The Art Of Saying "No"

Our train was slowly coming to the halt. The wet platform before me brings me a thousand vivid memories. The engine, the platform and the fellows rushing in and out make a beautiful mixture of voices. When I got off the train at Wilzar, a pleasant shiver flavoured with grief and loss passed through my body. Suddenly I heard a very familiar voice,

“ Rebecca”

“Jessy?!”, I muttered with a suspicious smile.

Before I could say or ask anything further, the real Jessy Fernandez came forward, helped me with my baggage and led me out.

“ Have you made arrangements to go home or shall I take you in my car?”, I know I am answering to Jessy's queries but my mind is in fact wandering in our good old days. Jessy called the driver and we made our way to home, though it's just an abandoned house now. On the way Jessy didn't speak a word, perhaps she didn't want the driver to hear our private conversation and me overwhelmed with wonder and guilt, didn’t know where to start.

The last pleasant memory with Jessy was our journey to Thiheli. It was almost eleven years ago, when I had a camp there as a part of our Tribal Research Project.

I and Jessy were neighbours at Wilzar. Though she was younger than me for a few years, she seemed to be more matured and spontaneous. We had in fact nothing in common, yet we had a clear understanding of our differences which helped us mutually to get along. When I talked about my research project, it was she who suggested that she could accompany me and reside at her aunt's until my camp would be over and return together. It was the journey we looked forward. Then on one fine morning we packed our stuff and took the train to Thiheli. Thiheli was actually the last stop and Jessy had planned to get off at the very station before it. Midway there was a great waterfall at sight, the train usually halts there for half an hour. We had collected all the details. It doesn't matter where you are going if you are accompanied with someone with great energy and excitement. Jessy was that pure soul that could feel for every moment she lived. She can be really happy if you give her a nice compliment and she could easily cry if you just rise your voice. But she can lift you up literally and figuratively and take your breath away with her talent.

We had been planning for this for a while, had booked the tickets, arrived at the station early and occupied window seats. Jessy had another motive behind her excitement. She was all set to become a doctor, had cleared all the formalities of joining the course and it would start the next month. So it was the last journey she could endeavour before entering the hectic life of a medical student. All the way along the journey she conveyed her wish to go with me to the camp which was practically not possible. Then she would add that once she become a doctor she will have a camp at Thiheli exclusively for the tribal people.

The train wasn’t crowded that day. Many seats were vacant and others looked like regular passengers occupying their own seats. It was only two of us in our couch. While we were busy chatting our insignificant issues, we lost track of time. Our discussion was mainly on Uncle Ben whose house was luckily placed between our houses. We had nicknamed him Humpty Dumpty and had developed a sound dislike mutually. He just couldn’t stand us talking across the fences. Even if we were silently gesturing  at each other, he used to feel offended and we really hated how he explained to our parents about our “nuisance”. Amidst our heated discussions Jessy gave me a piece of cheese cake. She had only two pieces with her of moderate size. We took it mouthful so that we could finish it off faster and continue our discussion. Meanwhile a man in baggy dress appeared from nowhere and asked Jessy if she would let him have her seat. The problem was our mouths were full and we couldn’t speak a word but Jessy moved without hesitation. I particularly found that offensive. Why did he want her seat provided  there were many vacant seats in the train? That was the only thing I never like about Jessy. She could never say “no” to anyone. She could stand before a big crowd and give a spectacular speech but never a word for herself.

The man who looked like a typical vagabond was not interested in a conversation with us. He perhaps saw us as amateur travellers who didn’t even know how to eat in a moving train or guard one's own seat. However, Jessy tried initiating a conversation with him several times of all he disapproved the progress by giving single syllabic replies. For me, why would I want to talk to someone who takes strangers for granted and sweeps into their seats? The intrusion of the Vagabond ruined our fun.

Alas! I could recollect all those moments as if they had happened yesterday. As it is said “You cannot have too much of a good thing”. The man didn’t leave until we reached Thiheli. Jessy had got off at the previous station. I went to our camp hoping to have more fun way back home. But after two days I received a message from Jessy that she was leaving for home as her father was taken to the hospital seriously ill. Three days later, mom called me to inform about Mr. Fernandez's sudden demise. I wanted to be with Jessy at that time but leaving the camp would mean my hard work of a whole year be despised. How could I have done that!?

Once I reached back home I paid a visit to Jessy’s home with my mom. I actually wanted to hug her. But things were not as expected as it would have been, they were making arrangements to shift their residence to their hometown. They had come here for the sake of Mr. Fernandez's job and now they were no more. The whole neighbourhood had fit into their home which prevented me and Jessy to have a private talk. That was the last time I saw her.

I have never seen or heard about her in the last decade. I wonder how she got track of me and how she had come all planned to pick me at the station. Or was it just a coincidence? Guilt overpours in me on the thought that I haven't even made an attempt to know about her all this time. I didn't know why but perhaps I felt an unbearable change in her that made a fatal distance between us. But now she seems to be the same Jessy I had known and loved.

What she might be doing now? Must have become a successful doctor. May be she owns her own hospital. Has she made that medical camp in Thiheli? What would be her specialization? Did I see the sign on the car? Why am I struggling with these questions in my head? She is right before me. I could just ask her.

Once we reached home, we had a delighted homemade lunch she had arranged and an open conversation. She started by saying how she came to know about my visit. Last week, she had come here after seeing an ad on her previous home set for sale. She hoped to buy that but her husband being more practical found no gain on that move unless one chooses to live in the past which is not appreciated.  But the visit let her see the maid my mom had kept in charge of cleaning the house. Jessy took this chance and learned about my arrival and has been preparing for it since. She vividly explained how she rushed through her works, especially when there were more to do for a Senior HR Manager during the end of the month. Yes, she has become the HR Manager of the Company owned and operated by her in laws. I very much wanted to ask why she gave up her medical career and chose this profession, but it seems too late and she has been justifying her decision from the very beginning. I know she has the potential to work in any field but when your profession is not your passion, you are trapped in that life. At least that’s what I do believe. Jessy had taken her daughter to her mother’s and done with all the urgent matters that may pop up anytime this week which means the whole evening she is free to talk to me. Indeed we have many things to discuss.

Soon she received a phone call from her husband informing her that there is an urgent meeting with a client which she has to attend on his behalf. We had only just started our talk hoping to have the whole evening. Nevertheless, Jessy had to leave and unknown of her presence here I had already made plans for tomorrow. Waving good bye at her, the thought weighed heavy on my chest “ Will she ever say ‘no'?!”

 

When Sorrow Strikes

When the thorns of sorrow strike,
The eyes go blind so do all the senses
And gloom and numbness take
Over the kingdom and mark the fences.

"Let alone sorrow enter the gates",
A command so rude travels the kingdom.
As though heavy are the dates,
Time now treads lightly and numb.

"Let peace be seen from afar and across
The gates that there must await",
The poor soul pleas and makes her vows
"I shall find ways to open the gate".

All that I sense is unfair sorrow.
Before my eyes and beyond my reign,
Grief and grey all the news follow
Yet a hope arises midst the pain
For "Surely, with hardship comes ease",
Said the One who promised peace.

Good Old Days

There was a time

When the air we breathed,

The water we drank,

The food we ate,

The smiles we saw,

Were all clean and pure

And free of cost.

Then came Money,

Befriended everyone,

Helpful for every need.

“Let’s earn more Money.”

“Everything can be bought.”

So we let our days tire

To earn more and more money.

There is a time

When the air we breathe,

The water we drink,

The food we eat,

The smiles we see,

Are all adulterated

And need to be paid.

Time has taught at last

“Not everything can be bought.”

Theft in the Neighborhood

“Ah Ronnie! Days just pass by.

Nothing serious or curious happens around.

Oh you heard it too?

Yes, there was a theft in the neighborhood.

But never mind, it’s not our home.

Some strangers entered the house by force.

'Mr. Mike was shot,

His daughter raped

And his wife injured',

They say.

But never mind, it’s not our home.

Remember Brownie? Their dog!

Luckily it was only tranquilized.

Poor lad! I have taken him home.

Isn’t it inhumane to orphan a pet?

The house and appliances are badly damaged.

It was an unfortunate incident.

But never mind, it’s not our home.

I was watching Netflix

When I heard the commotion.

For a moment I thought  

My earphones were damaged.

You see these are the new ones

You sent from London last week.

Lucky! They are fine.

We got the news from the newspaper boy.

No! I don’t know if valuables are lost.

You see, I don’t peep into others’ matters.

However their car seems missing.

But never mind, it’s not our home.

'There was a similar incident

In the house before it in the lane',

They say.

They have alarmed our mom

Hinting the next is ours.

But you don’t worry.

I don’t let any trouble seeking habits in this house.

Sarah! See who is at the door.

SARAHH!

Rr..Ron..Ronnie, I think they are home.”

Reader, never mind, it’s not our home.

A Fair Chance

Living a small life isn’t about the financial shortage but it is rather an account of uneventful days. My life in Mirzapur has been nothing but a number of such “normal” days. Being a doctor at Dr. Rawuthor’s Hospital and residing in the Doctors’ Quarters, everything around just surrounds it. If anything happens out of it in a normal day of mine is the narrative of my little girl’s eventful day at school. Kids have this extraordinary talent to make any time special. They do not have an “okay” day in their lives. They have good days, bad days, sad days, happy days and tough days. But for us adults, most of the days are either normal or just okay. 

“Dr. Lyla…You can have all that you get”, Dr. Rawuthor told me when I joined the clinic. Well it’s in fact a clinic with minimal facilities but considered as a hospital since you can’t find another medical aid within five kilometers of radius. Being an ophthalmologist, all that I can have is from those who come for the purpose of taking or renewing their driving license and a few routine check ups of those like Uncle Gregory who seem to spend some time reading a little. Thus, the thought of a fixed salary was a distant one as the clinic was more like a charity hospital. The patients were mostly the natives of Mirzapur who were struggling to meet their ends. We didn’t have expensive facilities either that attracted or demanded money. 

When I came here with Rustham after our marriage, Mirzapur seemed very interesting to me as a girl born and brought up in the heart of the city. Rustham though a doctor by profession had chosen to become a writer which was more apt for his rebellious nature. He was the third of six sons. He had an emotionally tough childhood. His parents got separated and went away in search of their own good fortune leaving the boys with their grandparents. When I first met Rustham his grandparents had already passed away and the brothers were all busy building their own careers. As of me, I was the only child to my rich parents. They both died in an accident when I was just ten. I grew up with a distant uncle and aunt of mine who took great care of me till all the fortune my parents had left drained. I later moved to an orphanage that aided my studies. So practically we were both orphans. At the time of our marriage Rustham told me, “I know you want the comfort and care of a family but I have neither of them to offer you… let’s build one”. But my fate was devoid of those things. Rustham breathed his last two years ago. It was also an accident. Many had the opinion that it must be a murder considering Rustham’s character. He earned more enemies than friends. But I do not have such suspicions. Rustham spent five days in the hospital after the accident. He spoke to me about the incident and how a young man came to his rescue. But unfortunately on the fifth day, he had a cardiac arrest. Death was never a stranger in my life. It was the cruelest villain that left me alone with my daughter. But at least I have her. If not for her, for whom shall I live!

It’s still hard for a single mother even if she is working to be on her own. Everyone seems to be very much interested in reminding her how incomplete she is. Dr. Rawuthor however never treated me any different after Rustham’s death. He had always been Rustham’s friend. He is a man of insight; well respected by people of all walks of society. If anything did harm to his image or the clinic was the unfortunate death of Chandrashekhar, a wealthy businessman of Mirzapur. It happened some twelve years ago, to be exact, a year after I joined. He was brought to the clinic as he suffered from a minor heart attack. The condition wasn’t that bad but still after providing primary medical aid Dr. Rawuthor had suggested to take him to the facilitated hospitals in the city which he himself refused. He was under observation for two days and at the eve of the second day he died. It was most probably a murder and I had myself witnessed the chaiwala boy running out of Chandrashekhar’s room with a syringe in his hand. Shanthi who was an elder nurse in the clinic was also with me. Shanthi had been suffering from epilepsy. Though her condition was under control on medication, the incident and the commotion worsened her state and she too breathed her last within two days. The disappearance of the chaiwala boy without a trace and lack of proper evidences made it unclear if it was a murder. However, it was an unforgettable incident in the clinic’s history. Dr. Rawuthor had been blamed since then by those who sought an opportunity to ignite a communal riot. But the fact is that Dr. Rawuthor never really had a religion. He was that man with leftist ideology and openly criticizing all those religious people regardless of their religion. Chandrashekhar on the other hand was not a very good man either. His morality had been questioned many times, especially his treatment of women. Nevertheless, those who seek a problem in every situation, it was an ample one.

I, being a very religious person, had strong disagreements with Dr. Rawuthor in many of his statements. But I had such a strong sense of respect for him that I never reported it straight at his face. Other matters in which I have disagreements with him includes him assigning me at the labor room in the case of absence of Dr. Prameela just because I was the only remaining lady doctor, and his silence at Shahid, the recently joined pharmacist who frequently preach his love for me. Both the matters disturb me equally.

Once nurse Rosey told me that she had an infatuation on Shahid from the very first day he joined the clinic but when she approached him, he had told that he had already fallen for me. She added how he described how much he admired the twinkle in my eyes every evening when I go to the gates to receive my Riya returning from school. For a widow in her thirties another love life is not forbidden in our society unless it becomes illegal or immoral. But for me, I already feel like in my fifties. I have the whole memory of my youth in my heart that I had spent with my Rustham. At this state the advances of someone in his twenties makes an impression of insult though I doubt I may be secretly enjoying his strange descriptions of my charisma. But accepting another man in my life is so far from possibility as I could still sense Rustham everywhere. 

Everybody in the clinic is now well aware of Shahid’s fascination for me but we had never had any talk in person except him occasionally offering chocolates to my little Riya which I had never permitted her to accept. But today, during the lunch break he suddenly dragged me to the not so easily noticeable room at the corner of the stairs. The room is used to keep wheelchairs and stretchers which are stored for emergency cases. Those frequently used ones are often left in the corners of verandahs. The room was barely lit. I could not see his full face except the eyes that was visible through the narrow light passed through the door. I never thought I had such fear for death. I had always thought that death was a cruel companion in my life and when it arrives I shall shake hands and join the rest of my family with pleasure. But when I was alone at that room even though the way he held my arm was not hurting, all I could think was my little Riya crying alone at the clinic’s gates unknown of her dead mother. I gathered my strength and broke the silence, “You cannot kill me.”

“What makes you think that I would kill you when all I said was how much I love you.”

“Do you think this bearded and your fake love will hide the little murderer you were?”

“I know… I had known this since I came here that you had recognized me. I always kept an eye on 

you if you would anytime disclose it out here. But you never did and I wonder why.”

“Everyone shall have a fair chance to repent but to trust again is a different story.”

“You are right. But haven’t you ever thought why would a young boy of fourteen do such a crime? Or who made him do it.?”

“Every murderer has a justifying story. One should be brave to take revenge but it takes much greater courage to forgive.”

There was an empty desk at one corner of the room. He freed my arm, moved slowly, sat down on the desk and asked, “Would you mind sitting here? I have been carrying this heavy burden for so long. I wish I had someone to speak to.”

He was so emotionally taken aback, inhaling forcefully to prevent him weep. I couldn’t be that rude to leave the room. So I decided to listen to his story. He said, “That man impregnated my mother and abandoned her. Soon after my birth, she committed suicide out of the shame of being alive. Remember Shanthi? She was my aunt. To prevent her from the same tragic story of my mother’s, I had to end that cruel man’s life. Who will help a teenager to kill somebody? I didn’t know why but I asked Dr. Rawuthor for help. He gave me the solution and a new life and identity. But the poor soul of my aunt couldn’t bear the pain…”

He couldn’t say all that he wanted to because his tears had already covered his face. As for me, I felt a sense of shock as well as regret at the same time. I had felt Shanthi had been really close to me, yet I couldn’t realize the pain she had gone through. I couldn’t help either of them. I remained a silent witness who never even tried to seek the truth. I didn’t know what to do then. I just tapped his shoulders. I couldn’t say a word. I left the room silently. At the evening, when Riya arrived, I was waiting for her at the gates. Shahid came and offered her a chocolate. As always she looked at me to know if she could have it. And for the first time I nodded my head. She smiled and received the chocolate and said “Thank you Bayya!”

Thinking about it, I don’t really feel it right how Dr. Rawuthor made a young boy commit a crime. But he has always been a man of insight and I could only list it as one of the many disagreements I have with him but never discuss. If only Rustham was here! If only I had someone to speak to!

Hibernation

Helpless am I

As though I fall off a cliff.

My arms reach no clutches,

My feet feel no touches,

My head gives no solutions,

My mind has no emotions, 

And I am free.

Now needs no worry.

Awhile ago, 

My feelings were shattered,

My heart unsecured,

My arms were burdened,

My feet were detained,

And I was in captivity

And my worries infinity.

Now as helpless as I lay,

I take this moment to hibernate;

My arms are now loosened,

My feet now unrestrained,

My head safe and sound,

My mind now unbound

And I am free.

Now needs no worry.

Let thus fall,

Scatter my hassle,

Clean up this muddle,

Conserve my power

To bring back the vigour,

To live the ardour,

To bounce back harder,

And be the me;

The all that I can be.

Yes, at the end of this fall

I shall wake to a life afresh.

Forever Unknown!

“Hey Ram Hey Ram”

Shot dead the one who had an abode

For Ram in his own heart.

But Ram had changed so much with Gandhi’s death.

They say he prefers temple more than hearts.

So they have made the best plain

Over the corpses and tears and blood

They are used to cries of pain

But who they are, are forever unknown.

They thought India a land with borders

But forgot it’s a nation in our blood.

They thought we might kill our brothers

But we have pledged “all Indians are my brothers”.

They throw bones to tempt us

But we are not dogs they must know.

Oh India! Beware of them

For who they are, are forever unknown.

They make life at the cost of this nation

But we must stand to defend our mother

To uphold her colours 

To polish her assets

To accept her varieties

And live with “unity in diversity”

For they want us to forget;

We are Gandhi

We are Buddha

We are Abdul Kalam

Oh India! Beware of them

For who they are, are forever unknown.

They will never have the crisis we anticipate

For they are ready to sell us.

We must know where we stand

For we may lose this land,

Can’t complain

Can’t protest

Can’t trust our  own senses

For who they are, are forever unknown.

Oh India! Beware of them.

Raise your voice now or never.