Sunday, September 29, 2013

Imagining Reality - The will meets the way !!!

His fame soon rose amongst fellow travellers as "gifted". 

Little did they know, its the will which maketh a man and the boy did have it in abundance....
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Omi was performing one of his classic mimicry around the bonfire while Prof. Rakesh Vaidya was observing him from a distance, partially immersed in his thoughts of proving the old fort located at the top of the hill to a reminescence of national importance and partially intrigued by the boys antiques. 

Professor had been a frequent visitor to the "Durg" as the locale would call it and had often halted at Omi's abode. A very mild spoken but an inquisitive mind, he had found striking similarity in Omi's dissonance of the world and his will and grasp of collecting knowledge. After all, that's what the professor had devoted his life to - collecting the lost knowledge of the unknown and in Omi's small library of sorts, he could find the same urge, miniaturised but still the same. 

Professor could also sense that this small place would not contain Omi. He was far beyond this place. Soon his curiosity would grow out of what the occasional travellers could fulfill. 

Soon the evening turned into a beautiful night, where one can just lie down on the slightly titled ground and marvel at hide and seek between the leaves of the pine trees and the stars in the sky. The infinite fabric of the universe sprinkled with the diamonds would leave most of the travellers from the cozy homes and multi-storeyed building in amazement and often feeling blessed to have stayed at Omi's place. He had cleaned the area around his house to accomodate travellers.

Omi took pains to go beyond the customary relationship one should have with his customers. The midnight coffee was something which Professor Rakesh always loved while he was reading his superfat book with buildings and designs in it. However, tonight was different.He was engrossed in some other thought.   

Omi, without disturbing the chain of thought kept the coffee on the stone alongside professor, which with repeated usage had become flat enough to hold the mug. "Omi!" , the professor called out - The voice was always very familiar to Omi. After all only few people called him by his name his amma (grandmom) had given him. Om was something which amma continuously had on her lips out of her devotion to Lord Shiva, the supreme hindu deity. Hence Omi was a natural choice for her. But the travellers had named him chotu , pappu , and some of them also krisshh. However, Professor Vaidya always had called him "Omi" from the first time he had asked " What's your name, son ?" 

"Haan, Professor Saab"  - Omi retorted in a polite way. "I went through your library. You have a very good collection of sorts. It seems you have a keen interest in knowledge"  - Professor asked Omi.Omi had learnt to understand english a little bit in the last couple of years, thanks to his grasping ability and the chain of foreigners who had become interested in the "Durg" of late.

Omi - " accha lagta hai aap sab se seekhna"

Professor - "Aur seekhna chahte ho ? Mere saath Shaher chaloge ?........

Of course not. Omi sure did want to learn but this was his home, with so many memories, so many people to meet everyday, the trees , the forest, the streams , as if everything conspiring for him to make it the best place in the world for him. He had known that people felt bliss in his abode and would he leave his heaven for an another world, which he had sketched from multiple voices to be a trecherous cruel world inflicted with trechery, restlessness and lack of peace. Didn't the travellers come here searching for the "Peace" and wasn't that the most import ant thing in life?. Omi's answer was a straight NO ; it had to be, isn't it ? -  until professor continued:

....... I live in Delhi, have a son your age Rahul and my mother. She would be very happy ........"

"Delhi" - wasn't that was the place where Simi had gone. Omi's ears had turned blank to all other words that professor had said. 

"Yes! I will go" - said Omi. 

It is strange that how emotions sometimes becomes good of natural common thinking. It's strange what emotions do to people, sometimes to fight with the whole world and sometimes to destroy their own world which they have very meticulously created in the hope of something which they don't even know they will ever get. To put at stake all you have and start afresh for something you have an idea of believing in  - Isn't that madness, perhaps not , may be it is love , but where's the difference. 

The rising sun would bring a new tomorrow to Omi, one in which he won't have anything but a hope - a hope of which he had kept the flicker alive since 289 days - yes, he was still counting!




Saturday, September 14, 2013

Imagining Reality (Contd.. Part II)

He looked in disbelief on the road up hill, which everytime he climbed up heartily with the hope that he could come back and see her again.

It seemed so trecherous now ......



Suddenly the abode which he thought as a part of himself all this while didn't seem his own. Every step that he took from now on was just to follow his dog  and companion , who had been so much like him, all alone, knowing little that this would be his last journey with the dog as well. 

Moti - his dog died this summer.


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Life moves on, doesn't it ! Omi still lived in the same house , the last time he had seem simi was well past a season or may be more. 

The autumns had come and given him company before the life came back to those trees. He lost that company too when the leaves were born again, the trees seemed to enjoy the winds which had writhed Omi and them together few months back. However, the winds still had the same effect on Omi, a chilly cold feeling which would shiver him to his knucles. 

For the trekkers and passerby, Omi was more than a source of food and odd jobs. Some of the regular trekkers had become fond of this kid, more so because of his distinct character. The world from which they had come from, this kid either seemed to be ignorant of the its ways or was actually someone very different instrisically. Omi never charged anything for his help, food and occasional shelter. Whatever people gave, he used to accept it with grace just like his grandmother. 

He would also be a source of amusement for the passerby's for their bonfire entertainment. He had a natural flair for learning and he did learn from the trekkers. While it didn't interest him earlier, now he was fond of knowing how the world,which he didn't know of, was. People from various parts of the country and the tourist guides told him stories of the world he had not seen and he would connect the dots from various sources to build his own picture of the world outside. 

He wanted to know more, to see more. Often when he would imitate the accent of a marathi, gujarati or Bihari and so on, he would get applauded for it by the night halters but little did they know that they were breathing life into a a fire - the hope that Omi had kept alive since the last 176 days , yes he was counting and had learnt counting to keep track of when was the last time he had met her.

It is often said, to learn all you need is company. Omi had a lot of them from various walks of life and they were happy to help him. Now when they offered money, he would return a part of it and ask for half an hour time from them to learn a new thing and most of them were too happy to help. 

Some of them in their next trip brought him books, some world maps and so on and so forth. The forest house had been worked on by Omi extending it to a library, where he kept all those valuable counting , alphabets and picture books. Many of them just took their half an hour sessions with him as a fun, but gradually understood the brilliance of the boy in their next trip or on their way down. Omi learnt it all and very quickly. 

His fame soon rose amongst fellow travellers as "gifted". 

Little did they know, its the will which maketh a man and the boy did have it in abundance....








Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Imagining Reality!

Let me tell you a story today, a story of a boy, who lived in the woods. He was alone in this world, his grandmother had died when he was very small. That was the only human touch he remembered in a long while. All around him were mountains and trees. The forest had trekkers, occasionally, who seemed to enjoy his forest home. He had the company of his dog who was also his best friend. He lived off on the river stream ample with fishes and the seasonal berries were his favorites.

Sometimes, he would go down town in case he needed something which he called his house. It was nothing more than a ill assembled set of branches given a shape like a house. The roof was made of shafts covered with tree branches and the leaves so much so that the house looked like an integral part of the forest. He remembered his trips to the down town with his grandmother to the store every month.  His grandmother used to live off on the alms and freebees given by the travellers and the boy had learnt the same. He had also built a small tea stall infront of his house which used to engage a lot of passerby during the chilly season.

The visits to down town were a remarkable feat for the boy, for he didn't seem to gel with the down town people. With the small sum of money or goods that earned from the passerby and travellers by tea and selling fish, he used to get chores for his survival. However, every trip to the down town was carefully planned, He would wear a shirt that day, and also tie around his head a towel as if it is a turban. His legs would be covered with one or the other piece of cloth often donated by the tourists and passerby. He would look at himself in the broken piece of mirror and comb his hair locks with his slender long fingers.

There was another reason for all this ritual, a reason which would make him stammer at the shop, his eyes looking dreeamy and his throat getting choked - she is beautiful, that's all he could think of whenever she was infront of her , angrily asking - " will you say something , what you want or should i call dada ?" Her voice armed with the anger would just seem like a lullaby to him, before dada would come and break his heavenly dream. He never understood why he was unable to speak in front of her. He wanted to say so many things to her, tell her how he can just grab a fish out of the flowing water, climb trees with ease and pick up the sweetest berry , how he can throw stones in the stream which would jump more than 8 times before dissapearing into the river bed....but he couldn't speak even " 1 kg sugar" infront of her.

Every month, the ritual would be repeated and he just left the downtown cursing himself, why he can't get the courage to talk to the girl. Often in his dreams he would see the same girl, bright and big eyes, neatly done two locks of hair and the yellow bangle in her hand. It had been three years when he had first seen the girl and still in 36 times he met her, he had only been able to stammer in reality.

The boy, although with no formal education had learnt his ways with the visitors and travellors and his memory helped him retain the counting he had once learnt from a trekker and also a bit of english from the tourist guides, who seemed to rever in the ruins of the fort on the top of the hill. He had been there many times with the tour groups helping them with the luggage and getting money and food in reward.He had also got few books from kids and their parents and despite his best efforts he could just look at the pictures and draw faint connection to the letters along side.

Today was a special day again, one where he would see "simi", yes that was her name, her dada used to call her. He was looking good in his green towel turban and humming a broken tune from his grandmom. His eyes were looking for simi, when dada called out " what do you want". He recited the monthly rationing he needed - his eyes still searching for the bright eyes and the twin pony tailed and the cute frown. He could find none.

While getting the ration, dada said - "kisko dhoond raha hai" , he could just say ...." siiiiiiimm.." . "Woh tho gayi , shaher padhne ke liye, kuch kaam tha.............."

and the rest was just noise to his ears...

He looked in disbelief on the road up hill, which everytime he climbed up heartily with the hope that he could come back and see her again.

It seemed so trecherous now ......


---------------------------------------------------To be continued----------------------------------------

The Broken Arrow!

Ana could not believe herself.17 years, 3 months and 2 days is what it had taken life to come full circle for her. Still vivid in her memoir...