From Saving my Ma from Zombies to Losing my Family to Zombiehood

I woke up at 5 am today and with a distinct memory of saving my ma and me from being eaten up by a bunch of zombies pretending to be human. 

I swear we were invited to a posh restaurant with dark interiors and grey walls by a very suave ex-student of my mom's who looked a bit like a Bollywood A-lister last evening. I did hate all my mom's students at one time because she loved them and spent a whole lot of time with them but, didn't remember this guy. Though my ma seemed to remember him well enough to accept his invite. To me, he looked smarmy right from the start. What clinched the deal for me however was the fact that he was willing to drive us both in his luxurious dark-tinted SUV and anyone who knows me knows how I hate to drive.

So, off we went, nicely dressed and happy. I was dreaming of the lovely food that I would get to click for my Instagram account while, ma was busy chatting up with the 40-something 'boy'!

We reached this posh and unlisted looking restaurant whose entrance looked like that of an old fort with grey exposed rocks and accompanying arches. It looked pretty cool with vintage furniture and liveried staff.

I was so busy dreaming of kebabs and biryani by now that I couldn't wait to get inside and start. I however saw that the place had valet parking before we all went in to meet this middle-aged smarmy guy's family - this was a lucky thing to do. 

The inside was a bit of a let down because once you entered, the walls didn't change. They were still grey exposed stones as outside. The furniture was very flimsy and the people looked almost lost in their own world. Most-importantly, there was no aroma of food. But, I chalked it all up to - bad place to eat and walked with my ma to the table where the family of some kids and their mom was waiting for us. I was looking at a very boring evening by now and all dreams of food photography was off because the place hardly had any light.

We sat down. The entire trek from the door to the table laid out at the back of the restaurant took a while because of my ma's bad knee, She shuffled and walked leaning on her cane while the smarmy 'student' held her hand smiling like he was eyeing a trophy. My ma was obviously soaking in all the attention.

We sat down finally, I insisted on sitting next to ma - thank God!

After a while, I realized that there was no food coming in and then a strange feeling hit my spine. I turned around to see a sea of deadened eyes looking at us as if we were a feast served. I looked back at them archly like any Delhi girl used to having people stare at them in public places. But, suddenly as my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I saw a sea of grey faces and some with cracking make-up. 

I knew in a jiffy that we were in the wrong place and in wrong company thanks to all the paranormal romances I have been devouring in the last few years. I knew we were the dinner!

My only worry now was to get ma out of the place quickly which is next to impossible because of her arthritis. I turned back to the table to suddenly see that the kids were eyeing my ma with similar hungry eyes as the others at our back. The smarmy guy was still acting suave and so was his wife though her make-up had started cracking. Ma was oblivious to all and talking 19 to a dozen with the devious duo.

I had to do something and I did. With SFX-defying speed, I stood up dragging ma up from the flimsy chair that broke when it fell. Ma yelped and I said, "grab the cane."

She did it with the speed of a parent who is tired of her defiant-since-teenage rebel-wihout-cause offspring and looked up. I said, "run".

She looked at me as if I had finally lost my mind. With regret on her face, she turned to our hosts who were yet to order dinner and finally saw what I had already seen - the drying make-up that had fallen-off the smarmy guy's cheek showing a row of dirty exposed teeth and rotting gums.

It was perhaps the teacher in her that got really disgusted by the lack of hygiene despite having taught it to all her students that she got wildly angry and suddenly picked up the stick and whacked him on his head. 

I must say, that her action took everyone in the room by surprise and bought us a lot of time. I knew already that zombies are slow on the uptake thanks to the paranormal series I had been devouring and broke into a run pulling ma by her wrist. 

My only fear now was the arthritic knee that might stop us from making the escape. I spied a closed doorway on my left and suddenly remembered all the airline safety drills that insisted on telling you about the doors on the left and right that "open in case of emergency." This was a bloody emergency said my brain and I dragged ma to the door.

And yes, it opened. Because, it WAS an emergency.

We were out in a sunlit lawn and there were shaded deck chairs full of - yes - more zombies!

I knew that we had walked out into the frying pan from the fire but, still we were out in the open and we could see things clearly. I also suddenly realized that ma could keep pace with me. I looked at her and then her knee and up back at her with awe in my eyes pride in my swelling heart and like some Bond girl she shrugged her shoulder delicately and kept running with me.

My heart swelled in gratitude to see her walk without any pain. I loved this moment more than anything but, we had zombies to get rid of before we could rejoice.

So, I shoved her into an alcove in a stoney wall which was covered with moss and flowers and put a finger to my lip to tell her to keep quiet. The zombies on the deck chairs were stirring a little and I could hear a bit of a commotion coming from inside the faux-restaurant - or was it a real one for "zombies only"?

Anyway, I had no time to loose. I ran to the the edge of the parking and spied an old and battered red Maruti 800 and quickly memorized the number off the twisted plate. With that I ran back to ma and took her out of the alcove and walked boldly back to the entry. A swarm of zombies ran past us - apparently looking for us, so we held our breath. No breath means you too are a zombie - thanks to my knowledge of paranormal literature.

We quickly made it to the front door and I gave the number of the red car to the liveried staff who didn't at all look like a zombie - how were they managing to stay alive? There was no time to investigate or even ask because, they could tip us off to the swarm of greys still running around in the garden looking for us. 

Anyhow, the car came in, I took to the wheels, ma got in quicker than me still clutching her walking stick like a talisman or a weapon of mass destruction and I strapped her to the seat. I drove like a manic without sparing any rubber till I remembered that the zombies could follow our tracks and slowing down. When I checked left, ma was fast asleep like my baby niece often is after a day of adventures. 

What woke me up was the fact that the zombies knew where my folks lived. I had to move them quickly to my place.

It was still dark when my eyes popped opened and the phone said it was 5 am. Adrenaline levels were still high in my blood and the zombies had lost us for good.

By 9 am I was already up and around for four hours. So, decided to call ma to see if she was doing good. I must confess that I half expected her to be unwell while the other half wanted her to be rid of the pain like she was in the dream. 

So, she picked up on the nth ring when I was about to hang up and walk down to her place and said, "you are awake?"

I must say that was a low blow but, I managed to carry on saying, "yes and also done with tea, Yoga and breakfast."

Her reply was a very casual, "oh."

I thought something was wrong and asked her if all was well. 

She sounded sad and said, no, Nonie - my niece - was unwell and had been sent to her already for the day because she was not going to school. I tut-tutted and said, "can I talk to her?"

My ma said, "I don't think she'd be interested."

I was aghast. I said, "how can you say that?" 

She totally side-stepped that and said, "Are you coming now?"

I said, "Do you want me to? I can if you need help with the baby."

Her answer was a bored, "not really."

This conversation was getting messier by the minute. Had the zombies attacked my parents' home?

So, I persisted, "what's up with you all?" 

She sounded really bored with the conversation by now and said, "we are watching Masha and the Bear and Masha has made dresses out of all seven of the bear's towels and now he has nothing to dry himself with when he takes a bath..."

My head was reeling. "WHAT?"

I heard my niece's voice suddenly shouting, "didu, didu, the bear's in the shower..."

My ma said, "I have to go now. The bear's in the shower," and disconnected.

Surely, the zombies have won and even my little niece is one of them. So, much for my trying to save my family from the attack of the zombies. 

Realization: As long as there is the television hanging from the drawing room wall. My family will be a part of the zombie tribe however much I try to save their souls. 

Bloodrush!

"You make my blood rush whenever I see you," he said panting.
Looking worried she held his hand, making him sit down next to her. His mind goes blank for a second. Till...
"Let me check your BP," she said, setting the machine up. Blood rushed up north from south, coloring his face a mottled red.
"Yes doc. Sure."

Bollywood in a Jiffy!

"Love you? Never! I HATE you. Do you hear me?" She blurted out.
He looked at her keenly. There were beads of perspiration on her quivering upper lip. They looked like pearls perched precariously on honeyed velvet. 
She was scared. Terrified and close to tears.
"You may hate me but, you are not indifferent..." he whispered near her ears that were perfect like shells on a virgin beach.
She gasped and her right hand moved towards his face with the speed of sound but, he ducked with lightening speed and held her raised arms in his clutch.
"Slapping is also touching you know!" He grunted at her terrified face and then, let her arm go. It fell silently at her side and she stood trembling in front of him.
"Till the time you think about me - even with hate. I have hope. Keep thinking about me and see how hatred changes to L-O-V-E!" he spoke slowly, enunciating each word with care and the four letters with a slur that bordered on a hiss and walked slowly back.
She stood on the exact spot without moving and then... It started raining.
She knew her world had changed with this one encounter and that she was always wrong about him...

The Stalker

She stumbled on her way to work on the little chips of stones that had rolled in from a nearby construction site. It was cold and she held tightly on to the pile of books borrowed from the library.

In her struggle to regain her balance, one of the books fell out of her hands. It was a small book the size of a folded handkerchief and bound in red and gold. She dived for it and caught it before it hit the pavement with a thud.

It was one smooth flow. The loss of balance, the swoop to catch the book and the way she stood up - one fluid motion.

It was like a well-choreographed piece - graceful, liquid, lazy and feminine.

He watched her from afar. He always watched her from afar. Her giggles, her awkward springy walk, her tinkling laughter like the ringing of a million bells and her feet. She had large feet like a man's feet but, they did not look awkward on her. Instead, they looked just right. She wore a thin anklet around the right feet and the bells always announced her arrival on brightly-painted toes.

He watched her as she bent down, the perfect body in a tight pair of denims and closed his eyes for a second to regain his equilibrium. He opened them again and they focused on the heaving chest and felt disappointed that the pile of books she was clutching hid her perfect assets from him.

He did not need to stare to see her contours. He had them printed on his mind's eyes. For the nth time since he had been watching her, he sighed, "perfect!"

A cold wind blew from his mouth to her cheeks and she shivered as if touched by a kiss.

It was strange. She's had this feeling many a times in the last few months, as if someone was watching her. Watching her every movement and noticing her each move.

She looked over her shoulders and saw no one, just a bunch of her office colleagues smoking by the parking lot and no one was looking at her. They were all totally busy discussing politics while blowing smoke from their noses.

Shrugging her shoulders a little, she walked into the office and was lost in the noise and activity for the next eight hours.

She felt it again when she stepped out into the cold night. That creepy feeling that someone was stalking her was too strong to ignore. She shivered and stood on the steps wondering if she should turn around and go back and ask someone to give her a lift.

Even as she was thinking, laughter and hooting emerged from the corridor and Monica, the chief slut of the office came out followed by a band of merry men. She saw her and waved as if she was an old friend. "Sharmishtha darling! You leaving for the day?"

"Errr...Yes...Monica. I was leaving for home."

"Where do you stay?"

The guy was from some other department. Sharmishtha had seen him around a few times but never heard his voice. Now that she did, she was floored!

It was like paper rustling over silk. It promised everything a girl could fantasize about. 'How sexy would that sound over the phone?' Her mind asked in a whisper.

"Ahem..."

Breaking out of her reverie she looked at his eyes. They were like velvet and coffee. They were piercing her soul and looking into a dark brown part of her heart where desire pretended to doze. She felt herself falling into the twin pair and shuddered. Desire was awake and poised to jump.

She wanted to tell him where she lived but, her tongue would not allow speech.

And then, he smiled.

Her legs turned to jelly and she forgot to breathe. Why had she never noticed this guy before? What the hell? He was like sin on legs!

She gasped and broke the spell with an awkward smile. "Not very far from here."

He flashed that devastating smile at her. "Lift?"

"Darling. You were coming with us for dinner." Monica pouted.

"Yes Monica. I'll join you after dropping Sharmishtha home."

Then turning, "Your name's Sharmistha isn't it?"

Her heart stopped functioning because he was now standing right in front of her and his smell - part musk, part cinnamon filled her brains addling her grey cells with desire.

She could only nod in answer when he cocked his eyebrows at her.

"Let's go then, shall we?"

"Let's..."

The one word came out slurred and her legs felt wobbly as she started walking with him towards the parking. She had never felt this excited ever.

He was tall and walked gracefully with long strides. She had to almost run to keep up. The bells tinkled on her ankle matching the beating of her wayward heart.

When they reached the parking he went to the end and stopped near a motorbike. It was huge and black and looked like it had been carved out of granite.

He turned around to look at her. A wicked smile on his lips. "Wanna fast ride?"

She just nodded an awkward acknowledgement.

He handed her a helmet and turned around to wrap his long legs around the big machine. She waited for him to settle down and then, pulled her right leg up and then, around the monster to adjust behind his broad back.

The air was rife with promises as they roared across the roads. The speed made it necessary for her to cozy up to him and then, as he increased the speed, she held on to him for dear life.

His laughter pierced the air and reverberated through her making everything melt into the pit of her stomach. Her heart lurched with desire and adrenaline from the fast ride. He really was enjoying their togetherness. She could not believe her luck!

He laughed when she felt her shiver because, he had waited for this moment for the last six months.

She was finally on his bike and they were cruising around the streets with the cold breeze teasing her hair and making the strands fly on to his face. He smelled deeply, turned his neck to look at her hugging his back and sighed.

A small cold breath hit her cheeks as if in a kiss and her senses jumped to an alert. She knew the feeling. He was the stalker and she still did not know his name nor he her address...

The Final Bonfire

She woke up and felt the other side of the bed. It was cold.

Her eyes fluttered open and she sat up with a start. He was gone. The other side of the bed will always stay cold. Sweat broke out and beaded her upper lips and the forehead. Her eyes clenched shut and tears leaked out unbidden.

This had to stop. Everyone said time heals but, here time had only cut the wound deeper. She got up from the bed and sat back on top of it - still with eyes shut in concentration. A new day needed to be faced. Everyone needed to know that things were fine.

Why did he run away? No one perhaps could answer why people behave the way they do. So, no point asking. Another woman, another city, another bed, a new pillow. These are realities of life for him.

No amount of research could answer such questions. Slowly she got up from the bed and put her feet into the waiting slippers. A whole day stretched out in front of her and she had to survive it without the comfort of work stress because it was a Sunday!

She'd be expected to laugh, smile and behave like nothing was wrong. She'd be expected to go out shopping, meet relatives and friends and maybe even go out for movies and brunch when all she wanted to do was to fall back in bed, pull up the covers and cry to sleep.

When would this end? At first she had thought, it would be a matter of weeks, that stretched to months and then years. Life seemed like an endless moment spent waiting for that one note, call or knock on the door...

The idea of a knock on the door was equally scary. It meant letting him enter again but, there was a thrill in anticipation. That anticipation had kept her going for ages now. Hair turning grey, one strand at a time while the fine lines around her eyes turned into crows feet.

In her quest to change her Karma she tried saving the world, one person at a time but, either the world was too large with too many unhappy people or her Karma was too deep and wanted more. Like a huge monster seeking more sacrifices, like a bonfire refusing to burn because there was not enough wood to get it going.

She sat back on the sofa with a thud. It shook her out if the reverie. He left her and went off. Why was she still sitting where it all started? There had been no closures and that was the reality. Only second hand information had come to her fluttering out of an empty sky that had pushed the earth away from under her feet.

He was gone. Was living with someone else. Was dating a blonde. Was seen drinking with friends at a party. Information kept filtering in, pictures on other friends' social networking Walls showed the truth in multi-colored hues but, for her it was a blank wall. A huge and tough wall that seemed insurmountable. How does one get over a life without closure?

She sighed. A long sad sound and a gush of wind worked its way out of her nostril squeezing her lungs in the process. Her head already hurt and eyes were warm from tears threatening to spill out.

This was like a fever that refused to subside. This kind of thing should be illegal. She pulled up a pen and a writing pad from the coffee table and started scribbling words into it. Words that meant nothing. Words that were disjointed and meaningless like her life. Words that held no promises nor any meaning like her existence.

She scratched the page one last time and then, threw the pad and the pen away. They hit the wall in front making a small scratchy noise and fluttered to the floor.

She got up with a determination to end something. This lethargy to end things, this eternal wait for a closure was killing her one breath at a time.

She walked to the closet she never opened because it was still waiting for him to arrive and started taking everything off the hangers and throwing things onto the floor. With one fell swoop she threw all the folded shirts and underwear into the growing pile and then, went to the bathroom to take out the brush, the aftershave lotion and the forlorn tongue cleaner that had been gathering dust in a corner for three years now. She took them all out in a clutch and threw them into the pile near the closet. Next came the shoes, some stationary, then the letters and cards that spoke of love!

She looked at them aghast! How could someone have written so much about love and left without a note or a goodbye?

Tears fell unbidden, non-stop, they rushed down her face like a waterfall down a mountain face. It was incredible to even think that there was so much anger, so much sadness, so much loss yet-to-be written-off still a part of her life. The tears meanwhile, meandered down her cheeks and into her neck, soaking up the front of her blouse. Some of it fell straight down and into the scraps of paper clutched in her hands and soaked them up. First the wet paper wilted then, the ink ran-off coloring her hands blue and red from the caricature drawn on a piece of tissue with the name of a restaurant printed on one side. Reminder of their anniversary - a happy occasion.

She saw through the curtain of her tears, the papers melting like a thousand dreams she had built in that life with him. A dam broke loose somewhere and she grabbed as much as she could from the pile on the floor, taking it to the terrace upstairs.

She made a few trips up and down and took everything that belonged to him to the terrace and put it in a neat pile. She added the shoes, ties, handkerchiefs, gel, half-used bottles of deodorants and perfumes and finally his certificates and other important papers to the pile.

She arranged from a pile of bricks a boundary around the stuff that belonged to him and then, picked up his bottles of expensive Scotch. Opening one, she inhaled deeply into it. It brought back memories of nights spent in happiness and bliss. Tears threatened to flow. Removing the bottle from her nose, she moved it to her lips and drank deeply from it.

It burnt an errant path down her throat and the next moment a warmth that she knew was not real spread around her. It dimmed the edges of her sorrows and gave her a courage that made her feel invincible. Holding the bottle in a deathly clutch, she looked at the pile in front of her and spit on it.

She remembered all the broken promises, the lies that had changed her life and roared to the sky, kicking the pile of his things in disgust and anger. Love had died long ago and found a home in hope of a better tomorrow. Only she had held on to nothing when she had also expected nothing. How could she have done something like this to herself?

She took another swig and downed the neat drink in one gulp. Her face contorted in disgust and her throat burned. She opened her watering eyes and spit once more into the pile and kicked at the expensive, hand-made Italian leather loafers she had bought him.

How can people play with others lives? What kind of a man was I living with?

Disgust opened the locked doors of her heart that was holding on to false hopes. She remembered the slap and the black eye that she had sported for more than a month telling everyone how she had hurt herself when an auto-rickshaw she was travelling in had braked all of a sudden.

Her heart, her disgusting heart wanted to go back to the happy times when, they had held hands and made love and he had fought with others for her. It reminded her of the times he had cooked and cleaned-up because he was jobless and she was working as well as keeping the house. Tears flowed down her cheeks again when she thought how she had worried in the initial days as to how he'd be taking care of himself. What a fool she'd been. Had he ever even spared a thought for her?

Disgusted by her heart's pleas, she threw the half-finished bottle of expensive Scotch into the pile and then, went ahead to empty the rest of the four bottles into the heap.

The air reeked of alcohol. She pulled out a matchbox she had carried up from her pocket. It also had belonged to him three years back. She added the stack of DVDs and music albums into the alcohol-soaked pile and threw a lighted stick into it. The reaction was instantaneous. The whole pile caught fire in a second and lighted up all that belonged to him.

As the fire burnt brighter she staggered back a little towards the wall and her hands fell on a pile of photo albums. She knew what was in it. An entire lifetime. Five years of make-believe. She did not even flip through it. Just hurled it into the bonfire and watched it being licked into ashes.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

The words from a funeral of a friend's mother suddenly echoed inside her mind. Was this the closure her soul needed to move on?

She peered into the fire that was now a blaze like the one she had seen at so many funerals. So, this is what death felt like?

She settled down on the hard terrace floor to watch the blaze that ate up the corpse of her lost life, her lost love.

She was finally at peace. Tears fell down her cheeks. But, these were tears of mourning, tears for a final closure.

The Gallery

It was hot outside and dusty. So, she thought she'd take cover in the gallery. It was cool in there with the air conditioner and the low, strategic lighting.

He saw her come in from outside. She was not breathtaking, no one could be who's walked down the road in the afternoon heat with a dry dust-storm blowing in sand from the desert of Rajasthan a few hundred kilometers away. But, she did not look like the usual crowd and it was her walk that made her special. She walked without the usual feminine sway. She walked with a spring to her step. She almost danced her way in.

He hated crowds. Not because they made him feel claustrophobic but, because they made him feel uncomfortable in their familiarity in his presence. He hated how many people knew him.

Everyone, it seems, knew him. He was famous. It was what he had wanted, craved all his life but, today, it made him feel exposed. Like a beached whale or a naked kid bathing at the roadside tap.

He wanted to be left alone.

She walked inside the gallery and shut the door quietly behind her. He stood staring at her from the other end. He did not know how to react if she too turned out to be one of those who 'loved' his work or worse, turned out to be a journo.

But, when she turned around and saw him, she was merely startled to find another human being in the room and not excited to see a celebrity artist. That made him breathe normally. It looked like she had no idea who he was. So far so good.

From the looks of it, she was not too impressed by the works scattered artfully around the huge room. She looked around and found a spot with an air conditioning vent right above it and made a beeline for it.

He smiled. She was much nearer now and he could sense her discomfort because he was openly staring at her and she knew.

He liked the blush on her face. She looked nervous and ill-at-ease. He knew she was self-conscious. His staring was making her uncomfortable. He realized that he wanted to make her uncomfortable. That was bad!

How had things got so bad? He was a nice sweet guy with talent one day and then, suddenly he was the toast of the cultured world. Things had veered around at a breakneck speed and he was a much sought-after man across the world these days. With fame he had to pay the price he never thought would be so dear. He was well-known and wherever he went, he got from surreptitious glances to outright adoration everything that declared. "you've arrived!"

But, it also meant, no privacy!

He hated being exposed. It grated on his nerves and put him on edge every time someone walked up to him to say how he was their favorite artist or worse, how his art blended so very well with their home decor!

He knew he should not mind because these were the people who paid for his lifestyle that included trips to exotic locations across the world. But, over the last few years he had realized that he didn't even enjoy his work that much. He was getting bored. And today, when he had some time on his own, he knew why.

In the midst of the whirlwind that his life had become, everything was an obligation, everything was a calculated risk. As his fame grew, his circle of near and dear ones shrunk. He knew now what it meant when people said, "it's lonely at the top."

And today, perhaps because it was a weekday or because it was too hot and dry during the day to venture out and now because of the dust storm, no one had come to the exhibition. He liked the freedom. As it is all the pieces had been sold off the catalog that his publicist had put up on the Net so, he was least bothered about lack of footfalls.

So, he had spent the better part of the day brooding and wondering about his restlessness. He knew he needed to be himself. More like a guy who gives in to impulses rather than a man who exchanges notes with his publicists before speaking with anyone. He needed to unleash himself.

It was a dangerous thought and he was slightly worried as to where it had come from when, she had walked in to take shelter from the heat and dust of the stormy city outside.

Seeing the disheveled and blushing woman made him want to behave like a normal guy who was attracted to a girl. He wanted to go up to her and flirt with her. He wanted to place a fingertip on her left cheek and trace her high cheekbone and then run it down her upturned nose.

He was suddenly jolted out of his reverie. 'What was he thinking?' There were enough women throwing themselves at him at all times but, he had never felt this urgency to move in. Was it because he had gotten used to female adulation and therefore, when this woman showed no interest in him, he wanted to pounce and make her notice him?

He was Nripen, the king! The guy who came up from a small town in semi-rural India and became the toast of Parisian balls all in a matter of a few years. How could she not know him? Maybe she was pretending?

He took his eyes off her face to trace her chin and a few inches below. He liked what he saw. He looked up again to see that the girl was engrossed in her phone. She was perhaps texting someone. The next minute she smiled at the offensive instrument. A real smile that lit up her face and she looked beautiful, really beautiful, not just pretty or cute because she was neither. She had the look of a woman who had seen the world. Now when he peered into her smile that pulled him like a magnet, he noticed the fine lines around her kohl-lined eyes. They declared that she was a mature woman.

So, she was old, eh? He smirked at himself. She should be really flattered if I approached and propositioned a one night stand. He laughed out loud. The woman's eyes looked up, startled. She looked directly at him, her eyes widening, in recognition? No, as he reread the emotion in those liquid brown eyes, he saw, concern.

Perhaps she thought he was a madman.

She looked at him for a few more seconds and then encountered his blazing eyes. They were perhaps too obvious in their intentions. She quickly averted her eyes and turned her back to him going back to the scrutiny of her phone.

Something inside him burned. The fire that had started at the pit of his stomach was now eating up his lungs. The twin bags that allowed him to breathe were now burning, making him gasp for air. She had rejected him at sight. How could she? She was some middle-aged broad who had taken shelter in his gallery in the midst of an exhibition of his work and shown to interest in either him or the priceless work of art on display. She had ignored him.

He wanted to rush up to her, pull her by the hair, turn and give her a piece of his mind or himself. Those lips... The thought was like a splash of cold water to his burning ego and had the desired effect of cooling him down.

Thank God the mind was still working.

He wanted to turn around or go up to the tastefully decorated seating area where only a week back he had entertained the international press and the glitterati and drunk champagne out of crystal glasses.

He realized he'd have to move past her to reach the seating area. He could perhaps then, have a chat with her, ask her to sit with him while she was waiting, in general indulge her in some small talk. Maybe just drop some names... impress her.

Where was his mind going with this? Why was this woman making him go wild?

He moved. Walked forward with his well-known tiger movement. He walked towards her, aiming to go to the sitting area. He could smell her flowery perfume now with a hint of spice. He inhaled deeply and walked towards the sofa, towards her... The scent of the woman was cutting deep into his nostrils and he inhaled like a man smoking - inhaling deep into his lungs her smell that was getting imprinted into his mind as her.

She looked up from the phone and smiled. He staggered, stopped and stared. She looked happy. To see him approach?

He looked closely at her eyes. She looked blissful. Her face radiating with happiness that made it glow. She reminded him of the innumerable paintings by Renaissance masters. His heart skipped a beat. She was smiling at him?

He smiled back. A lopsided smile. The smile of the film stars and uber-egoistical men - someone had written in a piece about him once.

As he lifted his feet to make a move towards her, the door opened behind her, the one she had walked in through only minutes before opened and a man walked in. Tall, distinguished, comfortable and handsome in middle age. Surely in his mid-forties. He had a smooth, kind face framed by closely cropped salt and pepper hair. Her smile spilled-off her face as turned as if sensing his arrival or expecting it. She walked swiftly to the man and fell into his arms.

He pulled her into a tight hug, hiding her into his arms, folding her in his chest. They were merged as one. He picked her up from the floor like she weighted nothing and bringing her face close to his kissed her - oblivious to the man staring jealously at them from the middle of the room.

Getting Laid (Part II)

(Carried forward from http://shomachakraborty.blogspot.in/2013/10/getting-laid.html)

As he followed her lush derriere down the stairs and outside into the warm and crisp coolness of a winter afternoon in Delhi, his mind was already wrapping itself around her supple length.

It had been three long years of living like a hermit. It was not as if he missed his wife. She had run away with his best friend. There was no looking back allowed. She was a bitch. But, he did miss making love to her and cozying-up to a warm human body in chilly winters. He knew what he was missing but, had never made an attempt for gratification. It was too complicated. Women were too complicated and time consuming.

But, here was someone who had been openly inviting him into the honey trap for a month now. So what if she disguised it roughly as attempts at friendship. He knew. Had known all the time. This time he had decided not to take the lead. He did not want to take the lead. He wanted to be lusted after and courted into submission before finally giving in to the desire that was like a living being inside him.

As they walked out in the open, she turned around and they bumped into each other because his mind was wrapped up in thoughts he had not indulged in, in a long time. She felt soft against his hardness and desire flared up from nowhere burning him up. She did not make a move to untangle either.

They stood there for a few seconds tightly pressed against each other as the world passed by. It felt wicked, it felt delicious. The Sun soaked up their passion and stoked it into a warm heat that wanted them to take off their sweaters.

He took off his jacket. She shivered, in a nice, sexy way. He put his jacket around her enveloping her in his masculine deodorant.

She snuggled into it and inhaled deeply his spicy fragrance. She felt her bones melt and sighed. He pulled her closer to him and his left arm snaked around her middle, pulling her closer still.

The smell of spices filled the air, her breath caught in her throat and her knees buckled. The desire was too thick in that instance. It was pulling them into a vortex that was pulling them in so fast that she had to hold on to him for support. He seemed nonchalant but, she could feel the press of his fingers on the small of her back. They were leaving burn marks on her olive skin, of that she was sure.

Somehow, they stumbled on, somehow, their limbs, with a mind of their own were eager to wrap-up against each other. Somehow, their bodies developed a mind all their own and wanted to be tangled-up. When he flagged a cab, the moment of reason was gone forever. Replaced by the moment of lust.

They fell into the cab heaving and sighing. He gave the cabby the address to his apartment and they were off. He sidled up to her, his arm snaking up to the back of her neck. She sighed and turned to him. None got a moment to think before launching at each other's lips. She tasted salt. He savored it, not worrying about whose lip was bleeding or who had bitten whom. They were beyond thoughts, beyond shame, beyond this world. The entire universe could have been fitted into the backseat of the dilapidated cab at that moment in time and they would have not cared if they had to share the tiny space with billions of other human beings.

It was like a fever in their blood. It was lust that they had stoked and kept alive for a long time - for a whole month. Today they knew there would be no holding back.

The taxi stopped at the address he had given and he threw some money at the front seat without looking at the denomination.

"Sa'ab change!"

"Keep it."

The cabby smiled a knowing, smarmy smile that none of them bothered to look at or acknowledge. There was an itch that needed scratching, a pull that needed heeding.

They stumbled up the stairs and he unlocked the door to his flat with a flourish without looking at anything but her. Her breasts heaving with her quick breathless state were making him go mad. He wanted to tear off her clothes and have his own wicked ways with her.

He knew she wanted it as much as he did. His eyes on her bosom did not make her squirm, it made her feel an abandonment that she had felt only a few times before in her life. She was on fire and it had turned into an inferno that refused to be doused. All the parroted advice and years of scanning scary newspaper columns were brushed aside even as he pulled her inside the house and the door closed with a resounding 'thud.' The noise made by the door made the windows shudder, the wall reverberate and the painting of a half-naked woman on the wall changed angles slightly, to rest in a more skewed position.

The woman in the painting peered at them with large, dark and tear-stained eye while vermilion, the color of deepest red, deeper than blood, deeper than rubies, trickled down her forehead into the shadows between the valley of her breasts.

"You made it?"

"No." He was tugging at the straps of her dress, she was halfway down unbuttoning his shirt.

"Who made the painting?" There was no answer as his face was buried deeply into her skin. His lips sliding down the length of her neck and below in one smooth curve.

"Ummmm... you smell lovely."

"I know you love this perfume." The strange and dark lady in the picture was forgotten as his lips found a place and sucked at it first delicately and then with a rough pressure making her forget everything. There was nothing in the cosmos except both of them and darkness. Her hands swept down and then they fell into the couch, their clothes strewn and scattered all over the room.
                                                                                   ***
It was only the next afternoon when they woke up properly. Both ravenous yet sleepy. Yesterday and the night in between was a blur.

The couch suddenly felt squishy and there was hardly any space for the two of them to adjust and it was hot, too hot. She opened her eyes and saw him sleeping next to her. She stared for several moments. There was nothing, She felt nothing. She looked up to see the woman in the paining and she was staring at her with dead, mocking eyes, the vermilion streaking down her forehead. Her lips, curved in a slight cynical smile as if saying, "been there done that."

Next to her, he stirred and then opened his eyes. She turned her eyes to his and they looked at each other aghast. As if trying to convey a silent message, 'this far and no further.'

The lingering smell of their mutual lust made the room smell rancid. They disentangled themselves and each moved to the other corner of the couch fast. She dragged the light covering with her to cover herself. He turned away, averting his eyes to give her privacy.

He picked up a discarded cushion from the floor and using it to hide his nudity got up and walked towards a door that she presumed would be the bedroom.

Quickly she snatched the scattered pile of clothes from the floor and after disentangling hers from the melee, got dressed in record time. He came in just as she was buttoning-up the her dress and coughed to let her know that she was not alone.

She whirled around and saw him dressed in a fresh jeans and T-shirt. His hair was smooth and in place and his face was as unreadable as that of an ancient pharaoh in a stone cast.

Averting his gaze she quickly looked up. The face from the portrait stared back at her. Its eyes were mocking and gaze empty. The curve of the lips was contemptuous.

Following her eyes he looked upon the painting as well.

"That's a self portrait of my ex-wife."

She looked at him quickly. He was still staring at the woman in the picture. Her eyes followed the path of his Adam's Apple. He swallowed hard, thrice and then turned slowly to look at her. She was looking strangely at him. His face was contorted with a mix of several emotions. The most prominent were anger and anguish. He gave her a smile that was more pathetic than victorious. She turned to leave when he spoke up. "Dipa, I put in my papers day before yesterday. I'm moving to Canada."

She heaved a sigh of relief and opened the main door. Then, she turned around one last time to take in fully the room she had spent her last 24 hours in. It was bare except for the painting and the couch. The walls were painted a dark shade of red and the paint was peeling in places to reveal a pale cream. The couch where she had spent the better part of her stay was larger than a sofa and very spacious. Perhaps he was used to sleeping away from the bedroom even when they were married.

She looked at the man who was absorbed in the painting and shrugged her shoulders. His house was actually edgy and no doubt his blog posts were romantic. There was room for only one queen in this kingdom because the seat was taken even in her absence.

This sudden realization made her turn and move out of the house with a spring in her steps. She left the door ajar because the house needed to breath. It was too claustrophobic inside.

Getting Laid

"Dark and edgy is what works."

"If you say so. I think, people flock to fluff and romance."
"That's because real life is dark and edgy."
"You bet! But, that is why people want to align with fluff and romance."

It was a regular weekday on a crisp winter morning in Delhi. They had both bunked work in favor of loitering around the city drinking tea and doing nothing in general. It was not a regular thing for either of them. In fact, it was a first for both. But, somehow it had happened. They had met at the bus stop near the office and said "hi" to each other and then together, "Doesn't it feel like Sunday?"
It had triggered-off a series of events that started with simultaneous bursting into giggles and then on a sudden impulse she had caught hold of his wrist and rushed them into a waiting auto-rickshaw. He had not asked any questions or objected when she told the driver to take them to the nearest open air restaurant.
It was mostly empty since everyone was at work so, they took up a place near the latticed terrace wall overlooking a green sea which was actually a canopy of trees.
"It's so nice up here. Isn't it? It is actually a perfect place to Sun bathe."
He merely smiled into his cup saying nothing.
She was obviously not used to long silences and said, "I read your blog posts the other day."
He looked up immediately and gave her his standard quizzical look. She jumped in again to fill in the silence.
"Your work is too positive, too romantic."
That is when the discussion veered towards dark and edgy versus romantic.
It was strange actually that he wrote on romance because his real life was very dark and edgy. Everyone knew that. He never hid the fact that he was a loner after his wife had run away with his best friend when his mother was at her death bed fighting a fast losing battle with cancer.
The double jolt, since his mother died within days of his wife running away had sobered him up. He had simply retreated into himself and no one messed with him.
It was well known that he did not like mixing up. He never moved with the pack. He even had his meals alone in the canteen. He was not abrupt or anti-social but, he liked being on his own. Too many people made him nervous and set his teeth on edge.
She had joined his team only a month back. A transfer case from another city. She knew nothing about anyone and was an exact opposite of what he was.
Since she never asked nor he explained, he thought that she did not possibly know about the dark and edgier side of his life. At least this is what he believed, till this moment.
Why were they having this conversation?
When she looked up to see him he saw it in her eyes. The defiance was palpable. One could even touch it with bare hands. She was stirring him up. She knew. She wanted to stir him up.
She had been setting him up for all this while. She had pulled him out of his self-imposed exile without him getting to know of it.
He still had a choice. She was giving him a choice.
He wanted to get up and go but, then he looked at her face for a second. She had asked for it. Should he not give it back to her?
The idea jolted him. It hit him like a punch below the belt. A snake long dead and awaiting cremation somewhere in the nether regions stirred up and opened its eyes.
She had asked for it.
Slowly he looked her deep in the eye and then, his own eyes roamed way below the point where it was uncivilized to stare.
She looked at him checking her out and squirmed in her seat. Had she gone too far this time?
But, even she was too far gone to care. The attraction was mutual but, he'd done nothing to stoke the fire. She had wanted to provoke him into action for too long but, everyone had advised her against it. So, she had taken the friendship route and he'd slowly but reluctantly accepted and here they were.
Finally, everything was out in the open and she took a deep breath to steady her racing heart. 'Will he rise to the bait?'
Slowly, she took her shoes off and brushed her right foot with his left calf. Without missing a beat, he caught her shapely ankle in his strong hand and started rubbing it slowly up and down. He pulled her leg to his thigh and continued messaging her ankles, moving up to her calves.
She settled down a little more on the chair with a sigh and he continued staring at all the wrong places. She held her breath.
The tea that the waiter had brought a while back was soon forgotten and then discarded because it had turned stone cold.
As if by tacit understanding, they rose together and without taking his eyes off her, he tossed some money out of his wallet on the table.
"Your home or mine?"
"Is your place romantic?"
"No. It is dark and edgy."
"Great! Then yours."
She smiled at him and walked ahead. He followed in the wake of her swishing skirt.

Part II coming soon!

(Part 2: http://shomachakraborty.blogspot.in/2013/10/getting-laid-part-ii.html)

Love Happens

There's always a drama unfolding around us without us having any knowledge of it. I was sitting around wondering after a week of backbreaking hard work, 'Can a man and a woman stay best friends forever without breaking the barrier at some point? And what happens at point break?' The answer is perhaps never going to be clear. Because it can never be. Love is after all a two-way street. Hence, the story of one such 'couple' who are also best of friends.
~ Shoma

"Love does not come in knocking doors, it happens."
"It does not happen, it creeps up and catches you by the throat at your most vulnerable."
She looked up from her book at this rejoinder to cast a baleful eye at her friend whose attention was glued to a game console.
"One day your fingers will become stiff and fall off."
"Whatever.."
Their conversations hardly lasted more than four sentences at a time but, they were best friends for more than two decades now. So, there was this deep understanding between them that allowed them to understand without speaking.
Most often than not, they are found in each other's company mostly in companionable silence doing different things. She'd mostly be reading while he could be found doing anything between playing a cricket match with his friends to playing video game on the huge flat screen TV in his bedroom like today.
They had been inseparable since birth and now, at 27, they were best friends, frenemies, partners in crime, and thick as thieves.
Everyone from their friends to family were waiting for the announcement - for the world at large - they were an item. They knew what everyone thought but, did precious little to change the perception because it saved them a lot of trouble.
They had a tacit agreement which they had entered into at age 15 when the local Romeos had started stalking her all the way from the school bus stop to her door step in the afternoons.
"Let us pretend to be going around. This will ensure those guys backing off and I am left alone by your precious friends. Why those women are like snakes, creeping up and trying to coil around me!"
"You are mad! Why would I pretend to be going around with you? Everyone will laugh because no one will believe such a cock and bull story. The parents will blow their gaskets. Also, my friends are not creepy!"
Never-the-less, she had fallen-in with the plan and the parents had never said a word. Little did they know that everyone expected it to happen so, their 'relationship' was accepted without a bat of a single eyelid.
Years - more than 10 - had passed and they were still the same. Still bickering and still pretending to be a couple.
For the last few weeks, she had started thinking about it all over again since out of nowhere her mother made her expectations known.
"It's high time the two of you tied the knot. We want to have grandchildren while we are still young and able to enjoy watching them grow."
It was like a slap on her face. Marry? Him? He was just a friend.
So, she had pretended to be in a hurry and rushed off to work.
Today was Sunday. They were as usual together at his home. He playing video games on mute on a gigantic flat screen TV and she reading something light and frothy. She thought it was the best time to bring up the topic of her mom's conversation from the other day.
She had thought deep and pondered over it and knew it was high time they 'broke off' their pretend arrangement or die a spinster. Hence the topic of love.
"Listen, will you shut that thing off."
"Why are you nagging like a girl? I put it on mute."
"We need to talk."
"Talk? Hey! You do sound like a girlfriend!"
"Stop laughing. It's serious."
"OK. Serious eh?"
"Yes serious."
"Fine. Tell me ma'am. I'm all ears and the TV is off."
"You see. Erm... It's like this..."
"Stop beating around the bush please. What's it? You look worried. Is someone bothering you? Do you want me to break his nose? Hey! I'm your boyfriend..."
"Stop kidding will you."
"What's it?"
"OK. I want us to stop this pretend game."
"Us?"
"Yes."
"I see..."
"Do you?"
"Is there someone else?"
"Else? We were NEVER us."
"I know. But, old habit and all..."
She sighed deeply.
"Wow! That must have sunk a ship somewhere..."
"Shut up and listen."
"I am. What's up with you? PMS?"
"Oh. My. God. It's no use trying to talk to you. I'm going home. Officially this is over."
As she stood up from the couch, he got up from his slumped position on the mat and grabbed her wrist.
"Stop. Tell me what's wrong."
"We are wrong. We should not have pretended. Now everyone's emotions are attached with this."
"You are right we should not have. But, how can we break off something that never was?"
"Is that a joke?"
"No. It is the truth."
"Yes. You are right. The truth. How did we manage to spread such a huge lie and run with it for a decade?"
"Perhaps because..."
"I know..."
"Now will you tell me why you want us to break-off our 'pretend' status?"
"Ma wants us to get married..."
"That came fast."
They both laugh an awkward sound echoing brittle to their own ears. Her face ached from the effort and his heart just felt squeezed of all oxygen.
"Yes. I ran fast too - from her."
"You know when I think of it it's not such a bad idea."
"You are... mad! We cannot also have a pretend marriage now."
"No, not pretend. Real."
The silence in the room felt stretched to eternity.
"I think you have finally lost it. I need to go."
She tugged at the hand he was still holding.
"Let me go. We need to break this off."
He looked at her deeply. She looked away from his eyes. They were burning holes into her face. It was like he could penetrate into her mind and see what was inside her head.
"Let's talk."
"Let me go."
"What if I don't?"
"Why would you not? You've never ever before wanted to talk about anything."
"What if I want to now?"
"Stop answering in questions."
"OK. Here goes. I do not want to break off our pretend relationship. There I said it."
"Why? Because it is convenient for you to ogle at other women when we go out on pretend dates?"
"I ogle other women? When?"
"Last week. Always..."
"Last week? Be specific woman."
"OK. You kept on staring at that flashy woman who was sitting across from our table when we went out for dinner after work on Friday."
"I did? Wait. You mean that couple who could not stop holding hands?"
"Yes. That was even more embarrassing because she was with another guy."
"Listen. I was not looking at her. I was looking at them..."
"Them?"
"Them."
"Why?"
"Is it so difficult for you to get?"
"I think you should let go off my hand."
"What if I don't?"
"What's wrong with you?"
"You. You are wrong. We should not break it off."
"You don't get it do you?"
"I got it a long time back. I have been waiting for you to get it for all these years."
"You are insane."
"Yes..."
"Stop looking at me like you mean all this and let me go."
"Go."
He releases her hand and turns around. She almost stumbles out of the room, running without looking back. He spins around only to catch a glimpse of her pink chiffon 'dupatta' flashing and waving for one last time before disappearing down the hallway. Defeated he slumps and sits down on the couch and inhales deeply her lingering perfume. Thinking, 'When did love happen?'

Letting Go

"I know it is wrong but, I cannot help it. I love you."
"I see!"
"Is that all that you have to say?"
"Yes. You said it yourself. It is wrong."
"I know it is wrong. But, I can't help it. You are in my thoughts all day and... night. I can't do much. Everyone knows that I'm in trouble over you but, I can't help it."
"I know."
"You know?"
"Yes. I knew from the first moment. When I walked into the room with so many people in it. All I saw was you staring at me. I had to look away each time I looked at you."
"I was not staring. I could not take my eyes off you. You knew even then? Shit!"
"Yeah. I knew even then."
"So, now will you slap me and send a mail to HR?"
"Slap you? Why? Why would I do that?"
"I mean... We both know it is wrong..."
"Did you do anything more than stare at me and give me sad looks?"
"No. But, I broke the dam today. I told you how I feel."
"So, how does it effect me? If anything, it was flattering. See, the problem is yours not mine."
"I see... Actually, I don't... I really care a lot for you. It's different. I have never felt like this before."
"I'm sure."
"So, where do we go from here."
"Where do you want to go?"
"All over the world with you."
"Awww! That would be slightly expensive."
"I know."
"You are a sweetheart you know. But, I do not think you can afford it."
"Give me a few years and I will..."
"It may be too late by then don't you think?"
"No. Please wait for me to catch up."
"I do not have the time darling!"
"You are just trying to get rid of me."
"Maybe that would be good for you. How much do you know of me? I could be a serial killer on the prowl. Or a man-eater."
"No. You are not."
She turns around to stare at him in the closed confines of the car and smiles. He looks at her and knows that it is a battle already lost. Yet, he smiles back a brave smile and thrusts out his hands for a shake.
"Do call me when you reach home."
She laughs out loud and takes his hand in hers to shake it. He looks at her closely. She smiles, a wan, easy smile.
"I go down this road everyday and much later in the night."
"I know but, today you were with me..."
A sleek and snub-nosed Metro thunders over their head, full of people who are returning home to their loved ones. She lets go of the warmth of his palm from hers and smiles an encouraging smile, ugring him to move on. A train and a life were waiting for him...

The Death at the Protest

"Bye ma!"

She ran out of the house, a multi-colored floral jhola bag with flowers of every hue appliquéd into it trailed behind her in a rush even as she chomped on a paratha rolled into a tight cylinder in her small hands. Her red chiffon bandhni odhni fluttered like a full mast on a windy day.

"Thar she goes!"

Her brother retorted just missing a full-on collision at the doorstep.

"Haven't you heard of a thing called bath?" She parried back wrinkling her nose at him as he tried to scare her with a dirty football aimed at her direction.

"We men need fresh air and exercise unlike you..." He baited her rushing back and she fell hook line and sinker. Turning awkwardly on her wedges she wrilled around and shouted, "I exercise as well. Just don’t like making an exhibition of it unlike your kind..."

He opened his mouth to retaliate but was cut short by an impatient honking.

"Will you two quit it now? I have to go to work and Arushi, if you want to fight with your brother then please feel free to catch the Metro when you are done."

"Sorry dad! I'm coming..." She ran pell-mell and turned at the door of the car to face her brother who was openly hooting with laughter by now. Aiming a tongue at his face she mouthed a promise, "Evening idiot!" and shaking a fist at him got in through the passenger door.

It was a Saturday. College was closed for the weekend but, all of Arushi's classmates along with hundreds of other students, concerned citizens and seasoned activists were scheduled to sit-in a protest condemning the government and the city police in the case of a brutal rape and murder of a young student in a government-run hostel.

Her dad, who had a meeting near the center of the city, dropped Arushi off at a designated place where others from her class had congregated.

"Have a safe time kids!" He drove off, his mind on the business at hand.

                                                                      ***

The kids walked the short distance to the Governor's Bungalow where hundreds had already gathered. There were TV crews and Press journalists who seeing a bunch of obviously college-going kids made a bee-line for them.

"You have come here to protest on a cold misty weekend morning for a girl you didn't even know. What made you come all the way?"

A mike was thrust at Arushi's face. She realized with trepidation that she was on TV now. She stuttered for a second but then putting on a brave face said, "It could have been any of us."

"Do you feel unsafe in the University Campus?"

This time the camera had whirled to another in the group and Arushi took a deep breath remembering Andy Warhol's "15 minutes of fame" quote. She just had her 15 seconds she thought drawing in a deep breath and brushing it off with a shrug.

By afternoon, the crowd had swelled into thousands. Though the protests were still peaceful with only some people speaking to the gathered group from a make-shift dais, the governor had panicked and called in the reserve forces as well as the police. There were around 300 men in uniform - some with guns but most of them with batons who were hovering at the edges of the unarmed protesting gathering.

Queen started singing in her purse and Arushi pulled out her cell phone to see who was calling. Some of her fellow protesters turned around and smiled at her for her choice of ringtone. "I want to Break Free" could have been the anthem for today's protest. It could also be because the Queen's front-man, Freddy Mercury was actually Freddy Balhara, a Bombay born Parsi, a fellow Indian.

She clicked the Receive button cutting off the music and put the phone to her ear. "Sweetheart, where are you? Your dad and I are very concerned. They have called in troops to control a bunch of kids. Are you still there? Please come home now. You've made enough impact - I think."

Her mom's pleading voice filled Arushi's ears though most of what she was saying was lost in the noise around her.

"Mom we are fine. Some of our professors have also joined us and we are all together in a group. There are at least 4-500 of us from the campus. So, chill. We have done nothing but sit here under the tent and listen to some of the people speak on state of womens' rights in India."

Since further conversation was impossible as a well-known social activist joined the small group on the podium and a thunderous roar arose from the crowds to welcome her. Arushi disconnected the call and sent a message to her mom and on second thoughts to her dad. It simply said, "Don't panic. We're fine." A smiley face rounded the message.

As the new participant walked on to the mike and started her strong moving speech peppered with facts and figures the crowd started chanting, Vande Mataram! It was not a battle cry. It just meant, "Salutations to Motherland." It was an old slogan used by freedom fighters during India's struggle for independence, taken from a patriotic novel by a 19th century Bengali author.

It was used in all rallies, political or protest marches all across the country. It was used by the Army during battle. It was a part of the nation's history and nothing that was earth-shatteringly threatening.

But, to the ears of the men in uniform it sounded like a belligerent call for violence. With all the protestors still sitting and chanting Vande Mataram even the media (which had trained its eyes on the squatters who now looked rejuvenated) did not feel the need to turn around and check the police barricade. It was a peaceful protest after all.

The lady had by now finished her rousing speech and was ending it with the customary three calls for, Jai Hind, with everyone repeating it after her. All across the nation, everyone glued to their TV sets felt goosebumps rising on their arms as always. It was one of the most patriotic greeting that the nation knew of. Coined by the nationalist commander of forces of Indians fighting to free India from abroad, Subhash Chandra Bose, who was also the first Indian leader to give women the opportunity to march side by side with men in his Indian National Army, it was common parlance in the Indian political and bureaucratic system. Even the police and Army used it as a greeting.

No one saw it coming since everyone was busy with the lump in their throats till it landed with a plop and went hissing right at the middle of the congregation.

White fumes rose up making everyone's eyes water.

Girls shrieked many coughed into their hands, hiding desperately their watering eyes.

Someone from the armed contingent had dropped a tear-gas shell into the crowd of mostly kids, women, and elderly citizens. The media went into a massive overdrive as people ran helter-skelter to get away from the noxious fume that was by now filling the massive tent in its fog-like white darkness.

The shrieks intensified and one could now discern groans and crunches because many people had fallen down in the rush and others had either fallen on them since not much was visible through watery eyes and a melee rushing for fresh air.

If people had known that a fate worse than tears waited for them when they were smoked out like bees forsaking their hives they would have, perhaps preferred to shed copious tears.

As the crowd rushed out of the tent running blindly, knocking down each-other and then bending down to say sorry and even pulling up those who had fallen, they were met by armed police and commandos in bullet-proof jackets and helmets. The men in uniform were holding light shields made of bamboo, the kinds used during riots to keep off mobs.

The media was filming everything as best as they could. The teary-eyed reporters were facing the camera and showing the nation how a peaceful protest was now turning into a stampede of sorts. People across the country were sitting on the edge of their seats and staring dumb-founded at the drama unfolding. Many, whose family or friends were in the protest picked up their phone and started dialling.

Shrill rings filled the air both in the tent and outside. Phones rang in the myriad purses and pockets of the protesters. Many phones were lying on the carpet inside the tent and on the tarmac road - separated from the hands and pockets of the owners when they ran or fell down.

Some of them, that were not too badly damaged also added to the din. Then, the noise stopped as did time.

As the nation watched dumb-struck, several jets of cold water were sprayed on the public and many fell to the ground gasping for breath.

An old lady clutching the hands of the pre-teen, probably her granddaughter, fell on her knees and pushed the child under her to protect the kid with her body. A bunch of girls seeing the old woman trying so valiantly to save the child rushed to her aid and fell on top of her trying to cover the two. Arushi was one of them. Her phone like the phones of her other friends had suddenly stopped ringing a few seconds ago.

Her mom, who was now openly crying in front of the TV set. She saw her little girl on screen for the second time that day and looked up at her brother who was trying repeatedly to call her. The recorded message spoke monotonously, "All routes in this line are busy."

Frustrated, he looked at the TV screen and on seeing the drama unfolding in front of him sat down with a thud on the floor.

His sister and her friends who had rushed to save an old lady and a child from water canon were being kicked and beaten by three policemen wearing bullet vests and helmets. They were using batons and hard soles of their shoes to repeatedly rain blows on the girls and were pulling them by their hair and arms to separate them.

He started crying when he saw his sister had taken blows on her face and was bleeding through her nose and mouth. She was crying for help and many people tried to come to her aid but, they too met with the same fate as more and more policemen and troops gathered like vultures around them.

A reporter tried pushing his way into the circle and handing his mike to another protester, jumped heroically into the melee hoping to perhaps talk to the brutes in uniform but, he too got a vicious punch on the face, making it to the heap of bodies on the ground.

The boy looked at his mom now, staring at the TV screen - a look of terror masked her features and she looked pale as dead.

They both knew that Arushi was as good as gone but, try as they might, they could not look away from the TV set showing her being marauded to death. They did not want her to be a martyr. They wanted her to come home.

(This is a work of fiction and a totally imaginary account. Any resemblance to any person living or dead or to any incident is merely a co-incident and without any intended malice or hurt towards any person or community of people. - Shoma)

Christ by Edvard Munch