.

I take a bath, for one last time and leave for the station. It’s 1:30pm by my watch and I have to board the train to Hyderabad which arrives at 3:30pm. It will hardly take an hour to reach the station, but Bombay and its traffic, you know?

“Taxi!” I scream.

The roads are always shinning with yellow rooftops, but I can never manage to find a taxi when needed the most. The baggage I’m carrying is now a pain in the palms, perhaps, maa was right. I should have left some of the dresses. I am not going to wear them anyway. Finally a cab stops by me.

“Mumbai Central?”

“Get in!”

Letting out a heavy sigh, I struggle myself and the bags inside the taxi. I plug in my earphones and play my second favourite playlist.

So I am actually leaving these streets, finally!

“He is the painkiller, this is the painkiller, faster than a lazer bullet, louder than an atom bomb,” Judas Priest’s ‘painkiller’ buzzes in my ear, exactly where I left it at and exactly the part I like the most. I put it at repeat and rest my head on the window. Somebody knocks the glass. I feel the urge to open my eyes and check, but I am too tired already.

“Must be a beggar, ignore,” I say to myself.

My phone vibrates and I am sure Maa is calling me again. I decide to ignore her call and talk only when I board the train. I feel a slight tap on my shoulder.

“With mankind resurrected, forever to survive, returns from Armageddon to the skies, He is the painkiller” the song continues.

I take off my ear plugs to look at the flushed face of the cabbie. I knew I can never complete a journey without a thrill. I urge him to speak but he stays mute. I can see him trying to gather words, finally.

“There’s a bustle ahead,” his voice shakes.

“Any idea, why is it so?”

“Might be a rally. I don’t know. We cannot go ahead.”

I get down from the cab, even more irritated and walk towards the movement. I fumble for my phone in the bag to turn off the song.

“1 unread message. 26 missed calls: Maa,” it reads.

I have no clue when I put the phone on silent. Before I could read the message or respond to the calls, I see people running around with their faces reading evident worry. My sixth sense tells me to get away from this place. I can feel a sinister in the air. I can smell a pungent smell; melting plastic, wires, what would it be? I am pretty curious. I can see some distant smoke.

“Move, there’s a bom.... !” a man screams and I feel a burning sensation even before I could react. A deafening explosion blurs my vision to a dazzle and everything disappears in less than a minute.

I understand what it is, finally.

*

I remember my mother’s womb. I was just a little sperm who had randomly succeeded to win the race and was rewarded with a nine month spa. All I had to do was to float and occasionally kick to make maa smile. I remember her hand-cooked food, how she cared about me, how she always held and helped me. But now that I am not there, I start to realize how comfortable everything was.

Though, here, things are pretty much the same. When in womb, I floated in the sweet fragrance of the spa and here, I float in the middle of the skies. The hot spa has changed to a pleasant breeze. Just that now, I do not make my maa smile. I am now the reason of occasional tears which I cannot wipe, perhaps, will never be able to wipe.

I realize how things would have been had I answered her last call.

I realize, finally.

Permission

She sprung up from sleep for the fourth time that afternoon which was very unusual for a typical housewife for her, who used to wake up in the odd hours of morning and work like a magic machine till noon. It seemed as though her cell phone had buzzed and granted her a reply, perhaps, an answer to the question she was struggling to put up to her husband.
But the screen just flashed the time and now, a sign which indicated the low battery.

-

Bani was a very traditional and wonted lady, whose husband went for a nine-to-five job leaving her by herself at home to spend time with the television set. She hailed from a middle-class family of Gujarat and was married to another middle-class family in Cuttack.

Her mother had taught her, when she was very little, that women were not supposed to work and how they were put on this earth with the one and only motive of serving the husband with a head bent down. And Bani, some because of the background she was brought up in and some because of the introvert nature she instilled, had followed her mother’s teachings and thought twice before speaking anything in front of her husband even after two years of marriage.

Her conversations with her husband were confined to that of the food to be prepared and the grocery items to be bought. Sometimes they exchanged shy smiles on the dinner table when her husband would compliment her for the delicious food, and that was it. Shlok, her husband, would try getting all romantic and mushy with his wife, but Bani would always give him an uncomfortable look and suddenly remember an important household chore to be completed.

But today was different.
Today, mustering up all the desired courage, Bani had fired her husband with her dream. But Shlok, unlike the regular, had not replied to the message and this was killing every inch of Bani. Her thirst seemed to quench due to repentance and body seemed to collapse due to fear.

-

*Buzz buzz*

She woke up again*

*Battery critically low. Connect to a charger*

She opened the last text message sent to Shlok and re-checked the delivery report, just to be sure.

“Why would Shlok not reply? Didn’t he read my message? I hope he is not offended. Why did I even think of writing that silly question to him? Have I lost my mind? Ma had told me not to be so selfish,” she almost slapped herself.



On not receiving a call by Shlok like every day when he started for home, she was sure she had disgraced her husband. She decided to prepare his favourite dish as a token of apology.

Just when she entered the kitchen, she heard the lift stopping at her floor.

“The neighbours are not in town. The maid has left already. Who would it be? Shlok?” she almost skipped a beat.

When she felt a key entering the keyhole and turning in the ideal motion, she was sure her husband was back home. Her face was flushing with fear and guilt. Shlok entered and brought with himself, a sweet smell.
Roses, she wondered.

He directly moved towards the kitchen for he knew his wife would be busy with the dishes. Even though they had barely exchanged heart-to-heart conversations, Shlok had observed his wife enough to know about the tiniest of details about her.

Shedding away all the shame and awkwardness, he spooned his wife from behind and presented her a bunch of roses.

“Relax your heart beat, baby.”

“Why didn’t you reply to my message?” she fired.

“Because I wanted to look into your eyes and tell you that even though we are a married couple, you are not shackled to me. You are free to make your own decisions and choices. You don’t need to seek my permission.”

“So, does that mean.....”

“Obviously it means that you can work at the bookstore!”

“Please say that again?” she almost screamed.

“You can work at the bookstore, my love. Whatever you do is going to benefit us in the end.”

“Benefit us?”

“Yes, obviously. You will shoplift...” “...Jeffery Archer for you,” she completed him, with instant tears oozing out from her eyes. For the first time in their two-year old married life, Bani hugged her husband in broad daylight without a slightest hint of discomfort.

“How do you know roses are my favourite?” she whispered.

“Just like you knew Archer is my favourite,” he whispered back kissing her forehead.

They had found their day of love.

Jinxed Fate

*Hey there Delilah.. what's it like in New York City?* buzzed her phone for the seventh time. She could sense something vibrating but was too lost in the smoke and bitter taste of liquid to respond. She opened her eyes slightly to find blurred red and blue laser lights, and her friends in shimmering dresses, lying next to her on the same couch.

*Hey there Delilah.. what's it like in New York City?* sang the phone again.

It was quite late in the night, and most of the people in the city were fast asleep, tired of their day-long hard work; but for Zara, her night had just started. Like always, she was out partying with her friends, if you put her disc companions who used to enjoy on her money in the category of friends. Liquor was flowing like water, white powder was served in platter, and the new generation of the country was celebrating another successful day of doing nothing.

Some heavy vehicles with sirens were sensed by these unconscious teenagers when they all stood up with a jerk and set themselves in motion. It was Diwali the next day, and since the police needed Lakshmi to invite Lakshmi to their homes, they were on for a raid.
Of all the people present in the pub, Zara was of the most concern to them, since she was still in her 17th year and had not hit adulthood.
Or maybe, because she was the only source of money for her friends and, the only source of red notes for the club manager.

After greasing their palms with her ancestors’ hard-earned money, Zara started her journey back home. She had no control over herself, and like always, depended upon one of the boys in the bar to drop her home, who did so in return of a handsome tip.

Usually, she did not care if her family was asleep or awake, but today, there was something unusual. She sensed more than required people in her house, and at this time, it was unexpected. She thought she heard people crying, she thought she heard someone shouting, but she was used to of hallucinations. She was still half conscious and smelled like rotten eggs. Her mind was still blurred but she forced her vision to sharpen, but not to much result. She struggled through the people, some of who looked keen to grant her a death sentence, and reached her bedroom. She realized the presence of some people midway too, but was too bottled up to look for the reason.

Seconds, and she had gone to sleep a peaceful sleep.
Perhaps, her last peaceful sleep.

The sun dawned earlier than expected.
She woke up to continuous banging on her door.

''Why are you knocking mumma? Come in, no?''

Some more banging followed.

''Who is it? How many times do I have to tell you idiotic servants not to wake me up? Come in whoever you are."

The door opened and she saw her brother standing there, in anger, which was highly unlikely of his usual calm and composed self.
He was clad in a white Kurta Pyjama, which was again, highly unlikely of his usual suave business suits. With a spinning head, she saw his face. He had red eyes, and looked like he had cried all night.
He burst in and slapped her hard across the face.

Sakina, her sister-in-law stopped her husband with a shrill in her voice but anyhow, Zara knew that this echo was under the influence of that lady standing next to her, in a draped white suit.

''What is wrong with you bhai? This woman asked you to slap me right? I don't know why she is so jealous of me. Why didn't you go for work? Let me tell this to mom. Enough of you both now.''

Another slap.

''You are asking me what is wrong? Mom is no more you spoiled brat. Mom is no more,'' his brother replied with a hiccupping sob.

''Whaa..at? Mom... mom is no more? What are you saying? I am sure I saw her last night. I am sure. If this is to make me realize how bad a daughter I've been, don't bhai, don't. I apologise. I profoundly do. Come on, say that you are kidding and this is plotted... say it bhai?,'' she screamed shaking her brother from head to toe and ran out of her room down the stairs.

''Papa? Where is mumma, papa? Bhai says she is dead? Why are you all wearing white? Why do we have so many guests? Papa...''

She was trembling.

Her father pointed to a corpse in green shroud lying on the floor.
She ran to touch her mother but her sister-in-law held her back.

''You should not touch her with alcohol running in your blood Zara. Go take a bath first.''

''Go away. She is my mother, go away,'' she scowled at her and ran to her mother’s body.

But she was stopped with a slap.
Her father had hit her for the first time since she was brought to this world. She turned around and looked at her brother who was holding her hand tightly, her eyes pleading to let her go.

With tears running down his stern face, her brother shook his head.

''You have lost the right to touch her Zara. Last night, when you had cut yourself from the smell of cold air and enjoyed the pungent smell of golden sparkling drinks, she had a stroke, and all she wanted was to see you. She wanted to see you Zara, for one last time. I was there, Sakina was there, but as always, she wanted you. I never understood why she preferred you over me. Sakina has been more of a daughter to her than you. She was the one who cared enough to be with her, to wash her for the last time, while you were up there, sleeping. When you came home last night, she had her last breath after seeing you. And you didn't even care to stop for her? You will not touch her Zara. Never again. And this is your punishment. Now sit here and cry. I have to do my duties of being a son to her. I have to go bury her.''

As her brother and father carried her mother on their shoulders, she just sat there, staring blankly at the wall.
She didn't even realize when she had stopped crying.

Unlike the usual high-class kids who are used to voids in their own world of ego and money, Zara loved her mother.
Perhaps, her mother was the only person she actually talked to and looked forward to. The only person who understood her and felt her, the only resort after her nights of heavy boozing and days of heavy headaches. The one person who had been there for her all her life, Zara was not there for her for the one last time.
That one person would now be just a picture on the wall.

Usually, you make mistakes and suffer the fate.
But sometimes, you make mistakes and nothing happens.
And then sometimes, you suffer.
You feel guilty and beg for one last chance.
You suffer for your entire life.
Zara was always envied for her fate, which was now jinxed.
The fate she would have to live with, daily.

~Nandini and Simran.