A boy named “Ladka”

Searching for a corner to relax the mental chaos in that new city, filled with remorse and suppressed emotions, I reached till the end of the lane and took a seat for sipping tea. Still lost in my daily words and rewinding the past to uncover what went wrong, I saw a boy with a broad smile on the face standing near me holding a glass of tea and he placed it with a keen look into my eyes. His presence melted my remorseful thoughts and broke the picture of past to confront the present. Observing him move to every table and pouring the tea in empty glasses and sharing that splendid smile.

Everyone there was calling him ladka and his response to the word was surprising, as someone is called by the name. I sipped it all and went to the owner and asked for the name of the guy and if others were trying to tease with the name. In a polite manner he said, even if they do, the auspicious smile won’t go. On inquiring more about him, he responded with a story of how he found him.

It was zero degree days of harsh and dry winters when he saw a boy sleeping on his contour in ragged clothes. He pushed him to wake him up and asked what was he doing there alone with no warm stuff on his body, the boy was cold and numb. He was offered a blanket and a cup of tea to get the warmth. He didn't reply to any of the questions but just to the word which became his name later. He observed me serving tea to the guests, washing the cups and started doing the same. Saying no him might have been inhuman at that time. When he came back finishing all and saw me smiling, the boy gave a surprising smile which has never been lost till now.

He spoke less but embraced all, spreading smiles with never ending zeal. The grace in his eyes was infectious and I took it with elation. The chaos and suppression just needed a gentle divine smile to vaporize. Being in present and simple was enough to avoid the cultured depressive attitude. 

My Grandma's Walker

Like an old snow covered mountain, meditating in deep silence with utmost peace and calmness, seasons come and go enriching the wilderness and bewitching it more. I was there after months seeing her getting more wrinkled and beautiful, her smile was serene and hands shaking while imparting blessings. She looked like old Buddha whose presence was enough to bring a gentle and pleasant breeze running over the body. Her thoughts were strong and knees weak, she would get up and bring something to welcome the children she loved. Her face reflected the pain every step would cause.

This time her walker was a bit different, some changes were done to hold a tray onto it, as both hands were busy in holding the walker. Whatever the pain could be, the love she holds would give her the courage to smile and do more. She was observing my silence which was tensed and eyes fixed to her steps. She is a mother of two sons and still she holds iron to support her, her cries were answered only when they get unbearable. She lost the strongest man of her life year ago and her journey became more annoying and heart melting. Life is just a survival at this age and can be torcherous too, this is like lifeless childhood when you intentionally forget everything to get rid of pain and agony that ignorance causes, you are cared by none, spirits diminish and thoughts get entangled.

She could hear the conversation I was holding to myself. Sitting next to me and holding my hand she said, this walker is a bigger support than anything else could be. It is always nearby and never says no to hold me and it gives me more freedom than I expected from my blood. It takes me far away from the negativity which was bearing when it was not here, sometimes material can support you better. The pain I bear is an experience that I will take away with me and no freedom and change can come without pain, so I enjoy that too. Life is too short when you try to suppress it but way too long thrill when you free yourself. Old age is an indication of life getting free from limits and boundaries. Yes I cry when I can’t bear more but it’s a part of life and important too and when it goes beyond, I get into the old memories of being a child running inside the house and it helps me relieve. Don’t let life put bad impressions on the memory, be clear and happy.

Her ageless experience could make anyone listen to her like a child observing her mother and the conviction she holds is timeless. May be old age makes one perfect in being self dependent, may be material and self are more reliable, her reasoning brought back the smile on my face.

Just a Minute Turban Man

I was high on the wheels, swinging with the wind which was cold and numb, the fog was dense and atmosphere queer. I was racing to reach on time, shivering but stiff, quick but alert. The path was clear to the distance I could see, even animals were hidden, scared, huddling each other for the warmth. The vision was directed by the rays falling down and lighting the path to run more.

A glimpse of something scattered on the road, may be a bike. I by passed it, giving no attention to what was there. Thoughts holding me back to see what was that, may be an accident and someone hopelessly waiting for the help. I paced up but lost to the thoughts which were trying to figure out the foggy scene. Hands working involuntarily to slow down and look back.  A man sitting on the road side with bike lying next to him.

I got down and moved towards the turban man who looked tensed, holding his head on his palms. Are you fine? I asked him. The furious face was visible, red eyes, filled with tears and throwing away the help with his angry words, go away, I don’t need anything, I am fine. I was more cold now and moving back was heavy and dull. I reached half the way and a heavy voice hammered my ear drums. I looked back and the turban man with a polite smile on his face said Thank you boy, I needed it. I reciprocated with the smile and moved away.

A simple thought of helping and caring can change the whole scenario. The turban man was an example of depressed life and a word of help changed his way in a minute. Be Human and help.

The Story of Maternity Ward

The anxious faces, trembling hands, craving eyes, all gathered outside the closed doors, hearing the loud cries and waiting for a new life to be detached and placed in their hands. The excitement to be a father was a thrill and with a deep breath she took birth. Obstetrician came out running with the quiet girl in her hands, pushing the anxiousness away and alerting everyone with her red face. The father followed the lady, almost running with her, the ward boy pushing him out. He could see the angel being placed in an incubator, oxygen mask put on her face, doctor thumping her heart and injecting the lifesaving fluids in her Nano thick veins.

The nervousness was rushing all through the body and the mother kept on asking about the baby, she is fine, a bit ill, you will see her soon, that’s what she was told. The father didn't move an inch away from the door, gazing at his daughter, praying in a low tone and salt water rolling down. Just waiting to hear her cry, nothing more was needed, the whole world stopped at the very moment and the prayers were answered, she took a deep breath and called her mother with a cry. He was on his knees now, never felt that happiness can way a make a way through cries and beating the death in order to live.           

Doctor came out with a divine smile and nodded her head. After three days with all tests going well he was allowed to move inside, not allowed to touch but seeing her from a distance. She was not the only one there, many beautiful and divine souls sleeping in complete silence. Every God in a different pose, sometimes moving the hands so gently as if to bless someone. The aroma there was holy and by no means one could think of leaving the room. He was elated and the incident broke the pattern of life he believed in and showed him the power of faith. For him the maternity ward was more like a temple and a life session.

An Expensive Bag with No Hand to Hold

She defines life as a way for enjoyment, money, beauty, tour, lifestyle, that’s where she finds herself comfortable in. Dumping money in every store she visits, she could see the elegance in material world perfectly. Out in the morning and landing up back to home late night, she cares for none. The house is a palace where people race with her word speed to get her things on time. A ravishing beauty, she covers herself in the mud for more grace and fine touch. Having stepped on half of the earth, she craves for more. In all day travelling, she never miss to see the holy statues in the temple, a strange thing she does. Like her skin, a heavy, black and an expensive bag is always attached to her. She forgets the bag wherever she goes and someone there hands it to her. A thankless takeover for the bag.

Having known her for a long time and being invited to have dinner in the palace, I went there to know her more. Her eyes deep and red, neck held high, she welcomed me with honor. Loquacious, as she has thousands of words to say and share, alone and proud in the house. Her tales were never ending and I interrupted with the question about the beautiful bag which she forgets everywhere. The graceful smile vanished, she picks up the bag and unzipped it, empty like her house. In response to the perplexed face she replied, I dump my loneliness in this bag and try to forget it but this loneliness is so attached that it has multitudinous ways to find me. She never paid for the material, it was always for the few minutes conversation she had with the people. She wishes if money could buy everything on this earth, she would have bought and distributed to the lonely humans. The visit to the palace detached me from the worldly affairs. Relations and attachment holds a lot more than money in bags.

Sorrows: The quickest way to learn life

Half awake throughout the night, alarm clock buzzing to get the attention and she was gazing at the lifeless images in mind.  A heavy thought which she carried all over the night blurred her vision. The morning rays were dense and puzzling, pushing her back to darkness. It was the day of commotion and demanded excessive travelling. Calls which required no response but just to confirm the presence. Many things entangled to form a perplexed picture. Feeling trapped and losing the calm every second. Her steps were tipsy and mind weaving the conversations to build a clear track. In a crowd and still alone, she lost the faith in herself and asked for help.

Anxious water drops moving down her head and hands shivering to hold a bag. She reached the metro station and took a seat to think in peace. An old man sitting next to her and observing her moves. He saw her shedding tears and hiding her face to get unnoticed. She could feel the old eyes keenly observing her. She wiped her face and sat straight but still lost in her puzzles. Suddenly the old man shouted the words printed on the banner,’Delhi Metro, The fastest way to travel’ and Sorrows the quickest way to learn life. He put his hand on her head and said to her, you will learn soon. She was shocked as the prayer got answered in no time. The old man stood up, gave her a smile and moved out. He took away all her worries and stress and the day was a win for her. There is meaning to every problem we have in life, rather than crying over it, face it with will and win it.

The Miniscule Minority Park

A curious wave putting my thoughts on the road and I kept on finishing the paths from one bend to the other. Late in the night and winters making its presence felt more and more. Took a wrong turn and entered the right place. I stepped inside a park where the vibes were like the arctic frost. Wrapped with an extra load of apparels, moving fast was an uphill battle. Suddenly came across a  guy who introduced me to the place as the one made for non straight people . The way of expression made it clear and I was glad being inducted there.

My presence there was not appreciated by my friends but my experience was enriching. An endless trip to the place started and the miniscule appeared to be large and more happy than the major one. There was always an uproar of emotions and activity like the butterfly opening the wings for the first time. More hidden the thought more explosive it is. Same was visible there. Life there was filled with rainbow colors, marking the excitement. Many there were  hunting for bodies, some for fun and some like me just for an experience. From old to young and kiddos, all were the part of  hidden miniscule, a society in whole.

With nothing to hide, the only thing prevalent there was truth  and everyone came out live to perform, we all were secretly related. Every visit gave me something to hold and carry with me. Love was like a wind, flowing but no way to capture. The beauty was in no discrimination policy. Everyone was respected as a human and no basis of being natural or unnatural. The miniscule played a sound impact on my inner self which the majority never did. It was more a hidden criminal community with unmatched love and care.