WE……………THE PEOPLE(PART3)

Life in Death

*God pours life into death and death into life without a drop being spilled. Unknown

. *I shall not die of a cold. I shall die of having lived.Willa Catcher.

Prologue:

Autumn leaves with a fading beauty were stacked all over the sun-kissed manly beach in mid march. Deep beyond the endless limits of the seashore stood the horizons, tall and proud overlooking vast shores of the sea benevolently. The light peaceful green water provided a silken bed sheet to kids who dived under it and loathed the taste of its salinity. It was a time of high tide at some places. A time of high celebrations at some and a time of new arrivals for many! High profile transfers, juggling of part time jobs and settlement lookout’s for the newbie’s made Manly a very internally powered tourist destination and the most beautiful one at that, on the entire coast of Eastern Australia. That is if you could ever overlook the mind captivating beauty of sandstones, the magnificience of the weather spectacles or the adventure of surfing season during this period. Water sport and cricket were an undivided passion. Their visibility and participation being strongly indicative of the great sporting nation called ‘Australia’. One of the main pioneers in sports and cricket was a medium footed British accented man called Stuart Benson who was into his last year of semi-retirement and on the verge of retirement. In the end he wanted to come back where he’d started and decided to coach kids of MCC(manly crick. club) instead of any other big coaching academy or directorship at any cash rich counties in England. Nothing much could ever be talked or gossiped about the man except that he was a retired ex-national coach with infinite success backing him. He had amassed all possible recognition and his achievements in the field of cricket were the one of a pure genius. He was lauded for the psychological innovations he had inducted into the game. He was one of the true men who played by the rules and lived by the spirit of the game. No controversies and no failure. Life had been a fairly linear graph for this coach from Tasmania. Little did Stuart Benson know that the beauty of the island he so loved, would go unappreciated by him and so would the nostalgia with it. And his job as the head coach for manly cricket club (mcc) would take a backseat to wave surfing. Little did he know that a girl no older than his daughter’s age would strike his life like a vicious thunderstorm weighing like a thousand daggers and turn up an upheaval of all the high tides around him.

The worst description for any beautiful, smart average Australian woman would read something like 26 years old thrice divorced 3 kids, 2 of which were unrecognizable now in a Sydney orphanage. That was in short the way people knew Angela Lewis and her miseries. People never have a liking for miseries though. No, they don’t. They looked upon her sufferings as a cardinal sin. The best defined misery of a clerk would be misprinting her contents, for a cricketer it would be playing under poor form (what is that? Yawn! Yawn!) For two months and for any manager or officer in the endless corporate jungle of Sydney (A 50 minute drive from manly with Anglela’s outdated car!) it would mean having the idea rejected by a senseless jury of techxperts or know-all bosses. Angela’s misery was life itself. Her life had started off on a high note after she was inducted as the women youth leader for the liberal party. A failed professional career sometimes is the root cause of a failed personal life. In Angela’s case, for unique she was, all dreams shattered and hopes crumbled due to an inscrutably failed personal front. She was expelled from her political party soon after her first divorce. That her husband was a labour candidate fighting the next election from the same constituency wasn’t much of a surprise. He had used her to his best possible advantages and then had shown colours which were true of almost every politician alive, that of disloyalty and betrayal. She had two kids from her first marriage both of which are now being brought up at the Wembley orphanage 10 miles from Sydney. The very sight of kids and the mere memory of Richard Augustine Fletcher made her writhe in pain. The reason for the divorce of her second marriage was nothing but pure impotency on her husband’s part. Her second divorce was particularly under hammer for its reasons were forbidden in the society. To further add insult to injury and exacerbate all her problems her third husband had been mysteriously murdered and Angela was under intense scrutiny and accusations for murdering the only man she would ever love. She had always been partly paranoid and by now she had turned schizophrenic as well. Not medically but yes socially. She had now settled in east manly islands surrounding the north cove after a hefty sum had been paid to her in settlement of her first divorce with Richard Fletcher, now the sitting MP for New South Wales. Strangely enough she received a membership to the Australian citizens club in her inheritance which was the parent body of the manly cricket club. She had never particularly liked this game cricket. She rather found it funny. But then she had lost her taste by now. Afterall taste, according to her was something that pleased your senses at first only to betray it to no end later.

THE STORY

Stuart first met Angela when her son had completed his cricket coaching from the manly cricket club. That was the day when her little one Keith won the Don Bradman scholarship for excellence in junior cricket at a very premature age. He could now pursue a full fledged educational career along with cricket minus the funds. Angela couldn’t believe her luck, if It ever existed for her whole life now revolved around little Keith who had proudly put his mothers name instead of his fathers in his full name. It was a meeting of the godly mommy and the genius coach. It was a meeting of the inevitable. It was the evolution of a tidal wave.

“Won’t you meet my coach mommy?” started Keith with a tone of excitement in his voice. “Yes my dear little prince, your mommy will meet your teacher” completed Angela trying to suppress her true feelings. Just when the conversation was about to grow, Coach Stuart broke in with a crack of a bat, “So our dear little Keith wants to be Donald Bradman?”, “Yes, sir I want to be the greatest of all time” said keith, “That’s ma boy”, “Won’t you go and have a hit or two until your momma talks to your coach” broke in Angela, “Yes momma I will” ended Keith no sooner than Stuart began “Never been lucky enough to have been in your company Mrs.…….”.and after a strange long pause continued cluelessly …… “But yes your son is very talented; by the way I’m Benson, Stuart Benson”.“And I’m Hedges! Benson & Hedges. You think you sound like fuckin James Bond do you? (Imitating) I’m Benson, Mark Benson,Give me a break. And you are doing nothing but saving your own ass by getting him the scholarship. Have only one kid capable enough to go the distance don’t you and that’s my son.” said Angela pulling out 2 Benson lights before lighting one. Stuart was temporarily taken aback but continued out of duty and by the experience of a wiseacre “Don’t you worry Mrs.……..;” the pause didn’t seem to give way to any kind of sound until Stuart mumbled after an eternity, “you have a wonderfully gifted son who will be in the top echelons of cricket one day, you know he even looks like spinmaster warnie!”. “Spinmaster!!!!That crazy bastard who spins more money fucking whores double his age, Shouldnt’t he be called a slutmaster?”“Do you know all men are bastards?” breathed Anglea to a halt Coach Benson could not hide his shock after hearing such crass words but continued, his trademark patience which was coming into act now, “aargh! Well you are not implying that all men are Richard Augustine Fletcher are you?”. at this moment Angela screamed in fury“You know nothing about my life dare you not impinge on my privacy and personal life. Should I teach you that Mr.Coach?”“Pleasure is all mine dear! Do you even call this a life? Whatever public or private you call it? This is not the way life is lived! Traits of your instability are being seen in your son and it is nothing less than a grave concern, Mrs.……and yes I would love to be a part of your coach coaching academies!” smiled Stuart. “What do you think you are doing by that disgusting stoppage after Mrs………wondering whose Mrs. or maybe mistress I am? Ok I have fucked half the bloody dicks in this world and you are just too old for me! And about my son then he is just another goddamn male bastard! Yeah that’s what he is! Another man bastard just like you!” Completed Angela…..her voice shooting up with every statement.Coach Benson had words to say but both his courage and his wit had failed him today……after listening to that statement he could feel the pain in every word, the wound in every vein and flesh that the woman had endured all these years. Maybe she asked for it. Maybe she didn’t but for the first time in his life Stuart realized truly what was pain and that a life could be one that of instability, helplessness, failure, incapacitated ness and that of death. A Living morbid death from morn to night. He decided to make amends for his cardinal sins the next time he met the lady.

It was soon enough that he made amends, and he did that in vintage aussie style. Beach cricket was growing in trend in Australia. Coach Benson had all his students playing beach cricket that day as part of the training session. It was after the session that Keith took him to meet his mommy again who according to Keith was the best surfer in town. No sooner did they reach the surfers alley, they saw a beautiful woman, looking surprisingly pleasant today and smiling mind-captivatingly as if to look upon someone superiorly. She had attitude coupled with authority stamped all over her boisterous face. Her rogue and devilish beauty was accentuated and very appreciable now. She just looked a different woman today, perhaps felicitous and gay. If she at all had a sense of humour Stuart would have definitely laughed at that. Before Stuart could even walk a couple of steps Angela romped forward and greeted him knocking Stuart of his feet without even touching him. “It’s a pleasure to be breathing the same air as you Coach.”This woman has a knack of even surprising even me thought Stuart as he said “the pleasure is all mine, I’ve had the honour to devour the most generous things about me from you”At this moment Angela suppressed a wry smile while saying “Well you deserved it didn’t you?”/. to which Stuart replied“Maybe, and what is it that makes you even more so generous today?”. “Nothing but pure life, this is what truly brings me to life, the seas, tides the beautiful trees, I often think this is my only family and it is my only love. I can call this my true home, which will never divorce me…….and also my gratitude for what youve done for Keith…..ill be forever indebted however much i may hate it….i couldnt stop feeling guilty after the last meeting you know”replied Anglea calmly.“True, very true indeed. Afterall, home is where the heart is. Sense of belongingness to anything is so important We’re so engrossed in our life we forget simple things, simplest of things which are more important above anything else, the benevolent shelter of trees, the silken bed sheet of sand, felicitous rains, music that touches the cords of your heart, poems, cooking, cleaning…….You can always fall back on them. They breathe life into you even in the darkest of times” said Stuart.“My, my am I talking to myself here? All these things are truly which keep my life revolving sometimes, just my love for the things that come along with life, if not life itself, it’s a misconception that life goes on. I just move on from one wave to other wave, seamlessly, bereft of the balance and clueless about directions. A flow is all I’ve had but always against the tide” added Angela.“Anything is waste if it’s devoid of direction, even this conversation maybe. So what is it that changes your mind about me? The reason why I’m asking this is nothing but a matter of pure curiosity” asked Stuart“Actions, always speak louder than words. I want to express my gratitude and appreciation for what you’ve done for Keith. True he’s talented. But talent in itself can’t take you anywhere. Anything is waste if it’s devoid of direction. Well said, Coach. You’re probably the coach I never had. Heard too many promises to believe any of them, coach. And yes about what changes my mind, This is my haven and this is my home. I’d even kiss Fletcher if he turned out here now.” said Angela“So, what is it that brings you here, to your home. Knowing your love for socializing I can surely say it’s definitely not your family members!”Joked Stuart.Both of them had a long laugh over it. Everyone had known Angela’s attitude towards people and Angela had for the first time shown a willingness to laugh at herself instead of cribbing over it.“Good one coach, it’s surfing. Its probably what cricket means to you. Somethings we don’t do to make a living. We don’t even do it for any particular reason. These are the things that bring you closer to nature, to truly where you belong. This is where I belong. Time to sail coach, youre invited to my coach coaching academy” finished angela.“You remember that! I thought you’d miss that one. And yes I have made a living out of cricket but I got your point anyway. Sure id love to. Id last surfed when I was in 7^th grade. My brother used to better me at that. I would love to give him a hard time when hell be visiting me next week” said stuart.

Keith watched over as both of them sailed one wave over the other, head and shoulders with each other. Surfing was one of the most beautiful adventure sports he had ever seen. Just the way both of them twirled on the ice creamish curve of water making a full 180 degrees rotation over water, twisting and turning over the lovely green water. Clawing their way inside and outside the water, sauntering along the velvet splashes of water, they flied like birds without feathers. It was sure an experience to die for.“What is the best thing abut these waves coach?” started Angela.“Well, they’re better than cricket pitches, they’re again more like women that you never know about. As to what stage which direction they might turn! On a more serious note again I’d say the pure beauty of it! It’s like going back a 50 years and fighting with my brother over it. And lose the battle on top of that. I hate losing”said Stuart.“Every single time I ride on these waves I feel a strange kind of sensation. Something you might call déjà vu. I feel as if all these waves unite and try to knock you down, but there you are riding on them, Unfettered and unmoved, Riding against your own fate, picking up the gauntlet and tiding over and surviving all the catastrophies in life. Afterall it has never been easy.”said Angela“I do realize that. Anyways I’ve had the pleasure of living out what I may remember as one the best days of my life, when ill be old and sitting on a chair. You were a friend I never had! Life has just been to perfect for me, it’s all just been about success, wins, money and contracts. There’ more to see. I’m 60 going on 16 you know. I want to see kids, partly my reason to coach u-17 kids now. Kids, friends, farm fields, mountains and seas, camaraderie and a life free from success money and targets, everything that I never had and off course surfing with a beautiful woman like you. Was a pleasure all day see you tomorrow”Said Coach Benson.“I’ve had someone I could count upon after ages. At last count I talked for this long maybe last with my dad. He was a man in the true sense of the word, aborigine by nature, but a gentleman by class. Since then perhaps Keith and surfing are the only two things that have kept me going. Will meet you tomorrow same time and same place. I realize makin an effort to thank you would be an effort that is always going to be in vain as the realization of having a friend, philosopher and guide goes anything beyond that and more. See you tomorrow. Take care” with this Angela bade him goodbye.“Cheers” was all Coach benson could think of saying at this point of time. It was not until another Month did either of Stuart or Angela experience anything dramatic in their lives. Life had been going on as smoothly as ever for Stuart and as far as Angela was concerned she had stopped reading those words peace and happiness in her giant Webster’s dictionary. She now truly discovered the meaning of it. In Stuart’s boring but successful life she could glimpse a bit of her own ambitions. Never in life had she discovered something as dependable as Stuart. Like a family he was something to truly fall back upon. Even if it was for those short but ever lasting moments at the beach. She had lived out her entire life in those brief moments. He was everything she ever wanted to be and yet she was surprised to find her initial pangs of jealousy towards him had been abated and now exterminated.

It was on her Journey towards the beach did she think of Stuart again. How she missed him badly when he was not there. How without his parenting gaze and protective eye, for very senior to her he was, she had started feeling insecure. She could live a whole life with him if she wanted to. Never had anything in life made such an impact on her. He was a man in the true sense of word, just like her father. She could talk anything with him under the holy sun. She could open out all the pages in her heart without any ounce of regret in it. She didn’t even feel the need to place a bookmark. She could never think of a perfect family for herself. Afterall these years in life she had found family, love, stability, a fair amount of success and not to mention the ability to let go of her devious, maniacal ways. She called it State of felicity. A form of life. All these thoughts had heavily occupied her mind as she was driving her car towards the manly beach. She had just passed her way through from the Banks coast and her eyes flashed up at the very signboard of the distance indicating the manly beach. It was 2 miles. Maybe 4. She couldn’t wait. A strange sense of trepidation pounded her heart as she was driving. Ignoring her instincts and erasing all the fear she carried on. It was a journey towards life afterall. Wet drops of rain overshadowed her state of fear, the dew blindfolded her road towards her destiny as she was abpit to pass the manly caves, funny jolts struck her in her stomach running down till the very tiptoe of her legs. Her head started spinning around and her hair stood standing 3 feet tall in thin air. She pumped out gasps of breathlessness. Just when she was about to know the aftermath of such weird circumstances, crackling sound of lightening destroyed all her senses of hearing.RIbbon lightening it was…..which creates a web of lightening from the source itself and strikes at the target again and again…..tirelessly someteimes even at the same place……it is a fallacy that lightening never strikes at one place…..the soud of lightening was eerie and horrifying, It was a loud, deafening noise.With a shrieking sound of her screams, Angela was muted for life. Her last visions were blurry images of her old vauxhall that was furiously ablaze. She lay there on the ground,twitching and twirling, pulling out a benson lights being oblivious to her doomed fate, trying to smoke the last few puffs as life let go of all her miseries and endless torture that lasted only about a few more seconds until she could hear the bells of heaven ringing perpetually under the roof of god, a thousand cries that would weep the sorrow of her death and the sound of gospel somewhere far away that was eluding her as the shadows of the dark curled around sorrounded her while she breathed her last.

Meanwhile, Stuart was on his way driving his nissan towards the beach when he suddenly saw Angela in the middle of the road asking him for the lift. He could only wonder if he was daydreaming as all logic seemed to desert him. He pinched himself twice before letting Angela into the car.
” How come you’re here, appearing from nowhere stranded here of places all places, You take the wainsbridge from the South right?” blabbered Stuart impulsively.
” Yeah, today is a special day for me. A day of awakening, A day that neither i nor you will never forget in Years to come. i’ll tell you more about it later.” finished Angela.
” i dont know wether i should call it a shock or a surprise but strangly enough i was anticipating you all this time”
” and i will miss you” whispered Angela
thoose words were Strangely missed by Stuart as both of them started their way into the beach. Strangly enough Stuart lost his way and sync with Angela halfway through to the signposts marking the surfing zone for non-amatuer surfers. Stuart was close to being a professional now due to perfect coaching from angela. As soon as he made his way out he found himself deserted in a crowd. Dark Omens like crawling rattlesnakes and black cats encrypted his visions. And there he could see angella looking bright as ever, with her rogue beauty and robust, perfect figure riding over a wave. It was as if all this was a dream, How the hell was he seeing her as far as the third post and was she mad to go uptill there. He thought of jumping in as once he had famously told her ” you jump, i jump” but that was only a passing thought as the reality struck like a vicious dagger right into his heart as the wave burst into splashes and bubbles…………..blowing it to smithereens sending his spine chilling into extreme fear and pain. With a force unkown Stuart fell down on his Knees, with his bare hands he wrote her name besides his on the golden sand that emblazoned names of two of its own people even as the wind obliterated all these leters.broken beyond repair, he poured all the sand which now had drops of tears visible all over it……into his ears, eyes and hair as if embracing it blindfolding his own visions……..and he went into a prolonged pain, feelings of love and sorrow……deepest desires and the morbid reality……….there he saw Angela, her rogue beauty being as accentuated as ever, Casting dubious looks on him redolent of their first meeting and then suddenly her eyes giving way to watery tears………”i was dead long before, yes, even before i halted you at Fisherman’s Cove,…. what youve been seeing is a state of Trance…….a trance between life and death……….all this time i was neither truly alive nor fully dead not just now but even all this while ive known you……..all my life…….ive failed to understand the means, the purpose and the way to live life……you taught me that……and i will never forget that……i could never truly live life……but i can fully live my death……the moments of hapiness, the way i truly breathed life in your company are the only things i remember in the endless torture that simply ceased to end until this date…….when a beggar gets alms, a widow dreams of her husband and a prisoner is set into the wilderness of this world it is only a temporary phase just as you talked about tough phases in life that pass, theese are the easy phases in life which pass, for a beggar will stretch his hands into uncertainty again, a widow will long for husband again and a prisoner will never see the light in the same day again……….these moments are more of a torture then a blessing, Its like your body is slashed a hundred times as you long for death and yet you dont find it…………this death is a blessing Stuart……..dont cry for me…….Take care of Keith as i know you will, one day hell be man as honourable as you………and yes ill always be around……you can feel my love, and you will always find me surfing on evenings behind the 3rd post……….this is where life ends……..and this is where doom starts………this is truly what i call my home………yes, there is life before death, life after death and life in death…….and I’m the rare few whoose managed it all. Love you….honour life as you always have and take care”
Stuart was slapped into consciousness by a policeman who aked him to identify a body that was found somwhere near the manly caves a mile away. Keith joined him on his way to the gallows……..Angella, who truly was an angel in both their lives……being the intangible and inseperable link binding them……a bond that can never be seen………a bond stronger than that of life and death………that…………..of love.

Epilogue

You might ask me if i believe in life after death. Well i dont know. All i know is that people may come and go……..there bodies may live and die……..but their souls do not………they live………through their habits…….through their passions and through means that are important to them…….as in the case of Angela surfing…….Also they live through their love…..and they forever live in our memories………Weather the two meetings after death were hallucination and dreams………or a reality is a matter of conjecture………and i confess to having zero knowledge about theese things……However…..the circumstances Leading to death are important……..The pain Angela suffered, A living morbid death from morn to night that she lived as was rightly stated by her in the middle of the story……There is infiinite amount of death embedded in life…..the end of all things as you may call it even when you live…….death is not something that worries me personally either, for there are things worse than that that can take place in this world,…as to what are those i leave that to youre imagination and being my readers im sure youll connect with me over here….. also id like to clarify that the relationship of angela and Stuart is not romantic as in an old man falling in love with a young woman…….no! love is love in any form…….why do we have to term and classify everything……….and even more so why does it matter if the relationship if physical or not? You can notice the pain they shared………..the curse of incomplete lives……. i made teenage guy lose his virginity in my 1st post……..i dint want a 60 year old man to do enjoy same! hehe….i want to be different in every post of mine…….but yes more important than the love is the pain that both of them shared……if this wouldve been a novel you wouldve found yourself praying for angella’s death in this story……….i will say nothing more now…..My tributes to Angela and all her miseries………..the pain she endured and the death she lived.

Promises to keep

i write this post knowing well enough what lies ahead…….maybe some more criticisms……for a blessed writer i have been as it is in my 5th 6th post that that i had to taste blood. A job comes calling and many duties awaiting i will most probably have a gruelling vacation this year…….some loss of sleep and i’ll definitely try to complete my we……series this vacation…….what is a promise thoh is dat ill complete atleast 5parts before the first week of july thats a promise………..days have gone by……and this we…….series has definitely been hijacking my mind time and again…….for the concept is beautiful……..and so is the intent…….the results though may not be half as pretty!lol…..havent been able to write anything not because lack of ideas but a barrage of em that keep disturbin my attention wherever i go! and anyway a job half done is a journey half completed………so  i have promises to keep…………..promises to myself and promises to each and everyone of you……and i promise not to break em……….godbless alldbest…….have a lovely summer!

WE…………THE PEOPLE(PART2)

1.  

  

                                THE FALLEN HERO                           

One who bravely dares must sometimes risk a fall.

n     Tobias G. Smollett. 

Fear defeats more people than any other one thing in the world.

n     Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

 Prologue 

 I’ve been rather busy for past several days now! I have shoots to complete for the short movie in which I’m starring as the lead role. Yes, hero……ha-ha-ha. I have to complete my assignments and get ready for some more meaningless submissions.  And to add to the horror another unit test beckons. On to more serious things, we…..the people, to elaborate is a series of 7 parts from 7 different parts of this world. It is a whole hearted attempt at thought provoking fiction. The characters displayed in this series are the people who make this world what it is. They are undisputedly the heroes of today. Protagonist’s who sketch today’s dreary world. Whether they rise or fall is another thing. And I must kill some suspense here by saying that being an Indian I’m not used to sad tragic Shakespearean endings. It’s something that always gets my instincts deadlocked in a perpetual state of limbo between wishes that are personal and experiences that are practical. The disparity between them being as translucent as the one existing between chalk and cheese. After seeing this world through the curious eyes of Sher khan we move on to a character that arguably is a hero in real life.  The narration takes over from self narrated style of part1. The style will vary from part to part.

 Mark Gray could’ve been whatever he wished to be. Such is the power of talent that when graced by proper individuals, can be moulded like plastic. Mark had possibly made a mark in every subject of his school and in every aspect of his college. Brilliant marks had all the teachers in the college patting his back. Brilliant athleticism supported by charming looks had all the girls swooning over him. After 21 years, an arts degree and a dozen talent search awards later, there was hardly anything that was left to be achieved. But then he had a tryst with destiny. And after reading the godfather at least 20 times he’d really started believing that a man has but one destiny. Three factors irrevocably sealed the fire in his belly to play with fire. His father, Peter gray’s tainted and failed career with firefighting, his own desire to be like his father and the deathbed wish of Peter gray that was tacitly made and obsequiously sworn by his dutiful and loving son.And so destiny had its way…again. Mark Gray was first enrolled as a firefighting trainee in New jerseys basic firefighting programme of 1999. The fact that he was declared exceptional in all departments barely came as a surprise to anyone except probably Mark himself. He further enhanced his skills at the red ladder institute in New Jersey and was hailed as the brightest man in the field by contemporaries and trainers alike. 

 By the fall of 2000 Mark had helmed two rescue operations for his team. The most memorable being the rescue operation that was carried out for the raging fire that had engulfed Ellis islands which spread sporadically after burning down Victoria hospital and Lincoln memorial. Sporadic fires were considered among the most arduous of tasks. Mark zeroed in on all the victims, rescuing them in groups by groups of his men. He divided his team into firefighters for rescue operations and damage control with a tactical brilliance that was neither seen nor heard of. Mark himself sprinted till he broke. Like a true messiah he had saved everyone, spare a few injuries from a fire that by the looks of it had obliterated all hopes of survival. The act personified courage in the face of adversity. The event was significant in the sense that it had become the single most driving force in Rudolph Giuliani becoming the mayor for New York. Mark Gray, the son of the late Peter Gray and recipient of the Congressional medal of honour beamed with pride to the hysterical media frenzy that now surrounded 12, green street. 

 Mark was in his bathroom when he’d first heard of plane hijacks on September the 11^th. He had this compulsive habit of sitting in the bathroom for hours. The fact that the television set in his bathroom wasn’t working didn’t matter as he received an immediate call on his radio set to report to the fire station immediately. He somehow felt there was a lot of action in the offing outside because the reporting had been grim as it often is during a crisis. The grimness in the proceedings somehow being indicative of the mayhem to follow. Like a silence before a storm. The matter was reported to be urgent and in words of the station chief ‘A national crisis’. As he started zipping his pants he wondered as to what it could possibly be? The Mafiosi in the city were last heard of half a decade back. Terrorist attacks on America were not only unimaginable but also deemed impossible. It was America you were talking about afterall. Another battle with the Russians was far fetched because at the present moment of its lone superpower reign only America could possibly be its own enemy. And so he turned out hastily out of 12 green street with curiosity that was killing. This curiosity however was killed by the obstreperous cab rider who kept screaming about hijacked planes crashing the world trade centre in lower Manhattan. Perhaps the driver was drunk. Perhaps he was some kind of psycho maniac.

  It was only on reaching the fire station did he discover that America had been stunned to silence with four hijacks and as many strikes at vital places on American soil. The security trounced, reputation tarnished and the fear of America now being reduced to a mere joke. America was paralyzed by all accounts. And then there was talk of some Arab Bin Laden being a messiah for the fighters of freedom. A messiah arisen from the ashes to claim glory. The rescue operation meetings were over before they ever begun. A couple of dozen fire fighting teams were formed within as many minutes and were asked to set off ‘pronto’ towards the jungle of the rubble that now spread around the Manhattan like a vicious scar on a beautiful forehead. It was clear from the start that this could possibly be the biggest mission ever manned in the history of  America, so it was not remotely disappointing when a comparatively junior rank like Mark was nowhere to be found in meetings involved with strategy and planning. Many of the noble men working for eons in the department weren’t involved either. The police took an active part and volunteered to help, so did citizens and relatives of the countless people working at the world trade centre. Hapless relatives of people who would now be known as victims. Mark ran for other people’s lives. With every bit of courage and strength he could muster up he slowly dug deep inside the heavy blocks of rubble swift as a rabbit. He used all sound multiplying systems he had to call for any victim alive. As heavy drops of sweat ran all over his neck and then later to his jacket he could feel the horror of the attack. He could feel it in the beautiful little girl who possibly wanted to see her mommy at office playing with the computer and instead ended up below the office with those very heavenly eyes crushed under the rubble. He could feel the terror in seeing the man who but for his missing head must’ve been a perfect athlete. As he further hurried along, he was chilled to his bones after seeing an old lady having burns of fire all over her meek body. All life and courage was sucked out of him after seeing the old woman clad in a burkha who couldn’t even see the world before she departed, pools of blood encircling her entire body. And yet he bravely continued after passing through what he thought an entire nation of dead people until he found a toddler crying over a man’s body. He couldn’t distinguish whether it was the man’s son or daughter for the face and body of this little angel was dappled by ashes. But the angel was alive, he picked the angel up, this time ran for his life and after what seemed an eternity dropped the baby in safe hands of Michael outside. Michael himself wasn’t an encouraging side as he looked like a dead man himself after rescuing 7 survivors.  Even death would’ve looked lively maybe. After going in and out of rubble and moving in and out of the vicious circle of life and death constantly Mark returned with the maximum no of survivors that day. He was awarded further medals from all sections of the society. Even more baffling political favours were sought in return to his reward for the act of bravery. America launched attacks on Taliban a month later and he could only imagine then whether the bloody mass, dead bodies and weeping angels there would be any different from what they were home. If ever Mark doubted his courage, his purpose of life and his pride towards it, it was now.

 Many dreaded months had passed since and America had by now become the toast of the world. Terrorism was looked upon as a sin committed by cowards. Mark always wondered which terrorism and what type of cowards. They were all cowards afterall. The only positive to come out was that terrorism was condemned universally now as it hadn’t been earlier. To assume they had been playing hide and seek in Palestine/Israel and Kashmir in India. Blame 9/11.

  Mark was in the bathroom when the fire first broke out. Despite his profession, his sharp skills and the wide experience in combating fires he didn’t even have an inkling of it till he witnessed the actual fire. All senses suddenly seemed to desert, all logic seemed to defy and all bravery seemed to perish him. He lay there motionless as the fire exacerbated every passing moment. In that single moment he couldn’t relate to the years of bravery and sweating out in the firefighting dept of New Jersey. He couldn’t make any sense of the countless medals and the congressional medal of honour looked to him as just another round piece of stone. The only thing he could hear were the cries of the people under the rubble, the angel weeping for her father, the little girl who wanted to see her mommy and the headless man. He thought of his beloved father and the deathbed wish that he made to him that he had now failed. Just as he had failed life and now he couldn’t fail death. All his life flashed before him in phases and parts. With the flooding of all memories his brain got jammed. At that very moment even a layman could’ve ran for life or taken the basic steps for safety. It was just a domestic fire afterall. Perhaps neighboring. But he was no layman. He was Mark Gray Congressional medal of honour now dead and a mere heroic memory after moments of endless torture as the whole of his body turned pale whitish gray even before being consumed by flames for the journey to heaven. 

Epilogue:

 I’m sorry to have depressed all of you after the very inspiring story of Sher Khan. But just as Sher Khan’s story needed to be told so was Mark Gray’s. 9/11 changed the history of not only America but the entire world. It instilled terror and fear in the americans that can never be totally wiped away. Yes, even in heroes. Perhaps not many might know but it changed the course of every living being in this world. Personally too, its something the theorists say and is still a matter of conjecture. I truly believe in this theory but will never be able to prove it. Not much explaining today as you need not be a Mark Gray to understand it. I’ve even tried to write it in layman’s language. The credit for which goes to my friend pitu who ridiculed the idea of writing in a grandiloquent and verbose narration when the title of the series itself is called we….the people. Some more thanks will be followed after the completion of this series. Ok to sound pompous ill still explain….hehe…fear was the root cause of 9/11. The reason for the responsive attacks on the taliban and on Iraq were also due to fear and insecurity. Countless battles and wars between empires and nations took place due to this very reason. fear leads to the downfall of the bravest of men. Men who weather all storms and men who win against all odds. Such bravery and loss of courage is found among everyone among us. There lives a Mark Gray inside everyone among us. Mark Gray was undisputedly a hero. Those were the circumstances that made him perish. Mind you, this was no rescue operation so he didn’t fail as such. Heroes never fail. There were many other factors too as in loss of belief, perpetual depression and the  realization of self. Many firemen went into a post traumatic stress disorder widely known as ptsd’s after 9/11. Many relatives went through the same torture. This particular post is a tribute to all of them. Long live the people of America and may god truly bless them them. 

WE………..THE PEOPLE(PART1)

 

            THE DREAM INFANT

What is life without an impossible dream………………
Anonymous

Prologue:
I get started here with the first of a series of my posts prissying myself into a departure from my ostensibly distinct style and heavy philosophical stuff. A lot has been said and done about good Samaritans and the social strings in this society that bind us. Things that make us an important cog in the progressive wheel of this society. Things that make us we….the people…and things that don’t…..Circumstances that make criminals and heroes out of the most ordinary lives, dimensions that make us the victors and the vanquished and qualities that make us proud citizens and shameless culprits. I’ve often discovered that when you look at such things you better look at them from an outsider’s perspective, for the simple reason that when you’re involved in it you tend to lose the perspective and direction completely. So here I am with nothing to do in my own blog than to sit and watch this little boy stealing my show with his wanderings and discoveries from right under my nose, His life and means of life, His pains and pleasures and experiences he’s had with the tiny world surrounding him.

Jehangir Khan could’ve lived more if he wanted to. Only that he didn’t wish to. Life had made him suffer the way death couldn’t. Begum Noor had died half a decade ago and his license to mill was snatched by the very men he detested. Those were the prices you had to pay for resisting and defying the devious ways of this world. Our family name and reputation was besmirched by perpetual darkness. And the light was nowhere near. My old man hung himself to the ceiling and abandoned me at the age of four when I hadn’t even forgiven him for dying yet. If only he could see hope……And since then I have grown up in footpaths and have ended up on a railway station having nowhere to go. I’m Sher Khan, a khan by birth and a sher(meaning tiger) by heart. I’m 18 years old now looking no older than 12 by appearance .My waif like body succumbing to years of poverty and tasteless hunger. They call me a pint sized dwarf. But hey I am no dumb person!

It is morning time right now and I’m trying to brush my teeth. Don’t ask me the colour of it for I cannot identify it myself. But they say we have thirty two teeth having white as their colour. I know that much. I’m no dumb person. I have a penchant for thirst as soon as I brush my teeth. I try to forcibly gulp down water overflowing from the bursted pipes diametrically across the slum behind which I place my head and stretch my tiny body. My hands have a deformity which I wouldn’t like to talk about so I have to literally stick my mouth to the pipe. I cant even keep my feet away from the sewage pipeline that lies beneath me and parallel to the water I am consuming. It’s hard to imagine people living in fine abodes and royal mansions being subjected to the same kind of water. It is here that I change my clothes and head for a cigarette(Ah it feels heaven) stop before I start collecting the dust in peoples minds and also their shoes, thereby polishing them. I love the brand 555 (I have my tastes!!) but I will settle for pines as the cheaper ones don’t have a filter( I knw that much!! i’m no dumb person) and I can’t survive on cigarettes alone. If only I could. After having satisfied my taste and pain buds with a dozen pines I decide to leave early for work. I can’t sleep as it is. If only I could (I’d never wake up.). It is early hours in the morning now and it’s damn cold as I watch the people swarming the station by their bodies. Like tiny ants assembling all over my slum. It’s an unusual morning today because for once the 7:12 churchgate train has arrived before the 7:14 one. Now is the time to service my first customer.

Mr.Deshmukh’s first name could have as well been darkness or andhera if it hadn’t been suhas. For standing besides the man makes you feel like a hapless man locked in a room of darkness with no trace of light anywhere nearby. The man has a taste as rotten as my pines for I find it strange that a man as high in terms of position as him has to wear second hand white shoes on black trousers and orange shirts(pine definitely tastes better!!). I often wonder the reason for this comedy of error and the only answer I find is that…..off course he dresses in that manner so that with white shoes and white teeth I’m able to recognize him in the darkness of night. For it would scare the living daylights out of me if I saw just the orange shirt roaming around. I’m dark myself but you can’t term anything in me as darkness except for my past and the years of nicotine still burning in my heart. Looking at him makes me feel as if I can own his bank 1 day. The rest of the day goes on with usual chaos on the station. A plethora of ticket less travelers and avarice prone ticket collectors who seem to be making a law of their own.An indian baba who with black glasses and stuttering mouth looks blind. A blind casanova who only asks young girls to drop him from place to place! imaginatively thinking things im ashamed to even speak. And then i think why have we become so sex starved? Hell,he cant even wait for the pimp who waits endlessly on platform no.7 every noon. It’s evening time now and I can see the television on the railway station for about half an hour (only news channels but I like it anyway as u see some of the biggest beggars and cartoons there itself!!i can see their foolishness!! I’m no dumb person you know!). I see my friend kailash kher crooning the most wonderful songs I’ve heard and its heartening to see him living quite a dream. I still remember him struggling to no end. The way he used to run from pillar to post to no avail. If only I would be as lucky as him. While heading back to my stool I see the policemen in action for once. The Paandu(that’s what a constable is called) is pissed with this guy for ignonimously making love to his girlfriend amidst public glare. It’s reminiscent of my own street side dalliance with shaanti the rag picker. I’d loved her so passionately as if there was no other woman in this world! I can still feel the tenderness of her body brushing against my own……her long legs…..those refulgent eyes that contained a beautiful world inside them. The intensely passionate kisses which felt like the last drops of monsoon. I remember it as if it were yesterday. The day I lost my virginity, the day I realized my dream, the day I met my living relatives, the day I’d known of my guardian and the day I’d first got drunk. And such moments would often come at most unexpected times. The first time I made love was the same day when I’d first learnt of some of my abbu’s exhorbitant debts. The day I’d lost my virginity was the day when I got caught by the paandu for the pettiest of reasons. It was more than a 50 rupee note and a mouthful of praise that got me out of that quagmire. I’m not a dumb person you knw. The first day you get drunk is often the day of endless grief in ones life so I needn’t bother to tell here that it was a day when I’d lost Shanti. It often makes me feel why this fair guy in black clothes having floppy, unkempt hair and an oft. Recalcitrant but jonty mood is depressed? As to why a guy quite colourful and ebulient at the surface is often so black and white beneath it and its volatility. How often do I see him depressed? How often do I see him complaining? How often do I see him drowned in melancholy? And then I almost begin to pity him and it often makes me wish……….. if only I had a life like him……..

Epilogue:

Sher khan now handles a canteen at bandra station. Im sure he will go ahead and own it one day. And since he has turned into an overnight celebrity now courtesy my blog I can say proudly that he knows me by my name. The people who know me needn’t be told as to who the guy with floppy hair, black clothes and often in a depressed mood these days is!(outsiders arent unwelcome so ill confess that this mysterious person happens to be the author of this blog) Perhaps the guy with floppy hair has had floppy life. He might have seen and suffered a lot. But its still light years away from what Sher Khan has. In that sense and probably every sense he is possibly the luckiest guy in this world Most of the things in our lives are often taken for granted. Yes, the two multi tasking hands(with no deformity in them) the two wonderful eyes, the god gifted ability to think and the desire to dream. Even the position to smoke 555’s instead of pines. lol. Most of us are so confused that we lose the ability to think. Some of us are still trying to find the means of our existence and almost of all of us have lost the ability to dream. Dream things that are probably not possible. But Only probably. You must be thinking that a boot-polisher at some x,y,z railway station in Mumbai( I didn’t bother getting into such persnickety stuff because it is not in anyway concerned with the paandus or railways or politics) can fool paandus ( and you thought you were the smartest1 around!), make mind boggling love at bed(well im sure he never got a bed!lol! at the most he got a haatgadi…..an indian cart trailer it also makes me feel as if ive done nothing my entire life! Lol!) has a good taste of cigarettes and has all the fun and frolic in life( he’s no dumb fool you know!) despite being in dire straits at every turn of life, the uncertainties of life and destiny making him writhe in pain with every trial and tribulation. Just when he seems to have passed the panic bridge. And what exactly is your dream by the way? Being a successful engineer or a decent doctor? To live your life with loved ones and become good human beings? To have kids and retire at fifty? Such dreams are clichéd and the thoughts behind them parochial. We’re stuck up in a shell that when hatches is going to rock the ground beneath our feet and shatter the very root of our beliefs.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

There are two ways to live life.
One as if everythings a miracle,other as if nothing is!!
–albert einstien.

You might want to kill me for my proclivity towards 3 word titles just as i am irritated by the many k-titles even authors seem to have started repugnantly churning out!But its the content afterall that counts which automatically omits me from the GALs(the effeminate title notwithstanding,I call it good author league’s).And although i don’t like to imbrue myself in inane superstitions it maybe just be a matter of luck afterall!And i do feel that somehow everything is a matter of luck and fortune even as we head into the unknown alley of the new year all guns ablaze.The first fortuitous home run you hit was a matter of luck and even the last exam you topped(wether from back or front it doesen’t matter!Lol).Yes,the last time you were left hapless after you lost your purse was a stroke of luck too(dont mind the antithesis here).Provided you have the sense of humour to laugh @ your own self and a sensible head above your shoulders!Its a myth that misfortune exists at all!A fallacy!You can call it luck,miracle or simply magic.Just as beauty lies in the eye of the beholder luck lies in the way the one blessed with it percieves it!Isnt it a miracle or your luck that when you dial a wrong number the nos never busy!Or you bump into your romantic interest at such inscrutable points of life.Aah! pure serendipity.Isnt it a miracle that often 1 audition or 1 call can change your life.A sudden drop or surge of rain(or even temper!!) can change millions of lives.If not then the granduer of the miracle that im into engineering must surely startle you and even turn the best of pessimists to optmists(loads of lolz)!I dont read much into birthdays nor do i celebrate new years eve and festivals for any purpose!its just that i need 202 reasons to party in a 101 ways To celebrate my luck with augmented zeal every single time!.

When you plunge into a deeper insight you’ll end up discovering that just as clock ticks life away tick tack toe and mother earth completes another 365 rotations,losing yourself some savoured moments,YOu realise that the heap of events that changed your life’ve gone with the wind!Only to be felt later on.Needless to say i find that a miracle too or an endless wait for the miracle year after year with an alacrity thats purely magical.But then change is the biggest fact of life, after death!It is for this change that we celebrate our new years.They say the fear we feel is the fear of the unknown.Darkness being the prime example here.I think its the cheer of the unknown that propels you to celebrate new years eve with added zing and embrace new time with open arms!At the end of the tunnel in life all you’ll be able to remember are 40-50 new year bashes and half your birthdays.Trust me life is too short for that many fewer days!it is the blandishment of a beer of the unknown that forces me to retire now(i can do things legally which until now ive been doin illegally now dat ive turned major general on 22nd this month).Ill read ur replies if im in a stable condition tommorow(maami if youre reading this im just kidding!!)! HERES WISHING YOU ALL A HAPPY AND A PROSPEROUS NEW YEAR ,MAY EVERY DAY OF YOUR LIFE BE A MIRACLE RE-VISITED AND MAY THE MAGIC OF GOD BE WITH YOU!

MY BROTHER SWAPNIL!!!

I’ve just been to this birthday bash of my kid brother swapnil’s who turned 10 today!An age suitable enough to drop thoose garish bayblades,dross plastic cartoons & sissy dolls aside(with skateboards and gadgets taking their place) and gear up for big things.Probably football or Cricket.I’ll say football as it has grown more trendy theese days.Sport isnt only a sport afterall.It’s a tool for doing all thoose supposedly kool things in this world.It’s a medium to energise and accentuate theese already in your face trends.But not big enough for kids to stop being kids.Or so i have observed for obvious reasons.I’ve always loved kids and almost every kid i’ve come across is fond of me.This friendship,this love and this fun and frolic in their company has always been mutual.Or maybe im a kid myself.I like to call myself a man kid.Even my friends think im still a kid.I’ve always loved kids as i often think of ‘em as cuter and littler versions of our own selves.Little angels exempted of malicious thoughts that incesantly reverberate in our dingy mind, often consuming us with their abominable filth .You can always see some part of yourself in every kid.Wether its in their obstreperous way of expressing joy,their adamant ways while fighting and arguing,however petty the issues might be or be it in their honesty to lie.

On the flip side,ive observed an aspect of today’s kids besides the fact that their agility and ebulience is unaparallelled.Its that they’re growing up too fast.And by growing up too fast i do not mean their ways of odiously following kool trends or overuse of technology or for that mater their curiosity for the opposite sex,simply being eclectic in theese matters.For that has ever been the case.It’s in the manner in which theese birthdays are celebrated,the way they play,often in pin drop silence.The discipline inherent and an integral part of them.Their innocuous grasp of issues and the startling maturity they show.For often my honey pie swapnil understands things i dont.The most important advice i take is often from him.NO KIDDING!!!He is infact one of my chief sources of inspiration.Wether its the way he organizes his cupboard(mine is pretty squalid still!!) or wether its d way he keeps his room clean(mine is a compelte topsy turvy mess!) or simply the way he scores in his exams comin out all trumps,passing out with flying colours(i often get kts!!) and his determination towards life @ such a tender age.It’s nowehere redolent of my own childhood.I mean i didn’t even know how to tie my shoelaces when i was his age!!.i’d done theese crazy things lik feeding a doggie tablets of hajmolas(a bitter sweet pill) due to which he soon turned mentally ill the following day landing me into a sea of troubles and an ocean of gaalis!keeping my stinkin socks near girl’s benches or hiding lizards in friends bags!i was a total pain in the a##.But kids today are no kids,or maybe theyre paving way for adults to behave sensibly.Maybe they are acting adults so that adults wake up and start acting themselves.Maybe their understanding is a shocking reminder for us to stop fighting.Maybe the love we see in their eyes is a lesson being taught to us to stop hating with prejudices and malevolence in our hearts and start loving unconditionally.Kids today often grow up at homes where parents fight and go to schools were carelessness is a daily practice.When they turn on thoose idiot boxes the first question they often ask is which train got bombed or which city destroyed!.Often when they see an airplane in the sky we have to spill our hearts out explaining to them that it’s not going to crash into their homes.Often when they go to schools they have to be told teacher’s arent on strike today.In an age of eating delectable chocolates,studying carelessly and having all the hapiness and fun in this world we’re forcing such a doomed fate on our own kids!if this is the case its commiserated in its totality as there can be no bigger pity than this for ive always believed human beings are human beings after 60 and angels till they turn fifteen(its not 18 anymore!Lol)but they’re truly something else in between!

acknowledgements

In the past few days ive had the privilege of devouring good reviews much to my delight.Kind enough for a person whoose never been serious all his life and started out with a blog just for the heck of it.To be the centrestage of such flattery only behooves me to get better from here on.However i am truly greatful to some people who’ve been able to unleash the writer in me thereby propelling my energies towards creative works.Ive always been this rapscalion rider whoose wasted whatever talents hes had.Years of snobbling around has jellied my spine.Im begining to take this new activity hyper energetically(writing and fiction can be very consuming mentally).
First and foremost to my dear college friend soham oops ’sh’oham who with his maratha background and his propensity to pronounce ’shit’ instead of ’sit’,’shexy’ instead of ’sexy’ and ‘pyen’ instead of ‘pen’ made my title possible.lol.funny it sounds but the witty title was all credit to him.I jus might penn an article on him later which will surely be called as blasphemy by my critics.My first job though is clearly to entertain.On to more serious things now. Last but not the least to my dear friend ankita for all the encouragement and support, Long lasting inspiration and above all for being the most wonderful friend i could ever find.

BIG SHITTY LIFE!!

Big City Life,
Me try fi get by,
Pressure nah ease up no matter how hard me try.
Big City Life,
Here my heart have no base,
And right now Babylon de pon me case.
–mattafix
i had a 100 topics to jot down in my maiden blog(d reason for which u may as well pardon my brusqueness and abberrations!!) and a 1000 ideas to dream and ponder over in addition to the anxiety that any debut has whilst the only immediate inspiration being that of subject on a crisis(everyone of us dreams to solve1 one day).we live in the age of global warming,we breathe an air that is tainted just like our ministers,and the most staggering of all in an age stilll divided by caste colour and creed!theese matters have been a concern enough for the godfathers in this society to get engaged in them in an ostensibly assiduous and give it all manner.my main concern today though is that of a big city life.
I find myself thrilled and surprised at being on exact thinking terms with mattafix a band id barely known before this finger snapping no.Strange are the ways of men who call it telepathy.Only that my title rocks!And i say that at the risk of sounding condescending!By calling it a big city life i do not mean the skyscrapers that kiss the sky,ready to lunge into space.Neither do i mean the waltzing sleek cars sauntering over intricated and virtually puzzling flyovers.I mean a life in theese big cities.if you could call it one.i leave my intent to your imagination and meanings hovering over ambiguity.
One thing common between the teeming streets of london,bustling suburbs of mumbai,artistic splendour of paris and the astronomical towers of new york is a lonely heart(dont ask me@what kpbs it beats).A heart having no space in the vastness of the city and its sophisticated superior lifestyle.Deserted and robbed of space in a city of dreams and its vastness.Vastness beyond imagination,a world wrapped inside the other,krammed into it.Many of the unfortunate big citylings(sophisticated earthlings!) may have no answer to some simple questions which are no rocket sciences.When was the last time you inhaled the fragrance of flowers inside a park?last time when you’d taken care of your garden(something extinct and obsolete!except if u see graphical cliipings of them on computers!!) or last time u went exploring into the terrace with telescopes(if you know at all how your terrace looks like)?When was the last time you had a no holds barred hangout with friends?i think weve lost out on time for each other if not love.Afterall we do miss the simplicities of life.Simple things that are ubiqituous in small time cities or towns(mind u thru networks like google and yahoo they have the capability of being more advanced than us because they’re connected globally)The most intimate and close friends among us keep in touch online and have just a missed call or a forwarded message between us.Youll always regret on lost time,wether its with ur childhoo friend,your parents or your kids later on!A day might come when things’ll get mechanical.When therell be love but no time for love.A day when we might not loose out on our friendship but we’ll loose the sheen of our camaraderie.The humane side of us obliterated and long forgotten.A day when two best freinds might bump off into each other 20 saal baad in true filmi istyle that too on the net despite staying in the vicinity. However improbable these situations might be you cant ridicule ‘em.

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