Missing - Episode 16

Tete-A-Ten

Episode -16

Ramada Hotel;

Floor 9, Room #211.

Juhu Bach, Mumbai.

Jennifer Joseph, finally yielded into temptation. She lit a cigarette, inhaled, held it for a few seconds and then exhaled. Jennifer got up from the bed and walked to the window to tap the ash off her cigarette. The window frame captured the sunset, some nameless faces on aimless shores,floating in and out and the Arabian Sea.

The room was lit with two lampshades which highlighted the bronze shade on her hair. It had one empty coffee cup with stains at the bottom,and a maroon lipstick on the rim. A muted television played in the background, light curtains half drawn, the air conditioner set at sixteen degrees, an open laptop with the wireless light blinking, and the balcony window slightly open to let out the smoke.

“Jjo think, think think...what does a movie blogger have to do with Juhu beach and a child? What’s the connection? Oh God don't tell me he could be a paedophile,but then the girl seemed happy with him,but then he could be luring her...oh dammed this is not right”

“There’s got to be a logical connect,” she muttered. She sat down in front of the laptop again. She went through the blog repeatedly. She read a few posts, some movie reviews and made a character sketch in her mind.

“Ok so he likes movies,is detail oriented,visual, is descriptive,must be the chatterbox types.” Yet every-time she glanced at the photograph the analysis was quite the contrary. He looked a bit lost, a bit out of place and shy.

Cyrus had ninety nine followers on the blog “MoviesRus” Jennifer raced through a few posts and reviews until her eyes stopped on “Brokeback Mountain”. That particular review had fifty one comments while the rest averaged five or six. However one commentator featured in as many as twenty one of them –it was Aryan Ahuja.

Jennifer flipped back to another review, the name appeared again. She went to some other posts in a random selection; each one had Aryan Ahuja commenting at least once.

“Ok so he has a fan following all right – Aryan Ahuja – now why would you be so interested in movies Mr.Ahuja? Or are you interested in Cyrus?”she said while her nostrils emitted smoke like a slow waterfall. 

She clicked on Aryan Ahuja’s profile and found out he was a doctor. Her fingers searched for  “Aryan-Ahuja-Doctor-Mumbai” on Bing.There were multiple options but one made her eyes widen.

“Roohi Dutta, stand-alone case for Duodenal Atresia, operated by Dr.Aryan Ahuja” on the Indian journal of medicinal research.At the end of the article she found the name of the hospital he worked and the names Shekhar and Tara.

“Hello, is it  Cloud Nine Hospital” she asked.

“Please hold”

“Dammed, it hurry up”

The hold music continued to play. Jennifer started to scratch the tip of her thumb with her index finger till the skin rolled up.She stood up from the bed, and tossed the remaining cigarette out of the window.

“Come on”

“Good Evening Cloud nine – how may I help you?”

“Erm eyes yes, uh I need to know about Aryan Ahuja”she blurted.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh am sorry, I mean can you connect me to Doctor Aryan Ahuja”

“Who shall is say is calling?”

“ Uh this is— ” Jennifer was interrupted.

“I just checked,If you’re looking for an appointment then “it’s not possible, he’s on leave till next week”

“What – uh look this is an emergency can you please let me know his mobile phone?”

“I’m sorry ma’am I ‘m not authorized”

"Listen lady,I need that Doctor's number right now" she said grinding her teeth.

The phone disconnected."Uh what, wait,I'm sorry,hello..."


Jennifer Joseph slumped into the soft bed once more.She lay down staring at the ceiling wondering what to do next. "I can log back into Facebook and inform Tara...but with what evidence? Just a hunch? She might just freak out to know that her child is with a paedophile? But not telling her could be the worst thing to happen"

Jennifer logged back into Facebook to see so many comments on Roohi and there was Aryan Ahuja's comment - with a phone number. Curious she clicked on his profile page and the first words startled her “What you seek, is seeking you”. 

Rumi was her favorite too.

• “Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at BlogAdda.com. #CelebrateBlogging with us.”

Mystics Dream

Lost in trance she dances
flying in the violet sky
the flamingos watch
the dreams in her eyes...

Lost in time she flows
flowing with the falls,
the snowy banks look on
listen to the droplets fall...

Lost in space she smiles
drifting with the stars
the universe grows
yet so much to love
and so little space to hold...

Gyanban Thoughts - Someday,there might be a tune to this poem,I wrote this listening to the Mystic's dream.

Chafe - 'my entry to the GetPublished contest’

She was a troubled child. She wanted love but that would have to wait. That’s a story for some other time. I promise.

For now, let us walk down those memory lanes which were her first few steps in finding love. Sharp, intelligent, enterprising and a great sense of humor were some adjectives commonly used to describe her at fourteen. At twenty, she was on her way to become the  most qualified girl in her family and by the time she was nearing thirty she had a top job in the city she loved.

For many, this would be a dream come true, but for her it was a rude awakening. What is love? A question she asked at every step of her life and perhaps never got answered. She kept looking, kept going till the day she got married.

What happened after that, what happened before that ,are a series of events dotted across people places and their different faces…men mostly, different ages,types and sizes. A journey that oscillates between a covered surrealism and an exposed truth. How a simple life changes colors from black and white to multiple shades of grey.

What happens to her? How does she cope up ? What does she eventually learn ?

What Makes This Story ‘Real’

Every lie, has a moment of truth in it. We all live our lies at some point in our lives, how we chose to deal with it determines if it was a nightmare or a fairytale.

Extract –

The floor was wet, quite slippery…and that was by design. The attendants did not want any friction. They really couldn’t care less who it was, they all looked the same to them. One room one window and one bed would probably not mean much to most, but for her it was where she found love...ironically.

"This is my entry for the HarperCollins–IndiBlogger Get Published contest, which is run with inputs from Yashodhara Lal and HarperCollins India."

Wind Beneath My Wings - V

Read part I

Read part II

Read part III

Read Part IV




The boy’s story goes back a long way. He fell in love with her ever since he saw her  standing quietly at a funeral four years ago. Odd place to fall in love you might think, but believe me, when love happens it does not look at time, age distance or location. It just sucks you inside this massive whirlpool.

He lived in a world that had everything. Best wine, women, luxuries, opulence and led a fantastic life, or so he thought at the time. People appreciated his intelligence and sharpness. He was well built, did his job so well that his adversaries feared his presence. And on the other hand he had a loving father and some good friends. People loved his father and respected his opinion so much, that it surprised him sometimes on the blind faith they had in him.

Though most loved him out of fear for who he was – such an oxymoron isn’t it? How can fear and love co-exist? He always questioned it – and landed in some argument or the other. Father being gentle, never stretched an argument, which does not imply that he agreed, in fact he would make simple comments which bothered him no end, something like  “son – you will realize it one day when you are in love and will know the fear of losing your love”. But he dismissed it off. He was Mr.Practical.Mr.Priority. Love for him was perhaps an overrated wasted indulgence which he could have at any time anywhere if he really wanted it.

His destiny had a slightly different take on that though and realization came sooner than he had anticipated.

One day, as he was on his way back home from work ,he saw Rosalyn. He did fall in love…with Rosalyn against all his logical belief system. As days passed by, he grew restless with this contradiction of his heart and mind. It took his sleep away. And ever since then he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He even forgot his close friends and only thought about her.

Being so vulnerable was new to him, and he felt quite nervous, and more so being illogical was not his forte. So why did he fall in love? Why her? He liked to keep his life black and white.

This dilemma began taking a toll on his work and everyday life. He lost interest in everything he did so well till now. His inconsistency at work affected the immediate world around him and the  people connected to it.

Seeing his son in pain, his father decided to pay him a visit. He walked into his house and said ‘Son – I see you are suffering – what do you want  - is there anything I can help you with? You do realise that I’d help you in any way I can right?’.

When the mind is occupied, simple things become complicated.

He got irritated at his fathers remark, because he thought that his father was aware of the state of his mind or rather his heart so why taunt him? He wondered if his father wanted him to bow down before him and seek help just like millions did everyday. After all this was yet another victory of his philosophies.

Somehow he managed to not retort but he ignored him.

His father waited for sometime and then went back , leaving him to make his own choices and realize things, as he had always done before. He had never forced anything on to him beyond a point. He had taught him to take his own decisions, and also bear the consequences – which he sure did.

Not to say he made all the right choices in the past, but the stubborn lad he was, he stood by all of them. He never regretted any of his decisions, one of which was leaving his fathers house at an early age. Father had supported his decision even then.

Soon days passed into months but the restlessness inside him kept on building. And then one day something happened to his sense of rationale – it probably had snapped. He had matured and shades of grey had crept into his black and white life. As he tossed and turned in his bed feeling restless something inside him screamed for some action.

It had come to a point of no return for him – he had to do this and get it out of his system else his mind would probably explode. Finally, he decided to get up and do something about his misery, his dilemma. And yet again a radical decision awaited his judgment. Just like he had done many years ago. That very moment, he left everything behind, quit his job, left his friends and family and decided to pursue his love and win her over. Before leaving he went to his father’s house.

‘Welcome son’ – his calm baritone was always a little unnerving, but he never showed his nervousness.

‘Why aren’t you ever surprised father?’ he queried like an annoyed child.

Father just smiled and gestured him to speak his mind.

‘Father, I have decided’  -he started to speak hastily, and then stopped.

‘ That you have to go’ .Father completed the sentence.

‘Yes’.

‘You do know the consequences – right?’ His father was now looking and talking to him without any inflection in pitch or deflection on his facial muscles.

He was already tensed and now, he became impatient and irritable.

‘Wait a minute I don’t understand this – when I never believed in love you taunted me ,and said some day I would learn my lesson, that some day – is today father, today is that day. Now that I have learnt my lesson, you say there will be consequences? Why?’ He ranted.

There was  so much pent up emotion building up inside me – ready to explode, tears perhaps.

A first glimpse of the hazards of falling in love.

His father was calm as ever, and said –

‘I have never taunted you my child – your tonality of interpreting my compassion does not make it sarcastic you know. Look at the bright spots – we all learn some day, and your day has come today, but learning also brings in awareness and responsibility.’

‘Love brings responsibility of your thoughts translated into action. You have to own your decision and know that you cannot back away from it. There are no trials in true love. It’s a one-way street.’

He nodded in agreement.

‘Besides someone has to do your job – have you found a replacement yet?’ his father’s practicality took him by surprise. He spoke just like he would have. I mean why wouldn’t he?

He was after all his father. But they were so different, or so he’d thought all along.

‘Uh – yes father I have a replacement in place to continue the business as usual.’ He replied quietly.

‘You do know the gravity of the situation you are going to be in right? None of my resources would be accessible to you, you are pretty much on your own’ his baritone interrupted his thoughts again.

‘Y-yes sir’ he mumbled.

‘Well then its done then. Come here, and give me a hug’.

They embraced each other after so many years, he felt wonderful, as if he was waiting for this one hug from him all his adult life. Yet, ironically, it was because of his beliefs that he’d never cared for his hugs in the past.

Something in him knew it was perhaps the last time he would hug him in long while.






Gyanban Thoughts - The story races ahead in part VI - What's in store for Gerald and Rosalyn ? What is their destiny?

Sapphic

Dear Appa

I know you have dreams for me,

I know you have faith in me,

I know you have nurtured me,

But I want to fly away.

I know you have sat beside me,

I know you have cried with me,

I know you have died with me,

But I want to fly away.

I know you sacrificed for me

I know you struggled for me

I know you tried for me,

But I want to fly away.

I know you love me,

I know you care,

I know you would dare,

But I wish you just let me be, me.

~Your selfish daughter

Rachna

After scribbling these few lines, Rachna, threw away the paper and sat in silence gazing blankly outside the window overlooking the crowded city.

‘I just have to do this – I’ve got to tell Appa’ she emphasized in hr mind.

‘But what if he reacts badly? What if he gets stressed...what if something happens to him? I would live in regret for the rest of my life’ she contradicted.

‘Yet if I don’t, then I will regret all my life as well. Regret is constant in either case. The question is which is the lesser one?’

It was almost time for Mr.A.P.V. Janardhan Reddy, Chief Engineer for Government projects, to come home. “Reddy garu” as he was popularly called, was a simple, honest man in a maze of politics and corruption. It was a quirk of fate that he had managed to survive this long without succumbing to the shackles of corruption. His reputation was unquestionable and often was the cause of envy for people who liked and disliked him.

He had a small family, his wife Mrs.Geetha Reddy, and daughter Rachna. They lived in the government quarters nearby. His life was simple, routine and uncomplicated. Not that he was chauvinistic, but he had clear expectations from his life. He would earn,Geetha would cook, and Rachna would get married to a nice simple next door boy,preferably another government employee, and settle close to their neighbourhood.

But that was about to change tonight.

‘Geetha – I am home’ he announced his arrival.

‘Your tea is ready why don’t you go freshen up first’ said Geetha.

‘Hmm what’s there to eat?’

‘Chekkalu and some Upma but first wash up and relax’ Geetha’s voice trailed off  as she went into the kitchen.

Rachna heard her father’s voice.

‘This is it Rach, you will have to break the news today’ she thought.

Yet the conflicting voice in her was equally strong and persistent.

‘Appa, I want to talk to you’ she said gingerly.

‘Oh you are at home, I didn’t realise that – I thought you were out with friends. By the way, did you meet the boy I asked you to? What’s his name? Girish I think – seems like a decent boy, he has done his B-Tech from Vellore, and unlike others, he prefers to work for the government. I think he has a bright future –India needs….’

‘Appa’ Rachna interrupted rather agitatedly.

‘Appa I’ve got a job with Bottlecaps – ‘ she paused for a reaction, but got none.

‘Its India’s first gay pub – she paused for a reaction’ she got none. Her father kept looking at her, something more was to come.

‘As their first woman restaurant manager’ – her mouth had dried, she gulped slowly.

‘and…’ .

Generally, the most outrageous thing that Mr.A.P.V. Reddy had ever heard or assessed was how his colleague’s son left electronic engineering to go pursue a career in Veterinary sciences. But this was outside his vocabulary of imagination or even remote fantasy. The flurry of questions in his mind were blocking his ability to react ,speak or gesture.

The stillness in the room was palpable. The Upma remained glued in between the mouth and the throat, the half eaten Chekkalu looked on blankly,the curtains stopped swaying,the tea broke free from the cup and sprinkled on Geetha’s hands,but she did not react either.

Rachna could hear her heartbeats, her fathers and her mothers, amplified ten times.

‘And Appa – I am…  – I don’t like men – getting married to a man would not only ruin his life, but mine as well.’


The fan tried to flip  the pages of the Deccan Chronicle, but it soaked in the oil from the Upma and lay down still smudging the snippet  'India's first...'















Gyanban Thoughts ~ This is the concluding part of the poem Rumination written previously. Sometimes breaking the news to family is the most toughest thing - more so, if you know for sure that it might bring about havoc - but the dilemma and the price one has to pay for not sharing the news is massive and takes a toll.Sapphic means homosexual. This post is dedicated to all those people who have a different sexual orientation and preference.We need to respect every individuals choice - we need to peacefully coexist without discrimination.


Whether we subscribe to a particular belief or not  is immaterial, we cannot   dictate what is the mass consensus - because if tomorrow the mass consensus against homosexuality changes , then that will be the norm of the society and heterosexuality will standout. So lets respect each other and live peacefully.

Blip

‘I am feeling cold – hold me tight’

‘It’s ok darling, I am there with you’

‘But why are we leaving them behind?’

‘They will follow, but we have to go now’

‘Wait , I can see something familiar..’

‘Isn’t that you and me lying on the ground?’

The Flight Data Recoder ended after that. Blip.

Gyanban Thoughts - This micro fiction was inspired by air crash investigation episodes on Nat Geo. There are two types FDR - flight data recorder and the CVR -cockpit voice recorder. This story is based on the visualization that what if there was a passenger voice recorder as well ? Sometimes when death is near,people have reportedly foreseen it before the actual experience...imagine listening to that conversation. The title blip was so fitting as it leaves for many interpretations, one of them being a spike - perhaps in reality!

Wrong Right

The rule you break,the money you make,

The tatto you hide, love the other side,

The drink you mix, the date you fix,

The visit to the Phantoms paradise.

The chocolate you tempt,the forced restraint,

The burger you loathe,then relent,

The blueberry scuffle, the Tiramisu battle,

The war of scoops,the strawberry rattle.

The manufactured news you read, the poor you feed,

The fast you take, the democracy you break,

The politics at work,the peace with a jerk,

The allowance you snatch, behind the latch.

The speeding bike, rush from the bar,

The ignorant loner,hits the car,

The paying pop and the comforting cop,

The raving party must not stop.

The imemdiate need,for the designer breed,

The wonder rich kid and inherited greed

The cheap local, almost anit-social,

The poor boy ,a mistake collossal.

The ego flaunt,the brilliance gene,

The designer life,and evergreen,

The proud momma and bitchy in-law,

The nasty treatment,a derserving flog.

The ditcher in the eye, eternal love,

The flaming passion,a hidden trove.

The extra attention,mesmerising charm,

The scathing remark and dark sarcasm.

The way you dress, the food you eat,

The money you spend, the holidays you take,

The colleagues you met,the freinds you beget,

The marriage regret and the honeymoon fret.

The beautiful sight of a landing flight,

The detour fright, the allegiance delight.

The ultimate sacrifice, eternal paradise,

The burning cause and reprise.

The warming night,heated day,

The burried earth, and trapped decay,

The melting ice and changing scape,

The floating wave,watery grave,

The escaping life and the drowsy brave.

All that you know is so slight,

Who knows , wrong could be the new right !

Gyanban Thoughts - A few lines dedicated to the ironies of life.I often wonder, why is everything that we want mostly wrong? Life exists in opposites, or goodness exists in opposites - probably a betrayal on either side. !

Life has a way of balancing itself,whether we like it or not, agree or not, we just keep pushing our momentary truth and extract momentary pleasure, instant gratification.The popular optimist will say, someday all this will change,and life will become ideal.

The scathing pessimist will say this is as close to happening as finding life on another planet. Somewhere all of our definitions are mixed up with the environment around us.

Also written for Onesingleimpression prompt Betrayal.

image courtesy:desktopnexus.com

Scarlett

A dark clouded dream on a fiery night
Teases the crescent moon
A veiled face hides behind the candle light
She lay still in the lovers coccoon.

They're walking in circles
Their lamps mask their faces
A cold wind caresses

The lashes of silken traces.

The smoke swirls up and then it dies

The crackling wood burns as it flies,

Shadows of the night are dancing,

Eyes meet eyes piercing.

Would you like my heart?
Would you like my touch?
A silent moon rolls with the lonely teardrop,

A waiting heart beats after a stop.

New lives are woven every night,
And fortunes kindle in the silver light
The tryst of the scarlett robe,

A pregnant truth flickers as a ray of hope...

Gyanban thoughts - Gypsies travel from one life to another, one world to another, carrying their love,pain or sorrow udner the hood of resilience.No one know where they came from or where are headed to,they just move on. I think we are all moving like them,from event to event, chasing the unrelenting final destination,and somewhere we find it will come to us in all it s glory and beauty.

image courtesy:desktopnexus.com

My 50th birthday

The last few hours of my 49^th year of existence were quite exciting.Let me take you through the beginning of the day till the end.

At the stroke of 6 in the morning, my wife of 25 years woke me up with a gentle kiss on my cheek. A far cry from the heady 30’s when waking up in the morning meant making love till we fell asleep again. Nevertheless, man learns to deal with situations in life over time, and I guess mine was going to be no different.

The breakfast table was as usual crowded with brown bread toasts, orange juice, fruits and some muesli. Quite different from the dutiful 40’s when our kids were screaming their way to grow up. My daughter first let me know of her new found love. I didn’t know whether to feel happy for the trust she had in me or sad to know of her ignorance of my predicament.

I reached office on time, sharp at 9. Well-creased shirt, gelled hair or whatever that was left on my head. The tie knot was just perfect and shoes were shining bright even though I had not polished it two days in a row. Unlike my good old struggling days where a white collar was a luxury and a shoe polish was a necessary ritual every single day.

Lunch at work was over colleagues and customers talking business. Or as they say a working lunch. We got the deal. High fives and white wine testified the success. The excitement was short-lived, for no reason at all. Somehow Old Monk and Thumsup bore greater relevance to the fax of a signed purchase order. Big deal indeed.

Back at office late afternoon, one of my directs came into the office. He wanted to talk about his promotion. Long over due or so he thought. I gave him his promotion to his shock and disbelief. I had already worked at approvals a few weeks back. The look on his face was perhaps a Kodak moment. Every instance of me not getting promoted flashed before my eyes. After all 2 years in the company was a long time indeed or so I thought at the time.

A customary phone call from home. What are you doing she says? Playing football I retort – what else. The usual sigh and a faint giggle followed. Much unlike how it backfired back in the late 20’s and we were going to make it the reason to break up! The passion in belief that we had about us leading different lives there on was quite unbelievable. Turns out rightly so after 25 years of marriage.

At about 5PM I was thinking of wrapping up work when my son called and announced he had cracked the best job in the world. I took it literally and checked if he’d got fired. He hung up the phone. This was perhaps a better reaction than my father-asking Ma to switch off the microwave oven 30feet away, when I shared the biggest success of my juvenile life. After all electricity bills were always important.

7PM and I am still stuck in traffic. I see the big 5 star hotel by the road side and I think to myself what wonderful buffet layout they have, although the dessert selection could have been better. Maybe the kebabs as well. I know they were much better 15 years ago at KFC – Kerela Fried Chicken stall. A dimly lit lantern, awesome recycled oil, and what a beautifully charred frying pan. They just added to the taste so much. Miss you Geroge anna.

Got home just in time before my wife re-dialed my number. I scored. The wash and change was just as refreshing as it was yesterday. A stark difference from the shout I gave the landlord to switch on the pump. But that was 30 years ago. Food was neatly laid on the dining table, some light lounge music played in the background. I wish I could gift this CD to Bhallaji, who played loud Bollywood numbers late in the night jarring from his two-in-one. Oh wait. It would have to be a cassette not a CD.

Finally it’s time for bed. The hospital bed. A little different bed than my bedroom. A lot different from the one room set we moved into after our marriage. A mattress is all we had to sleep on.

It’s 11.45PM now, unlike yesterday’s 11.45PM when my family was alive and had not met with an accident. But that changed at the stroke of 12 en-route to our home from a concert. None of them survived. I couldn’t make it too…

It’s 12.00AM. Happy birthday.

Gyanban Thoughts - This short story is about memories and incidents which are trivial when they happen, perhaps even frustrating but make up for the fabric of life, till we have it.It is important for us to enjoy every little frustration, hardship or dissapointment we have in life, because eventually we all will win in something or the other in some way or the other.Appreciating the present is much more critical than waiting for the bright future to come.I'd like to know if any of my readers think any differently. By the way,did you note this story has 786 words only? How cool is that?

#Old Monk - A strong rum.

#Thumsup - A Cola.

#George anna - Brother (elder)

#bhallaji - a common north Indian last name.

image courtesy:desktopnexus.com