Rain in Greece

Four Drops of Rain - Dimitri 

based on our visit to Greece

--

Dimitri had just parked his bike in the stand of Monasteraki overlooking the majestic Acropolis and was picking up his daily dose of black coffee from the cafe en route to his souvenir shops in the busy flea street of Athens. The sky was dark, grey and ominous but the Parthenon’s yellow-sepia colour contrasted with the colour of the sky rather well and it looked like a jewel in bosom of goddess Athena (patron goddess of Athens) herself. Dimitri felt sombre, silent and spiritual to the extent that he almost knelt down to say a prayer. He was not much of a believer, but he was not much of a disbeliever as well.  

The first drop fell on the plastic covering of his cup making a sound akin to the first touch of the drum stick on the leather. More drops came down from the clouds making a variety of sounds - from the [ XXX roof extensions of cafe’s ], from the leaves and branches of trees, from the black road and pavements, from the hurriedly opened umbrellas of tourists. Somehow the tourists seemed to be better prepared for the weather changes!  The different noises combined to form an orchestra of percussion instruments, very similar to the one played out in the open space in front of the old roman church by a motley group of hippies and enthusiasts who gather every evening with their instruments and try to play in unison. They would start instrument by instrument, player by player and slowly pick up the pace rising to a crescendo and then start all over again with a different beat. But the rhythm of the rain drops was going one way and after a while it became so thick and fast that it was difficult to see one side of the road from the other. Dimitri was standing by a local souvlaki and had exchanged smiles with a rich businessman and his fourth wife who had finished at least two packets of cigarettes between them while waiting for their order to come in. This man was a friend of his father and was known for his meticulousness and propriety in matters of business and public life. He has had three marriages and three divorces, all of them ugly and messy. The last one had registered a complaint of physical violence and rape against him and almost cost him half of his estates in some of the picturesque Greek islands. Dimitri had often wondered how such a successful and sincere man in public life could not manage not one but three marriages, all of which were of his choice.  

Dimitri looked at his ring and was reminded of his wife, Angela, whom he had met at a shop in Santorini. She was a poor salesgirl who lived in one of the villages near the Kamari beach and was very shy, unlike the other gregarious sales girls in the commercial Fira town of Santorini. Dimitri married her within a year and they moved to Athens where Dimitri’s father had a thriving but small business of antique bronze work. Dimitri had expanded that business to three shops and a full range of souvenirs and traditional greek products. He sold cheap and relied on volumes and large number of customer-friends to make living for his family and of several of his sales people. He actually liked to meet new people and strike a conversation with them. His employees also loved him for his good-natured mischievous ways. He was always kind to them. In many ways he was quite successful.   

Dimitri’s father had a good Arab customer-friend who visited Athen’s many times and would come over to the shops and sometimes picked up some things for his wife and family, but he came more to meet Dimitri as he remained him of his deceased friend. He once told Dimitri, without his asking 

‘ you know, Allah gave us two eyes, not one..to create balance’

‘ what kind of balance’ asked Dimitri 

‘ balance in life, in marriage’  the old man continued ‘ you know when things good, are in balance, you see all your wife’s good qualities with one eye and all your bad qualities in the other eye’ 

‘ hmmm…’ Dimitri was struck by the simple statement 

‘ and when things are not in balance, you see, you always see evil qualities of your wife in one eye and all your good qualities in the other eye’ the old man said this in a manner one would say to a friend and not preach to a younger generation. Then he added

‘ you are lucky, have to keep the balance for one wife. i have to do the same for three!’ and gave out a hearty laugh which Dimitri joined in. 

He was reminded of the old Arab gentleman today, then his thoughts ran to his father and then to his wife. They had a difficult morning, the kids made it so. They did not want to go to school with a possible rainy day lurking ahead. Angela wanted some help from Dimitri in getting them ready, Dimitri was not in a mood to be hurried in the morning. He hated being hurried in the mornings, Angela always had a lot to do and a lot to say. Dimitri realised it even when he was raising his voice over and over again before the kids that he was not sensitive and was overreacting. He thought of taking flowers and some baklavas back home for her. He started to walk to his shop.

He was fully drenched but noticed the smiles of his staff, his employees. He was greeted with broader and more meaningful smiles today and as he was asking them the reason for the same, he saw a thin frame behind a wet curtain hung for sale. It was his wife. 

‘ I came to give you a surprise and buy a few things for home’ she said with a tourists accent. 

‘ Yes madam, what can we give you today. the weather is terrible today, it had never rained like this in Athens in four or five years. If you like something we make very good price for you, we sell cheap, you know, we want to give this things away, they should be in your house, not my shop. If you like just tell us, else, you can just sit here and have have coffee with me, no problem’ Dimitri replied in his usual style while talking to his customer-friends. 

She was laughing and Dimitri looked at her wet hair and face and was reminded once again of the old man and his talisman. 

Flies

Manu picked up his phone in the middle of an afternoon meeting at work and was surprised to see several unanswered calls from Radha. They had just moved to a new house, he was worried. He stepped out and called back to find an extremely agitated but helpless Radha. She had spotted a swarm of flies around the kitchen who did not relent even after she had tried a few good measures suggested by her mother over phone. Manu did what he could over a phone and got back to the meeting.

Radha had no comfort from time or the flies till Manu returned just before dusk. Whether Radha was sulking more because of the flies or because of Manu’s indifference to them was hard to tell. Manu started off where he left at office and was lost in his laptop and work after a cup of evening tea. Then a joyous cry from Radha forced him to get up to the kitchen where Radha was very happy to see one or two of the last flies who were hovering there.

‘Flies can’t see in the night’ said Manu, trying to sound wise and comforting Radha.

‘Really?’ Radha was happy to see the flies disappear regardless of the weird logic of Manu.

The rest of the evening and dinner was rather uneventful and both were quite happy about the serenity of their new neighbourhood and their own judgement. Manu did not realise when he slept off while watching the TV. Radha was asleep in another room. He was awakened by a noisy din of something which he was not sure was a part of his dream or present at their new house. He woke up to find a swarm of flies fluttering intently over him.

Disgusted, he went to the bathroom, waving vigorously with a cushion at the flies who seem to have scattered again. He almost gave out a cry when he opened the bathroom door. Another bunch of flies were almost waiting to pounce upon him. He somehow managed to get past them and get back to their bedroom where Radha was fast asleep. He slowly got on to the bed and assured that there were no visible things around the room, closed his eyes and tried to get back to sleep. He could not.  

He lifted one of his eyelids slowly to see if they had come back from somewhere. Nothing. Then, he started to think – flies are generally attracted to dirty things or exposed food items with strong odour, but the military vigilance of Radha ensured there was nothing matching that description that ever lay unattended, especially after moving into this new house.

Then an image of a dark old man with tattered clothes sitting outside the general ward of a big city hospital with an exposed pink wound, waiting for nurses to attend to him, came to his mind. He could remember that there were several flies hovering around his wound and this man was waving with his trembling hands at them switching between the two arms with great difficultly as one arm was resting on the ground supporting his body. Manu could not still be sure if he was racking his memory or this was another of the real life-like dreams we have.

When he opened his eyes again to check, there were flies, large in number but silent and they were almost suspended in the air. As if they were already sitting on some wound. Whose wounds? And if there were any wounds either of them were carrying, how did the flies know about them? These wounds are certainly not visible. 

past admission

Apologies for lack of capitalisation and bad punctuation but if you like/dislike the piece do post a comment. Thank You 

--

'Did you ever hold a woman as close as this?' she asked and hid her face in his in order to avoid the chilly winds over the top of the mountain where they has walked up in the morning to see the sunrise.

he was silent for a moment. he looked at the mountains, the clouds and the sky.

they all lay bare in front of him, in front of all, to witness them as they are, no hiding, no pretentions, no lies...just true and pure. 

'yes'...

he felt her stiffen in his arms..

'did you ever kiss her?'

'yes' he answered matter-of-factly and got lost in thoughts.

he did not realise for sometime that she had slid out of his arms and walked all the way down to the old colonial guesthouse where they were staying.
he sat there for a while, feeling the wind and the sun rays on his face. he remembered that night.

he always regretted the way his relationship with Diana had turned out, most of all he regretted being flirtatious about that relationship for a brief period of time.

he could not stand his own lack of seriousness and the whole casual way he approached her. it did not last long, he did not want it either. he wished it never happened, but then that's not how it works. you can't wish your past away. 

he sat there till he could not sit there any more due to the blinding sunlight.

he ran all the way back, when he realised that they could not find dinner last night and she would be hungry for breakfast.

'hey, i have asked Bholu to make some parathas for us, get up'

he knew she would not.

he went up to her, pulled her up,

she had cried.

'we can not control our pasts. can we? it was a mistake. it has nothing to do with us now.'

he hugged her hard and let go himself. he was crying as well.

'i can not lie to you. i do not want to lie to at least one person. that is you'

'i never knew...'

'how does it matter now'

they were silent for a while and then as if tears would find their rythymic way out of their eyes.

'you must be really hungry. come out for breakfast'

'no, i am not hungry'

'that means you are almost starving. come out'

he hugged her tightly again

she said amidst sobs

'does he give mint chutney with parathas?'

'yeah'

'can i have one extra paratha?'

'yeah'

Homecoming!

She had come back home, after a long time.

He hesitated to ask her to spend some time together at his place after they met a common friend's place for a party. There was an apprehension of being misunderstood, of being said 'No', which would have sounded like 'No! Never! How did you even think about that'. But he risked being hurt and refused as he did often.

She said 'Yes'. He was surprised, but did not want to get into reasons. He was simply happy at the thought of having her close and to spend some time with her.

His apartment was familiar. Nothing had changed. She knew nothing would change. It was she who changed and managed the home which had become a 'house with things' in her absence. She did not ask anything, she quietly slipped into her slippers, dusted by now, and went into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he could smell the familiar ginger boiling in water. He could picture her, tucking her open hair back behind her ears, boiling milk in the other burner, chopping ginger and making their favourite ginger tea.

He had changed into warm clothes for night. She got the tea to the bed room and sat next to him. They both began to sip the tea. It was good, it was always good.

They were silent, they were both thinking.

She was thinking about the car ride back home from the party. She had decided not to tell him anything about these few months when they had not met. She had decided not to tell anyone. He asked once, she refused. He asked again, she refused by saying 'there is nothing to tell'. He knew this line meant something has happened.

He did not ask again. He put his palm over her head and started to caress her hair. He never liked her hair tied up. She knew that and had undone her hair just before coming to the party. He continued to caress her head. She stopped that car mid way and hugged him. There were tears in her eyes. Then she told him everything. It was not clear now, who was crying or who was sadder. His sense of humour usually deserts him at such moments, but he found a line which made both of them grin. She was looking at his hand over her shoulders while she was driving. He knew this signal. He put his hand over her hand which was over the gear. Warm and intimate, both felt better and she smiled at last and cried out his name "Nirvaan" and raised her head like a calf.

"Priyaa" came the reply and more caresses on the raised neck.

When they were very happy and could not find words, they would just do this and they would both understand.
He was thinking about the party and how he tried to avoid looking at her and even listening to her. Their glances met couple of times, but he turned away immediately. He was never comfortable with her talking to someone else for long at public events. They have had fights about it, though she was happy within that he was so possessive about her. He simply told her 'I can't help it. I am sorry'. This time he avoided her completely. It was her who was not feeling okay with this. She tried to join in a group he would be talking to and he would leave the group in a minute making some excuse.

'I will refill my drink' or 'The Kathi rolls are awesome. I will get some more!' Then she followed him and their friend to the kitchen for some water. They looked at each other. Then, as if they had planned about it, they both announced that they had to leave. Then as they were saying goodbyes, they involuntarily held hands and went out like that.

"Should we see some videos on youube" she asked and took his phone in her hands.

"Why don’t you change and be comfortable?" he replied and took his phone back and put it over the purple table, she painted one weekend.

"What do I wear? I did not leave anything." She was apologetic about the last line it seemed.

"You can wear that maroon kurta of mine which you loved" He replied and handed over a white towel to her.

"Thank You" and she rushed into the bathroom to change.

"You look better than me in this kurta" he said as she came back. He was holding a set of moisturiser for her.

"This is the brand I use! Why are you..." she stopped mid-way the sentence as he avoided the question and turned away to get blankets and mattress.

She stared at the moisturiser for long and the image of him coming from behind and hugging her while she used to put moisturiser while getting ready for office and kissing her neck and smelling her hair came back to her mind. She was brought back to the present by the sound of his phone. He picked up the phone and went to the other room. She put his jacket back in the closet and spread out his bed with blanket for him.

He came back from the call and slipped into his bed and watched some of their favourite videos. They watched and laughed for quite some time. All the tiredness of the party and heaviness of the drive were forgotten.

"You know, I am telling you again. You laugh like a man" he said.

"And you are more emotional than most girls, in fact most people" she laughed back and said.

She shifted her position on the bed and made room for him to come up. She knew, he was not very comfortable on the mattress on the ground. They lied next to each other and shared some old stories about childhood. They laughed like crazy. She could not control her laughter on some incident and he could not help cuddling up to her and caressing her hair.

"You know what, every time I shampooed my hair, I would think of you" she said and hugged him tighter.

"I know. I thought of you every time, I saw a woman with nice hair. I loved to put you wet hair over my face and smell them after every shampoo of yours. Especially at night because..."

He looked at her, she was almost asleep.

"Priyaa...you want to sleep?"

"Hmm"

He got up and kissed her good night and switched off the lights.

"Good Night" she said.

He drew closer and gave one more kiss on her cheek and could see the smile on her face. He was happy.

They woke up almost at the same time next morning.

“Good morning!, Are you up” he said.

“Hmm. Come closer, I have to say something nice to you” she whispered.

“Yeah” and he jumped into the bed.

She had to book tickets for a weekend vacation.

"Are you going alone?" he asked, knowing that she hated to travel alone and be alone.

"Not anymore!" she replied with a mischievous smile.

"Then?"

"I am booking you in!"

"Okay! Which weekend?"

"Does that matter?"

"No"

She made beat coffee for him and they read news paper together lying next to each other. Hand in hand, her head in his lap. They saw some more videos and played crosswords.

They were not bothered what was going to happen. They were happy with what had happened since the party last night and what was happening now. 

unsought flowers

It was raining. The sky was grey and beautiful. But, it was raining flowers. Flowers of different colours, shapes and sizes. Gladiolus, Orchids, Primroses, Lavenders, Hyacinths, Bell Flowers, Bouvardias, Jasmines, Gerberas, Sweet Peas, Anemones, Magnolias, Gardenias, Irises, Pancies, Daisies, Poppies, Camelias and many many more.  She was feeling them all in her face, in her hands and she cupped her hands to gather as much of the flowers as she could. It appeared to her that the clouds were smiling and occasionally laughing too.

The monotonous music of the alarm, woke her up from sleep and sadly from the dream as well. It was quarter past 8 and she had to rush to work. She was surprised to see her face in the mirror while brushing her teeth. For a moment, she thought she saw couple of flowers tumble down her long black tresses. She laughed at the thought and was concluded it must be the dream.
'Some dream!' She said to herself.

She loved to have a long hot shower in the morning. She would simply stand beneath the shower, hear the water drops fall on her shoulders and make noise as they came down on the floor. She closed her eyes today for sometime to hear them better. She was not absolutely sure but she could smell a familiar smell as she did that at the shower. She kept hey eyes closed and concentrated some more. It was the smell of flowers!
Some of which she saw in the dream. She again attributed it to the dream and came out and dressed up to go to work. She got in her car and put on her favorite music.

'May be I should get some flowers at last! They have been tempting me since early morning.' She thought and looked out to spot a vendor. There were many flower vendors near her place. She could recognise the flowers - if the Gladiolus have long stem, he would have got it from the small boy near the metro station. Purple Gladiolus were only found at the store near the market. Once she jokingly told him 'Are there only two clours of Gladiolus?' and he got her Gladiolus of seven colours. 'Your T Nagar only has five, I must tell you' he said while handing the flower bunch to her in front of her office next morning.
Gerberas were hard to tell, but if they were really big yellow ones, he would have got it from the shop near the police station. He never got her roses. None of them liked them. Orchids were found in the big flower store of 'Ferns and Petals' right under the flyover. He never told her where he got the exotic Magnolias and Poppies. She would conclude, he would have picked them somewhere else, may be near his office, on his way back.

But, today, she could not find a single shop open. She took another route, where she had seen some flower vendors. It was as if all the flower vendors were on strike. This route was bereft of any colour or fragrance of any flower. She was nearing her office and desperation bordering of despair. Finally she spotted one shop as she took the final turn for her office. But, the flowers were so dull and pitiable that she felt like crying.
She stopped her car a few yards before her office and cried. There was only his face, his hands and the many kinds of flowers that came to her mind at that moment. She finally wiped her tears and went in to her office.

She was back at home early. The few moments of longing, of memories, of flowers, of him stayed with her throughout the day. She tried to shuffle between watching TV, reading a book, making coffee to avoid those thoughts, but could not. She sat down in her sofa in the balcony, her face in her hands and looked at some Bouvardia flowers on the tree outside. She thought she heard her doorbell ring. She smiled and ignored it and kept looking into the blank spaces between the beautiful white flowers reflecting the moonlight.
The doorbell rang again after five minutes.
She ignored it again and kept looking at the moon, the tree and the flowers. After and hour, she had the urge to go to the door and check. She ran to the door and opened it. There was a note on the latch and there were a bunch of beautiful flowers of many colours, wrapped in a white foil and inserted carefully to the handle of the door from outside.
She opened the note "For Meera Nair. On Diwali, for your continued support. With Thanks - M/S Arun Industries'.Meera Nair, used to be her flat mate, who had left for the US couple of weeks back after marriage and used to place orders with Indian factories such as Arun Industries, on behalf of her clients.
She held the flowers close to her, slipped into her bed with them, closed her eyes. There was only his face which shone through the darkness.
A drop of tear found its way from her eyes to her lips, and she silently whispered 'Thank You!'.

photographs (c) Parthajeet Das, Soumya Mohanty, 2012

Ek Aur Trasadi

A play on Bhopal Gas Tragedy 'Ek Aur Traasadi' or 'One more tragedy' is based on real stories of real people with real names.

'Hazra Bee' points to the coninuing pollution and contamination of ground and water by the abandoned plant of UCIL which still has 690 tonnes of toxic chemicals in the dumping yard which soaks into the breast and womb of Bhopal's women and the second generation of children in Bhopal are born with mental and physical challenges..

'Chacha' is the story of thousands of persons who came under the cloud of the poisonous gas who were left to live a long life marred with permanent, irreversible damages and diseases. People who could not earn their livelihoods and forced to live a life of poverty and helplessness.

'Wo Bacche' is the story of the girls who were born or affected by the gas. The unsaid and hushed talks regarding problems related to periods, birth complications, cancer etc. and how it has bcome a curse for the girls from Bhopal.

Please write to me at das(dot)parthajeet(at)gmail(dot)com to get a copy of the play to perform it and spread awareness. Knowledge is power!

some day

He thought they would travel together in a fast car, she would be driving, he would be playing with her hair and they would travel far into the unknown in a light drizzle. He would talk of Coelho, Hesse and she would talk of green valleys and dark clouds, she would talk of flags on top of temples and he would talk of contours on the hands of the village women, he would talk of staying there forever and she would talk of the next gas station, he would be silent for a while and she would ask why. He thought they would listen to the wind for hours, they would scratch the surface of sky thousand times, they would speak to the mountains who can hear everything, they would walk with the innocence of a child and play hide and seek with the sun-rays skidding on the edges of the mountains. He thought he would share all this with her some day.

He thought they would sit together watching the sea. Sitting on the wall facing the sea, munching nuts and saying nothing at all. His son would ask questions and he would feel wiser, they would run together and he would lag behind, he would be called forgetful and stupid as he would fail to remember some names, they would do it together - his son’s 1^st and his n+1^th beer, he would listen in rapt attentions as his son would tell him about solar flares and he would say “I don’t know” and his son would understand. Some day he thought.

He would turn inwards and be calm. He would ask and he would be answered. He would be inconsolable and he would be hugged. He would thank. Some day.

parvana

Another story (not original) popular story among Sufis...
shama : source of light , candle
parvane : also called patanga, a kind of moth

In a village there lived a group of moths called 'parvane'.
A group of flies met the King of the moths registered their complaint.
"Sir, we also have six-legs, wings and we also fly like you, why don't you proclaim us as 'parvane' as well ?"
The King replied "But you guys are flies, why do you want to called as 'parvane', there is a very fundamental difference between us and the other flying creatures like you."
"We don't see any difference, we are just like you - flying insects" retorted the flies.
The King gave in "Ok, go around the village in the evening and come back after one hour and tell me all the places that you see any source of light, be it earthen-lamp, candles, lantens or anything. I shall also send a group of moths with you at the same time."
Words had not stopped buzzing from the lips of the King moth and the flies flew away towards the village, and organised themselves during the flight - dividing themselves into groups and allocating different parts of the village in search of various sources of light. They wanted to come back with all the information before the moths could do so.
A group of moths also followed them, flying in different directions of the village.
The flies returned in less than an hour and started describing all the places where they saw light in the village. They were visibly tired but very accurate in their reporting.
"Now, do you accept that we can also be called 'parvane' and by the way, where have your moths, the so called great 'parvanes'?"
"You guys saw all the light that was there to see in the village and came back! My loved ones are called 'parvane' because the moment they see light, they can never leave it, even if it entails sacrifice of their selves in that love of light!. Go again to the places you saw and you find them somewhere there being one with the light." the King said as tears rolled down his eyes.

haircut

Couple of days back, I met one of my nephews. The 6 year old shares his pet name with me. The boy’s father was busy with some repair work and his mother with cooking. After trying to keep the boy amused (read not bored) with many silly and not-so-silly games I decided it was time to tell him a story. The same story is reproduced here.
There lived a very big bear in a very big jungle. His name was Kalu. Kalu was very upset. Kalu’s black hair had grown very very long. The long hair was a cause of worry to Kalu. It got stuck in the bushes, it fell over his eyes and hampered his vision, it attracted mosquitoes and lice and most importantly it made him look untidy and ugly.
Kalu wanted to get a haircut but there was no proper barber in the jungle.
Kalu put up a notice at the bank of the yellow pond and the blue river most animals frequented for drinking water. The notice read “Whosoever cuts the hair of Kalu- the bear, shall get a lots of honey in reward”
Kalu waited for the whole day, no one arrived. Kalu was becoming impatient and irritated. Then, Kalu saw Kalia – the crow coming towards his den.
“Good evening Kalu Sir!”
“Good evening Kalia, what brings you here?”
“What else but your notice at the pond, Kalu Sir”
“Do you know of any proper barber Kalia?”
“No one can cut your hair better than me. Look at my beaks, they are exactly like the scissors that Men use for cutting each others hair. I have seen the men at the nearby village having haircut. I shall use my beaks as scissors and cut all your hair. Then you will also look good as the men do after they have a haircut.”
“Really Kalia? I would be so thankful to you. You could have as much honey you want.”
Kalia started cutting Kalu’s hair. Kalia had really observed the haircutting of men very closely. Kalia was doing a fantastic job to begin with, but Kalia had two big problems. One that Kalia was getting very tired of using its beaks as scissors and fluttering its wings to stay on air and the other was that Kalia had to bring its face really close to Kalu’s body to cut his hair and his hair got into Kalia’s eyes. As a result, the pointed beaks of Kalia, used to pierce into Kalu’s body. Kalu tolerated this for the first, second and the third time, but the next time it happened Kalu lost his temper. Kalu grabbed then same beaks of the crow and shouted – “ You foolish crow, I am sure no man would have tried to cut another ones hair by injuring him so many times with the scissors or whatever they call it. Get lost or I shall break your beaks.”
Kalia somehow managed to get out of that place.
The next morning Kalu saw, Maima – the cow waiting outside his den.
“I can cut your hair well. Just the same way I graze upon grass.”
Kalu looked at the cow, and then at her teeth. They were neat, symmetrical and sharp. Kalu thought – Whats the harm in trying her out.
“Be careful though, I have had a very bad experience yesterday with another one pretending to be a proper barber”
Maima started cutting the bear’s hair by grabbing a mouthful and then using her sharp teeth to cut and pull it out. Kalu was strong and withstood the pull. Kalu did not particularly like the style of the cow. The cows have a habit of chewing the same things over and over again and in the process take their tounge out.
Maima, did the same. After it had chewed of some of Kalu’s hair, it chewed it again and again and its wet toungue touched Kalu’s skin.
Kalu thundered - “Ewwww. You dirty idiot. How on earth can you cut someone’s hair like that?”
“That’s the only way I know”
“Be gone, you have already spoilt my morning”
Kalu had given up hope.
“Kalu brother, I can be of some help to you”, said a tiny ant from some distance.
“You ! A small ant, and what help can you render. If you start cutting my hair it would take you thousand years to cut all of them” said Kalu.
“Dear brother leave that to me and my group of ants” said the ant whose name was Rani.
“But how would you do it. More small ants are still small ants and let me remind you I have had two horrible experiences. I can ill afford another one”
“Don’t bother, but you have to do one help to us”
“Tell me”
“You eat as much honey as you want to in the evening but before going to sleep please smear some of it on your body. You surely cannot dislike the smell of honey would you?”
“Ok I will do that”
Kalu went to sleep that night after smearing some honey over his hair all over his body.
He was not sure how the ants are going to do their job. But he had no option.
The next morning Kalu woke up and found a whole pile of hair all around his body.
He went to the pond and saw his reflection. His hair was cut neatly and uniformly.
He was very happy and impressed with the ants. He took out some honey and called for the ants.
The ants came out of small holes led by Rani.
“How did you guys do it?” asked a pleasantly surprised Kalu.
“ Kalu brother, we work as a team and with a lot of planning and organization. Remember last night we asked you to smear some honey on your hair. We formed groups among ourselves and divided your body into 6 parts. Your head, your 4 limbs and rest of your body. Then we set ourselves a goal. The goal was to collect as much honey as possible from your body and in the process each ant would climb on each of your hair and cut it at the point where a drop of honey was found!”
“Brilliant, you guys earn yourself this whole pot of honey. Enjoy” saying this Kalu handed them the whole pot of honey.

suggest a title : mine - nothing

She always slept like a baby. Her legs curled up, head bent down, hair disheveled, fingers carelessly touching the palm and sometimes with her glasses on, which would be right up at her nose.
That's how he saw her, in the train to the big city, chasing his dreams where he was headed. She too was going to the big city, she said she knew why, never told him though. She was in the same berth, he wanted to ask her for some water, knowing that the next station was two-three hours away and the old couple would be too irritated if woken up. He looked at her, sleeping this way and could not help a faint smile on his cheeks. He turned back, about to leave, ask someone else waking up at this hour of the blank, cool night.
" Excuse me.You need something?", she was adjusting her glasses, on her elbows, clutching a novel of Marquez. That was their first night together.

One of those may nights when he was late to get back from work, still chasing dreams, not his anymore - he had bartered them and forgotten , he would find her asleep just the same way.
He would put his bag down, slip out of his shoes and go to the dining table and get the food kept for him. Unable to find the customary dal - his favorite, he would search here and there, in the kitchen, in front of TV or in the refrigerator he would come back to the living room. He would look at her, again, smile, again and turn back to resume his futile search. Hardly two paces and she would look up from the corner of her eye " You need something?"
"Yeah. Dal"
"Three times I had to heat it up, three times. It's kept in the microwave"
"Thanks. Go to the bedroom"
Once more. He would heat it up, he hated cold food. She would follow him to the kitchen and cut the salad for him and mix them just the way he liked and munch at the tiny ginger bits cut for him. She would watch her eat and few minutes later yell "Eat it, damn, how many times you have to mix the dal with the rice."

That night, again he was late. She was not in the livingroom. She was asleep in the bedroom, just the same way he saw her first. Some things never change, he thought and the faint smile came up his lips as effortlessly as tears of love and gratitude. For the first time, he did not turn back, he wanted to call her and tell her how much she meant to him. How, to find her carelessly asleep in his home justified everything - good, bad and everything in between.
He called her, once, twice, thrice, many times. He waited.
But she did not get up, with that light in her eye and ask " You need something?"

Now, in this small room, he tried to sleep like her. Curled his legs, looked at his fingers for a long time and tried to compare in vain. He needs nothing.

a wave

There was a wave.
In the vastness of the sea, in its depths and in its greatness there was this one wave.
It was not too long, it was not too fat,
it was neither too violent, nor was it too silent.
He was not too tall, neither was it too small,
it was not that noisy, it was not also always busy.
It was little restless, and a little nervous but not unlike any other wave.

It was very curious though; its head full of questions. It kept asking one or the other of these questions, Do you know where you are going? Do you know where am I going? Do you know why?
Why does not the sea speak back to me? Who makes these pictures in the sky? When do I get to touch the red, er.. orange oh no yellow ball, and when do I get to touch the white ball that comes out when I can not see anything. Where am I going? For how long?
It asked the other waves, the big ones, the small ones, it asked the birds that flew across, it asked the ships, it asked the dolphins that jumped across it.
Some of them looked at him strangely, some shooed him away, some fell silent after listening to his questions, some even got angry and some just ignored him.

He recollected, when it was very young and started out from the bosom of the sea, though it did not exactly remember how, and had been moving forward for a long long time, it saw something different. He saw some movements he was not familiar with, he saw things he had not seen before, he saw very very big ships that the people called homes or was it hotels, he saw very tall people with very long hairs that they called trees-were not they normal people, its just that they chose to move only their hair now and then. He saw waves that were ahead of him slowing down and meeting the shore.
More importantly he saw something that was not SEA.

He thought he would get answers to all his questions. This is it. The end. No return from here. Final stop. No more of rising and falling and rising and falling again and again. No more traveling without knowing where. That was what he thought.
He was so wrong. As he touched the shore, he remembered how helplessly he was pulled back to the sea, and a few repetitions of pulling and tussling, he was back finally to what he knew he always was - part of the sea.
Since the, he has visited many shores, seen many beaches, many lands, many times over and learnt much more, but he could never forget the feelings he had when he saw the shore for the first time, the eagerness and the helplessness.

He looked up ahead, he could sense some movements again, he could see the tall ships from a distance, he could see the rocks, people-trees and people. He took and deep breath, one hard look at the sea and it was ready, ready for one more time.

the orange rain

It rained the whole night. And he kept staring at it through the half-open window of his room.
He could not see much due to the darkness of the night and the mango tree that acted as an unwanted umbrella shielding the moonlight.
The sound of the falling raindrops, the noise of the moist, cool wind jostling with wet, washed, shy leaves (were they scrambling for cover or enjoying the flirtatious breeze's advancements?), the occasional croak of frogs and intermittent guffaws of thunder made him constantly remember the rain though. He crept out of his bed, opened the lock of his gate slowly so as not to disturb the sleep of other people in the house, pushed it open with care to reduce the noise of steel against steel. He was out, staring at the duly washed roads: neat, as if someone had just cleaned them with Her own hands for ablution, shining black and wet, reflecting the stray moon-rays that had found their way through the spaces between the jasmine tree branches, like attraction finding way through prejudices. All of the day's dust had been washed away.

Was it utterly necessary to envoice all that he had in mind, did he really mean all that he said or did she ? All his choices directed by reason and reason alone ? No pride, no temptation, no revenge, no desire hidden ? Were his motives all noble ? Did he not know the answer to all his questions ? Did all her words have sincerity behind them; no flippancy, no mock? Was not that a moment's nay many more moment's weakness, a slip-up, an attempt to be something he really did not want to rather was not prepared to be, a hope to see, to find something when that was not there. He knew it, but still he hoped for things to improve. Time, he thought would teach the best. It did, but it was he who was the student.

A lot of dust had settled in. He waited for one more shower of rain.