My mom’s daughter!! (it’s not me!)
A forgotten dream it was, to my mom; to have a hearty laughter or to pause for a minute to see what we were doing, as kids. With the hectic schedule she had pushed herself into; it was unimaginable either to her or to any of us to even think of her sitting leisurely. She was never a full-time mother. She had many roles to play- as a mom, as a teacher, as a daughter-in-law, as a wife and most importantly as a ‘domestic-engineer’. That’s too much multi-tasking to do!
There are times when I prayed God that he gifted me a new mommy for my birthday! Because I really wanted someone to listen to all my imaginations, sorrows and joys. The only expression my mom would give, for any utterance of mine, would be an almost impassive nod. I was somebody who wanted my mom to tell me if I could go to the bathroom! I was always craving for my mom’s attention but never got it. My mom was either unavailable or too pissed off to respond.
Anyway I am not writing this to tell you about “How I braved my father and changed my mother” No, I didn’t do that, nor am I going to talk about it! (Going off the record, There are times when my dad and I made plans to get us a new mom, a good one this time around!)
This is about a difference I saw in my mom. A metamorphosis sort of!
It’s about now. Not much has changed in our lives. The mom is still the cutest of the family, still the busiest. We have gotten busy too, with our studies, friends and the lives we’ve created for ourselves. There a new member in the family who stayed with us for six months. A very naïve, sensitive, vulnerable and gullible person, but the cutest I’ve ever come across!
My mom is still busy, rather busier learning & upgrading herself. But this new member needed attention; more than we ever did, as kids. She would raise false alarms saying she’s badly cut her finger and needs medical care. She would talk too much to the guests unnecessarily. She would ask the same question repeatedly “Do I look tired?” or “Can I eat this, would my health be alright” She would pester my mom to take her for an outing. She would fall asleep on the couch, too tired to get up and go to her bedroom. Sometimes she would even wet her bed, too slow to rush to the bathroom.
But my mom who seemed to be so impatient with us never tried to chide her. How much ever embarrassment it would bring her, how much ever work it would add to her routine, my mom would be patient with the new member. Not because she was our guest. After all she was my mom’s nearest and dearest. I wondered what made my mom change her attitude… towards… her mom!
The age had taken a toll on my mom’s mom- her new daughter now. Her patience had worn out. Now she demanded attention, demanded care even without being aware of what a ‘child’ she was being. My granny has no idea what she behaves like. She behaves naïve like a pro! It must be the love my mom got from her, the strength she inherited from the same person, that she’s able to give back so much.
I do not know how patient I am now. But I surely don’t have to look out of the window for inspiration! I’ve promised myself to be a mom to my mom when she needs me to!
Lift under maintenance
Five minutes had passed. I was still laughing with another friend of mine. We found it strangely funny to be stuck in the lift. Eerily the very previous day I had read something about getting stuck in an elevator and people’s panic-attacks at such situations. I had not even imagined that it would happen so soon. It was like “deja senti”. I knew the feeling of being stuck in the elevator even before I actually did.
Here’s what happened. We were fourteen girls on a crazy spree of enjoying, screaming, making fun of people because we hardly have anything better to do during exams especially when you are in a hostel with people with weird-wired brains (Wow! Did I just coin a word?). After an hour full of fun we decided we would get into the elevator whose capacity is just eight people. We decided to get in even though we knew all the odds.
It was a funny scene. We were laughing like mad people. I’m not exaggerating! We got into to the lift one by one- With a ‘headcount’ of fourteen. We called out for 2 more people but they refused to get it; which was good for them! We got into the lift and ceremoniously pressed the button. We started screaming again with some mad-joy. It took us a minute to realize that we were stuck in between first floor.
My first and continuous reaction was ‘Laughter’! We all screamed again with an air of euphoria because what we knew would happen, had happened. And we-being-girls started taking pictures; Memories- you know what I mean! A minute or two passed. Two of the girls got panicky. They started cursing for very minimal ventilation (oh please! What do you want, a window to an elevator!?)
We realized we had to make ourselves heard so we screamed out loud, banged on the doors of the elevator. Suddenly the lights went out! The two girls who were panic-stricken had gone too jumpy by now. They started crying… they said they couldn’t breathe. And there I was laughing my lungs out. I was only adding to their anxiety. They all started scolding me. But there I was laughing even more as if out of some weird sadistic joy. But I was a victim too! Anyway, we continued to try our best to come out of it.
We heard a voice say ‘wait for a few minutes, the help is on the way’ and we felt better but the duo couldn’t stop themselves. One of them even tried to pull apart the ceiling of the elevator in search for ventilation. This made us laugh even more. There was a conundrum of emotions. A few of them were rendered catatonic by fear, few of them too panicky to be sane and there was me gone too crazy with laughter. We waited there. I knew it’d be over in no time.
We were out! No doubt, we had to listen to the reprimands by our warden which sounded music to my ears because after-all we did all this for some reason and I felt I had achieved it.
That night I slept with a smile on my face. The “Lift under maintenance” sign had made me over-joyed. I couldn’t have asked for more. One year of hostel-life and I finally felt I had “Done something”!
WATER, WATER… EVERY….NOWHERE!
I woke up one morning. It was brightly sunlit. Nothing could beat the cool breeze on a sunny morning. I was all game to go through that day. With a smile, I put up a brave front to enter the hostel bathroom which, as one might guess, was stinking. I could see a few sunken faces. A big discussion was going on. I saw a few girls rush out to call warden. I wondered what had gone wrong.
A few of my brushing-time-mates who usually let the tap run, were holding mugs of water. I was bewildered. ‘Has everybody gone so water-conservative or what’ I thought. I turned the tap on only to find the tap make a loud noise. Air had replaced water! Oh god, no! I was already running late to college.
I heard girls say that the hostel water-tanks were all dried up and there was no water! I brushed my eyes to ensure I wasn’t dreaming. It had never happened in the history of my hostel. How could they run out of water! How would we bathe?!
We were asked to leave to college sans bathe! Thanks to perfumes, we saved ourselves and also spared the others from the horror (you know what I mean)!
At breakfast, since water was limited we were served only 2 glasses of water per person. “The nightmare would be over by evening” we thought. We found out as we went to college that there was no water in college either. The management was checking what had gone wrong. News channels started to talk about “Dry Vizag” which meant there was no water anywhere in Vizag. What an irony! The port-city, city of destiny has no water! Endless amounts of water to see (Sea) but not a drop to drink!
We thought it was a bad prank played by someone and it would be over soon. We got back to hostel all thirsty in the evening only to find out there was still no water. Believe you me, this continued to the next morning too, and the next morning and the next one.
There was an exodus from Vizag. Nobody wanted to stay here. The water borrowed from other places like Hyderabad & Vijayawada didn’t last for long. Those cities needed water for their own needs. Surprisingly, rather shockingly all the rivers in India were reportedly drying out. Agencies reported that India would become the largest desert on earth in only a few days.
People had nowhere to go. People started to think about options. “If only we are given a second chance, we will never waste a single drop of water” they said. And the nightmare continued to be reality.
Well, all that’s written above, friends, is purely imaginative. But we’re not very far. This could happen in a few years to come. This could happen to our grandchildren, to our children or worse it could happen to us, which could mean there would be no children, no grandchildren and no tomorrow.
And I am surely not being pessimistic. I come from a place where this really happens. We buy water and we surely pay a heavy price. A family of four spends almost 2000 Indian rupees on water every month! We, in my place have nightmares of running taps, over-flow of over-head tanks. This could mean a rough day for us. We fear wasting even a drop of water. Every single ounce of it matters to us.
It’s very easy to keep the tap on till you finish your job. But is it “THAT” tough to turn it off and on as per need? Are we THAT lazy? I mean what stops you from saving water? We surely need a reality check.
I see many girls in my hostel leaving the taps on even when they do not use water; While brushing, while washing hands etc. It’s like even a bucket of water isn’t sufficient to clean their beautiful hands. This instigates an adrenalin-rush in me. I go crazy. I run to the tap and stop it… I have even told a few girls not to do that. They hate me for it. Every time I see them now, they still leave the taps running at least to provoke me!
It is not about us, people; it’s about our future, our tomorrows, and our children. Think of it! When you have actually run out of all and any water that is available, there will be no turning around. That would be the end of it. Do you want to a worry-less tomorrow, at least a water-worry-less tomorrow? It’s your call. And mine. Let’s do something about it.
Religion…
“There is no start nor an end to religion” is a quote anonymous. but so apt it purports to be, when we understand the real meaning of religion.
We are always on a quest. About life, its meaning and its purpose. Man understood that the purpose of life was not mere living, but it was to find out and realize the Super-Power source, the omnipotent, the omniscient and the omnipresent. He unearthed the secrets of life that lead to the ultimate truth. The way to unearth those secrets were termed to be religion.
Religion is not a mere set of rules or a community of people. It’s a collaboration of wisdom, reasoning & knowledge that lays a path which leads us to that one thing that matters, that one thing that holds things together, that one thing that strikes a balance between existence and non-existence. The Eternal truth. God.
Like it is said in Sanskrit, “Athi Sarvathra Varjayeth” which translates to “Too much of anything is bad”, Religion found many followers, many people who wanted to discover their purpose. Somewhere in this search we lost focus. That very path which was supposed to lead to God pulled us back to mortality and material existence.
Eventually, religion which emerged to be an immensely spiritual & eternal path turned out to be a cause for diversity, disintegration, fights, pogroms and wars.It is extremely disturbing to see the loss of humanity in the name of religion.
People and only people can turn things back to normalcy. I hope and pray that ‘religion’, one day, is placed back in its original, pure and eternally spiritual form and will be practiced only for a positive growth and spiritual elevation. To where it belongs and what it means.
To be emotional is human!
To mark my come-back after a long-long time, here’s a poem I wrote today.
Don’t get too happy, they say,
Don’t get too sad.
Don’t get excited, they say,
Don’t be bad.
Not to be happy when things are so good,
Not to be sad when I’m misunderstood,
Not to be enchanted by the nature’s treat,
Not to be ecstatic when the sun & sea meet,
How is it all possible when I have a ‘heart’?
How’s it all possible when my emotions are at start?
I will be all… Happy, sad & excited.
I will be all… Enchanted, depressed and contended.
I will be all I want to be,
‘Cause I am very human you see!
One hell of a day!
It had been four days since I had started waiting in that queue which seemed almost never-ending… It looked like it’d take infinity before anybody got their turn. Thus everyone had made their waiting spots, their home. The wait was indeed cumbersome. But we were all kept engaged, we got to watch a lot of cheerleaders dance and we were served delicious six course meal four times a day. And not to forget the mouth watering sweets and desserts that were served (All this at no cost!). But still the wait made me anxious and reckless. That is when I started screaming out loud pleading the officers to make it soon.
Four days here translates to 400 years earth time. We were all happy to be there. It never felt so long. But then I was very eager to choose my place of birth, my going-to-be parents, and my siblings and so on. Finally it was my turn after so many days.
The procedure was very lengthy. We’d be given a list of positives and negatives of our past life and we’d have to go through the document carefully, clarify with the concerned officers in case we had doubts. We could lodge a complaint if there were any false allegations or accreditations which would be forwarded to a court and would be solved within minutes and we’ll have to go through the rest of the procedure.
Based on our positive scores, we’d be given preferences; one would get to choose their place of birth, health, wealth, people around them in their birth, intelligence, happiness, spiritual superiority and so on. People whose sins outnumber their good deeds get to choose lesser. Their choices would get limited and restricted. More the sins lesser the preferences thus low life profile.
After the choices are made, we’d get to choose our looks, which would be designed by some of the greatest creators again depending on the merit. Person with a lot of negative balance would have to go to a trainee while a person with a lot of positives will go to the experts and would also get to choose from a wide range of beautiful looks.
Then, comes the choice of life span. Again in every aspect we’d get to choose based on our past history.
Oh! I’m sorry. I almost forgot to mention! I was in the time (or space or life or whatever you call it) after death. I was a Business man in my last birth. I was from 16th century. (However, I have been in many earth times even before that, in various forms) I was waiting to get my turn for my next birth. It’s 20th century already. Here I was still following procedures.
To wait in queues, we were first divided into groups. Souls with more than 80% positives in previous birth would get to be born in India. To be born in India we had to wait in long queues as this one. Now you know why India is so largely populated! But I was so lucky that I hadn’t sinned much in my last birth. So I could be born in the place of divinity, the place of Gods- India.
The officials here are so intelligent. They would do all the permutations and combinations required to fit in all the people and their preferences based on the criteria. There is no question of mistake or loopholes. If there is anything opposite to the present bureaucracies this is it. The work is fairly distributed among the officials and would be carried out in a phenomenal way.
I had already chosen my parents, I didn’t want many siblings like in my last birth (I had 20 siblings then or may be more!!) so I chose just one, who was to follow me. I even got to choose my looks, my health, wealth, my star signs and everything else. I was getting more anxious now that I was getting closer to be born again.
After I made my choices, I was asked to go to the design room, where the creators would sketch and make a model of our looks. I sat there and was so amazed by the novelty of the room itself. When the creator, accompanied by his assistants, came to the room in no time they got on with the work. They showed me many designs of face, nose, teeth, eyes, hair color and complexion and so on. I chose everything to fit my imagination of beauty. The only bad thing about the creators is they’d not make any comments or suggestions even when our choices go wrong but will provide only that which is asked for.
It was in the next room that a model of the design would be made. While that was being carried out, I was taken to a room where an angel (who would be the guardian angel for my coming birth) would caution us about what not to do (which, of course will be forgotten by us after becoming earthlings) this, she said could be remembered only if we trained ourselves spiritually and realized our origin. (Anyway, I was too happy and anxious to listen to all this Gyan) She then assured me that she’d be protecting me whenever necessary which again, she said depends on my behavior.
After the counseling was over I was given a thing which in earthly terms is like a memory card which would contain infinite amount of knowledge and power (this was given to everybody- with the same amount of data, however the accessibility of this would differ from person to person depending on their behaviour in their birth). I was to take that memory card and ask the model creators to fit it in the model in what’s called brain. The creators said I cannot access the memory card very easily however with a lot of effort and penance (penance for knowledge or for God) that could be achieved. They also cautioned me not to compare my accessibility with others’ since a few souls can access it easily again this is also based on their positivity they said.
They were still making my model. The nose was yet to be trimmed a little; my ears had to be fixed a little bit. My eyes were to be enlarged. And a few more corrections were to be done, to fit my preference. But I was too eager to be born and thus I took my model, fixed the memory-card-like thing in a place which I found was apt. and I ran away without looking back.
I knew my destination. I was dancing with joy on the way. A few Angels, who were flying by, wished me luck and blessed me. I was flying in that beautiful cloudy sky suddenly the speed was accelerated. I plummeted to a place. It was completely dark. It had a bad stink. I suddenly regretted my eagerness to have come here. I felt bad for not waiting till my model was completed. I spent 9 long months in that place floating in what seemed like dirty water.
When I was released, I cried, for I wanted to go back. Suddenly I felt happy. I was looking at my dad. I knew it was him; I had chosen him to be my dad after all. Then I cried again. I felt this weird vibration in my body. Which I later came to know was termed ‘hunger’. My mom fed me. I felt at bliss.
Slowly I got adapted to my new home as an earthling. I was happy until it occurred to me one day that I had almost forgotten about the knowledge chip. I had put it somewhere in my brain but didn’t remember where. I had no access to it anymore. I had no clue what to do.
‘To hell with the chip’ I thought. ‘I have chosen the best looks’.
I stood in front of the mirror, to marvel my choice of looks! Oh I was a blunder so half-done! I had ran away from the creator’s room. My nose was as big as an apple; may not be so big, but still bigger than anybody would choose their nose to be. My eyes were too small. My ears almost hit the person next to me. No, not that big of course. But still, it was protruding out of my body. To hell with my looks I thought ’I have made a good choice of parents and a sister’.
I convinced myself by telling ‘Oh! That’s alright. At least, I waited till the parts were attached, though the shapes are irregular. However, I have more chances. I will choose better for my next birth.’
I looked at the vastness of the sky and said ‘My dear Guardian angel, you should have warned me about not being in such a hurry’ I felt a laugh from the sky as a reply.
When Shyam found a “sui………….” note!
“Dear World,
There are times when you feel you are on one end of this word while everything and everybody else is on the opposite side. You feel desperately alone, awkwardly depressed and unfortunately alive. Every one of us would have had such situations at least once perhaps many times. Some times this feeling is superficial and overcome-able. But sometimes, you try very hard. You try your best to be out of it. But the more you try the deeper you get into a state of horrendousness.
Presently, the above said is my status. Since the start of this year my life has given me an exact opposite of what I asked for. I ask for good, it gives me bad. I wish for a good job and a great life it gives me hideous failures. But I have been picking myself up.
At times listening to soft music or reading a nice book would make me strong enough to try again. Like Shakira sings “Pick yourself up and dust yourself off” I used to sing those inspiring and soothing lines from a few of my favorite songs and feel better. I would not mind trying again. When the pain of failure was deep I would help myself by abusing myself with the help of profanity (I’d practice this act in front of the mirror and it would help me) I am born with a curse; I cannot cry very often. But there were times when I even went to the extent of crying.
Somehow I kept myself afloat for a lot of days. I saved my energy for many more failures to come. Slowly my optimism seemed to fade. I became more and more certain of my failures. I would apply to jobs with a hope that I wouldn’t get it (yeah you read it right) lest I get a heart attack for not failing. Now that I had tasted the bitterness of failures (it looks like I find failure a delicious dish) and now that I expect failure in every step I take, I should have become thick-skinned. But that didn’t happen. Every failure knocked me down.
Now I have decided not to be a prey for any more failures. I have decided to end my life.
I would want to have a ‘future’, a ‘happy life’. I’d like it if only I can wait till I can tell my kids how I convinced myself out of a decision as this. I’d like to motivate them by telling how I never gave up. I’d like to get a good job, settle down in life, marry someone very nice, have kids, and take care of them. Oh yeah I would love to do all of the aforesaid. But as of now, none of it sounds like a nice plan. Everything good seems too farfetched to come true.
Whenever I read about suicides in a newspaper I always thought “People who die are selfish, they don’t care about how their loved ones feel” but that’s not the case. Nothing seems good around them. Nothing would matter to them anymore. That’s the kind of damage sadness causes to any man. Nothing has motivated me to live, inspired me to achieve ever-since the thought of suicide entered my mind.
I am still not sure if I have the courage. But this seems like the only solution. I only wish I could feel better without sui………………………………………”
It was late in the evening. Shyam had just left the office. He had had a long day at work. He could kill anybody for food; he was that hungry but didn’t have a penny in his pocket. He had gotten robbed earlier that day. He had a lot of things to worry about. His boss had given him a heavy load of “Take-home” work. He was walking past an apartment when a paper flew across his eyes and fell on the floor in front of him. As if programmed, Shyam picked the paper up. He wondered why he picked the paper up since he was so pre-occupied with his own worries. But he turned the paper. It was a letter. He read the letter. At first he thought that the paper must have flown from a trash can. When he ran his eyes across the paper he realized it was incomplete and was very fresh and crisp to be from a trash can. It took him three minutes to understand the matter. He hurriedly went to the apartment. It was the only apartment in the street. He asked the security guard to come along with him explaining to him that someone in the apartment was attempting for a suicide. They both knocked at all the doors in the apartment.
The whole apartment started looking for the person who was going to die. They all wanted to rescue him. There was only one door which didn’t open after a lot of knocking. All the men somehow broke the door and entered inside. There was a man sitting at his desk writing something. He did not make a move. All the people thought he was dead. Shyam hurriedly ran to him. He asked the others to call an ambulance. When Shyam went near the desk, suddenly the man turned towards him and asked “Who the hell are you? Why are you in my apartment” and he turned to find so many people at his place, he was shocked “How in God’s name did all of you get inside my apartment? And you broke the door!”
Shyam showed him the letter and said “This is why we all are here. Thank God you are alive. But! Have you taken poison or have you cut your wrist! Are you ok?” Shyam looked worried.
The man burst out laughing in spite of a broken door and so many intruders. He said “I’m Sorry to have worried all of you. I am a writer. I was writing a new story and I lost this sheet. Heavy wind you see, it flew.” All of them let out a sigh of relief that he was okay and Shyam, though a little embarrassed laughed out loud.
‘Giving up’ Is not an option!
Have you ever heard someone tell you that you are bad at something? Has anyone called you a loser? Has anyone made you feel you are worth nothing? This would have happened to everybody at least once in their lifetime. So if someone says you are fit for nothing or if they call you a loser what would you do? First thing, you’d hate that person. Secondly you’ll give up what you are up to. And then you feel low. At least this is what I would do.
It happened with me. I was complacent about being good at writing. I was on top of the world when my mom and friends said my articles and stories were really good. But then I had to face the harsh reality of how opinions differ. There were people who had talent unmatchable and spirit unbeatable; When such people read my articles they were forced to rate my articles on the scale of reality. And that’s when I felt sad, felt like a loser and even gave up. Here’s an account of what happened;
A few years ago fortunately or unfortunately or inadvertently or I don’t know why but I started writing stories. Later I started posting all my short stories, incidents, my thoughts almost everything in my blog. My first reader was my mom or my best friend. If they both approved of its quality and readability I would then pass the piece of work for authentication from a few of my acquaintances who have a great command over the language and are very eloquent (who I must add are nothing short of great writers).
One of such readers was a cousin of mine; my best critic. Every time I showed what I had written he would not say a good thing about it even by fluke. If anything remotely near to ‘good’ came from him, that would mean a great honor to me and to my work. I used to feel bad about his criticism. I had a blind certainty that whatever I wrote was great or at least worth reading. But that’d never been his opinion. The damage had happened to my confidence. I felt I’m not a writer’s breed. I felt like a loser. I felt that my articles were just dumb, muddled-up mixture of senseless jabber. . I got so frustrated being critiqued that one day I stopped writing.
After a long break of four months I got back to writing, not because I felt any better about myself just because writing had become a part of me without which I couldn’t survive. I wrote a story. I felt it was a great one. My mom read it and said it was a very good piece of work. “Oh my Gosh! It’s Wonderful” is what my buddies said. And now I had an urge to get an opinion from my cousin. By then he had gotten very busy in life that we weren’t keeping in touch as often as before. So I sent him my stories through mail. I was waiting for a reply from him. It was almost an examination for me. I was very eager to hear him say good things because this time I was so sure that my stories were pretty good or at least better.
Days passed, weeks passed but no luck. I didn’t get any reply from him. One day I caught him online for a chat and asked him about my stories. He said “yeah, I read them” and the desperate part of me jumped immediately thinking he’d say it was good. And I said “Oh! You found time to read! Good to know! So, what do you think?”
His reply was worse than I could ever imagine. He sent me a Wikipedia link. And said “This might help you”. The wiki article was about “how to write” for beginners. Something about “Simple English”. He added “Try with the tips first. I’m sure you’ll figure it out!”. “What am i?! A Dumbass? Why did I ever get back to writing? What in the God’s name made me feel I’m any better than what I was just four months ago?” and so went my thoughts from sadness, to desperateness, to depression and finally to regret.
I read my stories again and again. But I couldn’t read it with his eyes; so keen on mistakes. I regretted trying to write. I even went on to the heights of hating myself for being such a loser. I had given up. But least expected was the outcome of whatever happened. The criticisms from him had worked wonders on me. I had become stronger. I had become more determined to better myself.
One day after a lot of preparation, a lot of reading and learning I wrote again. I wrote it like never before. I wrote with passion, zeal and obsession.. And Boom! People liked it. But I knew a perfectionist like my cousin’s kind was sure not to like it anyway. So this time I didn’t bother asking him about it. Nor did he ever come with any queries about my writing. He’d had his share of reading jabber (according to him).
But did I hate his criticism anymore! Hell, no! He was true to every word he said. My style was bad. My choice of words was bad. I didn’t have the right equipment. When I went through my older articles, I found it naïve and silly. It could have been way lot better than it was. I understood what he’d have felt about such writing. It wasn’t the worst. But it was not good for sure. i have been on a journey, since; A journey of learning. I have increased my vocabulary, worked on my grammar. I am not even close to being a good writer. But now, I’m not bad (I hope).
So dear readers, if you are to face criticisms, I suggest you not to neglect them if they come from the right person. At the same time, never give yourself an option of giving up. As Lance Armstrong said “Giving up was never an option” make that your motto. Criticisms are what make us better people. They shape us into a perfect person. At the same time, if a loser gives you an advice or criticizes you, don’t give a damn!
That’s What Happens!
I entered the place. Everybody was seated. An air of fear-mixed-sorrow had filled the place. A few Long, a few sad, a few tensed and a very few calm faces were to be seen. I waited till it was time to start my performance. I shouted loud at the people seated there. Few paid heed. Everyone was still busy with their own contemplations. I was not supposed to stop the performance. I shouted again; a little louder this time that only four people from a kilometer away could have heard my scream. People in this place, however, seemed unperturbed. By then they got the signal from the concerned authority. And they all kept quiet.
I asked them to put away their belongings since their belongings would hamper their performance. They did so reluctantly; a few of them still hanging onto their bags, as if someone is snatching away their loved one whom they’d never want to let go. Finally it was time I showed my multi-tasking skills. I picked up the paper bundle and started distributing the papers to the students. Yes! I was invigilating an exam hall. (When I said ‘my performance’ I meant ‘invigilation’. And when I said “belongings” I meant “books”.) And at the same time scanning everyone with suspicion as if they were all criminals and I was a cop.
By then the question papers arrived. I gave them to the students went to my designated place and looked at everyone. Few of the students had broad smiles by looking at the question paper, a few of them were tensed, a few of them were almost into tears (and of course they were girls), a few more seemed not to care, but most of the boys there looked at the paper as if they were looking at something that had come from a different world. They were looking more into the font, font size, color, texture of the paper etc. than on what was printed on it.
I was asked by the principal to sign on the students’ answer scripts and admit cards as a sign of authentication and verification. I went to the students and asked them to give me their admit cards and answer sheets. When I say “Your answer booklet, please” they’d have a “Why-the-hell-do-you-want-it” look. And instantly I would get offended (I seriously don’t have an idea why!)
After all that drama of “Verification” I went back to my place and started filling in the details of absentees and so on in the register that was given to me, looking at the students in the meanwhile. Not just looking; I was scanning.
In just fifteen to twenty minutes my job was done. Only I had to stand there and invigilate. I came across this wall-post on Facebook once. It was about what boys do in an exam hall in contrast to what girls do. It says “Boys look at the paper. Take a pen and look at its texture. Write on the question paper to check whether the pen is working or not. Then look at the girls in the exam hall. Check the time. Look at the answer script. After they get bored with checking out everything in the exam hall starting from the windows, door, and the invigilator to benches, desks, table, and dust on the floor and so on, they finally look into the question paper. Write only one answer for all the questions or recollect a film story and write it on the answer script. After a few minutes again they get back to checking out things. But what girls do in an exam hall is, write, write, write, ask for an additional sheet, tuck their hair behind their ears again write, write, write and ask for an additional sheet and keep repeating the same.” So that’s exactly what happens in exam halls. But one more thing that’s left out is, boys and also girls, copy. They basically just talk to their friends to collect the answers. Girls want their friends to acknowledge if their answers are right. But boys only want to help and be helped they wont bother if their answer is correct. Having the answer script filled to decent extent (they decide what’s decent. For them filling up just two pages is a favor they’re doing to the teacher) is what matters to them.
So everyone knows students’ version of the exam-hall-ordeal. But no one tells you the tragic version of the one who’s invigilating. For the first few minutes, invigilation won’t be that bad. And later on you’ll be absolutely jobless. So after the first twenty minutes, I look outside the door. Look at the students and shout at them once or twice. Then get back to my place and keep invigilating their pitiful state. I try remembering how I felt writing the exam. But one thing keeps me up and going for one and half hours. That is, tea!! Only the thought of being able to have my share of caffeine after one and half hours keeps me afloat. And there it comes, my savior for me to savor. When I get my tea I look at the students. They have a “Why-her-and-not-us” look. Some even say it. “We are writing exam and she enjoys tea” however I ignore their looks; pitying their pathetic state and thanking god for I have already served my sentence. Once I’m done with my tea. I would be fine for the next fifteen minutes. But after that I keep checking my watch more than the students. Also reminding them how much time they have to prove their worth in those godforsaken answer scripts. That way I soothe myself that it’s not too much time before I could finish my ordeal for that one day of invigilation.
I get restless, for nobody seems to be finishing their arguments in the paper anytime soon. What initially starts as simple restlessness goes on to become frustration and finally turns into reckless shouting of time being up and I even try to snatch away the papers so that I go back home.
So after three long hours of continuous-frustrating-joblessness I submit the papers in the office room and find my way to my bike as quickly as possible. This time I write any exam, I’ve promised myself not to feel bad about the invigilator getting some tea, I’d rather pity them more than I pity myself!
On a warm rainy Friday!!!
Almost every other person I talk to loves rain. Some say “Oh it’s so romantic” and some say “it’s so enjoyable”. But I hate rain. I rather hate its timing. I don’t know if it’s just a co-incidence but it always troubles me. I like rain but only when I am at leisure and am having a roof above my head and a hot cup of coffee in front of me. Ah! Nothing can beat the feeling; but when I am out, a big ‘No’ to rain. As if I control it!
It was a Friday. I stepped out of my office keeping my fingers crossed all the way. I didn’t want rain to ruin my weekend-eve. Oh Fridays are so good provided you reach home early and can sip your cup of coffee and can read a magazine… or you can just relax. Or you can meet up with a friend. Or you could just go out for shopping! Phew! You can do so much on a Friday. But this Friday that I am talking about was different. When it started raining, I was in despair. I was so frustrated. I was too tired not to reach home early. I was in need of a strong cup of coffee to soothe myself. It had been a long day.
I cursed rain for taking away my happiness. It didn’t seem to stop anytime soon. I somehow walked myself to the parking lot and wore my rain coat. I was too exasperated even to wait till the rain died down. I started riding my bike. But the downpour got rather heavier. I stopped near a coffee shop, desperate to grab a cup of coffee. I dashed in and ordered a cup of south-Indian coffee and waited. The restaurant looked crowded. It only made sense. Who wouldn’t want to have coffee in such weather! I managed to find myself a table. I waited for my coffee while I was going through the menu.
After sometime the restaurant looked like a metro train; over-crowded. I saw this man who was searching for a table. I was seated in a table meant for two. The man approached me and asked me if I could share the table with him. I nodded to mean a yes. He was totally drenched in the rain. After a few minutes he made himself comfortable in his chair. I looked at him. He smiled. I smiled back. By then my long awaited coffee was served. “Awww!” I exclaimed happily. The aroma made the coffee irresistible. I sipped my coffee and I was in the heaven; almost. I was brought back to the earth by that man. “You have not added sugar, I guess!” he said. I said “I like sugarless coffee better”. He gave a look of pity and was about to say something. I cut him off and said “No-no. It’s nothing about my health. I just like it that way”. He laughed out and said “No I was about to say I like it sugarless too.” I laughed along.
It was still raining heavily. But the ambience was somewhat nice. Coffee when it’s raining outside. I was starting to feel comfortable. I didn’t have the urge to go back home anymore; May be because I had some company. The man and I kept exchanging smiles. After what seemed like ten minutes he too got his order served. I was busy with my coffee and a muffin that I had ordered, when he started up a conversation.
“So, dear one, how is life?” he asked me. I gave a look it was rather horrifying I suppose. He instantly said “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have addressed you like that” I said “You need not apologize. But I was just taken aback by a sudden addressing of that sort” so went on our conversation.
It was almost 9 pm when we sensed that time didn’t stop moving. It was so nice talking to that person. And suddenly he said “Let’s go to my apartment”. I agreed. He insisted that we go by his car since there were chances that it rained yet again. So I asked him what I was supposed to do about my bike. He said he could send someone to get it. And then we both left from there. We never kept quiet on our way to his apartment.
I felt as though I knew this man since very long. I already shared a bonding with him. He seemed to feel the same about me. May be because we actually knew each other since I was born. By the time we reached his apartment mom was waiting for us at the door. Dad and I got thorough lecture from mom for getting back home so late without informing her.
So that was it. I’d met dad at the coffee shop. We always loved this game of playing strangers to each other. It was just another day we played the game. And it always felt as refreshing, enjoyable and superb as ever. I slept with a happy heart that night for dad found some time to catch up with his stranger-daughter.
ramyajyothsna 