Kahani coffee ki

The velvety and smooth texture of the Coffee Walnut ice cream touched my palate. I experienced ‘love at first sight’ for the first time and fell in love with a flavor so rich and powerful, that it stays in the mouth for a while. I was introduced to Coffee when I first ate this lovely ice cream. I am a huge fan on walnut and since the ice cream had some crunchy walnuts in it, I decided to give it a try. Little did I know that it’d introduce me to a slightly unconventional flavor which would have its name on top on my list of favourite flavours.

I had a faint idea about Coffee. The memory of maa beating her own coffee was perhaps my first experience with it. The aroma of piping-hot coffee was as soothing to me as a walk on the seashore is. The most vibrant memory of coffee would perhaps be the daily dip-dip rendezvous. The dipping or dunking of the  Parle-G biscuits in my parents’ coffee was perhaps the best way to experience how delicious coffee can make even the bland Parle-G biscuit. Sometimes, the biscuit used to get so wet that it used to fall inside the coffee.

I never drank coffee until 8^th grade. I was afraid that it’d be too bitter and dark for my taste. I was accustomed to bitterness though, for I loved the strong flavours of mint, tulsi and elaichi. Once, I took a sip from maa’s coffee and found it too bitter. It’s really ironical, since what I drink now is the purest form of coffee without any sugar or milk- Espresso.

Baba (Marathi for father) is a very frequent traveller. I don’t know where he got introduced to Espresso. What I do remember is that he used to try it at almost every restaurant we went. It used to be this really tiny cup, which had a dark and almost jet-black liquid in it. I used to be scared by the sight of it.

Westin is a hotel in Pune, and we used to visit it quite frequently when we had its membership. We used to visit it on at least one weekend per month for breakfast. The scrappy sister and I used to munch on yummy grilled sandwiches and hot chocolate, and baba used to have his Espresso, which was perhaps the best one he found at that time. I guess my introduction to Espresso happened here.

The first time I drank Espresso was at a place named Olive Bistro. Baba had ordered some and by now my curiosity for this dark yet interesting drink had risen to infinity. So I demanded to try it. I bought it close to my mouth, and at first I actually got scared to try it out. I succeeded in the second attempt. When the Espresso touched my lips, my bitter taste buds got to work and the most bitter, weird and unknown flavor touched my palate. I almost felt like spitting the thing out. I tried drinking water, but this eerie taste remained prominent. We paid the bill and walked to the car. The taste in my mouth was gradually changing. It was unknown and new, but it was one I strongly admired. That was how I was introduced to Coffee.

My love for Espresso only increased after that. The weird and unknown flavor had now become the most familiar and lovely flavor. I try Espresso at almost every restaurant I visit now. I can’t have even a pinch of sugar in my coffee, because I find it too sweet.

But somehow, there was one coffee with milk and sugar that I liked immensely. It’s named filter coffee. I’ve had filter coffee only thrice, even though I yearn for more. There’s a food joint in Phoenix Marketcity by the name UpSouth which had heavenly filter coffee. My parents used to always love this joint, even though I didn’t find anything great about it. Recently, when I had gone with baba to watch The Mummy, we were waiting for the movie, so meanwhile he took me downstairs to try out this extraordinary cup of coffee. It lived up to its expectations. It was truly phenomenal! The first cup was a wee bit too sweet for my taste so I had another one, which was stronger and yummier.

People say that coffee takes away sleep. Well, I drink the strongest form of coffee and still sleep for 10 hours straight! Most people are deewanas of chocolate. I was a fan of chocolate and used to love eating chocolate ice cream but now I have merely 4 flavours which I absolutely love (and eat ice creams of)- mint, coconut, coffee (ofcourse!) and our very own paan.

I realize how much I love my Espresso each time I visit Le Flamington in Kalyani Nagar. The first sip ignites a smile. The dark, bitter and always better teeny-weeny cup of coffee makes my mind race a million miles per hour and switched on my ‘happy mode’. So, kudos to coffee!

Oh, I completely forgot, a very happy new year to all!

Gazab ka hai din

6.00 a.m.: I wake up after a sleepless night. I have not been able to sleep last night because today is a day that I have been waiting for since the last 4 years. It’s the Teacher’s Day celebration at school! At our school, on every teacher’s day, the students of grade 10 dress up as teachers and enact their roles. I wanted to be a Social Studies teacher since I joined school, but today I have got an even better opportunity- I am going to be the principal of our school! I was overjoyed when I got the news and am now looking forward to going to school and having a gala time.

6.30 a.m.: I was all excited about Teacher’s Day. But now my excitement has died down. I completely forgot the fact that I am supposed to wear a saree today! I am one of those girls who lives more than half of her life in a pair of shorts and a loose t-shirt. I can’t wear a skirt properly, how will I wear a saree? Apart from that, what if the saree falls? And what if I need to use the loo? How will I? How will I walk? What shoes will I wear? How will I eat? There are all these questions in my mind. But then optimism is the key to a happy life. So, wearing a saree isn’t that difficult also.

6.35 a.m.: Maa has invited one of our neighbors to help me wear a saree. Its just dadi who wears a saree regularly at my house, but she isn’t a pro at it. I have just had a head-bath and I was wearing a blue blouse and blue petticoat. But I was feeling cold, so I put on my grey gharelu jacket. So, I am looking like an orangutan with tangled hair, a bear with grey fur and a whale with a bright blue tail.  I am chomping on my yummy cream cheese sandwich when neighbor aunty enters. I look like an idiot.

6.40 a.m.: We start the most dreaded part of the day- the saree draping. Neighbor aunty drapes it and removes it so that there is no risk of the thing falling. I stand like a still yet talkative khamba and let out a few ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’. 

I am told to change my earrings and put on some make up but I blatantly refuse to do so. I just put on some Vaseline.

6.55 a.m.: We finally finish draping the saree. The Noble Prize in saree draping should be given to Neighbour Aunty and the one for patience to me.

7.00 a.m.: We are sitting in the car. I am clicking some selfies to record this achievement of my life. The scrappy sister’s comments don’t stop. I told baba to drop me today because I can’t go in the bus with this fiddly thing. The kids would start calling me ‘ma’am’.

7.30 a.m.: I enter school. Luckily, I have Divya and Riya by my side who are (like me) trying to adjust to this sadma. We go to our class and find all our dear friends dressed in sarees (girls) and shirt-pants (boys) who look unrecognizable. We basically tell everyone about how ‘different’ they look. Later, we go down for the function.

The Function:

8.00 a.m.: Whoa, this is nerve-wracking. We are all sitting on chairs, and there is pin-drop silence. The term pin-drop silence sounds like some fictional state, but this is the first time we have actually experienced it.

8.05 a.m.: The Function starts. We have a lovely ramp walk with the teacher whose role we are playing today. The fact that I am going to have the first ramp walk of my life, and the fact that it’s going to be with Principal ma’am just makes a shiver go down my spine. But my name is called out. I walk like an inexperienced saree-bearer, struggling with the six-yard fabric, trying to walk without stepping on the long skirt-like saree. After a struggle as grand as the Sepoy Mutiny, I finally reach the podium, and have my first and perhaps last ramp walk with Principal ma’am. I have a broad smile on my face, but my heart has mixed feelings of fear, nervousness, excitement and happiness.

9.00 a.m.: We finish off all ramp walks. The most hysterical one was Bella’s (who is a guy, not a girl as perceived from the name which is a mere pet name). Basically, Bella is this Biology wizard and is mad about Science. He wanted to be a science teacher but ended up being an English teacher. To show his disapproval of the same, he didn’t smile during the ramp walk (smiles rarely in general too, is expressionless). The funny part is that even the teacher didn’t smile. So there they were, sad and depressed mirror images of each other.

9.30 a.m.: The function ends after speeches by Ishika and I.  I am told by my real class teacher (not her student doppelganger) to address the students cum teachers. So I address them and give them some instructions and they just move out to their respective classes after a proper chai and biscuit breakfast.

10.00 a.m.: Aditi (who is acting as the Vice Principal) and I go to different classes to see whether everything is functioning well. We come back with Teacher’s Day cards. I actually have to run (in my saree which almost fell) from some of the classes to escape the children.

11.00 am.: My set of coordinators and I are sitting in Principal ma’am’s cabin. Ma’am teaches me about how the school functions and how the records are kept in the school. She also tells me how all the coordinators work in synchronization to regulate the functioning of the school. We have a small meeting and then we are given lovely donuts to eat. With each bite of the donut, I swallow all the things that I have learnt today and cherish all the memories that I will have from the best day of my life!

11.30 a.m.: Srija and I are sitting in the bus discussing about how wonderful our day was. I tell her about how awesome my day was even though I was scared the whole time about my saree falling. I had experiences that I will cherish throughout my life. I had the best time ever! All the experiences were unique, and the ones that I would never have in my life again.

12.00 a.m.: I reach home and send the saree to heaven (the cupboard). Its going to Rest in Peace. But the memories associated with it will keep floating in my mind forever.

Back to the Past-3

“How dare you speak with such confidence to the Empress of the Mughal empire? Don’t you know what punishment I could give you? You ask me about who I am. First introduce yourself, you shameless girl.” The Vision said, beaming with pride.

“Your Highness, I think you do not know. You are in 2017. The era of Mughals and emperors and empresses has long gone. We live here as an independent nation today. I am Abha, an archeologist. I work for our government’s history department.” I said.

I was surprised at how confident and fearless I was. The difficulty I faced was in looking for Persian words for ‘archeologist’ and ‘government’.

“What are you talking about? I hope you know the punishment of talking this way to Arjumand Banu Begum! Don’t dare to lie. You will die a gruesome death.” The Vision warned.

Arjumand Banu meant Mumtaz Mahal. That was the name! The famous empress for whom Taj Mahal was built! I should have known that she would be Mumtaz  Mahal. How could it even be some other empress? I was astonished though, to find her ghost here.

“I am telling you the truth your Highness.” I said, doing the signature Mughal konish.

“I am a big admirer of yours, begum. I have read loads about you and know almost everything about you. Still, I want to hear from you. Please tell me about your life. Please tell me about Badshah Shah Jahan.” I enquired.

Suddenly, the angry face of the Vision turned into a mild one. At this point of time, I started to feel dizzy and almost hypnotized by some power. But this didn’t stop me from listening to what the Vision said.

“I am the niece of Nur Jahan Begum. Our family used to call her Nissa. I used to admire bua always, and she was my favourite relative, but she changed drastically after her marriage to abbu jaan (Jahangir).Soon, I also got married to Khurram. I had engaged Khurram at a young age and we knew each other quite well. I was delighted to marry a man whom I knew nicely and liked. Love blossomed between Khurram and me and we lived a blissful married life. He used to spend all his time with me. We had a lovely time with each other until bua interfered. After her marriage to abbu jaan, bua became my stepmother i.e. ammi. She was a really strong woman with political desires. She wanted Ladii (her daughter) to become the Padshah begum (chief queen) and hence wanted her to marry Khurram. But this didn’t happen. She forced abbu to make Sharyar (Ladii’s husband) the king. But he wasn’t worthy. Khurram had been promised the throne and did not like the idea of being overshadowed by his younger brother. So he did bagawat…….:”

As the Vision spoke, my dizziness increased and my vision started to blur. But my ability to hear remained unaltered.

“It was only after winning the throne that we were happy. We had lovely children who kept us happy. But some of them turned out to be bad. I died after giving birth to Gauharara, our last child. But Khurram lived on. My love for him could not be broken by death. I continued to try and guard him. But I was unsuccessful…..”

At this point, my eyes were just about to close. I had a terrible headache.

“Everything was fine with Khurram and Jahanara, our elder daughter looked after him nicely. As old age dawned upon him, our sons started fighting for the throne. Khurram wanted Dara (Shikoh) to succeed him, but Aurangzeb was adamant. I should have known, for he was always running behind power. Aurangzeb didn’t find his father’s decision fair, for he thought that Dara would not be able to take proper care of the warfare. Even the masses preferred Dara over Aurangzeb. But Aurangezeb turned out to be a traitor. He treated his father like a criminal and locked him up in chains. It was only Jahanara, our eldest daughter, who stood by Khurram always and took proper care of him. Roshanara also betrayed her father. She was jealous of Jahanara as she didn’t get the charge of the imperial harem. She didn’t like her father’s love towards Jahanara. Her jealousy led her to favor Aurangzeb and help him in his quest or the throne. She was the mastermind behind him.”

“I don’t know what was wrong with my upbringing, but two of my children turned out brutal and merciless. They caused surmountable pain to their father.  The desire to take revenge from them has been on mind ever since I saw Khurram suffer.”

“I didn’t recognize you at first”, the Vision said, “But now I know. You are a reincarnation of Roshanara and Allah has sent you here so that I can avenge my husband’s suffering. I will rest in peace at last”

Saying this, the Vision removed a khanjar from near her waist and stabbed me numerous times. Life was drained out and my body lay lifeless.

My companions were astonished to find my body the next morning.

My ghost resides in the same cave today.

Back to the past-2

I arrived near a cave. Its appearance was as ordinary as any other cave, it was made of grey stones and covered with weeds and creepers, but there was certainly something extraordinary about it. I couldn’t point out, but there was something unique about it.

I entered the cave. It was pitch dark inside the cave. The darkness made the surrounding eerie and scary. There was almost a feeling of fear in my heart. The wind was twirling and making stormy sounds. Each creeper and weed appeared like an arm, which wanted to grab me and push me further inside the cave. Although the atmosphere was ghostly, and my mind told me to move out of this cave, my heart didn’t allow me to do so. I was scared and unsure about what I was doing. Still, somehow I couldn’t stop myself from going inside. I wanted to discover more. Stepping into the cave was almost like entering into a pool of unwanted yet wanted desires.

I started moving inside. I could hear something that appeared like a mild whisper of a feminine voice. It was in Persian though. As a lover of Mughal history, I ought to understand Persian. The whisper was mild, and I couldn’t really decipher the saying, but I knew for certain that it was in Persian. My heart skipped a beat after hearing the whisper. I couldn’t understand what was going on. I had no control of my senses.

I don’t know how I gathered up the courage to move further inside the cave, which was shrouded in darkness. The whisper became louder with each step. I was really scared. My mind was fired up with the feeling of fear. Still, somehow, I kept walking further into the cave.

Soon, I could decipher what the whisper said. It welcomed me into this world of Mughals. The Voice had something extraordinary about it, it seemed to be full of pride and sounded almost like that of an empress.

My emotions of fear were overpowered by the strong commands of my senses. My body was controlled by a mind that wasn’t my own. The Voice was getting louder and louder and heart was beating faster and faster. The adrenaline was rushing.

But what I saw was nothing compared to what I heard. As I reached the end of the cave, I saw a translucent vision of a woman who unmistakably was a Mughal empress.

She was clad in a pair of wide-legged pants and a loose tunic with a V-shaped neck. All over her hands and feet were intricate designs made with the fragrant mehendi. Her hair was elaborately dressed in plaits at the nape, and was decorated with attractive flowers. Her well-sculpted face was decorated extensively. Her eyebrows appeared symmetrical, and her eyes had a decent amount of kajal. Her lips looked like they had been dyed using a betel leaf. She adorned every single ornament one could think of. Armlets, anklets, necklaces, bracelets, ear rings, the signature ring in the right thumb and her maang tika, all added to her otherwise made-up appearance. She had something that appeared like a tiara or crown.

My heart sank. But my body didn’t let me collapse. My senses ditched me yet again. I couldn’t believe that I opened my mouth and actually spoke to the vision!

“Who are you?” I asked confidently in Persian.

Back to the past-1

Here’s my latest story, hope you all enjoy it. It will be having 3 parts.

History is a journey, a journey to the past. It is journey that is embarked upon to discover new lands, new people, new ideologies and new stories. It is a journey into the golden times of the world, as well as a journey into the black times. Sometimes, the journey is fruitful but at other times, it is something we would never even think about.  I am Abha, a historian. My encounter with history cost me much more than what I thought it would.

I am a tall and fair youth from Pune. My bob-cut silky hair trickles down my neck and shines bright brown. I have a dusky complexion with freckles all over my face. My natural and makeup-less face might be a bit too plain for others, but for me, it is a representation of myself and the ideals I follow. I am simple and unique, unlike most of the others. My experience with struggle has taught me lots about how life is lived. My search for happiness has been one with a goal, but without a road. I have had to build this road with my blood and sweat.

I come from an orthodox Hindu family, where women are perceived as good only for household work. I was born and brought up in Ahmednagar, a village near Pune.  Though I come from an orthodox family, I was sent to a school, much to the disapproval of my devout grandmother.

I started studying and really enjoyed Hindi, Marathi, and Social Science. Without these subjects, I would be like a lifeless corpse. Social Science especially was oxygen to my lungs, mirchi to my Kolhapuri bhaaji, the extra 3 yards to my usual 6 yards saree and as good as any sweet that I used to be treated with during festivals. Unfortunately, I was taught household work from an early age, and Social Science was a pleasure that I would get very rarely. I was removed from school after 10^th grade. My marriage was fixed with a boy from my caste.

But I ran away. I felt choked with all the customs and traditions and I just couldn’t live my life freely. I had saved some money, and on the day before my marriage, I ran away. I took a bus to Pune.

It wasn’t easy to settle down in Pune. It was not just physical trauma, but I also faced mental trauma. My thoughts kept going back to how my family would be treated by the society. But I stood strong and continued to struggle to chase my dreams. I got a job as domestic help in the house of a Punjabi family. I lived as their caretaker and took care of their 1 year old child. My mistress was a really nice lady, and she sponsored my education. I gave my 12^th Board exams soon. I passed with flying colors.

I took up Humanities with the subjects History, Economics, Political Science and Psychology. I worked and went to college simultaneously. My days were tiring but it was worth it. I graduated from a Government college with an excellent percentage. I did my post-graduation from Fergusson College. I got a job in the Archeological Survey of India. I left my home and shifted to Delhi.

I shifted my base to the Government quarters in Delhi. I had grown quite attached to Pune and hence found it tough to shift to Delhi. Unlike Pune, Delhi was a very polluted and populated city. The language and food were also different. I found it difficult, but ultimately I settled well in Delhi.

I was hired as an archeologist. My happiness knew no bounds. I had got my dream job and excited to be a part of this new experience and hoped that it would be worth my hard work.

 My first job was to visit Agra and research on the mystery of the Black Taj Mahal. I had read up quite a bit on the Mughal era, and it continued to fascinate me. The aura of the Mughal era is unmatchable.

It is said that after Shah Jahan had built the Taj Mahal, he had decided to build a Black Taj for himself. According to theories, he had laid the foundation for this monument but wasn’t able to complete it as he was captured by his son and successor, Aurangzeb. My research has led me to believe that Black Taj couldn’t have existed as according to the Islamic code, a body has to be buried facing towards Mecca (in the west direction). This wouldn’t have been possible if Shah Jahan’s body was buried in this Black Taj. Recently, some black segments had been found near the Taj, and I had been asked to investigate. So, I went to Agra.

It was on my trip to Agra that I first encountered history. My arrival in Agra was sudden. I was informed in the morning that I had to leave for Agra in the afternoon.

Agra is a beautiful city. Agra is known for two things- the ethereal Taj Mahal and the sumptuous petha. Both these white wonders make Agra a place worth visiting. This was the first time I was visiting the Taj. I didn’t really have much time, and could only catch a glimpse of it. The Taj is a really incredible monument! Its beauty is truly marvelous. I didn’t see much of it, but even a choti nazar of the Taj got my adrenaline rushing and my heart beating fast.

I was sent in a group and since it was my first assignment, I was mostly kept in the dark about what was happening. So, I decided to venture out on my own. We were at our site of research and instead of scattering and examining different places; we were all concentrated to only one part of the site.

I started moving in the left direction. I don’t know what had happened to me, but I just felt attracted towards the left. Some unknown force was attracting me. I had no control over my senses.

As I was walking towards my unknown force, I noticed that it had started to get dark. I glanced at my watch and realized that it was late evening. I had been moving in this direction for the past 1 hour, and it was pretty late. I tried to move back, but the force didn’t let me.

I arrived near a cave. Its appearance was as ordinary as any other cave, it was made of grey stones and covered with weeds and creepers, but there was certainly something extraordinary about it. I couldn’t point out, but there was something unique about it. 

The Tower of New

Firstly, I would like to apologize for such a late post. I have been working on 2 stories which I would be posting soon. I also had my exams for the last two weeks which didn’t really allow me to post. I wrote this poem today and thought of posting it. Here you go:

The Tower of Gloom stood tall,

Unlit and somber,

Covered with weeds of melancholy,

And a smoke of gloomy unimaginativeness .

The Tower was lonely,

Just like the girl who inhabited it.

She sat idle all day,

Looking out of the window,

At a scenery so cheerless,

That it wore out her smile.

She wore black,

Saw black,

And felt black.

The cloak of dullness hid the soul of cheerfulness.

She was stuck in the Tower,

For she thought that there was no way out.

But she was wrong.

An ordinary day arrived with an extraordinary twist,

And brightened up her life.

A cylindrical blue object came floating into the cracked window of the crooked Tower,

It had a smoothly cornered and flat-bottomed nib,

With a sharp tip.

It shone Golden.

It seemed familiar.

But she quivered.

What would this unknown yet attractive object bring to her?

How would it drift her out of this cheerless existence?

But negativity lost the battle.

Her hand slowly drifted towards the strange object,

And she felt a strange sensation.

Her feet rose above the ground,

And she levitated.

The strange object carried her.

She was amused,

But she trusted this unknown entity.

She didn’t let go.

The strange object carried her out of the tower,

Through her window.

Then she noticed something she hadn’t noticed before.

Another Tower that stood right across the Tower of Gloom.

The object carried her towards it,

And all she could do was stare at it with a feeling of awe.

She felt a sensation that she had hardly felt before,

Joy, it was called.

They reached the new Tower,

The Tower that bloomed,

With flowers of liveliness and rays of sunshine.

To the Tower which had no place for desolation

This poem basically reflects my love for writing. I am the girl from the poem. The tower is my boring routine life, the strange object is a pen and the new Tower is a reflection of my life after I got introduced to writing. I would like to dedicate this poem to my English teacher, Amit Sir who has always encouraged me to write and express my thoughts using ideas which are out-of-box.

The tall and elegant lady

I had the opportunity to deliver a speech on the auspicious occasion of Teacher’s Day at school. I had a wonderful day. I’ll be sharing my Teacher’s day experience this weekend. For now, here’s the speech:

In the month of April in the year 2013, a timid girl entered the school campus. She was reluctant to come to school at first, for this school had snatched away all her friends from her previous school, where she had been studying for 7 blissful years. Yet, she had to sacrifice it all. She looked around and felt as if she didn’t belong here. She felt like an alien, who had entered this new planet and had no knowledge of how it worked. But she wasn’t left alone. A tall woman, who wore an elegant purple cotton sari approached her, and asked her not to worry, for she was there for her. Slowly, the girl made friends. She had difficulties and problems, but the tall and elegant woman came to her rescue every time. She has now developed into a confident and outspoken 10^th grader and is standing before you today, and she gives the credit for her success to the tall, elegant woman. This tall, elegant woman is a very familiar character. She is a teacher.

Each time I see a teacher, I am reminded of Aamir Khan from Dangal. Even though we aren’t their biological children, they treat us as more than that.  They fight with the world for us, they care about us much more than we care about ourselves, they scold us because they care for us, not because they want to torture us. They love us and they openly express it. Teachers mould all the Geetas and Babitas and make them good human beings.  

Just think of your life without a teacher. This is my last year in school, and I just can’t express how much I would miss my teachers. Your old friends can be replaced by new ones, but your teachers can never be replaced.  The bond that I have formed with every single teacher who has taught me is extremely special and can’t be described through words. I am sure every single one of you sitting there has a special equation with your teachers.

Meera ma’am (my school principal)  is my idol. She has been my idol since I joined the school. On this auspicious day, I have the golden opportunity to represent ma’am (we got the opportunity to be teachers for a day). But let me tell you that me or any student sitting here, cannot match ever one small inch of what our teachers do. What they do isn’t just extremely difficult, but also emotionally straining at times. 

We need to give the respect that the teachers deserve. We need to start recognizing their contribution in making our life successful. We need to realize that Teacher’s day isn’t the only day on which we need to respect our teachers. Lets make it a point it respect our teachers in each and every second of our lives and try to do at least something for them in return for what they are doing for us. Wishing a very happy Teachers’ Day to all my lovely teachers.

The rusted box

It was dark,

It was eerie.

It was a graveyard.

The sky and the earth were as dark as the jet black soot.

There was not a soul to be seen,

The dark, leafless tress appeared like extensions of the lifeless and forgotten that lay beneath.

The owls hooted and the wolves howled.

The light of the moon was overshadowed by the darkness of the spectral location.

I stood near a grave.

It had my name.

There was a stone on the grave,

It said “the forgotten childhood of mine”

The date inscribed was that of my 15^th birthday.

I grew anxious,

And decided to dig the grave.

I failed to understand what the stone meant.

I kept digging, and found an old, worn out iron box.

The box had gathered dust,

And had all rust.

It appeared as if it had had a bright colour at some point in time,

But that the chains of time had imprisoned its liveliness.

But great difficulty, I opened the box.

What drifted out was unexpected.

A bright, golden, translucent wave of thoughts rushed out,

All my memories of childhood enshrined in it.

It started to spread light in this otherwise lifeless atmosphere.

The darkness was outshined by this speck of light.

Soon, liveliness spread.

The black light turned golden.

And the sad times turned cheerful.

This poem represents how we forget the pleasures of our childhood as we grow up and how our lives have becoming boring and dark without these lively and forgotten memories our ours.

Real Independence

5.45 a.m.: I have been having really weird dreams for the past few days. I’ve been dancing with my favourite actor Akshay Kumar in my classroom! Though I don’t like dancing, I wouldn't mind any kind of dance or song or sport or activity with AKSHAY KUMAR!  For him, I could even quit eating my beloved khakhras and theplas! I am having the same dream at this moment, but my dream is interrupted by maa’s voice which says that it’s time for school. I use the good old ‘two-minutes more’ trick and stay in bed for the next 15 minutes.

6.00 a.m.: I reluctantly open my eyes and finally wake up. The scrappy sister has my soft and  mulayam rajai on her body. I grin at her and proceed to brush. My mind is so filled with Akshay Kumar thoughts that I even see him in the mirror while brushing. All of a sudden, he vanishes. It is at this moment that I recall that we have a physics test today. I do my usual uff and just get out of the bathroom which is putting these study thoughts in my mind.

6.30 a.m.: After having a long, care-free bath, I am sitting at the dining table, with a bowl of Cornflakes in my hand. I am eating and simultaneously putting on all the ‘accessories’ that I put on with my school uniform. I leave for school.

7.00 a.m.: I am sitting in the bus, doing stupid things with my dearest Srija. We are forcing an innocent guy from our bus, whom we call ‘Bella’ to do a Hawaiin dance, which he does in a really hilarious way. We blurt out laughing like lunatics and the whole bus just stares at us as if we are Shahrukh Khan and Amitabh Bachchan. It just seems surprising that we have all forgotten about the physics test.

7.30 a.m.: I reach school and do my daily duty which is a part of my responsibilities as School Captain. I really enjoy this duty, though it is nothing more than asking kids to move in a line. I have a regular set of people who say ‘Good Morning Didi’ to me every day. Some call me ‘ma’am’. I just don’t understand how you can call a person ‘ma’am’ when she is standing sakshat in front of you in the same uniform as you!

8.00 a.m.: I reach the class and meet and dear bunch of mad friends. Tina smiles at me as usual. Shruti gives me an awkward smirk. Tanaya and Dibya are talking (I give them the usual glare as I know that they are trying to crack some stupid joke).Ketaki looks at me in her usual gangster expression. I also look at Meena, a person who was the most important to me at a time, but has just changed so much that she just doesn’t converse with me. The ‘hum juda’ music plays in my mind.

8.15 a.m.: Our dearest Bhagyashree ma’am enters the class. We all stand up to wish her. Today is a Wednesday, and we have something called a ‘Quality Circle Time’ in which we discuss our ideas and views about different topics. Since Independence Day is arriving soon, ma’am asks us to discuss the importance of Independence Day. I immediately hear people say things like ‘urgh, why Independence Day?’. I also see all the frustrated faces. The discussion starts and everyone expresses their views. People mainly talk about how Independence Day invokes the feeling of nationalism. I talk about how I move into flashback and think about what this day would have been 70 years back. Suddenly, a boy stands up and says that the reality is that Independence Day is just another holiday for us.

Though it’s really sad to hear, it is the reality. We find the tricolor flags in our hands on 15^th August, but on the roads on the next day. We don’t even take part in the proceedings and often plan trips. We don’t even wear a kurta on this occasion! We don’t think about the sacrifices made by our ancestors, but we keep cribbing about how the nation isn’t developing. We say that since we are going to shift to America, we don’t really need to celebrate this day. Independence Day programs are hosted in English!

What kind of independence is this? If we wear English clothes, use English language during cultural proceedings, and if we dream of shifting out of country in the future, how are we independent from the English? If we throw our flags to the ground, do we even deserve to be a part of this prestigious nation? If we can’t be proud to wear our national or traditional dresses on such a day, then what kind of Indians are we? Are we really independent?

Change starts with us. The British left us long back. But their views have now left us yet. We just don’t give enough respect to our country. I personally admit it. I think my country deserves more than what I, or we give it. We can start by changing on this Independence Day. We can start this Tuesday.

The coalmine murder-4

“What do you reckon Byomkesh? Any idea about who the culprit is?” I asked.

“I think I’ll be able to solve the mystery by tomorrow morning.” Byomkesh replied.

The telephone rang. Byomkesh picked it up.

He just nodded his head and said “hmmmm”. “It was Anukul babu. He wants to meet to today evening to discuss something important related to the murder.” Byomkesh said.

In the evening, even though I insisted on going, Byomkesh went without me in the evening at 6 p.m. He returned by 8.

“So, what did Anukul babu tell you?” I asked inquisitively.

Byomkesh ignored my question and rushed towards the telephone. He called Biren babu.

“I know who the culprit is. Can you please arrange a meeting at the Banerjee bhavan tomorrow morning?” Byomkesh was almost out of breath when he finished talking.

He looked surprised yet tensed about something. I was worried about him.

“Byomkesh, could you tell me what the matter is?”

“You will come to know everything tomorrow morning Ajit.” Byomkesh replied.

Satyabati told us that dinner had been served. My mind drifted away from the intriguing coalmine murder as my it felt excited by the taste of the delicious fish curry

What happened the next day was really surprising. Byomkesh revealed the culprit and all we could do was stare at each other’s blank faces.

In the morning, Byomkesh and I proceeded towards the Banerjee bhavan. Lakshmi, Suryakumar babu, Anukul babu, Deepanath Babu, Dr Manilal and Inspector Biren were seated in the living room.

Byomkesh began his revelation.

“Smita was a talented young lady. She faced criticism of the society but still remained unperturbed and chased her dreams. Her husband wasn’t very supportive of her dreams, but realized how wrong he had been after he went to jail. He thought that his wife was a great woman and he regretted his previous actions. He decided to purify his soul and perform his duties towards God so that all his sins would be washed away and he could apologise to his wife. He was a true Vaishnav. Bijoy wasn’t faking his change, he had really changed during his time in jail. He didn’t murder Smita, but he lost his life when he heard she had died.”

“The murderer of Smita is in this very room. Firstly, let me tell you how Smita was killed.”

“Smita was sent a letter in the name of Bijoy. The letter asked for money (Rs 500) and asked her to come to the coalmine on Sunday evening. Smita thought Bijoy really needed money and wanted to help her husband. So she decided to go to the mine. The murder was planned with perfection. The objective of the murderer was to kill Smita and take all her property. As Smita entered the room, she could smell something eccentric. Suddenly, the door was bolted. Smita couldn’t breathe. She noticed that even the windows were closed. She tried to walk towards them but they were jammed. She then tried to walk towards the door to open the door, but failed. She ran out of breath on her way to the door. Coal had been burning in the room. I found a piece outside the room on the first day itself but didn’t reveal it, fearing that the killer might run away.”

“Now the question comes, how did the murderer get the key of the coalmine? He/she must have either stolen it or might be an owner of it. It had to be a person who lived in this house. I met Lakshmi during the day of interrogation and my suspicions began to rise. She wanted to work but she couldn’t, as her husband didn’t allow her to. She maintained a good relationship with Smita on the outside, but was jealous of her on the inside. She planned a perfect murder of Smita. She thought that after Smita’s death, she could take over the business, as it had no successor.”

“Lakshmi’s plan was perfect, and I wouldn’t come to know the truth if Anukul babu had not told me. Anukul babu had seen Lakshmi go away from the mine, as he had come to pick her up to take her to the cinema. Lakshmi saw him too, and told him that if he told anyone the truth, then she would kill him. Anukul babu didn’t understand this at first, but it all made sense once he saw Smita’s dead body.”

“He immediately travelled to Varanasi, where Bijoy was. Anukul babu had lied that his relationship with Bijoy was strained. The truth was that the two really had a very good relationship. As he told Bijoy what had happened, Bijoy had a heart attack and died. Bijoy’s body had been weak from his tenure in jail, and his life as an ascetic didn’t help. This shock was too much for him to take and hence, he died.”

“If Anukul babu hadn’t told me the reality yesterday evening, I would have been in the dark. I must say that this was a difficult stone to crack. I did suspect Lakshmi yesterday, but Anukul babu is a brilliant actor and perhaps that’s why I didn’t suspect him at all.”

Lakshmi’s evil side had been revealed now. Not only her, all of us were in shock. I could never imagine that a woman could have planned a murder in such a flawless way!

We went home and I recounted the tale to Satyabati. At this point, Byomkesh exclaimed, “Who says women are less than men? I shall say that when it comes to planning murders, they are far superior. Satya, you don’t even need to plan a murder like this. You already murder me every day.”

Satyabati and Byomkesh started fighting while I enjoyed the drama.

The coalmine murder-3

The next morning, Byomkesh, Satyabati and I were sitting in the living room of our Amherst Street residence, sipping hot tea and munching crisp biscuits. We were reading the newspaper. The thing that excites Byomkesh the most about newspapers is the Classified section, which consists of advertorials. We all were deeply engrossed in our respective newspapers. Suddenly, Byomkesh blurted out a surprising news. “Bijoy Banerjee died last night. He was in Varanasi.” Satyabati and I looked at Byomkesh with a surprised expression.

There was a knock on the door. “That must be Biren babu.”, said Byomkesh. One of Byomkesh’s eccentric hobbies was recognizing the person at the door by the nature of his knock.

It was indeed Biren Babu. His perfectly sculpted face wore a forlorn expression on it today.

“Byomkesh babu, I have some bad news.”, said Biren babu sadly.

“I know that Bijoy Banerjee died last night. It was really sad that I couldn’t meet him. The news of his death was in the Classified section in the newspaper this morning. I don’t know how he died. Could you tell me, Biren babu?” Byomkesh said plainly.

Biren babu stared at Byomkesh with a surprised look for a while, and then replied,” He died in his sleep last night. I think he suffered from a heart attack. It was surely a natural death. Also Byomkesh babu, Smita’s postmortem report arrived this morning. She inhaled Carbon Monoxide. Smita died between 6 to 7 on Sunday evening. The prick on her neck was an earlier mark. She had been to Doctor Manilal lately, for her high blood pressure. Perhaps the prick might be a mark of that visit.”

Byomkesh replied,”Biren babu, please get Dr. Manilal along with you tomorrow at the Banerjee Bhavan for the investigation.”

Biren Babu promised Byomkesh to assemble everyone tomorrow and left.

The next day revealed many secrets.

We left from home at 9 a.m. and advanced towards the Banerjee Bhavan on Curzon Street. The house was pretty huge, it had been recently constructed. It didn’t look older than 10 years. The house was three-storied and was constructed in the modern style. The railings were made of metal.

We entered the living room and saw Biren babu. Biren babu had got all the members ready for the interrogation. Anukul Banerjee, Suryakumar, Lakshmi, Deepanath Babu, Doctor Manilal and their servant Anil were all present.

We decided to conduct the interrogation in the living room. The living room was pretty big, and had 2 large sofas, an antique coffee table, a wooden dining table and a lot of showpieces. We decided to start our interrogation with Suryakumar.

Suryakumar was tall and dark and had a round face. His  hair were curly and he wore a dhoti-kurta. His actions were that of a drunkard and he behaved badly. His tone of speaking certainly gave you a hint that he drank a lot. One could really smell the alcohol in his breath.

Byomkesh started asking questions.

“Were you happy that your sister was a working lady?”

Suryakumar gave an irritated expression and replied,”Women are supposed to stay at home and cook.  I just don’t understand why she had to go and work. I am embarrassed to have such a sister.”

“I don't think there's anything wrong if a woman stands up for her rights. Anyways, tell me what you were doing that day.” Byomkesh said.

“I was at the Polo Club, gambling with my friends and drinking.”

“Fine. Do you suspect anyone?” Byomkesh asked.

“It would have been that scoundrel Bijoy. He never really liked my sister.”

“Thank you. You may leave now.”

We called Lakshmi next. She was beautiful, with big eyes and a dusky complexion. She was clad in a simple white cotton saree, but still looked extremely beautiful.

“I won’t bother you with many questions. How was your equation with your sister-in-law?” Byomkesh asked.

“Smita and I were like sisters. We both did not receive love from our husbands. We both were much more qualified than our husbands, but only Smita got a chance to exhibit her talent. Perhaps our common interests made us so close.”

“You must be deeply saddened by her death then. Why didn’t Smita try and convince your husband to allow you to work?”

“Smita tried but she failed.”

“Now all of Smita’s assets are in Suryakumar’s hands since even Bijoy died last night. So will you take care of the business now?”

“I will definitely try. But if my husband doesn’t allow, there isn’t much I can do about it.”

“Thank you Lakshmi. Please send Anukul in.”

A tall, fair and well-groomed gentleman entered. He had the deportment of a hero. His featured were sharp and his modern attire made him look handsome. He certainly looked like a professional actor.

“So Anukul, how are you doing professionally?”

“I am doing great Byomkesh babu. My recent film, Shakuntala, was a silver jubilee.”

“The ticket of Shakuntala was found in Smita’s hand during her death. Did you know Smita personally?”

“I had a very good equation with Smita. He used to watch all my films and used to complement me on my acting. After Suryakumar had drifted apart from her, I was like her brother. I was going to watch Shakunatala with her on Sunday evening.”

“How was your equation with Bijoy after he was released from jail?”

“I was really busy with my shooting and didn’t know that Dada (brother) had been released from jail earlier than he was supposed to. I never had a good equation with Dada. I really did not understand him.”

“Do you suspect anyone?”

“I suspect Bijoy da.”

“Thank you taking time from your busy schedule Anukul.”

Our conversations with Dr Manilal, Deepanath Babu and Anil did not reveal anything new.  We  returned home late in the evening.

Byomkesh and I started discussing the day’s findings.

(To be continued)