I always felt, my mind is a moving
train. It travels very fast like a train in the mid-rails, with option to
go either way; the visuals surpassing our eyes like the thoughts jumping from
one to another. And I feel, the pain would be the same when you go out of your
mind; as if you jumped from the speeding train. You might not live over that
jump unless you have got a strong luck over your head.
And my mind was traveling in high
octanes, with the train taking me to some unknown city from my home station. I
found someone at the railway station who got me a window seat pass for this
train, with its trail kept in disguise at my request. I didn’t care the
destination of the train, for I had none. I again looked at my chat, it showed
all my messages as read; but no replies to acknowledge. Passing vignettes
across the barred window of my seat framed for a second on a brother and
sister, at the doorsteps of their lousy home enjoying their own world, their
own space.
………
My childhood. A godforsaken child, of
mediocre brains and unpleasant looks. Neither in the family; consisting of 7
uncles and 4 aunties and their belonging extended relatable beings; found me
adorable nor amicable. Even my dad and mom took me secondary in the house
politics; where the first preference always blessed my sister. In my
faint memories, I still remember, even she had an aversion towards me and
preferred the neighborhood friends in her day-out plays. My toddler life in
this world, hence, was devoid of those extreme pampers and lullabies, a highly
equity-led bringing up strengthening my heart along with my bones and muscles.
And it was in the age of 5, my LKG time
at school life where I felt the first stroke of compassion. It took me an extra
year to reach schools; thanks to my low powered head-engine. But that didn’t
took me aback to bleakness, until this teacher from post-modern era, who taught
everything to us, took it for granted to get pissed off at whatever I did in
the class. My shabbiness was a blessing for her angst to invest upon. Rhymes,
alphabets, numerals; nothing got in my head making their way to colours,
smells, sounds and portraits. I never heard the questions, the witch asked me
for which I was getting beaten up with her favourite wooden cane. And when I
got attracted by the outside visuals rather than the inside boredom, I heeded
to her ways. I was happy that way and had no complaints for standing outside
for hours. But later she broke the truce; calling my parents and the HM;
claiming my tastes and preferences as my shortcomings and her, as ideal
theories. As puppets my parents and the HM shook their heads against me.
But the de-promotion decision didn’t
dishearten me, for I was happy to be among new people, not until I found the
same teacher would be there to torture me in this year too. After the first day
of my new-old year, I came back home. The thought of getting peeled off again
for a whole year broke my heart. Emotions went to higher altos, I couldn’t
control my tears. I sobbed silently dipping my head onto a pillow. My mind
hovered like a moving train. I never made sound when I cried, for my dad
got really irk on hearing that sound. And he would taunt me so hard until my
sound submerged in the fear.
After a sufficing downpour, when I felt I
was good to reclaim my stature to be forsaken again, I wiped my face and stood
up to see my sister, standing right in front, looking at me. For that moment I
felt that surge of helplessness striking my brain with a whiplash; the right to
expression of grief was also taken away from me at that moment. Now she would
call my parents, say the fiasco, another questionnaire drama and a series of
outdated morsels of advice. Hellish… I resumed my posture on the bed and tried
hard to control my fears. The tube light suffered its eclipse over me with her
standing in between us; her shadow darkened my vicinity. Even after few
minutes, the shadow didn’t budge, even after my silent curses to Satan and
votive to God. Finally it budged… It budged to totally devour the light from
me. She came and hugged me. Her hands entwined my torso with her chin pinning
on my left shoulder. Initially I thought she was going to hurt me in a new
fashion. But later I discovered it… the warmth, the care, the love, the
compassion. I turned up to see her face and even her eyes were wet. I hugged
her back. And I called her mummy; for my words never had that logical
credentials from the brains to support. But she never corrected me either. It
was a mummy-brother relation that bloomed.
She helped me surpass the subjects as
well as the evil characters in my primary schooling. And when I was shifted to
a boarding school in the name of acquainting to social etiquettes, she was
there as a solace in my weekend visits to home. I didn’t have or couldn’t have
friends at my school. It was not like I got lazy in making friends; none could
match my sister. I never made chances for a fight between us and always took
initiative if any trivial trifles popped up. She indeed had won my heart over
my mom in caring and my dad in guiding. And when I continued to prefer her
companionship over others, I made the biggest mistake in my life. I had only
one single choice in my life for all variables. And whenever I was caught up in
the moving train, she came to my rescue. But what if I lose her? I had
never thought. I never thought because such a situation never came in my life;
until it actually surfaced… yeah…
The in-law theorem. A phenomenon
undergone by Indian Women when they grow up. A platonic shift would be
introduced in her life reflecting in the family basics, thoughts, habits and
tastes. When parents feel their girl had reached nubility, they would start giving
tutorials on how to adapt herself to the newer conditions in a total newer
atmosphere and how to be one among others in a quicker time. From her name, to
the speed dials in the phone; everything changes and it might also change her
intimacy with her brother. And none is to be blamed but the theorem, we all are
to be the masquerades, controlled by some unseen strings.
The proposal came via matrimonial site,
where my parents were playing that throw-dice game to find the better half for
my sister. He was, in fact the best choice according to them; well-educated,
well-mannered, 7-digit-annual-paid software engineer hailing from the
brain-drained population. In the second sitting of the families, talking about
the terms and conditions of the marriage business in the most sugar-coated way;
the captains of the sides, my dad and his dad shook their hands, firing
together the start whistle. I just completed my final year degree exams when
they decided to marry her off. At the initial conveyance, I felt it all to be a
joke; for she never wanted to get married. Everything was going fine in the
family. She had a job, father and mother are in good health, and enough savings
had been deposited in the bank and talks were going on with my dad’s friend to
settle me in some douche bag job. Why would she get married now? For now every
rush would get over, we all must probably enjoy ourselves right? I asked mom
the same question, for which she replied;
“Your
‘mummy’ is 25 now. It is high time for her to get married! I can’t believe
you’re still a small boy. In other families boys of your age does all the work
for their sister’s marriage…”
“What?
Just because she’s 25? What would happen if she’s 30?”
“She
won’t get a good groom. Now she’s earning, she’s pretty’ and this is the
perfect time for her to go to another home as a daughter-in-law. Now go away.
Don’t eat my brains now”
Literally I was pissed off by her logic.
I never asked Dad, for he’s no different from Mom in viewpoints. I directly
went to my mummy. I just wanted to hear her, for what she said had been the
right theory for me.
“It
has become part of our tradition, that girls should get married in between
22-28 and not later than 30. Apart from those trivia which mom told, there are
some other scientific reasons behind it. At this age, a woman’s body is primed
for being pregnant. Her fertility chances are pretty high, and her health
conditions; the bones, the muscles, the organs; are wholesome such that
complications like hypertension and other gestational problems are minimal. So
the baby, or babies will be in good shape. If I marry at 30, there would be
fertility mistakes that would even affect my health. So apart from my
financial, relationship and maturity status, the biological theory also
supports this age for getting married. And apart from this, I feel I should get
married. When you feel you got the person you want to share your life with; get
married without a second thought. And he’s a nice guy. You must talk to him
once. He had traveled many places, worked in 2 foreign countries already, and
is planning to start his own firm within 5 years. Such visionary people are very
rare to get. Isn’t it awesome, monu?”
I kept mum, but smiled wide to reply her
excitement. She had made a scientific approach to justify her decision; for she
never wanted to get married, but enjoy her freedom to the fullest. But, to be
frank I was not happy. Why should I be? And she knew, she was the only person
in this world whom I wanted to be with. But all of a sudden she is dreaming to
get older with some ghost of future past, Mr Fingertips with digital brains.
And she’s not at all thinking about me? What would be my condition if she’s not
around me? Am I that simple to be forgotten just like that? Or was this the way
it all worked? I didn’t know!!!
And when busy people marry, days would
fly like hours… Within a month of the aforesaid handshake, she was married to
Mr Fingertips. He was so busy that before three days of marriage, he landed in
India with 15 days in hand to settle things in the mother country. And before
marriage, he talked to me may be thrice and that too about his happening life.
My degree, was like a decree in front of his credentials. Amidst the busy days,
I watched my princess mummy, all the time. She kept roaming here and there,
effectively doing nothing but answering the queries of the come-and-go
relatives with utmost politeness. The beautician and make-up band came up with
their armours to make her the so-called ‘occasional’ and the masses commented
their work in unison; ‘awesome’. But she was already pretty; my princess...
The day of marriage was the most horrible
experience in my life. My parents; who were secondary in our past life; were in
full control over mummy. They were like holy angels bestowing the destiny of
their life; getting their child married. The rituals, the laughs, the cries,
everything had them in the limelight, and mummy also heeded to the flow. I was
given the charge of hospitality; making sure the guests had taken enough food
to their tummies, all had gulped the welcome drink, if any of them needed to
use the loo, all had their smiling faces clicked with the couple etc. etc. Many
faces smiling at me where those who publicly despised my scores at schools when
I was young, and who protested against my sister’s jobber life. Why should I be
courteous to them? Is this being social? God!!!! It even prevented me from
being with her at the last day of my freedom over her. At the stage, when the
bride and groom was undergoing the candid photography farce, I could see her
laughing and enjoying Mr Fingertips’ comments. At once, he also adjusted her
dress on the demand of the foolish shutterbug. I watched all this with a smile
hiding my envy. Yeah, I was envious. Insane? Yes, I was insane. I am. If all
people around me was normal, then yes!! I’m insane!! Getting married, making
family, saving money… At my foot!!!!
I refrained from hugging her while they
were leaving. She was amused, making me happy for the first time in the day;
finally I had got her attention, but happiness was always momentary, for she
regained her normality and moved on; leaving me abandoned in the commotion; in
the moving train…
When you have no ‘normal’ problem to deal
with in this mundane world, you might go crazy. When you don’t have to feed
your parent’s tummy with your blood and sweat, when all your loans are paid
off; when you don’t have an affair to glue-in; when you don’t have any
break-ups to move on; in total, when you’re a person with a clock-work life in
an eat-sh*t-sleep cycle, you might go crazy. Everybody is crazy in such
situations; but put out of their sane cage at a perfect occasion that demands its
revelation. And my confrontation with the revelation came when I visited my
mummy and her husband in their foreign house.
It was planned to be a brief visit of 14
days; but I was packed back in the 7th day itself. They stayed in a
plush home, fully decorated, fully furnished pot; with all the modern gadgets
to give complete leverage to mummy in her household activities. Mr Fingertips
left for the job early at 6 in the morning. I was pretty glad about that. I
kept my alarm at 5.30 and finished all my morning duties to be available with
mummy from 6. But as she had joined a job in a nearby firm, she too left the
house by 9. Until 6 in the evening, when Mr Fingertips finally returned from
his busy office life, I was left alone in that house, eating the ready-to-eats
available in the fridge and watching the vintage Malayalam movies in TV. And it
was on Saturday, the 6th day of my visit, both of them got some
leisure to finally take me out in the city; to visit few shopping malls, a
theatre, an eatery and a museum. Mr Fingertips left mummy with me, that I was
able to rejoice our olden times together. I tried to make her laugh every
second I could; and did all the foolish jokes and acts I had done all over my
life; just to see my mummy’s smiling face; the most beautiful thing in the
world. I could also fathom herself getting out of her stressed living, enjoying
each moment with me. And when finally we reached home, we all were tired for
the obvious enjoyment we had. It was then, Mr Fingertips gave his entry in.
“Honey,
what’s up for dinner?”
“You’re
hungry? We just had food right? Monu, are you hungry?”
I shook my head indicating I was not.
“I’m
damn hungry, make something hot and quick”
“I’m
so tired! There are some steaks in the freezer. You can fry it”
“I
know I’ll have to fry steaks before eating. But I want you to do it”
“Leave
it, brother” I intruded
He gave me an ignorant smirk and
continued staring at mummy.
“OK.
I’ll fry it. My tiredness is not a big deal right? Wait for a minute”
Mummy went into the kitchen and so did Mr
Fingertips. There were some silent shouts inside the kitchen which was
gibberish to my ears. Reluctantly I went into the kitchen, when they saw me,
mummy cut herself loose and moved towards me when he reached for her hand and
twisted it to hold her back
“I’m
not done!!” he shouted.
I knew it was not much painful to mummy.
But seeing him getting physical on mummy was something enough for me to
disclose all the hatred I accumulated in my mind towards him since his entry into
my life. I rushed towards him and punched right at his nose; which got
compressed almost in line to his upper lips. He squirmed in pain and sat down,
but before I could hold mummy to check if she was hurt, I was pushed aback by a
force; an otherwise compassionate force that would care me in need, console me
in pain and caress me in distress; but this time it reacted with sheer
displeasure and anger. I fell down hitting my left head on to the kitchen door.
I injured my left ear. Blood flew down the ear tip. But mummy was busy applying
ice at her husband’s nose. I waited for a minute to see if she came back to me
after his first aid; for he was injured first. She helped him to walk to their
room and the door was shut. I waited… and waited… and waited. When the lights
in the room went off, I went to the refrigerator and helped myself in applying
ice on my ears. I had revealed my craziness; my craziness for my mummy; but I
had to confront a lot of revelations in reply. I dunked my face into the
pillows; just like I did in my school. The moving train sped at
lightning rate. In the hope of the warmth that would hug me across my torso; I
waited. Only the warmth of sleep hugged me, not the hands.
Next morning I woke up to see mummy
standing in front of me. Yeah!! Finally she came to me. But she had my suitcase
packed with my things and a paper in her hands. It was my ticket. In two
minutes my phone rang, and it was Dad on the line. After a series of scolds and
curses; he confined to the solution of leaving mummy and Fingertips ASAP. She
didn’t utter a word to me. She gave a silent company to my breakfast. Her Mr
had left early. She called the cab and helped with my luggage. I asked if she
was not coming to the airport; but she didn’t seem to hear that… I left the place
as instructed, ASAP.
Back in the soil of culture and
tradition, I sat at the airport, thinking of what to do next. Going home was
never a great option. I had few more holidays in hand before resuming work; who
wished to go early to that forsaken place! Throughout my journey back, I kept
on texting her, my apologies. My calls went unanswered. I used all the social
mediums of communication to reach her, but all in vain. I found the whole world
around me shaking, my head twirled like being spun in a washing machine.
Surroundings seemed surreal. The moving train seemed unstoppable. I took
a cab to the railway station, for I felt my whole body should be in unison with
my mind.
……….
I looked again at the message box; still
no replies from mummy. I found my hand shivering. Once, she was totally mine.
No other being had any right over her. I possessed her completely. And so was
me to her; or I believed, and still believe so… But now, I know; things had
changed. Priorities had been reoriented. I and my existence had become a closed
book in her life. Mr Fingertips, mom, dad; all were above me to her now. May be
that’s how the world worked. Things re-orient themselves in the course of time.
And human beings ought to synchronize themselves in-line with these things. I
never wished a life of my own, without my mummy. But, she might have... Yeah!
And that exactly was the mistake I committed. I didn’t individualize myself in
this world; always had mummy as a driving factor. And when you lose that
factor, you lose yourself.
Standing at the doorstep of the train, I
enjoyed the harmony of my mind with the train. They seemed to like each other;
similar to me and mummy. But for how long??? Maybe I have to be more practical,
more sociable. I should understand the husband-wife relationship and their
significance over siblings. And I was not the only brother who lost his
sister’s love to her husband, I was one among a billion… For a moment, the
whole concern felt to me as a senseless farce. As my mom always pointed; I was
still a child; a half-baked simpleton. An idiot, who wasted his life over pity
feelings… Ha Ha Ha………………..
I laughed, and laughed and laughed.
My mind started speeding higher. The train
kept its pace in a constant fashion. I held to the bars of the train to slow
the inside moving train, but the brakes seemed to lack their hydraulics.
I prayed to God to increase the train’s speed, but in vain. I closed my eyes
tight, firmed my feet on the ground and tightened the grips on the bars. With
all meat and muscle, I pulled myself together to slow my mind down, for it was
going to derail……
I opened my eyes. The train kept moving
but there was no noise emanating from its motion. I was standing freely at the
doorsteps; and there was that pillow in my hand which silenced my cries of
agony. I was going to dunk myself again; when the voice came from behind;
‘MONU…….’
I turned back. The hand of warmth came
towards me… and pushed me……. I accepted it with a smile… Mummy’s choice; always
right….
/LAMA SIGNING OFF/
