I am still alive???

Image courtesy of Keattikorn / freedigitalphotos.net

It is 6 in the morning. I suddenly wake up with a start. The eerie sound of the alarm sets my pulse racing. Slowly rubbing my eyes I look at the calendar on the wall. 

“You are going through a very bad phase,” the family astrologer had said. “Doubt whether you will survive this amavasya.”

I took a second look at the calendar. Sure it was ‘amavasya,’ my last day on planet earth. My head spins, my hands turn cold. I feel helpless

“Tring…Tring…” the phone rings. It’s my daughter at the other end. Tears well up in my eyes. I gather myself and pick up the phone.

“Hi sweetheart!  Happy Birthday. So what’s special today?” She asks.

“Nothing special. Just the usual meal and maybe a glass of paysam,” I say, forcing myself to sound cheerful.

“Hey, Amma, something worrying you?”she asks

I reply in the negative. After chatting for a few more minutes she keeps down the phone. With leaden legs I move towards the kitchen. 

“Whroom…… crash…” the sound of a bike hitting the wall makes me start. I rush to the door. There just outside the gate I see a figure drenched in blood. My legs gather wings; I rush to his side calling out to my husband for help.

I draw in my breath. There before my eyes, is a young boy of just fourteen or so.  Legs crushed below the bike he moans. I try to pick up the bike but to no avail. Suddenly, two strong arms join mine. Bike removed, we quickly lift up the injured.

Luckily for us the doctor next door is in station. First aid given, the car is taken out. With hubby at the wheel we rush the boy to the nearest hospital. The boy groans in pain. I lay his head on my lap and offer words of comfort. The car moves through the maze of traffic with headlights on and the horn blaring. Out of the corner of my eyes I see an errant motorcyclist or two suddenly swerve away from our path.

The next four hours are the most difficult ones. The police are summoned, the boy’s parents contacted, the surgery is on. Hubby and myself are busy contacting people trying to arrange blood that too B-ve, for the boy in the theatre. Operation successful, we reach home mentally drained. It is already well past 11 am. I am in no mood to cook so hubby decides we go in for parcel meals.

Other chores over, we sit down for the meal in silence. The meal from ‘Kayees’ has never tasted so good. I guess it is the sheer feeling of relief that has added to its taste. I call up the hospital. The boy is doing fine. I sit down with a book. Just two pages into reading, I drift off into a world of my own.  I am transported 40 years back into the past.  My school, my friends, the adventures, the falls all comes to life. I don’t know how long it is since I have been in this yester- world. I feel a pressure on my shoulders.

“What’s so funny?” hubby asks. It is only then that I realize that I have been laughing out loud. My cheeks are wet with tears, no not the sad ones.

I put the book aside. The garden beckons me. I enter it. The sweet smell of the roses transports me to another world. I remember the time I was married. A smile plays on my lips. I gently fondle the petals of a bud waiting to bloom. The face of my newborn babe flashes before my eyes. My lips involuntarily touch the bud.  I relive the joy, the ecstasy of the moment I held my little one in my hands. Her eyes probing mine, her face breaking into a smile, her gurgles, her tantrums all come back to me. I am lost.

The sound of the temple bell wakes me up from my reverie. I rush in. It is tea time. I put the kettle to boil. 

The smell of the brewing tea reminds me of my mishaps, my blunders in the kitchen. I rewind. The kettle sings.  Sweet melody flows from my lips interspersed with small bursts of laughter. Suddenly an unpleasant incident comes to mind. I fast forward the tape (memory tape) only to slow down when another sweet moment comes up again.

I sniff. The smell of something burning hits me like a bolt from the blue. The red, hot, angry kettle stares at me. I crouch. The kettle is dumped in the sink. “Serves it right,” I think. “It had the audacity to stare at me in anger.” The second kettle goes on the stove. This time I am careful. Tea served, I switch on the television. The evening news keeps me engrossed.

Suddenly a news flashes on the screen. My bank has just won an award for customer excellence. I rejoice and break the news to hubby dear. I can’t wait to share it with my counterpart friends in another Bank. After all, they have been our greatest critique even going to the extent of hinting the merger of our Bank with theirs.  The net is connected, FB accessed, words flow. Time flies, the net has me hooked.

More than an hour into the net, I look up and out of the window. “Ah! Dusk already,” I say to myself. I get up hurriedly. The evening lamp is lit. Prayers offered, I move into the kitchen. Hubby accompanies me. Together, we work on the dinner. Chapattis are rolled and with them the video cam of my mind. The lovely time spent in the kitchen with hubby for help, the chappatis rolled out by my sweet babe, the grumbling over misplaced containers… all come to life. Before I realize it, dinner is ready.

The table is set; the meal passes off in sweet silence.  I return to my laptop and the social media. There are a lot of posts waiting to be read and commented on. Seconds, minutes, hours tick by. My fingers fly on the keyboard. A new post takes shape.

  

Image courtesy of coward_lion / freedigitalphotos.net

11.30 pm

Sleep is at the doorstep of my eyes. Net disconnected, system shut down, I get up stretch my hands above my head and release a cry of relief.  A silent prayer leaves my lips. My head hits the pillow. Sweet slumber takes over.

The next day

A crow caws, the cuckoo sings. I open my eyes.

I am still alive???

Image courtesy of Stuart Miles / freedigitalphotos.net

************************************************************************

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for 
Indian bloggers by BlogAdda.

The prompt 

So, what would you do if you are told that today is the last day of your life? Will you hurriedly attempt to do everything in your bucket list or would you retrospect about life up till now, instead? Your blog post should start with the line,"It is 6 in the morning...."

So now that you have read the post, how about sharing your views, your suggestions here in the comment section?  Eyes waiting to read them

The failure

The year 1995

Day – A sunny Saturday

Date - Hmmm…..Sorry can’t recollect

"Ammu get up it is time to light the lamp," I said.

It was 6 pm and my daughter was fast asleep. I had reached home a little early that day hoping to go out shopping with her. But here was ‘Valiyamma’ (literally meaning elder mother in Malayalam . By the way ‘Valiyamma’ was the lady who took care of my daughter when I was away at office. She had joined us when Ammu my daughter, was only 10 months old. ) telling me that Ammu had not changed, nor eaten a morsel after coming from school. Now that was strange. The happy – go- lucky person that she was, Ammu was not one to brood or act like that. "Maybe sick," I thought. I went to the bedroom only to find her lying on the ground between the wide open doors of the steel cabinet. I touched her forehead. No, not a fever. Then what? 

I searched through her school bag only to come across her first unit test answer papers. I knew my answer was there. She had scored well in all but Physics. I understood why she had acted thus. I realized that this was the first of the many failures she might have to face in the coming years. I felt sorry for her yet,was also thankful that it had come early in life. This was her opportunity to understand that life was not a smooth ride. It was a combination of failures and successes and that while she took successes in her stride she had to cope up with failures gracefully . Ammu was one who was always in the top five in her class. So I could well imagine what a shock it might have been for her when she did not manage to make it in physics. 

She finally woke up. I led her to the dining table where a hot cup of tea and snacks were waiting for her.She was silent. I coaxed her to have something. I did not ask her about the papers on purpose. I wanted her open up when she felt so. She could take her time.

Suddenly she burst into tears. I let her be. Then slowly in between the tears she mumbled, “Amma, I failed to make it in Physics.”

“Ok. We will talk about it later. First have your tea and then go and change.”

“Amma, do you hear I failed. Are you not angry with me?”

“No I am not angry with you. Now have your tea. We will talk about it later.” Thus consoling my daughter I waited for her to have her tea and change her school uniform. Then slowly we got to the topic.

“Ammu, tell me dear what went wrong?”

“Amma, you know it is the first time we are studying physics. I cannot understand what the teacher teaches. In fact that is the case with all of us.”

“How many got through?”

“Only two.”

“Well then, if you don’t understand what she teaches why don’t you tell her.”

“We tried several times. But she gets angry with us, scolds us. So we no longer ask her.”

“Then you should have told us dear, we would have talked to her. In fact I will speak to her tomorrow itself.”

 “No. Don’t do that," she pleaded. "She will be angry. Promise you won’t talk to her.” I gave in.

“Then promise me the next time you don’t understand something you will tell me or dad. We will clear it for you.”

She agreed. A light lit up her face. She gave me a tight hug and left to read her favourite magazine. 

Monday morning on returning from school she told me how the other parents had reacted to the failure of their children. No one was spared. In fact everyone was surprised that she had got off without anything, neither a harsh word nor any kind of humiliation. They told her she was lucky.

One month later

The next unit test results came. She scored the third highest marks in physics. I knew she had prepared well. But I was not prepared for this. I congratulated her only to be told with a smile, “Thank you amma for having stood by me. This was the least I could do for you. Do you know all my friends were surprised. They asked me how I managed it. I told them it was you who helped me. Your confidence in me and my abilities spurred me to take on the challenge bravely.  ”

Two months later

The half yearly exams were conducted. This time she raised the bar and the result was there before us in ten days time. She had topped the class and had also topped in the physics paper scoring an impressive 95. I was happy the failure had not disheartened her but had motivated her. I knew she was ready to face failures, take them as challenges and surge forward. My little girl also taught me a very valuable lesson on parenting. She taught me that love and understanding instill a sense of confidence in a child. It motivates them to give their best whereas harsh words and humiliation demotivate them and make them take extreme steps, steps we parents later regret in life.

Failures are no doubt the stepping stones to success but to convert them to success one must also be willing to take on the challenges they throw at us.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for 
Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

 

This time we had to write a post including the sentence - 

"This time she raised the bar."

Thank you for walking in. By the way don’t forget to leave your footprints in the form of comments and suggestions. 

Your words mean a lot to me.

INVITING YOU TO ALSO VISIT MY BLOG AT WORDPRESS - http://www.geetaavij.wordpress.com/

Destiny

Image courtesy of FrameAngel at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

She looked at her wrist. “My God, it’s already 10,” she thought. Tiny beads of perspiration dotted her forehead. In another second the bindi would start trickling down. Jaya ran across the busy road unmindful of the speeding vehicles. She narrowly missed being hit by the motorbike. But she did not notice how lucky she was.

Once in her chair Jaya let out a sigh of relief. Good, Boss had not called her as yet. She must go over the day’s schedule once again. Just then the phone rang. But she was in no mood to take it. It was Jayant calling. Her face clouded at the very thought of Jayant. She decided to shut him off and move on.

The buzz over the intercom brought her back to the present. It was Boss, calling. She went inside. The meeting lasted for ten ‘long’ minutes.  Stepping out from the AC cabin was like being transferred from a freezer to a hot oven. But so preoccupied was she with her own thoughts that she did not notice the difference. Tears welled up in her eyes. She stifled a sob and slowly wiped a drop of salted water from the corner of her eyes. “No, I must be strong. I will not cry,” she resolved. Yet, it took all her energy to keep up to her resolve. The minutes ticked by. The phone rang once again. The silent mode was set. The phone was kept to rest in the interiors of her spacious drawer. Jaya went back to work. The day was a hectic one. Meetings, meetings , meetings. She forgot Jayant, forgot the mobile.

Back home, lying in the comfort of her bed, she closed her eyes trying to forget the nightmare of the previous night. Suddenly she had an urge to speak to Maya. Maya was her pal and close confidant of 20 years. She opened her bag and took out the phone. Her eyes ‘popped out’ in amazement. 38 missed calls in 10 minutes! She wondered what was going on. She noted that they all came from one common number- Jayant’s mobile.

“Should I call him or should I not?” Her mind wavered. Her heart told her to call back, but her mind did not permit her to do that. Torn between the two, she put the phone down and moved towards the kitchen.

The kettle on, she started preparing the evening meal.  Suddenly she had an urge to call him up. The phone rang, and then went blank. She tried again and again. But the response was the same. “The person you are calling is not responding. Please try after some time.” She threw the phone down and went to have her meal. “Why should I bother,” she thought. The events of the previous evening slowly unwound before her eyes.

She was ready and all smiles when Jayant had arrived. She was sure he would propose to her today. She wanted to make the event a very special one so she had decorated the house with fresh flowers, the variety that Jayant loved. Jayant came, but did not seem to notice the smile on Jaya’s lips nor the flowers she had so lovingly chosen for him. He was immersed deep in thought. Worry lines were drawn across the forehead. Jaya chattered on. Yet, Jayant did not speak a word. Suddenly as if the devil had got into him, he shouted at her to stop and stomped out of the house. The meal, the flowers forgotten, Jaya wept like never before. She decided she would not call him nor speak to him till he repented for his action.

The meal over, Jaya went to bed.

Sitting in the warmth of her bed Jaya sipped on her morning tea. It was Sunday meaning rest day. Cup in one hand, eyes closed she slowly picked up the newspaper. Suddenly, the cup went crashing on the floor, tea spilled all over the bed. But Jaya was not bothered. Her eyes were wide open as if in a trance. There splashed right in front of her eyes, on the front page was a photo of Jayant, lying, bleeding below his bike.

The bang of the open door brought her back to the present. She jumped out of bed and hurriedly dressed up. She must reach by his side.

A pal of gloom had spread over the entire house. People were talking in hushed tones. Slowly, on shaking legs she reached his side. One look at him and she burst into tears.

The funeral over, Jaya slowly made for the exit. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to find Neena, Jayant’s sister by her side. Both of them hugged each other and wept silently. Time seemed to stand still. Slowly Neena took out an envelope from her pockets and shoved it into Jaya’s hands. They once again hugged each other and parted without speaking a single word.

Back in the confines of her now cold bed, Jaya wept till sleep overcame her. The piercing light made her shield her eyes. Slowly she opened them to see Kamala the maid balancing a tray laden with food. “Madam, have you seen today’s newspaper. Poor boy he tried to save a girl who nearly ran into his bike. But see what happened, the girl was saved. He died. Oh! By the way it was right in front of your office Madam, yesterday. Did you by any chance see the sight?”

Jaya was aghast. Suddenly she remembered having narrowly missed a hit. Truth dawned on her. Jayant had died saving her. She was inconsolable.

Numb with grief she slowly opened the tears soaked envelop. There was a note inside.

Dear Jaya,

Sorry to have shouted at you like that. But, what can I do? Life has played a dirty trick on me. My days are numbered. Cancer is eating into me. The day you receive this note I will have left for the other world. But I would like you to know, I always loved you.

Yours and yours only,

Jayant

Note:

The missed calls were sent by a passerby to the first name recorded on Jayant’s mobile.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for 
Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

This time we had to write a post including the sentence - 

"38 missed calls in 10 minutes! He/She wondered what was going on."

Thank you for walking in. By the way don’t forget to leave your footprints in the form of comments and suggestions. 

Your words mean a lot to me.

INVITING YOU TO ALSO VISIT MY BLOG AT WORDPRESS - http://www.geetaavij.wordpress.com/

“Look Gama is here.”

Tara was throwing a tantrum. She refused to have food. She spit, she cried, she hit at her mother. However the mother in Reena was not ready to give up. Finally when all her efforts failed, she used her ‘Brahmastra.’  The ‘ Brahmastra’ was a joke  in the neighbourhood.  Gama the vagabond though harmless was a nightmare as far as the tiny-tots were concerned. His unkempt look, fiery eyes sent a chill down their spine. For all his looks, Gama was actually a loving person. He loved children, but his looks scared them away.   However, he was a hit among the street dogs.  They loved Gama; they played with him, slept with him, stood guard on him.

Looking at Baby Tara, Reena suddenly exclaimed, “Look Gama is here.”  The mouth opened suddenly and there went down a ball of rice mixed with curd. Ball after ball of rice went down the throat in quick succession and before Reena realized it, the plate was clean and empty. Reena felt a pang of guilt, guilt at having to tell a lie to make Tara eat, guilt at having to portray Gama as a demon come to harm Tara if she did not eat, guilt at having instilled a fear in the little babe. But then what could she do?

Sweet slumber overpowered Baby Tara.  She slowly drifted into deep sleep.

Image courtesy of 
Mantas Ruzveltas at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Four houses down the lane –

All hell was loose. Vani was screaming at the top of her voice. Varun was bathed in mud.  He was least bothered about his mother’s ‘tantrum.’ Varun was thoroughly enjoying his mud bath. Even the stick in Vani’s hand did not affect Varun. Vani was at her wit’s end. Exhausted, she was on the verge of tears. What if Rajeev reached home now and saw the boy in this shape? What if her mother-in-law decided to pay them a surprise visit? She knew what to expect. The boy would get a taste of Rajeev’s hand. Her MIL would start off counting her ‘minuses.’ Vani could not bear both. Suddenly she saw a figure in the distance coming down the road. She called out to Varun, “Look Gama is here.” Varun sprinted to the tap and started flushing down the mud from his body. Vani silently thanked Gama.

The shopping mall-

Neha was having a tough time. Little Priya had taken fancy to a doll house. But Neha could ill afford it. She tried to reason with Neha. She offered to buy her a Barbie instead. But Neha was a born fighter. She was not one to give up easily. She started to yell at the top of her voice. Heads turned. One or two tried to cajol Neha. Some passed by making a comment on the inability of young mothers to reign in their young ones. A girl offered Neha a ‘Five star’. Priya started to feel her heart sink. Neha’s health did not permit her to cry endlessly. She would start suffocating in a few minutes. Suddenly she saw of a vagabond on the road opposite the Mall. She cried out, “Look Gama is here.” The name acted like a switch. She forgot the doll house; she only wished to be in her mother’s arms. She ran to Neha, embraced her in a tight hug, eyes closed. Priya forgot the vagabond.

The slum on the outskirts of the town-

Children were playing a game of “Pittu.” Suddenly, the ball flew high hitting Akash on the head. All the children ran to him. A brawl started between the two teams. It looked as though blood would spill on the street. Suddenly from nowhere appeared a vagabond. “Look Gama is here” so saying, little Shikha ran up to him. He dug into his pockets and brought out a handful of cheap jelly sweets. The brawl broke. Hell broke loose around the vagabond. Everyone wanted to make sure they got their share of the sweet that Gama had so lovingly brought for them. They showered him with kisses. Gama smiled flashing broken teeth. His day was made.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for 
Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

This time we had to write a post in which one sentence was to be repeated at least thrice.

Thank you for walking in. By the way don’t forget to leave your footprints in the form of comments and suggestions. 

Your words mean a lot to me.