Lives Are From Heaven And Deaths Too

Let us go on a trip to god’s abode. A place where all human beings are one, where there is life without segregation, love without discrimination and a world without prejudice.
Mrs. Colman is ready down here on the earth to go shopping. She is on Main Street waiting for her husband to come so that both may drive off to the mall. Next to where she stands is a dustbin, made of gold, which is examined curiously by her where as the withered statue of what seems like an angel is not even noticed. There on the far eastern side, Mr. Singh stands painting his wife a lovely picture. He paints what was earlier a ‘Gulmohar’ with subtle shades, and what has now been made a cheap bride by forcing golden ribbons up it’s leaves. He paints the golden ribbons meticulously and rushes his paintbrush making ‘two’ crocked strokes for the ‘Gulmohar’.
We are in Spain now. Senior Pipito is gathering tomatoes from his yard. He has been on this job since the morning, and now he is tired and sweaty. He tosses these lifeless red vegetables onto the kitchen shelf and goes to where the awning of his shed gives ample shade. He has left the company of the tomatoes who could have helped him live a hundred years more.
The rain patters harshly. Mrs. Bond is on the hills of Simla, where her husband has been posted recently. She has just done the laundry and hung it outside, among which her prized red- flowers printed suit is too. She doesn’t notice this spectacular spectacle of the clouds crying, she is gazing beady eyed at her red suit hoping that the prints aren’t washed away.
Bryan is in his grandmother’s house watching naked men wrestle on the television. Mrs. Fitzgerald, his grandmother has just stitched him a lovely purple sweater, which she hopes would protect him from the cold. But Bryan doesn’t care two hoots. Purple is the colour of his dogs leash and so he will not accept this gift. He throws away the sweater, in a way throwing away his grandmothers love.
Heaven is waiting patiently for it’s five new baits.
Mrs. Colman falls off the staircase in the mall to her fate.
A snake bites Mr. Singh as he moves closer to the Gulmohar. The venom poisons him.
Senior Pipito is burning. He passes away forced to die of heat- stroke.
Mrs. Bond slips off the edge of her balcony and plunges down the Simla valley.
As for Bryan, he attempts to wrestle the bully in school and is beaten to death.
Off- white seats these new citizens of heaven in its chariot. In place of the face and body, off- white is a figure (painted off- white) whose gender is indecipherable.
Off- white guides these five new people through the sky. The world up here in space is far different and less superfluous than the world down below. The sky reflects colours, which barely show.
The five earthlings are surprised at first. But soon they begin perceiving what all inmates of heaven do. Off- white takes them on a tour.
The drift takes them to where birds are being manufactured. Golden- white light is being passed through tiny droplets of water through which glorious birds emerge. These birds produce no sound and are dumb. Next, Off- white stops its chariot in front of an abyss. “This” it says, “Is our mall. Imagine the shops, customers and money, and the void created by this abyss will be no less than the malls on earth. Mrs. Colman is awestruck.
The chariot then stops at the garden of five senses. There are no golden ribbons, but there surely is a vast expanse of expressions. Mr. Singh senses somebody touching him, then he smells jasmines, then sees white apparitions, then he taste’s caramelized sugar and then he hears divine sounds. He is speechless.
Off- white flies its chariot over the clouds and stops between them. Here, there is a yard. On one side rest lifeless stars and on the other side desirable darkness. Senior Pipito stretches one of his arms towards the stars and the other towards the darkness. The arm in the darkness feels heavy, while the arm in the stars seems to float without execution of pressure. Senior is dazed.
Beside the yard the chariot turns to show the how Blue- the baby cloud- is drooling. How peach, his mother reprimands him by shooting a few volts of colourless electricity at his mouth. Mrs. Bond is in tears after she witnesses this lovely spectacle of love. She washes her hands in Blue’s drool, and almost instantly she is calmed.
The last stop is where milk is manufactured for the small babies. A figure stands at the doorstep, caressing what looks like the cheek of a small child. The lady is kissing this child incessantly. This time it is Bryan who feels sentimental, as if his own grandmother was there trying to love him.
Off- white turns to look at the earthlings. All five of them, Mrs. Colman, Mr. Singh, Senior Pipito, Mrs. Bond and Bryan and shedding pearls from their eyes.
Off- white smiles, bids them farewell and helps them pass through a blinding white light to Paradise.

Au Revoir Grace Church!

Our minds were racing! We had seen so much in the past few days that it was hard to switch to a regular routine of school. As our bus turned the last street, our eagerness speckled with nervousness, we bravely tried to face the situation. A week of fun and frolic led us to our actual exchange program in Grace Church School Manhattan.
The week before was unforgettable. With short excursions to pristine valleys of London, the classic landscape of Oxford, the mysticism of Stratford Upon Avon, the sheer beauty of Washington decked in Cherry Blossoms and Boston’s duck tour, fifteen of us accompanied by two teachers suddenly found ourselves facing our Exchange Buddies.
The initial meeting at school was like a conventional one! We were instructed to behave like angels (and we did live up to this!).
What intrigued me was that Grace Church School was so very different from ours. The tall building dating almost a century had in it all the amenities that a student requires in his school life. Besides, all through the day we received ample free time to walk into Grace’s gorgeous library, sit and surf on their innumerable computers and rejuvenate by playing all sorts of sports within the school! The day, unlike in VVS did not begin with assembly but began with an informal interaction with our peers and teachers. Another striking difference was that we at VVS follow a more formal sort of study pattern but at Grace, informal interactions are enough to get the dedicated students to work!
From the dramatic History lessons, to riveting grindings in Music, from the thrill of playing in Graces state of the art gym to studying serious Ethics and Drama, Grace Church School proved that it believed in the holistic development of it’s students!
The lessons thus struck an immaculate balance between fun and serious study. And by adapting practical demonstrations rather than tedious theory, Grace Church School students automatically get a head start in their early years.
But all good things end fast. And so did this week at Grace. There was so much to do and so much to learn! Thus ended our wonderful trip with smiles and tears. It shall always remain etched in our minds!

I am bad!

Aryaman was his name. He was a tall, dark handsome boy living in the plush Prithvoraj road. He had clear blue eyes that twirled into his chocolaty face rounded by two juicy cheeks- which perpetually had a reddish hue merged in them. His skin was soft and he had two half moon shaped ears.
In spite of being rich and well off, Aryaman was a boy with minimal needs. His daily routine was, going to school coming back home, doing his homework and resting for the day.
One day, just before the summer holidays were beginning, Aryaman returned home all too tired and exhausted after he had got a lot of homework. His maid Shanti who had specially made him fried fish and chips and Geetamala his personal attendant greeted him at his huge mansion.
Though Aryaman never felt the need of these personal attendant’s and servants, his mother Vaishali had perpetually tied him to them. “Why can’t you take care of me mother, why these strangers?” thought Aryaman. But every time he asked his mother this question, she just shoed him and said! “You’re going to become a big man one day! I’m not going to look after you then am I? It is these servants who will be serving you day in and day out! All you’ll’ do is relax on the sofa while these shudras will be at your beck and call!”
But Aryaman didn’t like his mothers condescending attitude. He also wanted someone who he could call his own to tell him bedtime stories, play with him in his spare time or just talk to him on the days that he was stressed!

* * * *

As Aryaman entered his room he threw down his bag and tears ran into his blue eyes. It seemed as if Aryaman’s face had turned into an ocean all of a sudden!
He was irritated with his life. He wanted to spend time with his mother who was busy attending a kitty party at Mrs.Bankwalla’s home. What was more, father who was in the house didn’t take the slightest notice of him when he crossed the drawing room where his father sat reading the newspaper.
“I hate myself! I am bad, that’s why no one takes notice of me!” thought Aryaman as he quietly cried to himself all afternoon until he grew so tired crying that he drifted off to sleep.
In the evening when he awoke all disheveled he heard his mother screeching outside. “Shanti, you idiot! How many times have I told you to look after him! Just because he refused the food once, you let him go hungry! How insensitive of you!”
Aryaman knew that once his mother got angry, the whole house roared! So, in order to stop a virtual earthquake Aryaman ran into the corridor where he jumped and hugged his mother! “Oh mother, where had you been? I waited for you all afternoon but you never came!” said Aryaman sobbing! “You shut up you little twit! How much trouble will you cause me! Because of this foolish behavior of yours, I had to come running from my party!” said his mother flaring up! Her eyes almost popping out of their sockets! She slapped him tightly on his cheek “But mother…” said Aryaman and started wailing loudly! The whole house was full of his cries! “Look at him, how tall you are boy! And you cry like a baby! Shanti, Geetamala take him away! And tell him what I told you!” said Vaishali!

* * * *

In the room, Aryaman sat pressing his cheek that was bloodshot red! He was shivering and still sobbed! “Arya baby, is there anything you want?” asked Geetamala. But Aryaman just cried on till he became drowsy. Shanti and Geetamala exchanged glances. Eventually Shanti spoke, “ Arya Baby, remember you’re mother wanted us to tell you something. Well listen then! But don’t get angry, please!” Geetamala said, “Arya baby at the kitty party, Vaishali mam, met Justin, Mrs. Bankwalla’s son. He’s you’re age. Mrs. Bankwalla told your mother that she put him in tennis classes. And she praised the after effects heftily!” “So”, said Shanti “ Vaishali mam wants that’s you also join the tennis classes! It will help you! After all my Arya baby is tall and it will be an advantage for him!”
So, without even asking his opinion the maids, having done their jobs, immediately left the room. As for Aryaman, he just remained there, perched on his king- sized bed, waiting for someone to come and tell him that all this wasn’t happening and it was dream! But nobody came!

* * * *

The next day was an action packed day for Aryaman. Never before had he attended such classes. His legs ached with the vigorous exercises and “Follow through”, “Low to high” all of this echoed in his ears! His hands seemed strained, as they had held the new Wilson racket his father had given him one day, from his many pieces. All in all, he was dead by the time he arrived home. He walked as if he had not received sleep in years and he dropped coldly on his bed and went to sleep.
As the days passed on Aryaman mastered the game well. His shots were powerful and his serve was accurate. He soon got used to the rigorous training. One day his coach invited his parents to see his wonderful game but they couldn’t spare time. As a result Geetamala came. She couldn’t understand anything the coach told her. The only thing she managed to grasp was the fact that the coach recommended another academy for him. “Since his game is improving day by day, it is time for him to join the DLTA (Delhi lawn tennis academy) as he will completely master the sport then!”

* * * *
The day finally came. Aryaman, now much taller than majority of the kids of his age briskly walked into the courts of DLTA. Shanti had come to drop him and left soon after he entered the academy.
“Aryaman Shergill?” said the coach who seemed tough. “Yes sir” said Aryaman softly, feeling shy.
The coaching classes begun but Aryaman longed to go back to his older Academy where his teacher had given all his time in teaching him, not like here where the coach told him that he would be dealt with later. But Aryaman managed to stay on and played his game without much enjoyment.
By now Aryaman had got so used to the praises his older coach gave him that he felt mad when his new teacher told him that he needed to work more.

* * * *

One day as Aryaman came to the court he saw a group of boys huddled up, looking at him and laughing. He tried to avoid them and went and stood in a corner all by himself. But their remarks were still audible. He could hear them saying “Look at him, he’s so tall! Hah, looks like one of those abnormal kids!”. Another said, “ I heard him telling the coach his age, the twit’s just eight and he looks like a teenager!” “I’ll’ challenge him to a match right now!”
“Hey, kid, come here play a match with me!” said the bully. “No, I will not!” said Aryaman frankly! “You don’t have a choice kid, I asked you to play a match with me, not if you want to play a match!
So, Aryaman was forced into doing what he didn’t want to do and he played. The outcome was bad! Aryaman had lost his first match in months! He couldn’t bear it and tears rolled down his fat cheeks!
“You suck kid!” said the boys teasingly as Aryaman tried to put a brave face. But he was too small to absorb their mischievous remarks and slowly he cried.
“Look at his size! He’s crying! Hah fool!” said one boy. “Let me tell you kid, you must have been the boss in that earlier court, but here we are the bosses! You listen to us!” said the other. “And we say you ‘re pathetic, not made for tennis! You are nobody!” said another. But they all said together, “Neither do we, nor does this game need you, so get out! And admit your defeat! You’re bad!”
Aryaman stopped crying! He feared that he would be made fun of when he told his teacher or his parents or anyone about how the boys misbehaved with him! But more than that he wondered if anyone would even care!
So in the end he threw down his racket and screamed! “Yes, Yes, I am bad!”

CAKE MIX

The gusts had blown London that day as the Crossbills had traveled thousands of miles and had finally arrived. The family- two parents and their twins- had made it out of hell.
The Apartheid had followed a mass evacuation. Millions of African families flew from their motherland and looked for home in an alien country. The Crossbills were one such family.
Dean-jean Crossbill -the head of the family- had taken refuge in one of the ships traveling from Africa to London and had thus managed to keep his wife Margaret and sons Charles and Peter safe.
The Crossbills traveled for days. So many Negro’s had boarded the cargo ship- Isabella- that there was fear of an epidemic. The sailors though tried to share their resources with the families but there was extensive demand thus they decided not to part with their belongings.
Somehow, dangling between starvation and hope, the Crossbills were one of the first families who made it out of Africa to London. But there was more in store for them.
London did not show much respect for these Africans either. Though the men were employed as workers in the factories, they were given miserly treatment and threatened for life if they didn’t work efficiently.
One night there was a knock on the door. Margaret opened it to see a bleeding Dean- jean confronting her. On questioning her husband, Margaret found out that everyday random groups of workers were lashed, and today it had been her husbands turn.
Bearing tears of anger and pride for the man who worked in spite of the torture, Margaret kissed her husband and cleaned his wounds, while her sons watched, dazed.
Gradually, Dean- jean would come home blue- eyed, or bruised. Margaret soon got used to her husbands condition and accepted her fate. Though the family had forbidden their children to work in the dreaded factories (even if it costed them their lives), soon Charles and Peter were ready to take on the risk. They wanted to earn as their father too had retired.
Margaret knew that initially the boys would feel brave, but soon the English would give them the same treatment her husband had received. She feared that day.

***********

At the factory Charles had met up with a girl. Anne as the white beauty had identified herself immediately fell for the African boy, mesmerized by his philosophy and determination. Both secretly met during the hour of recess and enjoyed each other’s company. While he talked about freedom, Anne rested her head on his shoulder, amazed at this African boys will that still seemed to be intact even though the whites had started inflicting their terror upon him and his brothers.
Though Anne was from the upper class of Whites and was the daughter of the factory owner, she did not mind mingling with the workers, as she was open minded and tolerant.
Peter on the other hand had no luck. No girl had ever come his way; neither did he know of his brother’s girlfriend.
One day, as Peter walked out of the factory during recess he almost fainted when he saw his brother and Anne at such close quarters. He was confused and didn’t know how to react to this, but mustered the courage to go up to his brother.
On seeing Peter, Anne dashed towards her father’s office while Charles looked at his twin in embarrassment. On being thoroughly interrogated, Peter found out that there was a ‘relationship’ between the factory owner’s daughter and his brother, to which his reaction was hysterical.
Charles tried to explain to his brother that his mate was a warm lady, and respected their culture, but Peter was shocked from inside and reluctantly thought of the day his parents would find out.

***********


Time passed and soon the boys came home bruised or bleeding. These times Margaret couldn’t contain her agony any more and she cried out pitying her fortunes.
Once, Charles’s right ear had been cut bloodthirstily while Peter received an inhumane lash on his belly. Margaret quietly bore it all in her.

***********

The twin’s birthdays were around the corner. Margaret had decided to bake her sons a scrumptious chocolate cake with the left over money the family had, as a birthday present. So she prepared the cake mix the night before and left it in the kitchen to moisten while together Dean- jean and her retired to their room.
There was a knock on Charles’s window that night that startled him. As he awoke, he saw a white apparition floating outside, in their backyard.
But it wasn’t what Charles had thought it to be. Rather, to his pleasant surprise, Anne stood by his window and blew him flying kisses. Charles stealthily opened the window and both kissed each other.
Anne produced her hand in which was a letter saying ‘Happy Birthday’ concluded with a short poem on how much she loved him.
Charles was in tears and invited Anne inside for a glass of water. Peter during this, slept as if aloof of the world.
Charles opened the backdoor through which Anne ran in and both fell into an embrace. Charles told Anne to wait while he went to the room to bring her a gift that he had bought.
Meanwhile, Anne, seeing the cake mix felt tempted. She searched her pocket and took out a packet of Vanilla, which she had intended to give her mother-in law.
Anne quietly added some vanilla to the came mix and left it. She hoped this would enhance the flavouring. Charles quickly hurried and gave his love a ring he had managed to buy from a cheap vendor, however Anne accepted his gift humbly.
Both parted and waited for morning to arrive.

***********

The morning was a busy one. As the boys left for work, Margaret prepared the cake. Today she herself had decided to give her children their gift at the factory. But Margaret had overlooked the layer of white Vanilla that had been added to the black cake mix, in a hurry.
The cake was baked, packed and Margaret hurried to the factory with her husband. Once there, she made her way to where Charles and Peter worked.
She offered them the cake when suddenly there was a shout from afar. Mr. Hawkins, Anne’s father, the factory manager, blood- eyed walked towards Margaret as if he was about to trample the delicate thing.
Margaret watched, scared. “Give me some of your cake lady,” said Mr. Hawkins. This took the Crossbills for surprise as Margaret reluctantly offered the manager cake.
It was only then that she noticed the layer of white in the black and was furious that somebody had tampered with her cake mix.
“It was me,” said a faint voice and everybody turned. To their astonishment, Anne stood looking down at the ground while Margaret tried making sense of the situation. Anne willingly walked up to her father and explained the whole situation.
Mr. Hawkins, now tempted at the cake, wanted to take a bite before leaving and he did. The strict manager then smiled for the first time ever, and the cake had perhaps made him do so.
The workers cheered as the white Mr. Hawkins devoured the black (and white) cake.
Margaret smiled too and Anne hugged Charles tightly.
“Just like the Vanilla to the cake, this girl has added lots of colour to our lives,” said Dean- jean pointing to Anne.

… But tears just did not come out…

Dear Diary,

“The tears are not forming,

They have stopped moisturizing the eyes,

For they have seen such turmoil,

I may not know how to cry again.”

It was just last Tuesday that the city moved. It’s puppets-the people danced about on the streets in sheer elation; some coldly sat on the shore. For they knew they had yet time. Many were failures, but not deprived of success.

I consider myself to be such an individual. I had just failed the entrance t Saint Xavier’s where I could have set benchmarks for myself, but cannot now.

The sky had lost its colour of blue that held every inch of the clouds captive. Now, there seemed to linger an opalescent pattern that found its way into the sky.

Irritated with my failed performance, I had found my way to Matunga’s railway station. Though I felt I was in some alien land, but walked towards the platform from where I was to board and reach a place, safer- home. A place where this insecurity would not make me sweat, where I would not feel vulnerable among my own countrymen.

Soon, I was in. The first class compartment of the train bore me in her quiet cabin, on one of her innumerable brown recliners. I glanced around, trying to accommodate myself among these strangers.

Beside me, a naughty rich boy plucked at his olive green sweater. There, near the door a belligerent brat ran from her tired mother who held a big spoon of some tonic or something. I listened calmly to the silenced compartment.

“Don’t touch her!”

These words broke the peace. I forcibly looked back. Apparently, two young- birds had fallen in love. The exasperated mother pulled her daughter’s arms that had found their way to the boy’s fingers. Beside the young girl, sat what seemed to be a little girl. She clutched at her teddy, as if he was all that she ever had.

Suddenly, the train jolted. “Bomb! I say run!” were the last words that I heard from the compartment ahead of us as it rocketed towards the evening sky, hauling burnt masses on our side. Suddenly, the peace waves descended and gave was to pandemonium.

I waited where I sat, rooted to the recliner. I closed my eyes and quietly awaited my death while my mates in the train began to cry aloud. Then I realized that I hadn’t even cried and I shed a tear, then another until I was incessantly crying.

Though the bomb had not exploded in our compartment, the tyranny had still found its way. And then we were aloft; my hair flew with the piercing gusts that cut through the sky. My eyes were closed, but I could sense the turmoil around me. I thus banged on one of the blazing masses of iron and fell to the ground. I opened my eyes, thinking it would be my last look at Mumbai.

Women, men, children, young, old, rich, poor, all ran for their lives. The surroundings had erupted in an inferno and soon came the rain; of mutilated hands, necks, torsos, pouring down from the sky… I closed my eyes.

But, I awoke and gazed into the white walls of what looked and smelt like a hospital.

From behind the door, came out my mother. And both of us fell into an endless embrace. I longed to see the railway station, where I had almost given up hope. Mama reluctantly wheel-chaired me to the devastated station.

The same bustling area now seemed deprived of activity. A calm yet scary silence engulfed the black walls f the Matunga Railway Station. All I could hear was the swishing of a cleaner’s broom.

I gazed in his direction. For, there lay a tattered olive green sweater. Beside it lay the headless body of what seemed to be a teddy once. I tried to cry but tears just did not come out.

A Sad Story

One day, as I was sitting near a huge bamboo tree, nestled somewhere deep in my garden, I heard a groaning sound; as if somebody was in pain. At first I tried to ignore the groans thinking it was some ghost who had come to get me. I even wanted to get up and run but my legs would refuse to untangle from the cross- legged position that I was in.

Oh, how I wish I could run. Even if I had the last wish on Earth, I would have wanted to run. Run, somewhere far, someplace safer, someplace where these groans would not obstruct my time with nature.

The groaning became louder. I didn’t want to look in the direction of the sounds fearing the ghost would get to know that I was here. Maybe, he had still not seen me. I curled myself into a ball to hide myself. The drawing that I had been making effortlessly since the morning sun had risen over the clear horizon just flew with the gusts and went someplace unknown and got lost.

The groaning became louder and louder and louder. Then I heard sounds from the ghost. Somewhere in those groans I could hear the word “H-H-H-HEL-P-P!” This frightened me even more and suddenly tears began rolling down my precious eyes. Gradually, my cheek had become an ocean of crystal clear water.

Oh how I wished my parents were here. Had they not gone to work, they would have come to save me. I would have yelled, “Daddy, a groaning ghost is chasing me!” and Daddy would have come out with his sword and would have slaughtered anything that was trying to harm me, his gem. I would have shouted “Mama, Mama! Where are you?” and Mama would have flown out of the kitchen to save me with her angelic powers. But alas, today both have gone to work and nobody is here to protect me.

Once again to my utter horror, the groans produced sounds like the word “OLI-O-O-OLIV- OLIVE!” Why! The ghoul knew my name! He probably knew that I was a little child who was afraid of the dark and who hated broccoli. If he caught me, he would have taken me to hell and thrown me in a dingy- dark cell, and all I would have gotten to eat was broccoli. I’d rather die than eat those sick, green leaves.

But suddenly, I realize that Granny is also there. I had forgotten that Granny had come the night before while I was sleeping with lots of Candy for me. Maybe she can save me if I shout to her. But wait! Granny cannot hear properly! What if I shout and Granny cannot hear. Then the ghost will definitely know that I am here near the Bamboo.

All I can possibly do is run and call my granny before I am killed, or she is. What if the ghoul kills Granny? What will the helpless woman do? She doesn’t have s sword like Daddy nor does she have magical powers like Mama.

With this sudden upsurge of courage, I uncurl myself ready to leap towards the door. I will not let anything happen to my Granny. But as I am trying to uncurl myself, the groans have stopped. And I am unaware of the fact that they have stopped for good.

Now I think the ghoul has really gone inside the house. I cannot hear him groaning anymore. I do not need to hide anymore. I shall dash towards the house. I dash.

But then I notice, that a rather familiar figure is lying on the ground eyes wide open. This figure looks like my Granny. It is my Granny. I rush to my Granny’s help! But I am too late, the old woman was groaning for my help but I just ignored her and let her die.