FORGIVE US!

The afternoon wind was so soothing, it was touching Rohit’s face and he was feeling the softness inside his heart. Countryside was always nice. He was sitting by the window of the train and looking at the outside villages passing by so fast.

Business meetings are always boring, but that’s his job. Being the CEO of an Indian international company, he had to do all these. CEO in local train!!! Huh! He chose to, alone, in the local train while all was subordinates made their sophisticated journey back to the city. It was 5.45pm and he was not thinking whether he will get the plot near the Haldia beach, he was not thinking whether next month the UK client will close the deal or not, he was not thinking whether Shrilekha, his wife, was annoyed by the 9 year old Krish or not. He was not thinking at all. He was looking at the beauty outside and his mind was roaming by the lanes of some 25 years back.

Next would be the station which was his birthplace, now there was none. Absolutely none. He thought about the poor long-lost school memories. Ha! Those were the crazy days. The train slowed down, the small station came, and sign board showed Kolaghat. Unmindfully, he got up, reached the door and as the train started moving, he got down!!! He was surprised at what he was doing! Why did he get down? Who was here? What would he do? When was the next train? None of these questions seemed important by then.

Something uncanny drove him, and next he found himself on a rickshaw going ‘somewhere’. He reached the village, Chitra, his birthplace. Once each wood of that village was into his soul, each street was known, each tree, each pond, and each villager. Now? Now in the high-end suit, he was a stranger there. It was past 6.15pm, it was getting darker quickly.

Slowly he reached the old mud house, his own house. Nobody was there, absolutely nobody. The house was broken… it had become the address of many known-unknown animals. Once it was so colorful, so much alive! Now, it was a desert, sandless, damp desert.

He approached the next house, Milli used to stay here… his first love… so many memories. He realised that there was none as well. He stood under the Shimul tree, the place where they had kissed for the first time and for the last time. The Shimul had lost its color by then.

Lots of untapped, undesired, unaccepted, unappreciated, unprotected, unorganised thoughts were dwelling like clouds in his head and he was scratching it. With darkness as his cover, his thoughts roamed freely, fetching almost nothing.

Dejected Rohit (have you already forgotten his name?) silently came out of the trance and made a move to take the last train from the station. He was crossing his school. Rohit asked himself, does anyone study there still? Does anyone teach there still? He could see a faint light coming from the cottage just next to the school. Someone used to stay there, some teacher, a lady, Malabika Ma’am!!! “My God” whispered Rohit, “She was such a great English teacher!”

He reached the cottage, mulled over the thought of knocking on the door, but hesitated! What if none was there? Perhaps someone else was there. Anyhow, He knocked on the wooden door and it opened with an annoying noise.

He cleared his throat (the corporate sign to say, well-hey-I’m-here!)

“Who’s there?” a thin voice came from inside. 3 words 7 breaks in between… must be very old and shaky.

“Ahh… it’s me” (Oh really!!!! as if there was only One ‘me’ in this world.)

The sound of feet came closer, an old lady with lantern in her left hand and stick in the right. No, stick was not to defend, not to offend; it was to DEPEND (on).

“Who?”

“Me… I’m…........” Rohit could not make it through.

“Rohit Ganguly?? Rohit right?”

“Yeah… I mean yes, yes I’m Rohit.” With a smile that said ‘thank-you-that-you-helped-me-to-remember-my-name’!

“Come in…….. I’m Malabika, you remember me!!” (damn it, Rohit doesn’t even remember his own name!)

“Yes, yes, Ma’am. How are you?”

“Ah… oh…. Will you like tea or coffee?”

“Ummmm … coffee.”

“Wait, I will be back.”

Rohit looked at the old lady, inscrutably moving still, remembering it all, going to make coffee for someone whom she was seeing after 25 years!!!

The house’s condition was at its nadir, it could fall down any moment! It was black, cracked, loose, almost gone. Rohit stood up and looked at the books by the wall. There were so many books! She always was an avid reader!!!

“Ma’am, none of my friends comes?”

“Be careful Rohit, it’s really dark here.”

“Yes, Ma’am, you remember that picnic?”

“Yes, that was fun. Sujoy cried a lot as his shirt was spoilt!” She coughed as she laughed!

“Yes, Sujoy.. Ma’am you know he is an established doctor now in Medical College, Kolkata… some heart stuff!!”

“Yes.”

“Did he come in between?”

“Will you prefer strong?”

“Sorry.”

“Strong. Strong coffee! Will you prefer strong coffee?”

“Oh… yes, yes strong. ........Ma’am do you remember Smita?”

“Yes, heard that her latest book TO MY LAND might win some award!”

“OH.....no, I only knew that she was a writer now. I mean had she come?”

“Rohit, sugar? 1 spoon?”

“ahh.. oh… no .. no sugar.. Already enough sugar in blood I guess.”

“Hmm..”

Rohit unknowingly picked up a book from the piles of books there and turned the pages without watching it.

“Ma’am, do you know I’m a CEO now. My company won the best employees’ satisfaction award last year.”

“Yes, I liked the speech that you gave after receiving award from Finance Minister. It was on GIVING BACK TO THE SOCIETY (society word was too much emphasised than the justified age and voice she had). It came in the newspaper."

“You know it all?” something fell down from the book; he stooped down and lost the power to get up again. It was his photograph, nicely cut from the newspaper, showing Rohit collecting the award with a huge smile.

“Ma’am”

“Hmm”

“Why didn’t you write to me?” (Ha! the last foolish question one can expect.)

“I wrote. With a few flowers.”

Rohit, Mr. Rohit! Think, after the announcement and celebration, amidst the garbage of scented and painted congratulation messages, there was a small tulips’ bouquet with a small letter, “I’M PROUD OF YOU ROHIT, Ms Malabika Chatterjee, Chitra, Kolaghat.”

You’ve been too busy to reply to this Mr. Rohit!! Too Busy!!!

Coffee arrived; that was the bitterest coffee he had ever sipped. No, the taste was fine!!! But Rohit’s tongue had lost its taste completely!

He didn’t say anything, nor did Malabika Ma’am. Rohit finished his coffee in silence, got up and bent down to touch her feet.

“I remember you all. You are big men now. So a bit tied up these days. God bless you all.”

Rohit came out, walked faster, got up on the rickshaw, and uttered, “Station.”

All you are matured and knowledgeable enough to visualise what Mr. Rohit was thinking on the rickshaw. I will just say that he reached the station, it was 8.20pm, and the small stall was still open at the corner of the platform. There was a sign board DTDC. Rohit entered, asked for a currier form, took out his pen from the pocket and wrote ….. ........ and wrote Malabika Ma’am’s address over it.

Two words on it … only two words…..

“FORGIVE US!!”

THIRSTY DEITY!

Munai… half-naked, half-fed, half-built, half-nourished santal chap…black, short and quick. He lived in a small hut a little far from the village. It was the Durga Puja time; autumn had touched the sky. The flowers were shining, the sun was smiling and the air is heralding the arrival of Maa. Munai was looking at the line of people going to the Jamindar's house, the dhakis, accompanied by their sons, the elites, accompanied by their slaves, the men, accompanied by their women.

"This time it will be great; isn’t it Kuttu?" asked Munai, and Kuttu gave a damn to it. Kuttu never spoke. How could he? He was just a baby goat, always walking by Munaiin silence. Like Munai, he also was motherless. Perhaps losing mother at early age brought them closer to each other. Father? None cared! Kuttu never knew his father was (goats don’t care); and Munai never liked his father… His father was just a man for food…always eating… even from Munai’s thali. And he snored a lot too… whenever he was sleeping which was for the most of the part of the day.

Munai was looking at the dhakis and was wondering how great life would be in those puja days.

“You know Kuttu, I’ve never seen Maa, but I think my Maa looks exactly like Durga Maa. See, Durga Maa is also a woman. What do you think? Kuttu, you aren’t thinking enough! May be, Maa Durga likes you also. What do you think?” Kuttu gave a dull look at him and came out with his coded speech “Baa Baa”.. (may be as a sign of approval).

It was Panchami of Durga Puja, Munai couldn’t believe it. Just one more day! After that, there would be so many colours, so many sounds, so many people, so much of FOOD at the Jamindar’s house!!! In the morning he had seen boys and girls with new dresses. He had heard that they usually had more than one dress!!!

“Is that true Kuttu that their parents give them more than one dress in Puja?”

Kuttu silent.

“You know these are stupid people, what is the need? This is only one body, so one dress will do right!! See, I have only a half pant; no even a shirt.... ”

Kuttu silent.

“What do you think?”

Kuttu silent.

“Accha, should I ask Baba for a shirt this time? This pant is so old and the pockets are not there even. How will I bring the laddus for you? Tell me na, should I ask Baba?”

“Baa Baa”

“Ha… I know you are a greedy fellow. When I ask about laddu, only yes yes…….”

Munai came back home and saw his father was sleeping by the shed of the big banyan tree in front of the house. He sleeps a lot with a special sound effect again!!!!.

Munai sat by his hut and closed his eyes, and started thinking of so many beautiful things. Durga Maa, so many beautiful people, so many sounds…. Durga Maa was smiling!!! Ha!!! She had opened her hands for Munai!!! “I will come you Maa… are you my Maa??”

“Hey Munai…” thunder with an earthquake at once. His father woke him up.

Munai cleaned his face.

“Go and fetch some woods, will we eat today or not?”

“WE?? Say I.” Said Munai to himself and went to fetch woods from the field.

While eating, his father, as usual, was eating as fast as possible and as much as possible. Munai always wondered about the width of his father's mouth.... so much at once!!!! Seeing this, Munai also increased his speed. He knew that if he was slow, then father would finish his staff, and will say, “Aha!!! Always wasting foods, give me. I knew you can’t eat that much!!!” He knew that Munai can eat that much, even more than that much.

“Baba!”

“Hmm”

“Tomorrow is Puja.”

“Hmm”

“I’ve seen the kids there at the Jamindar’s house.”

“Hmm”

“Everyone has new dress”

“What?”

“New dress…….give me one baba”

“Who will bring the money? Your Baba?”

“Baa Baa” predictable Kuttu!

Munai went silent.

On Sasthi he was very happy… standing outside the pandal watching Maa Durga. Such a big lion!!! And the sword in the hand of the demon was so shining. He didn’t enter into the pandal. He didn’t have any dress. Everybody had. (Nature gives uncommon matches.... strong ego with empty belly!!!)

While coming back, he saw his father was talking to the Munshi Ji.

“What were they talking about Kuttu?”

“Baa Baa” (Bull Shit!)

“Ha….. ”

Sampami passed away, so did Ashthami……. Munai didn’t enter into the pandal. Anyone could say a thing or two…what if someone laughed at him! What if anyone understood that he was not one of them? He was planning, if anyone asked him about his dress, he would say, “I will wear it at night. You stupids, who wears new things in day light?”… But none asked, none cared….. who cares even if he wants them to care??

On his way back, he was swearing to himself that he would not talk to Baba today. He reached his hut and sat there…. looking at his feet…….

“Today is Nabami……. Ha!!! It will be over by tomorrow… where is Baba?”

He saw his father coming across the paddy field ,… “Huh!!! There he is” … But there was something in the right hand of his fathe… something green… “What is that?” Munai asked himself!!!!

He ran to the person whom he swore to never talk to…and realised, it was exactly what he was thinking about!!!

“My God!!! It’s a new shirt!!!!”

“Yes!!!” says the father with pride (for the 1^st time in his life)

Munai snatched that away and ran … he ran and ran… He was looking at the green half shirt as he was running! It was so beautiful… a new shirt… a new shirt…. his new shirt…… He fell down… got up, the knees were paining…perhaps even bleeding…but who cares! It was a damn new shirt…..he held it up in the air as if it was the sail of his boat.........

But suddenly, it occurred to him and he stopped!

“Where did the money come from?” the question came as did the pain with it!

Munai tried to think of something… but he turned black and heavy. So he turned and ran again….. ‘Oh god!!’ He had come too far from his house… so he ran faster….

Munai reached his hut …..

“What? Wear it….” sounded the crack voice of his father.

“Kuttu, Kuttu………” Munai was crying…..

“Kuttu, Kuttu”……. No reply… (stupid Kuttu always remained silent… stupid Kuttu)

Munai ran faster… faster this time….. he was running and running….. the sounds were louder there in the air, the drums were playing, people were shouting……. So many sounds … but Munai could hear his own air inside ……

He reached the Puja pandal…. People were shouting, clapping, drums had gone crazy! … He pushed everyone away and that time, for the first time, he entered into the pandal……. Reached the centre and there he saw it all...... he saw, just beside the laddus, coconuts, sweets, flowers… a head was lying… the blood was still flowing…. the eyes were wide open... looking at him...!

There was no sound anywhere, it was absolute silence inside Munai… he looked closer… yes, he was sure…. It was no ordinary head…it was his Kuttus’s head!... The head that he used to sleep with, the head he used to kiss hundred times a day, the head he used to love…… they had already removed the body, perhaps someone was happily cutting that into pieces…. Durga Maa couldn’t eat that big pieces, her mouth was small… so small, small… tiny pieces of Kuttu……

Munai’s ears were buring, he looked up and looked straight in the eyes of Durga… she was angry too…. She was angry at the Demon.. Munai was angry too….. he was angry at what??? What??? Munai saw that he was still holding the green shirt in his hand … He squeezed it and threwed it straight on to the face of Durga Maa…and shouted at the top of his voice….

“Have it!!! Have this shirt also……. Have it, you thirsty… have it…!!!”

But none saw Munai… none could hear his voice! There was loud sound everywhere. Everybody was celebrating, celebrating the Annual Celebration… Everybody was busy to make Durga HAPPY!

36:26:30

“36:26:30”

“What?”   

“36:26:30”

“Oh… Nice” Riju managed to find adjective finally. He looked at me, I smirked.

Yes, this is Sonali, the hottest and sexiest girl of my college. English Honors division was always a heaven being fabricated and embroidered by the hottest girls and nastiest boys in Kolkata. (How the hell I landed up there?)

It was time when I went back to Kolkata for a while after my 4^th trimester. I was sitting with Riju at the Indian Coffee House and we were talking about Riju’s new girlfriend. That was the best topic we were talking about. Riju was explaining how she looks, how they met, how innocent she was, how much she loved him, how they fought, how they bunked university classes, how they kissed for the 1^st time and everything. I was listening to it with amusement and smile. Suddenly Riju said, “Hey look isn’t that girl from your department in college?”

“Who?” I looked at the direction he was pointing and saw the thing that I was least ready of. It was Sonali who was coming towards us. She identified me. Damn how was she looking? She was the hottest girl in my college, this looser crap Aniruddh could hardly speak to her and what was she now? A pink sleeveless top (intolerably low cut), a blue half-jeans (baring the entire legs just under the knees), a pink shoes (the heals were so thin and so long), a silver belt (not meant for tightening the jeans of course), brown hair (not natural of course), blue color on the eyelids (flashy enough), kohl (too dark), pinkish lipstick (pink and lipstick?)… It was January, 1 pm, Coffee House, packed people, packed smoke, packed shouts, packed laughter and this girl was so obnoxiously packed!! A strong smell (not scent) reached my nose as she came forward.

“Hi Ani….ru….ddh, remember?” Sonali asked. (I’ve never heard my name pronounced in such a weird style, as if my name was an ice cream that she licking by every inch!)

“Hi. Yes. Sonali….. of course.” I said. (I wished if only I could say no to that.)

“How are you sweetie?” (Sweetie? Me? Damn it!)

“Ahh fine….. How about you?” (I was least bothered, I must say.)

“Ohooo…. I’m as I look… haha!!” (If you ask me, then answer was you look sick! Sick!)

“By the way, Sonali you know him right?” I pointed towards Riju. (When you are out of words, pass the ball.)

“Hi, I’m Riju.” (Is he too eager?)

“36:26:30”

“What?”  

“36:26:30”

“Oh… nice” Riju managed to find adjective finally. He looked at me, I smirked.

“Can I join you guys?”

“Yes please” (Nooooo Please…)

She sat and started introducing her to Riju and I saw that they were smiling, unwillingly from Riju’s side and sarcastically from Sonali’s side.

Damn, I was listening to a heavenly topic and from where this over decorated, over used, over cared, massacred creature fell off? She was a girl who used to increase the heart beats of each guy in college. I used to be so shaky when she used to talk to me, I used to search for the place where I should keep my eyes… windows, benches, ceilings, notebook, my nails… anywhere I could keep my eyes, but not on her! And Now? Sick! She is looking so sick!

I saw that Sonali was pushing her locks behind her ears quite frequently while explaining the traffic condition outside and Riju was attentively listening to it. Thanks Boss, I know he was least interested and he was listening to her to save me only, as he had read my eyes. I was concentrating on the menu card. (We were there to drink cold coffee, Rs 10 a cup. I knew it. Yet menu card was the best place to gaze at, as all other spectacles were fused!)

“Hey Ani, tell me how do I look?” Very concrete was Sonali’s voice and firm. I knew she was not kidding this time.

“What?” (She realised that I was avoiding her.)

“How do I look?”

“Shall I tell you what I feel or what you want to hear?”

“Of course what you feel.”

“Like shit!” I can’t believe I made it. I was gazing at her nails; it was pink nail polish again.

“I know.” Sonali agreed!!!! (I can’t believe it!)

“What?”

“I know.” firm voice.

“Why is it so Sonali?” I heard my voice, sympathetic.

“Huh….” Pushed smile thrown to the ceiling, “Shit… you’re right.” I looked at her eyes, the light of the room was shining there… tears!!!

I reached for her hands, and asked, “Sonali, what’s wrong?”

She sighed and spoke for 10 minutes and in that 10 minutes I don’t know what we felt…… all I know that now I’m sorry to be a man. This hot girl had a dream, to be an airhostess, she fought with everyone for that, her parents gave her 2 years after her graduation; she tried, and while placements, she used to reach the final round and got rejected in some 4 interviews. Finally, she appeared in front of a good brand and after her interview she was given a visiting card, of someone GREAT. And when she approached him, all he wanted was a night. A night for the job, a night for her dream-come-true. And Sonali said, “What did I have to lose? I had one dream and I was about to lose that. All my dream and fights were about to finish and I was weak. I agreed and slept with that man. He was not making love or having sex with me. He was RAPING me!!”

I and Riju had our heads buried into hell. I couldn’t look up. I saw Riju reached for Sonali’s hands and pressed it with genuine warmth. And he asked, “Now?”

“Ha…. He asked me to visit his PA next day; his PA said I can’t get the job.”

“What? Why?”

“I could... if I would have allowed the PA also to do what his boss has done. I couldn’t ….. That time I preferred to lose my dream.”

My head was down, Sonali’s right arm touched mine and I felt her. I didn’t look up, I couldn’t look up!  

THE GREAT BENGALI EGO | PART ONE!

A few days ago, I got into mini-dispute with one of my students in Kolkata regarding the famous Bengali-hood! It all started with ‘me-being-a-Bengali-yet-supporting-Delhi Daredevils’ in the ongoing DLF IPL. While I was busy convincing him that supporting any team is a purely personal choice and has nothing to do with one’s ethnic background, he kept on harping that I don’t qualify as a perfect Bengali if I don’t support their KewlKKR.

But eventually, the dispute took a slightly different turn and we ended up having a debate on THE GREAT BEGALI EGO.

Well, I’m not a culture expert. So kindly excuse my views as an arrant attempt, if they stand in contradiction to yours. But that doesn’t deter me from expressing my unfathomable surprise that the great Bengali ego successfully generates in me, every time I think about it. I’ve been born, brought up and down surrounded by the so-called khnati Bengalis. So banking on that experience, I can safely say that at any discussion table of cross-culture issues, most of the Bengalis will come up with ‘Bengalis-rock-and-others-suck’ attitude, almost always. It has always baffled me. I mean, what are we, the new-age Bengalis so proud of? Never, even for a second, think that I’m trying to demean the self pride of my community. Every community has the right to be proud of it and call itself ‘the best’. But there has to be a proper justification to it! 

Let us all be honest for a while and ask ourselves – “What are we (the new-age Bengalis) the best at?” What enables us to think so highly of ourselves and so low at others? Is it our composite arrogance? Is it our non-committed approach to society? Is it our endless reasoning power? Is it our worst time-management? Is it our complete ‘I-hate-every-other-successful-Bengali’ approach? Is it our worst entrepreneurial qualities? Is it our united vandalism expertise? Is it our bhandh-fobia? Is it our undemocratic blind faith on few mistaken ideologies? Is it our deep-rooted political propagandas? Or is it our eternal anti-imperialism? Or is it our deep-rooted service-mentality? Is it our rhetorical revolutionary romantics? Or is it just pure high-headedness that makes us so proud? Any one of those….? Naah….none of those I guess! I can guess what we are so proud of! We are proud of our poetry! Our paintings! Our music! Our filmmakers! Our patriotism! Our modern outlook! Our perfectionism! Our revolution!But wait a second… aren’t these the gifts of those ‘old-age’ Bengalis? What about the new-age ones? And who were those oldies? Tagore? Swami Vivekanda? Vidyasagar? Netaji? Satyajit Ray? Has any one of us ever heard/read any one of them saying, “Bengalis rock and others suck”?! NEVER! 

They were the pioneers of excelling on one’s own qualities and mixing it with the great qualities which they’d learnt from other communities. Not only that, all of them had thanked all the other communities for the greatness they had! My point is very simple. I don’t get to see that open acceptance anymore from most of the new-age Bengalis. These days, once we sense that we’re losing our ground, we fall back on our ancestral legacy and abruptly end the debate by self-claiming that the ‘Bengalis are the Best’. Sure they are, but every generation has to earn it for itself! We can’t endlessly fall back on the legacy created by the Bengali legends (who themselves were all so open in acceptance of others’ greatness) and self-certify ourselves as THE BEST! If I really have to think hard and find out a few rare real achievements of Bengali community members of the Independent India, then there will be one Satyajit, one Utpal Dutt, one Uttam Kumar, one Land Reform and a few Bangla Bands… and one Ganguly (Oops)! Most of it is individual excellence! What about the ‘community’? What about our united achievement? Let’s face it, like all other communities, we also have limitations. 

Our forefathers knew it, understood it and that knowledge had helped them to 

1) back their own strengths and 

2) appreciate others’ strength! 

One must understand that, in this globalised world, ‘individualistic creativity’ (that we’re so proud of) doesn’t hold much ground. We’ve to open up. We, the new-age Bengalis have to start believing that there can be better people than us. That acceptance will help us to know where we rock and where we lack, rather than just dreaming about ‘only-we-rock-and-others-just-lack’! 

So next time, I start losing my ground in a fight, I vouch not to take shelter of the great Bengali ego. I will fight back, on my strength and even before my enemy realizes, I’ll strengthen myself, but appreciating his strengths! That ‘me’ will be a better fighter… a better Bengali… a better Indian! I’ll be waiting for that ‘US’! 

UNDER THE UMBRELLA!

The rain-lover! Rain aptly defines him! That evening, it was raining and he was feeling good! As he was coming straight from the office, he had his black suit, tie on and they were all getting wet by the fringe rain drops falling on them. But the rain-lover was feeling great! While he was walking slowly by the pavement, he heard from his back, ‘Sir, Ap Credit Card use karte hain kya? (Do you use credit cards?). The rain-lover, touched with an edgy irritation, looked back and saw a thin guy standing right behind him with an old umbrella! 

The first thing the rain-lover noticed about him was the color of the umbrella; it’s too old to be black anymore! It was one of those types which you keep for years, use both in rain and heat, just in case you need it (if at all)! Under that old umbrella, it was a 21/22 years old guy; dressed in simple trouser and shirt… the lower part shirt was put inside the black trouser. 

The shirt was old and the trouser was new, evident that he doesn’t have the habit (or capacity) to dress up smartly. Moreover, the belt he was wearing, its locket was saying that it was actually bought from the side walking vendor, a ‘cheap’ one! Before the rain-lover could observe the guy properly, the guy repeated his question, ‘Sir. Do you use credit cards?’ He replied, ‘Yeah, I do. Why?’ ‘Actually, I’ve a great scheme!’ he boy replied. Being a part of the corporate, our rain-lover was well aware about all these airy promotional schemes and without any hint of hesitation, said straight on the boy’s face, ‘Oh! I don’t need it!’ The boy’s eyes were till now fixed at the rain-lover, and the moment he heard the negative reply, his eyes were depressed. Yet, he tried a bit more, ‘Actually, this scheme is really fantastic! It’ll help you in…..’ While he was trying so heard, our rain-lover could make out that the guy had lost all his hope, and was just trying to carry a formal assuring dialogue on, which, even he also knew that, will end with just another cold SORRY! 

The rain-lover brought an icy smile in his eyes and said, ‘Boy, I don’t need it.’ ‘Oh!’ was all that the guy could utter and, with a lowered head, tried to leave the place. His shoulders were dropped, and our rain-lover could see that his black trouser, perhaps the only new thing, was having small white spots at the back. Evidently, the spots came out of the watery mud coming out from the street through his legs! God knows what happened with the rain-lover. He raised his voice, ‘Hey, listen….’ The boy looked back with a smile, a smile that had a lot of hope! The rain-lover approached him, smiled, gently put the umbrella away, put his right hand over the guy’s shoulder and dragged, ‘Kitna kaam karega? Chal yaar, khana khate hain!’ (How much will you work mate. Let’s eat something!) The rain-lover could make out that the guy was too shocked to say yes or no, he tried to smile… smile didn’t come out, only a gasp of air came out with an unpracticed gesture! The rain-lover was holding his hand tightly, and straight entered into the Subway restaurant. 

The guy’s eyes were so big, it was clear that perhaps it was the first time he had entered there… They took a table. The guy wasn’t saying anything, the rain-lover was talking. After 5 minutes, the rain-lover realised that he had shocked the guy so hard that he can’t speak now, so he cracked a joke. Though the joke wasn’t that great one, still the shock inside and the uneasy atmosphere outside made the guy laugh really loud. Eyes turned back from the tables nearby, those eyes changed their expressions, the guy noticed those expressions and shrunk, the rain-lover noticed that and cracked another joke! The guy was having a gentle smile now! He also cracked another joke. Then the guy said, ‘You want to watch something, I’ll show you something really nice!’ He put his hand inside the pocket, brought out a pack of playing cards and went on showing one after another magic tricks! He was so very good at that the amused rain-lover went on watching… he could see it all in his face, the eyes of a guy who came from small town to the city with a dream to be a successful man, to support his family, to touch his dreams, the guy who is a fighter, who is fighting and fighting, he could see the pain, the sweat, the rare achievement’s pride, the burden, the cost cutting walks, the cost cutting attire, the cost cutting meals, the cost cutting life! He was seeing a fighter who knows only one word as a motto of his life - Fight!!! The fighter was the magician then, happily showing tricks! What a rarely beautiful smile he had on his face! After one beautiful trick, the boy looked up and heard 3-4 people from nearby tables clapping! He shined another diamond smile! The rain-lover went on watching. The food came, the guy was so careful about unwrapping it, the care he was giving even to the tissue paper was something really noticeable! He went ahead with his careful gesture and a careless smile!!! 

After the food, they smiled and said good night to each other… the rain-lover was walking happily under the rain; suddenly he was touched on his shoulder from someone behind. He looked back and saw the guy breathing heavily, he must have ran a bit to catch him… The rain lover asked, ‘What?’ The guy smiled and hugged him tightly… The rain lover also hugged him, patted on his shoulder. His heart was so full inside the arms of a fighter, under the old umbrella held by the fighter!!! He was a born rain-lover, but this time, for a change, he loved to be under an umbrella. After all, it was a Fighter’s Umbrella!

DEAR FRIENDS, ARE WE TOO TIED UP? WHERE ARE WE RUSHING TOWARDS? I BELIEVE, WE’RE INSIDE AN ENDLESS CHAIN. SO THE RAIN-LOVER PREFERED TO PAUSE, LOOK AROUND AND TO SAY ‘HI’ TO THE ANGELS AROUND! MY FRIEND, DO YOU ALSO…..?