Make My Trip

The highway from Fatehpur to Jaipur stretched through the arid fields spotted with tiny villages in that dusty December fog. There were tractors coming opposite to us in that  one way lane with cows suddenly standing up in the median decorated with purple Bougainvillea flowers.

 When the car stopped at the toll booth, I looked outside at the giant yellow board. "The exemptions to paying tolls." The driver pulled out his mobile phone and changed the SIM cards.

“This one is for Jaipur,” he said chuckling. I picked up the fallen currency from the floor for him. “Thank you Sir…”  He then turned to his Hindi with my wife who thought she understood him. However the driver continued in both Hindi and English. Then his telephone started with ring tone of some old religious movie chanting.   I could not avoid listening to the conversation as this included “surgery” “blood transfusion” “6 pints” “ICU” etc. The driver then turned to me and enquired what kind of “Doctor” I was. He then went on to report that his uncle who was in good health was suddenly admitted with bleeding in the brain and is in ICU. He needed surgery and at least 6 pints of blood by the next day, otherwise he will not survive. He was planning to be at the hospital tonight after dropping us at our hotel.

He seemed to get telephone calls every fifteen minutes from that point.

My wife and me with our broken Hindi and the layman’s English tried to give him some prognosis on a patient we never knew, on a condition we only guessed based upon the understanding of the driver. He then requested me to see his uncle in the ICU once we reach there. I was then miles away from my work place, disconnected with the daily routines and here in this vast country my only interest was to explore the cultural treasures, the traditional folk art and the ancient palaces.

I was not sure whether I really wanted to visit a hospital.

I told him; “Once you visit your Uncle in the ICU and gather more information, call me.”

He nodded his head while over taking a truck filled with grain sacks.

“Here the Doctors will not give you information; you may be able to talk to them to get the REAL deal”

He looked at me with a manner of request.

After the sun set over the orange brown hills, we negotiated blaring horns, detours and eczematous roads into the walled city.

The driver made a pact to come back at 10 PM to get me to go to the SMS hospital.

My wife was uncomfortable, even though it was her idea to oblige the request of seeing his uncle in the ICU to give him some kind of reassurance. I some how knew that his hemorrhage was serious enough to affect most of his brain function, and he was not going to know that night what the prognosis would be for the old man.

I said bye to my family at the hotel and left with the driver in the foggy street. My wife closed the door, not able to do anything, but sat on the sofa, recalling all the horror stories of tourists got kidnapped for money and abandoned at roadside as unidentified corpses.
 I knew what she was thinking at that moment.

For me, that could be just my destiny.

May be, that would be the end of it; I would be a mutilated face among many my wife standing next to the policeman would identify in that smelly morgue among onlookers wading of the swarming flies.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sight of hospital name written in English and Hindi. Many years ago I had received an application form for admission to this college and never heard anything afterwards. Somehow I am here. SMS Hospital. Shops on both sides of the road in front of the hospital were just pharmacies. I could not count how many were there. When I came out of the car, there were agents calling out to invite me to the store employed by them and not to the next door. I did not understand why there should be a competition at all. Am I going to find a Sale?

The driver then took the car through an alley way and then decided to park in the underground parking lot. This was the most horrifying site to park. I had to walk upwards in the dark against the pillars and people coming towards me. There was no lighting. Finally I decided to stand at the gate. People, who waited there as their relatives got admitted to hospital, were already made their beds out of sheets on that courtyard. Every inch was being used. I was worried about the swarming mosquitoes than TB in that crowded waiting shed. 

I did not stay there for more than 10 minutes, but it appeared as long as 10 hours.

Then the driver appeared from the crowd with his older brother, who surprisingly spoke English as well.

He gave me his entry pass for the ICU.

We walked through the corridors, where I could remember the exact smell I used to know many years ago on my night shifts, as if I was here before. Then we reached Neuro ICU. This was closed with double doors. When I was changing my shoes to walk bare footed, the driver gave me a used head cover (?) his brother had given him. I went to the area where the doctors were sitting. The young physicians were really busy and the whole corridor was full of patients on the floor, a sight which was reminiscent of the days 30 years ago, nothing changed.

I took my business card from home and showed to one of the physicians and introduced. I enquired about the patient in the ICU named”…” No one seemed to know. Then one physician recalled. “Yes… That was the RTA with bleed. He is in bed 6.” "You can go and see him; the senior resident must be there.” He said politely.

The ICU was just a ward where surprisingly I noticed some ventilators and monitors. The old man had lot of bandages on his head with a wide bore nasogastric tube taped to his nose; his hands were restrained to the side rails with gauze. He was moving around, but I could see that his left side was paralyzed. I could not tell whether the man resembled our driver.

I asked the driver to call the patient and talk, so that I could see what response he had.

The driver bent his neck towards the old man and called,”Chacha… Chacha…”

The patient started saying something in Hindi.

I enquired, “What did he say?”

“I couldn’t make of anything he said”, said the driver. ”He is not having good mind”

He said with a sigh.

There were X-ray films kept at the bed side table. I lifted one of them. It was a CT scan. I could see that there was collection of blood inside the cranial cavity pushing the brain to one side.

Driver asked” how much blood we need?”

I replied, “I don’t know”

Driver looked at me as if it was a total waste of his effort dragging this guy there.

When we came out of the ICU, there was an old lady sitting at the floor next to the driver’s brother.

She stood up; her face was completely covered in her multicolored tie-and-die sari.

She kneeled in front of me, touched my feet with her fingers, there was just the clutter of her bangles in that darkened silence. I did not know what to say to those people.

The brother introduced me to the lady. “This is the big doctor from America came today with Ramu”

I smiled and made a greeting gesture with both hands. I said “Namaste Ji”

“Doctor, please tell me if there is a medicine we can buy from outside, like the ones you give in America… Money no problem… we will borrow”

My mind said, “The medicine is called Tincture of Time… which you can’t buy from the shops”

The Surrogate Marker

A Novel

By 

Sauparnika

Chapter 1

The Concussion

While trying to put the pieces of incidents together on that dimly lit street, she was just weakened by the pain from the abraded shin. The sweat pants were grazed with dirt and blood, her helmet slid over the left ear, scraping the ear lobes over the Velcro.

The bike was about two meters away with one wheel bent towards the center, and the handle bar trapped inside the side of the parked car.

There was no clue…

May be a passing truck side-swiped or hit on the open door of the car. No one was around. The side streets were empty, except some steam coming out of the manhole covers.

Oh my samples!

Yes; she was carrying them in the small tote bag, which was fortunately there, being tangled up in the handle bar. She dragged her body toward the bike as the left knee refused to extend. She felt pain radiating along her back with every move. She had dried up leaves inside her jacket which made uneasy noise rubbing against the fabric. She put her hand inside the jacket pocket to search for the tissues to wipe her nose, which felt like running. She pulled the tissue out, removing it from the grips of her key chain tangled with it.

She wiped her nose while slightly blowing. There was blood on the tissues. She wished that it is just her blood, not the samples she was carrying on her shoulder previous to the fall. She had to make sure the samples were safe indeed.

That was her mission. Now she remembered vaguely.

 It was around 9:45 PM, she realized that the PCR would have been over and done in her lab. She just came to the apartment to do the laundry and then decided to cook a dish. After cutting the vegetables and putting it on the pan in simmer, she ran to put the clothes in the dryer.

In the night, the basement was empty.

Looking around, she slowly opened the storm door and climbed up steps. She put the hood of the jacket over her head.

Outside, the dogwood trees were swaying in the chilly autumn breeze which blew all the leaves to the edge of the door step. In the courtyard, there were multicolored mums interspersed in green juniper bush and brownish red mulch.

She had time. She went back to apartment and finished cooking, switched off the exhaust fan and took a portion of food in a hand crafted dish she had bought from Pottery Barn.

She placed it on the table over the orange black bamboo mat nicely. She then realized that she had promised her friend in Seattle to send the recipe. She enjoyed doing it. She took her camera from the closet in the bedroom, brought the reading light from the office table and strategically placed it next to the dish to focus light and took pictures.

Yes; Cilantro.

She remembered that she had some left over in the chill cabinet in the fridge. She carefully plucked out the brownish leaves and put the rest strategically in the middle of the dish. She did not want to delete the previous pictures, but clicked more. It looked very good indeed.

What next?

She had still time, before the clothes got dried up. She could go to the lab and put the samples to get the fibroblasts and check on the status of the PCR which was running since she left in the evening.

She remembered putting the tubes of blood samples in the polystyrene box with bubble wraps.

Then what actually happened? She could not put anything together after that.

A chunk of her memory was missing.

She felt slightly dizzy as she tried to stand up holding to the backdoor handle of the car. She felt like violated. Her shirt underneath her jacket was all soggy and smelling the road trash. She gathered her belongings from the street sitting down.

 It then started raining slightly.

She was still puzzled by her accident. It might be that she suffered a concussion. She was not sure.

Did someone hit her?

She had more questions than answers. She always had a nightmare about a bike wreck. It was so common, that many of the college kids got knocked down by fast moving vehicles which never cared for the people on two wheelers. There can also be occasional traps when you negotiate through the gaps between lanes, someone swerving to side or just opening the car door.

Now it was her turn. She was almost sure that she did not break any bones. However there was some graze over the left knee, which hurt like hell.

She managed to get up finally. Then she dragged the bike out. It is not moving when she pushed as its front wheel is bent and got stuck between the front forks and the mudguard. The brake paddles also came out of its fixture.

Now she has to throw this bike away. There are no shops which fix the bikes as far as she knew. Either she needs to check in the local newspaper for any sales or go to the Superstore to get another one. 

She pulled the bike to the bike path and leaned it against the bushes.

Then she noticed one important article missing.

Her lab record.

A chill came to her spine.

(To be continued…)

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The True Friendship

Three class mates in the second year in college. They sat together as they had the same first name.

Teacher asked “What do you want to be?”

“Doctor”, one said

“Compounder (Pharmacist)”, the comedian said to make the entire class laugh.

“At least I want to a Compounder if I can’t be a Doctor” He said.

The third one just laughed with the rest of the class.

Months later, they took their University examinations.

Many weeks later, the practical examinations were scheduled; but got postponed by the University due to technical reasons.

One of the friends sat home last minute cramming for the examinations starting at 1 PM

He made sure that he remembered all the bones of the frog, all the cells in a moss plant and all the mouth parts of cock roach.

Meanwhile miles away two friends entered the examination hall.

Ten minutes passed.

The seat next to them was empty…

“Something is wrong…” They whispered.

“Where is HE?”

“May be… he forgot about the examination schedule change”

Examiner saw the commotion.

“What is wrong?”

“Madam, Our friend is probably unaware that exam time changed to 9:30 AM; otherwise he would never miss this University examination. He is the top scorer in our class. We can bring him here if you let us. Would you give him a chance?” The two friends begged.

After few seconds of deep thought, the external examiner went to check with the internal examiner. She verified the truth.

“OK; we will believe you and this is a special case. You have to be here within 30 minutes”

“Thank you madam,” Both chanted in synchrony.

The friend at home was happy that he had finished reading the Zoology book. While opening the Botany book, he saw a taxi car coming through the gate in the rising dust following. It screeched to halt.

Two of his friends jumped out of the car.

“Hey guys; whatsup?”

“What the heck are you still here? why you are not in the exam?”

“It is not time yet.”

“Just come with us, the exam already started”

“What…?”The chilling news came as a lightning to his mind.

“Just put clothes on and come with us; you can still make it”

The friend was still in shock. He could not believe it. He missed the examination.

Everything went before him was unimaginable.

Then finally he was in the college. He knew that he has to finish both Zoology and Botany examinations in half of the time allotted. He was working like a Robot. He felt like his brain was but frozen. His hands moved without knowing what the brain wanted to do. Finally the time was up. He was still in shock. He slowly walked to the examiners.

“Thank you Madam; for your kindness and help” Words fell out of his lips while his eyes flooded with tears.

“You should be thankful to those two fellows who risked their exams for your success”

He looked outside.

There, they were standing outside waiting for him to finish the examination.

The friend who wanted to be a Doctor became one. The friend who joked about becoming a Pharmacist became one. The third one who never thought he would be a Pharmacist became one too.

The person who would remember this story is the one who experienced the true friendship. He pondered always. If instead he was the one in their situation, would he have risked his examination on that day?

He still ponders… but he can never forget the names of his true friends till he dies.

Would you do it for a friend ?

(This is a Malayalam version of the above blog)

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സൗഹൃദം എന്നാൽ ...

നാട്ടിക ശ്രീനാരായണ കോളേജിലെ ഒരു ക്ലാസ്സ് മുറി

മൂന്നു് വിദ്യാർത്ഥികൾ ഒരേ ബഞ്ചിൽ രണ്ടാംവർഷം . പേനകൊണ്ട് ഡസ്കിൽ കുത്തിക്കുറി നടത്തിയ മൂവർക്കും ഒരേ പേരായിരുന്നു , അതും പിതാക്കൾ അദ്ധ്യാപകരാണെ ന്നതും ഒഴിച്ചാൽ അവർക്ക് ഒരു സാമ്യ വും ഇല്ലായിരുന്നു

സുവോളജി ലെക്ചരർ ചോദിച്ചു :

നിങ്ങൾക്ക് ആരാവാനാണ് ആഗ്രഹം ?

...........

ഒന്നാമൻ : "ഡോക്ടർ"

രണ്ടാമൻ :"കമ്പൌണ്ടെർ ".... കൂട്ടത്തിലെ കോമാളി മൊഴിഞ്ഞു

ക്ലാസ്സിലെ കൂട്ടച്ചിരിയിൽ മൂന്നാമനും ചേർന്നു .

"...അല്ല പിന്നെ ഡോക്ടരാവാൻ പറ്റിയില്ലെങ്കിൽ അതായാലും മതി ". രണ്ടാമന്റെ വിശദീകരണം .

മാസങ്ങൾക്കുശേഷം യൂണിവേര്സിടി പരീക്ഷകളുടെ തിരക്ക് ..

പിന്നെ ആഴ്ചകളുടെ ശേഷം പ്രാക്റ്റിക്കലും ...

കശുമാവിൻ തോപ്പിലെ ആര്ക്കും വേണ്ടാതെ വീണ മാങ്ങകൾ ഇടവപ്പാതിയിലെ ചന്നം പിന്നം പെയ്ത മഴയിൽ ചീഞ്ഞു കിടന്നു. ആ ഗന്ധവും പേറി കിഴക്കുനിന്നെത്തിയ പൊടിക്കാറ്റിൽ പറന്നു പോയ കടലാസ്കഷണങ്ങളിൽ ഒന്നാമൻ തൻറെ ജീവശാസ്ത്ര ക്കുറിപ്പുകൾ ആലേഖനം ചെയ്തിരുന്നു . പൂ മുഖത്തെ മേശയിൽ ചിതറിക്കിടന്ന പുസ്തകങ്ങള ക്കിടയിൽ കാലിന്മേൽ കാല് കയറ്റി അവസാനത്തെ പഠനത്തിന്റെ മിനുക്ക്‌ പണിയിൽ മുഴുകിയിരുന്ന അയാൾ പെട്ടന്ന് ദൂരെനിന്നും പാഞ്ഞു വന്ന ആ ടാക്സി ക്കാറിലെ പിൻ സീറ്റിൽ നിന്നും ചാടിയിറങ്ങിയ രണ്ടു പേരെ പെട്ടെന്ന് മനസ്സിലാക്കാൻ പ്രയാസ പ്പെട്ടു .

"എടാ നീയെന്തെട്‌ക്കാ ഇവിടെ ?"

"വേഗം കേറ് വണ്ടീല് ?"

"അല്ലാ ഇതെവിടെക്കാ നിങ്ങള് രണ്ടാളും കൂടി ?"

"കഥ പിന്നെ പ്പറയാം . എക്സാമിനെരെ പറഞ്ഞു ഒരുകണക്കിന് സമ്മതിപ്പിച്ചാ ഞങ്ങള് ഇപ്പൊ വന്നത്‌ . നീയെന്തു കണ്ടാ ഇവിടെ ഇരിക്കുന്നത് ?"

"പരീക്ഷക്ക് പോണ്ടേ നിനക്ക്‌ ?"

"അതിനു പരീക്ഷ ഒന്നരക്കല്ലേ ? ഇപ്പൊ പത്തല്ലേ ആയുള്ളൂ എന്തിനാ ഇത്ര വെപ്രാളം ?"

"എടാ പൊട്ടാ , പരീക്ഷ തൊടങ്ങി ഒമ്പതിനു , നീ മാത്രം വന്നില്ല .നിനക്ക് പരീക്ഷയുടെ സമയം മാറ്റിയത് പത്രത്തില് കണ്ടില്ലേ ?"

"ഇനി സമയം കളയണ്ട വേഗം ഷർട്ട്‌ മാറ്റി കേറിക്കോ കാറില് , വെഷമിക്കണ്ട ഞങ്ങള് എല്ലാ എക്സാമിനർ മാരോടും പറഞ്ഞു ശരിയാക്കി യിട്ടാണ് കാറ് വിളിച്ചത് "

മുണ്ട് മടക്കി ക്കുത്തിയ ഡ്രൈവർ മീശ മിനുക്കി പുഞ്ചിരിച്ചു.

ഒന്നാമൻ പഠിച്ച ബോട്ടണിയും സുവോളജി യും ആവിയായ അറിവിൽ ഒരു ജീവനില്ലാത്ത ശ രീര മായി രണ്ടു കൂട്ടുകാരോടൊത്ത് യാത്രയായി ...

"ഹെഡ് ലൈ റ്റും ഇട്ടു പറപ്പിച്ചോ " ഡ്രൈവറോട് രണ്ടാമന്റെ ഉത്തരവ്‌ കാറിന്റെ വാതിലടന്ക്കുന്ന സ്വരത്തിൽ കൂട്ടു കൂടി .

....

മുഖം താഴ്ത്തി ലജ്ജയോടെ തിടുക്കത്തിൽ തവളയെ കീറിമുറിച്ചു കൊണ്ടിരുന്ന അയാൾക്ക് പിന്നിൽ പുറത്തുനിന്നും വന്ന എക്സാമിനെർ ആകമാനം നിരീക്ഷിച്ചു കൊണ്ടിരുന്നതും മണിയടിക്കുന്നതും ഒന്നും അറിയാൻ കഴിഞ്ഞില്ല .

ഒരു മണിക്കൂർ പരീക്ഷ അരമണിക്കൂറാക്കി അവസാനിപ്പിച്ചു അടുത്ത കെട്ടിടത്തിലേക്ക് അയാള് ഓടി . ചെരിപ്പിന്റെ ഉള്ളിലേക്ക് കയറിയ ആറ്റുമണൽ ത്തരികൾ കാൽവിരലുകളിൽ വേദന സമ്മാനിച്ചതൊന്നും അയാൾ അറിഞ്ഞില്ല .

......

അവസാനം പരീക്ഷ കഴിഞ്ഞു ...

യാത്ര മൊഴികൾ

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വർഷങ്ങൾ ക്ക്ശേഷം

ഒന്നാമൻ ഡോക്ടറായി

രണ്ടാമനും അവൻ വർഷങ്ങൾ ക്ക് മുൻപ് തമാശയായി പ്പറഞ്ഞ തുപോലെ ഒരു ഫാർമസിസ്റ്റ് ... മൂന്നാമനും ...

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ഒന്നാമന് അവർക്ക് ഒരിക്കലും തിരിച്ചു നല്കാൻ കഴിയാത്ത സ്നേഹത്തിന്റെ കടപ്പാടും ...

ഇത് എഴുതിയത് മറന്നിട്ടില്ല എന്ന് പറയാൻ മാത്രം. എന്റെ കൂട്ടുകാരെ നന്ദി ...

The Irish Days

1. Close Encounters

The Youth Hostel was the green colored two story house next to the old church. This was exactly were the map indicated, but there was no one around. I waited after ringing the bell. The Clerk appeared wearing a green sweater and with a blonde beard. “Are you paying by cash? “ He asked. I emptied my valet with all the Irish currency I had withdrawn from the ATM. He returned a five pound note back.

He gave me a key for the room and locker.

We walked past some poorly lit communal rooms to the dorm. There were two bunk beds and two tables. I decided to settle on the lower “berth.” On the top the other bed, there was a guy, who lifted his head and said “Hello” and then went to sleep, lightly snoring.

There was an aroma of beer and cigarettes in the air. I slowly unzipped my suite case and took the essential things for the day. While arranging my bed, I realized that there were more people coming through the hallway. A slightly balding muscular man wearing shorts and t-shirt  entered and said “Hello “with a German accent, while  rolling in his heavy back pack, which he kept in the middle of the room.

I was reading the papers from the registration at the University and keeping mental notes on  all the things I need to do in the morning. It seemed like classes were scattered around various campuses and staying in Dublin was not the best option.

I was feeling sleepy. 
I probably slept for five minutes. 
By this time my new roommate had gone to shower as I could hear him singing next door. Then I heard him opening the bag, which was just above me on the bunk bed.

Then I realized that he was just standing next to me grabbing clothes from the bag, while his manhood was dangling one foot away from my head, without any sense of apprehension. He was not grabbing his clothes, but took a mirror, put gel on his hair, and took five minutes to comb into a mullet, while I sat there in my bed, face glued into a book, pretending that I was reading.

However my act of escapism did not alter the situation. The man had lot of questions for me regarding the night life in Dublin, transportation, bars etc. etc. I told him that I had landed there few hours before him,

He was in no hurry to get clothes on and possibly that was not high on his agenda that time.

That night was very long…as the coiled up smoke rising from my room mate's cigarette half burned, kept at the edge of the table.

I checked out earlier than I planned.
 I kept walking in the fog, past the parked cars with frosted up windows and the pavement with beads of shattered glass pieces and beer cans.
I had to walk all the way to the O'Connell street in search of a motel.

2. Drimnagh

Benmadigan road was a circular road enclosing the green in the middle where children played fearlessly after their school finished. Daffodils and Tulips bordered some small bushes next to a central fountain.

 I could see Brandon, my land lady’s nephew running towards the house. Dublin was a city of young people. They were everywhere. In that village or small suburb of Dublin, every foreigner was from the hospital. Everyone knew everybody.

While coming home after the classes, curious children followed me. “Mr.… what’s your name?”, I told them my name. “Are you selling Insurance?” I was surprised. I never thought that it was a viable option for me in that town. I Laughed. “No. I am a student”

I missed the address , as the row of houses was all looking same. I saw my land lady chatting with friends. “Hi Doreen, are you coming home?” She replied; ”This is my home.”

(to be continued)

3: The Record of  My First Guinness

The ferry was quite bigger than what I imagined it be. From Holyhead , UK, to Dun Laoghaire, the trip was about five hours in the midnight. I walked below the flood lit passage way, following other passengers from the bus. I went to sit next to the starboard side window to get the glimpse of the surrounding. Except for the fluorescent lights around, there was nothing to be seen. The bar at the ferry was quiet except for the speakers playing Celtic rhythms. There was only one customer, drinking beer.

I was going back to Ireland.

Even though I knew about Guinness and seen people drinking and admiring it, I never had any chance tasting it.

That was the first time I confidently walked into a bar to order something for myself. I felt so proud.

“What can I get you sir?”

“I’ll have a pint of Guinness”

I did not know that was the way to order, but I kept a straight face.

“A Pint?”

“A glass”

The bartender looked at the customer for a second and lifted a beer glass from the shelf and showed it to me

“You mean this?”

“Yes please” The confident me.

He took the glass and placed it below the tap, filled it with Guinness and brought the drink and a tray with napkin to me.

The glass contained a fizzy dirty yellowish brown drink with lot of froth.

That was not the drink I had in my mind. I imagined it to be dark brown, almost like black coffee, with a golden shade. That was what I had seen in the TV.

This was probably true to the bottom two centimeters, but rest was creamy greenish brown. At least that was what my sleep deprived eyes found.

 I waited for fifteen seconds and with tremulous hands, lifted the heavy glass, with precarious head. I tilted the glass, while carefully sipping the royal liquid through it’s thick head.

The  concoction of innumerable leaves with their bitter taste over powered my reluctant taste buds, my stomach turned upside down in that undulation of the ferry which was already moving in the rough Irish sea.

I knew that I was not going to make it. I was not planning to throw up during the whole night in that ferry.

I saw the bartender and his customer staring at me like they have never seen anything like that in their entire life...A human walking away from a full glass of Draught Guinness poured, not to wait for the beauty to settle down.

(Continued)

The Missing File

(You can read the sample pages from my new novel here)

നിയമസഭാ മന്ദിരം നീണ്ടു വളർ ന്ന  കുപ്പി പ്പന കളുടെ നിഴലിൽ വിശ്രമിച്ചു. 
അടഞ്ഞു കിടന്ന ജനാല ശീ ലക ൾ  ഉയർത്താ നായി അലുമിനിയ ത്തിൻ റെ  പിടി അയാൾ പിറകോട്ട്‌ തിരിച്ചു. 

കോണുകൾ മടങ്ങിയ ചുവന്ന അരപ്പട്ട കെട്ടിയ കേസു കെട്ടുകളിൽ ഉടക്കി പ്പോയ അയാളുടെ ജോലിയെ പ്പോലെ ആ ജനൽ ശീ ലകളും പകുതിയിൽ കുരുങ്ങി ക്കിടന്നു. 

മുകളിലെ കറങ്ങുന്ന ഫാനി ൻറെ വിരസമായ ഞരക്കങ്ങൾ തട്ടിനുമുകളിലെ ഉച്ച ഭക്ഷണ ത്തിനു ഒത്തു കൂടിയ പുതിയ സെക്രെട്ടറി മാരുടെ കോലാ ഹലത്തിമിർപിൽ ഒതുങ്ങി. 
ഇനിയും കുടുങ്ങിപ്പോയ ജനൽ ശീല വിടുവിക്കാൻ അയാൾക്ക് ഒന്നും തന്നെ കണ്ടെത്താനായില്ല.  കയ്യിലെ സന്ധികളിലെ കശേരു ക്കളെല്ലാം തേഞ്ഞു പോയിരിക്കുന്നു, ദിനം പ്രതിയുള്ള വേദനകൾ മാത്രം നൽകി കൊണ്ട്. 
മുൻ തലമുറകൾ തനിക്കു നൽകിയ കയ്നീട്ടം... 
തൻറെ അച്ഛനും ഇതേ കെട്ടിടത്തിൽ മുഴുവൻ ജീവിതവും കഴിച്ചു കൂട്ടി. 
അവികാരിതയോടെ അപേക്ഷകൾ മഷി ക്കറ നിറഞ്ഞ പൊടിപിടിച്ച ഈ മേശ മേൽ തള്ളി വരണ്ട ഉരുണ്ടു കൂടിയ കൈകളെ അയാളും പഴിച്ചിരിക്കണം.

(You can read the sample pages from my new novel here)

 The secretariat building stayed in the shades of the tall bottle palm trees. 

He opened the blinds by turning the aluminum handle anti-clockwise. Then it stuck midway, like his job between the piles of cream colored files wrapped with red canvas waist belt, dog eared. The ceiling fan made the monotonous rumble which merged with the creaking sounds from the ceiling above which the batch of new secretaries assembled to grab their lunch. 

There was nothing he could find to untangle the broken blinds. The cartilage in his small joints has worn out, bringing the daily supply of aches. This was the present from the previous generations. His father also lived his entire life in this building. Sitting emotionless reading the applications ending up in this old dusty table with ink stains, he also cursed his knobby, dried up hands. 




Minister was away in tour  of the northern district which was flooded in the monsoon.

 He can rest for a while. There is no crowd behind the door. There are no visitors, except the young man from the news channel laughing with his would- be- wife standing in the corridor. Many months ago, he was eager to get the scoop about the minister’s foreign trip and the connections. Now he has found his scoop: The upper division clerk, who gave him all the details. The stories never reached his audience. He seemed to have moved on to greener pastures. 

 The telephone rang once. He made sure that he ignored this daily annoyance. When he first moved to this office room, he was eager to lift the receiver and waited no time to say “Hello”

 He now has grown old to understand the futility of this task. The messages will be taken if needed. He is not an essential link in this chain of bureaucracy. He is just a stepping stone in the citadel of corruption. Even the walls and rusted hinges of the old doors knew that truth.

 This machinery works the same way. The operators will change. They come here, live, breath, make money, build house, send kids to college, get them married, then retire. New faces will then replace them and the machinery transforms them. He was just checking off the papers and selected files for the Minister to sign tomorrow when he returns. He read the story of the divorce and the father-in-law’s comments in the local newspaper. The father-in-law is trying to use this as his next election strategy. The young minister was naïve to get his neck in the horse trade. 

 He knew the old man also.
 He was however nice to him. He knew all the tricks of this profession. 

 He was able to come out unscathed from any trouble. It was unbelievable that the person who was in critical state in coronary ICU last month was callous enough to wage war against his own family using his daughter.








To be continued….

The Bullies and Pedophiles

Chapter 5: The Bullies and Pedophiles

I never thought that I would ever write about them.

Not because they were totally unknown to me, but I thought they were never part of my life experience as a child growing up in that picture perfect village. I could be wrong in assuming that.

As I had written earlier about my obesity causing all the trouble for me at school, I came to realize that there were bullies in every school who just spent their time making fun of other children and were able to get out of trouble by their jokes and popularity.

There was one such fellow in my class. Apparently he was already there before I and other students joined. The class consisted of all the fifth graders moved from various elementary schools. I moved from the elementary school along with three or four good friends. They all knew me.

The boy who was already in the class was repeating the year. Because of this, he knew everyone. He lived close to school and knew the alleyways near the school and all the senior students and teachers.

He knew my father as a teacher in the school. My father had many nephews and nieces as his students during the prior years. They all called him a name meaning like “little uncle.”

I did not know that it was my father's nickname among the senior students. But over the first few weeks I came to know that they are all making fun of me with my father’s nick name.

This was not a derogatory name and it did not bother me. But the fact is that whatever nickname you call someone, the effect is based upon the reason behind calling that name.

So this was bestowed upon me by the boy in the class. When I was sitting in the class, he kicked the bench multiple times to make my pen come out of the book or to cause difficulty in holding book in my hand. This torture continued along with drawing on the place where I sat, so that when I stood up, the writing would be visible over the dark trousers I wore.

My teachers paid no attention to these things and no one bothered to tell them.

Interestingly in the class, the bully picked on me only- at least that was what I felt at that time.

One day the teacher was late to arrive in the class during a post recess period.

  The boy continued with his usual past time of throwing paper arrows towards my head and broken chalk pieces while singing a latest movie song. Many of my class mates were just laughing and giggling while watching my helpless plight. This continued for few moments. Then the boy climbed up on the desks, jumping from one to another and placed himself on a bench facing me.

I was so mad. I stood up, and seeing my face, he knew that this was taking a different turn. Without showing his surprise, he started teasing me with names, and was also probably thinking that I was a coward and having my father working in the same school, I wouldn’t dare to start a fight in the class room.

But he was wrong. I walked towards him, pushing off my desk with my own books on them.

I saw my friends hurriedly retrieving my books, the pencils, erasers, the bits and bobs from the geometry instrument box fell open on the floor, and rearranging the fallen benches behind me. I felt the power, the gathering momentum in my mind. I was not sure, however what I would’ve done to him or what could happen to me once this fight was over.

I kept moving towards him, who by this time realized that something might go terribly wrong in that fifth grade class room where all the thirty children staring at him, being cornered, trapped between a desk and the wall beside.

He then thought his plan, the last resort.

“Come on…””come on… fight with me you ****”

That was the last sentence I could let him finish.

I lifted up the bench at one end, sliding him to the ground. He fell on his back, could not get out as trapped between the furniture. His sandals flew to the corner, which then someone kicked to far, so that he could not get it.

Then I saw him crying. That was surprising that  the greatest bully I knew till that time was crying infront of the class.

I did not have anything else to do.

The whole class took over the onslaught, throwing chalk pieces and paper arrows at him.

I heard him saying that he was going to complain to my father about this. I was somewhat shaken by this whole incident and he just uttered my greatest fear of all.

However he did not read my mind.
 I just walked to my desk. I kept my head straight

Everything was quiet, except other children calling him nicknames.

It was finally their turn. I just made it easy for them.

Against all odds, I realized that he became my close friend in the following months. He forgot about that incident and we never spoke about it.  It was a great change. He never bullied me. He never bullied anyone for that matter.

I was not sure that a concussion changed his mind.

It could be that he was somewhat insecure in himself and was overwhelmed by the new students coming to his class where he felt he was the “dumbest person”

Over the coming months, I learned lot of survival tactics from him. We did not resort to any bullying or join any gangs. 
He told me about the pedophiles near the school.

I had seen those men always stayed near the school entrance and whistling at girls and passing dirty comments. They had no jobs. They all failed the high school exam and just spent time gossiping and playing cards near the school. Sometimes they volunteered in the athletic days and the arts festival days helping the teachers. They stayed in the open classrooms after the school session was over, smoking Cigarettes and Marijuana. They talked about the local prostitutes and their made up stories about past trips to the city where they actually had sex with film actresses.

I was not however sure what they might do with the young boys. However they always made fun of the children’s legs which were visible below the short knickers we wore.

Some of these people knew my father as he was their teacher in the high school. When they approached me and if they noticed that my father was around, they would go away.

My father probably never knew what these people were like. If I had asked about them, my father would scold me for spending time outside the class and hanging around with those “undesirables”

Some of these men were funny, so children were always following them. They threw rocks at mango trees and gave the children mangoes. When they won the card games, they brought sweets and ice popsicles to children. They gave free ride to children on their bike to school.

However the danger lurked. I was not sure whether some of the children were abused. I knew forsure, that some children always spent time with those grown up men.

There were no societal regulations against it. Every neighbor accepted children to their house. Everyone thought that children were safe with someone they knew for years.

Interestingly over many years in that school, I came to know these gangs. I was quite sure that some people abused boys as their excuse for not going to prostitutes. Some of them were just pedophiles.

I spent my  weekends in those years playing with my cousins in the neighborhood. 
One of the uncles had built a strip of shops and there were barbershop, grocery shops, Tailor etc. 
The barber shop will have all the film magazines and newspapers to read free. When I hang around with tailoring shop, I learned the techniques of sewing. Some of the tailors worked for some time and then went with us for walks.

I enjoyed their stories and gossips about the locals. I will go home to eat lunch and then hang around if I get time to play with my cousins.

One such trip was somehow ended up in something totally unexpected. It was afternoon. One of the guys in the tailoring shop and the assistant tailor told me that they are going to the nearby town and asked me to go with them, so that they will walk me  home. It was just normal to walk with them.

When we reached near my house, while narrating the stories, they went to a building close to my house. It was Sunday and the building was closed. At that time there was not much traffic in the street. There was nothing for a sixth grader to worry about in that neighborhood. Everyone knew me. I was also near my house.

We then sat on the smooth cemented corridor, enjoying the breeze and talked about the new movies getting released. 
 In the country, it was (still) normal for men to place arms around friends or hug them, without any sexual connotations. So when this man who sat next to me placed his left arm around my neck, I did not feel anything different. However then I saw him holding my hand and placing in the middle of his groin over his clothes, I was puzzled. While talking about the movie, this was totally unexpected. I pulled my hand away, but felt that he was gripping my hand so strong as well as trying to stroke against his engorged organ under his clothes.

That was the moment I realized that the whole charade of walking with me and being friendly to me had a different meaning. I am so happy that I was smart enough to run away from that corridor of vulnerability without being hurt physically and emotionally. But I was not sure about other children of my age.

Afterwards my mission was to break their racket from preying on our friends. I never spent any time hanging around these men. Many of my friends knew who the pedophiles were. Interestingly there were stories about the local priest in the church going around with boys, but no adults seemed to end these, and talked as it was just a joke. One of our neighbors, a boy younger than me was promised a part in movies by a well-known pedophile and actor who went to make movies and made that as his easy way to get to children.

This was a chapter from