Tiger's Lunch.

“D.Rajkumar” was the first thing I noticed on the waiter’s breastplate when I called him to my table for ordering the desert. And don’t forget this is five star dining hall of one of the leading clubs of India. Rajkumar coming to my table with the menu, when somebody called out his name in a harsh, authoritative tone. The sombre expressions of Rajkumar changed from a formal smile to a serious frown he turns towards the voice mustering every inch of courage in him and walked towards the table from where the tiger had growled. I was sitting there at my table and eyeing my menu while keeping an eye on the events happening on the table next to mine. There was an actual tiger there it’s not a metaphor he was the Colonel Sachdeva a stern tough and disciplined man of the Indian Army decorated with bravery awards and several regiment based honors standing tall on the side of his table and goggling him with an eye of contempt and as soon as “D” reached there. Sachdeva told him very calmly with a serious tone “CALL YOUR MANAGER” he gave little hunch and a brief bow and turned gracefully and walked hurriedly to call his manager. And shortly, a man clad in a suit and bow tie was standing there at the table, giving a wry smile and asked in a very soft tone “Yes sir”. Everybody on Tiger’s table turned their eyes towards tiger and then towards the manager. The next dialogue between was the most awaited one for everyone but on the contrary there wasn't any there, there was a simple gesture of the graying Tiger towards his table and pointed towards the plates and asked manager is IS THIS THE SERVICE I GET FROM THE BEST?

I am sorry sir but I don’t get the point.

I don’t have cutlery on my table and when I gave my order to the waiter and asked him what is Masala Vanakya he told me sir, "It’s the same mentioned in the menu" and I had to call him each time I have to order, where is the discipline and decorum of the place shall I have to report to “Kedhar Manglam” who I later came to know after asking “D” that was the president of the club and was one of the fast friends of the Tiger and manager of the club. There was along bout of talks and accusations by tiger and finally matter was finally settled by a apology from "D". After this episode everyone got back to their places and occupied there places and a waiter was appointed on the side of Sachdeva’s table to take down the orders and the second one was given task to complete the orders and the third one was entrusted with the responsibility of the supervision of the other two.

Later the “D” came to my table where I was waiting eagerly to see “D” and his complicated reactions reflecting the conflicts of his job's tradition of smiling and personal dilemma of sorrow that will he be able to keep his job or not. But against all odds, he came back to my table smiling and asking in a same emollient tone and apologized for being caught up and got late for fulfilling my order I told him its okay and sent him away with my order of Mud Apple Soufflé he greeted me with smile and completed the order under a minute’s time and asked me to put a good word for him with a manager. The army decorum of mine didn't allowed me to smile at him because of his inefficiency in following commands. I just gave a nod of head to him and thanked for his service for today and told him to bring my bill. Shortly he brought the bill and adjusted my charged amount to my membership card and brought me the card back. In the meantime tiger’s family was having lunch peacefully and enjoying their royal bites of soufflé’s. My lunch ended this time with a story to tell and this story wasn't very pleasant to tell from a civilian point of view but here in army you are told to go by the rules otherwise you take down many things down along with oneself.

Lilah's Virtual Graffiti.

"Eh Lilah, eh....eh Lilah" someone on the bar counter said in loud voice, which was near to a scream. Bright lights of yellow, blue and red color were bouncing off and on the surfaces. People were standing on the bar counter Lilah herself couldn't see clearly who was calling out her name. Suddenly a hand from the crowd grabs her wrist tightly and yanked her towards a bald person; he pulled her towards his mouth. Lilah's expression dramatically changed from a smile to disgust, she could smell heavy stench of Country made liquor on him, and the camera was placed in such a way that I could observe each and every movement and expression of Lilah. She tried to free herself from the bald eagle's hold but her bony stature didn't gave her strength to make herself free from the bald man.

Seeing herself helpless she asked the guy "What do ya want?" to which he didn’t replied at once, he waited for few seconds and kept her leaned on the bar counter suddenly he pulled her closer and kissed on her lips, she again gave a defeated effort to free herself and tried to yank his hand away but all seemed to be futile now. In all this commotion, bottle of Country was knocked off from the counter. Every movement between the two of them stopped for a minuscule second and he let her go off the grip. She retracted back to a safe distance and tried to gauge what will happen now? In the meantime the guy picked up a salt cellar from the counter and threw towards, Lilah but his condition didn't allowed him to be precise like an eagle, the bottle flew in the mirrors behind the counter and there was loud tinkering of glass slabs on which once liquor bottles were resting. Everything went silent the music stopped but...the lights continued to bounce off the surfaces but they were now more murkier and obscure on the counter. I was not able to see the guy for few seconds there were many people crowding in front of the counter and all the commotion made me rise up from my chair and i tried to see by getting close to my screen but nothing was clear. I activated a different camera which I had on the roof of counter which gave me the view of the bottle rack which was directly behind the place where Lilah was standing and where all the commotion was happening. I checked my camera what all I could see was bald man, being dragged to the back door and was shouting Lilah, Lilah.....How much do you charge??? Just for once Lilah.....Lilah....don't let them take me away...!! the back door opened and closed with the silent thud and in an instant bouncers were back to their place near the dark corners of the bar and stood with their back against the red walls of the bar.....the music started again and lazily the lights started bouncing again from the pale red and yellow walls of the esoteric darkness mixed with smoke. Again people lazily started to move to the tunes of Bollywood songs on strong and shrill sounds of music. Everything resumed to normal as if nothing has happened Lilah was standing there on the bar counter observing the psychedelic chaos, she usually used to work late night but that night was different there was someone to cover her shift today-Manoj, Manoj was there today to cover up for her. He used to live near the bar in the slums. He was doing double shift today for Lilah and it was not for the first time he had been doing a favor to her.

The camera is focused on the bar counter, where Lilah was getting rid of her dirty apron and greeting Manoj with a smile, directly looking him in his eyes but they were bland of any kind of expressions, but Manoj had a glint of joy in his ones when he saw Lilah greeting her. Upon seeing him she immediately dropped her graze and made herself busy in untying her apron and again looked up again to see Manoj across the counter giving a familiar smile with his crooked lips. She saw him again and thanked him for the favor he was giving her. He budged in between and told her to stop thanking him and made her leave early by waving a goodbye, he started tying his apron and was still staring the door after she had gone out of it as if he's still picturing her somewhere near the door. He started working on the orders and still smiling at the last fresh memories of Lilah. In the meantime he was busy gathering the shards of glass from bar counter in short while he resumed his work and started taking the orders.

Back at chawl Lilah entered her room which is scarcely decorated in a modest fashion, she went in bathroom and splashed water on her face. Her eyes were red and hands were trembling, she tried to rub soap on her face and rubbed the lather vigorously, she tried her best to get rid of any left smear of smudged lipstick and residues of the past night. I picture her in the bed then, she had a single bed in the corner of the room and which was aligned to the wall she had her face towards the wall and staring in the void of darkness. She was curled up in a ball silently with the wall. The camera's focus goes off and the lights dim and darkness is all around. There are just low muffling glutted sounds of the Lilah from corner of the room. she was thinking about the last the similar incidents of firsts of the first times she had a thrashing from her father at the age of 18 for coming home late from school and for the first time she came to "The City of Dreams" and she had to sleep on railway platform when her uncle didn't picked her up from the station, while he was drenched in the salt water lying there on the beach and brain drenched in brownish liquid of eternity, her first day on work when she saw girls being objectified on the dance floors of the bar. Everything was still fresh in her mind as if it have had happened in the recent past it’s been a year now that she was in this city but every day was still anew to her. With every past day, her dilemma grew where, She still didn't knew whether to be intrigued or reject the thought of hers to be present there. She turned in her bed and started staring in to void of darkness. She ruffled her pillow and made her fluffy and tried lay her head on it and gave another futile effort to sleep but soon after these bouts with sleep she gave in tried to put a flank with the Avil pills. She took the pills from the drawer of the dressing table and  pulled out 4 tablets, popped in her mouth and swallowed them through her dry throat but she was unable to that and immediately the gag reflex kicked in and they out there again on her tongue making a sour gooey paste she immediately ran to the kitchen and drank water directly from the tap. She kept her head on the slab and tried to rest a bit, her heart beat normalized and she started to relax. Soon things turned dingy and memories turned into soggy images. At last things ended for that night there and then with those four pills on the kitchen floor of chawl.

Next day camera turns on again detecting some movement in the kitchen, she wakes up with a head ache in the wee hours of noon and tries to think what all happened yester night the memories were hazy and confusing but she came to senses and slowly memories starts receding like released water from a floodgate. The first person came to her mind in these scrambled chain of thoughts was the guy in a blue Larsen and Tubro uniform shirt who was one of the regulars of Lilah's customers. Something was odd, this guy, he was one like regular customers who tried to hit on Lilah once or twice or at least tried to touch her in one way or other but, this guy never really did anything with her. He hardly ever talked to her other than giving order for drinks and a smile to greet her and intermittent thank you's for his orders he was nice to her always and never took any step make her uncomfortable. She used to sit with this guy whenever he requested her to share drinks with her and all those time when he used to sit with her there was silence between them. They used to just sit there and see the colorful lights dancing on the tattered walls of the bar. Except the times when he had bout of fights with his wife when he used to tell Lilah each and everything what happened and why she lashed up on him. Lilah was like a shadow of him to who, he could talk everything without having a fear of getting judged. She also was mesmerized by the words he used to choose to tell her things which were too refined for her and sounded as if someone is reading poetry to her. She sits there silently and listens to him and gave responses at intermittent intervals. There was sorrow in his eyes, unfulfilled desire of acceptability was kindling somewhere in him which made his eyes go wander at people in the bar as if he's trying to find some object of satisfaction. The only times he had smile on his face and sounded soulful was when he talked about his kids who were still young, and studying in school. He used to tell her proudly there latest achievements at school and told her about how they used to play together when they were younger but soon the his thoughts turn gloomy and he stops speaking about kids she used to wonder why?But she never dared to ask him, she thought it was better leave him there on the good thoughts to make him drink less, so she could spend some more minutes with him. She too had a dream someday that she would have some of her own but now in her midlife crisis she was still holding time and her dreams in different hands and they both were evaporating like a spirit and leaving things cold on the surface. With this guy’s narrations she was living an illusory life of her own. It was not that she had fallen for this guy it was just the aspiration of hers to acquire the life which he had. 

For Lilah, it was hard to think of that she will be having any dreams after what had happened to her a year back. The gusts of sand were settling down now each day things were getting clearer, goals were becoming decipherable. In midst of all the turmoil Manoj was lost somewhere in the folds of imaginative corners of gloomy thoughts, he was just an ordinary being existing in her world sustaining on the discretion of “The Bar” away from the transient lights behind the counter.

My Veiled Shack.

Lost in the transitions of life and chaos of the saw dust and concrete powder, sludge, sweat and iron bars I sit here in amidst of all this in the corner of this dingy dark room with hole in its roof which is shared by light and air to come in but I am still not sure after spending one year here in this room whether the things which come in here goes out or not because everything becomes still and numb when I come here.

I am Kristine Sharma, you may be thinking about my name…that’s a question I get usually from people as I come from a Brahman family and this name is an unusual one and as my name is unusual the story behind is as usual as it can be. My mother used to work as a maid for a college professor back when we used to live in Bihar and I was a young kid when he suggested a name for me “Kristen” which was a name of a star in a sitcom popular in those days which he used to like. So out of gratitude to the doctor she kept my name Kristen and I was left with a catchy name for my life. Me and my classmates could not even pronounce my name correctly they used call me “Cirstan”. It was after my fifth birthday when I came to know the correct pronunciation of my name from another employer of my mother who was a person who used to build buildings and he frequently corrected my speech and taught me the phonetics of English words.  I was happy to learn something new but it didn't lasted long soon she left her job to relocate to new city which she was attracted to for a long time- the city was Mumbai. It was my father’s new job which took us there it was a role of a construction worker which took us from Bihar to Mumbai. At the age of 7, I was in this vast city of dreams and chaos; it was entirely a different universe for me where I was just minuscule part of it.

I lost the sense of size and magnanimity of inanimate feelings as the things happening around me were pretty big and magnanimous. The change was too radical for a person coming from a small town of Bihar. Everything in this city was in excess; cars, motors, people and buildings everything. I had instantaneously fallen in love with the tall buildings of Mumbai I could see them for hours and hours together and smile at them admiring the gigantic builds. And moreover the building on which my father was working on was one of those big and high rise buildings. My evenings after school used to spent on the unfinished floors of the buildings playing around and sometimes swinging my legs in air from the 25^th floor. I loved the air in my hairs and on my face it used to take me in an alternate reality away from my dingy room and gloomy thoughts in it. 

I used to sit there for hours together and try practicing the phonetic lessons of builder guy. I couldn't practice it down in my room as I was already famous and teased for my foreign name an over the top if I would pronounce words like a foreigner , people around me would have laughed at me. I already had stopped going for playing as children of my age used to tease me by twisting my name around and making fun of me. I used to stay back at dungy room and help mother out to prepare porridge and keep home-based liquor drinking place up and running. Yes I forgot to tell you we had a small side-business of ours own which my father and mother used to run which was a small drinking place inside our shack, in the morning it used to serve as a kitchen with a removable stove and utensils and at night it used to serve as a sitting area for fellow laborers, bright colored curtains would go up and decorate the aluminum walls and television used to tuned at Chitrahar (an Indian music program). I could listen clearly from the thin curtains as I was not allowed to cross the curtain in the evening time, I would listen people talking about their sex lives and talking about their accomplishments of fucking whores from different states across India the person having highest number of count would be the one talking the most for that group, sometimes I used to listen some of the men speaking some of the poems and songs which were the ones they heard in some movie or they heard while travelling in buses. Sometimes I would listen loud quarrels which were very common, people used to beat each other up on petty issues but next day again they would bond with each other as if nothing would have had happened the previous night.  Usually when these quarrels would happen , my father used to escort me and my pregnant mom outside the shack and stop inside to stop the fight, sometimes he used to succeed sometimes he used to get thrashing for getting in the middle of a fight. And for those times our drinking place remained shut down and it would open again after a week or so, again things would start functioning smoothly. We were under constant threat of police raids of unauthorized drinking place but we used to have an arrangement with the people living in the outer lane near the boundary wall to raise an alarm if any cops tried to approach our shack which was unlikely to happen till last month,until one of our neighbors reported our side business. And as a result father had to be in lock up for two days and we had to pay three grands to the cops to get him out. Things proceeded on and after a brief stay and on persistent requests of fellow laborers father opened the shack for people  to come in and have last drink of the day which was roughly after about a month when all that happened.

I used to miss all the chaos in the shack for a month when our shack was closed to people, I used to miss Rathore uncle’s poetry, Prasad uncle’s travel stories, and nonetheless Pratham uncle’s adventure stories which all knew were incidents from Hindi movies where he used to replace actors with himself, but then also people used to love his stories and so did I. Once again our shack got lightened up with jovial tranquil moods of fellowmen I again started to enjoy the conversations and moods of all the ones there behind the curtain. I used to imagine myself time and again on the other side of curtain where I could have shared the stories of my life, but the question of matter was that I didn't had any of those stories of my own neither like Pratham uncle I used to watch movies. I just used to sit there beside the curtain staring at the wall and listening intently to what everyone was talking about and responding to them with laughter or raising eyebrows to respond to the fascination. Still people couldn't speak my name correctly but I had got accustomed to be called “Cirstan”, I have stopped correcting people but I have kept my self-training on, and these days I am also learning how to write in English I do miss my village back in Bihar but memories of the dusty lanes are fading away in the smoke of my shack, they have taken refuge in a corner of the shack somewhere behind the curtain where I can only feel them for momentary periods but can’t experience them.

 I don’t know whether losing me in the shack is a right thing or not but the shack, the 25^th floor’s breeze and this magnanimous city is giving me enough space to grow. I will keep on staring on the bright curtains for a long time and try to build some stories of my own with what all I have in my life.

My 78th Year of Maturity.

 I am  78 years old retired north Indian , to be specific a Punjabi if you are interested in knowing my ethnicity may be that will help you better understand about me and my family. I am proud matured boy, proud of my achievements in my life proud of the kind of kids I have made them and proud too about my grand kids what they are in this mortal world. And yes to make a note I like to call myself a matured boy as I believe that immortal objects grow old and worn out people become experienced biased and irrational when they grow matured. Huh….and yet we call everything a part of that process as maturity……..one of the reason of these terms coined for people in age group like Buddha, Dokra, Budaa, Bujurag (all Hindi terms for denoting an elderly person though not very respectful) are to make elderly people an epitome of faith respect or to make them feel belittle, brittle and weak I still try to struggle with the real intrinsic meaning of these words.

I have a happy family of mine which is kind of half joint family because one of my son lives in another part of the state as he is working there and living there with family. And the younger one lives with me here in our 1000 sq. ft. house along with the family. Yes it was important to mention the size of the house in which I live, because it is one of the things amongst others for which I am proud of. I come from not a very financially privileged family .My father played a small part of Subedar in the Burma war while being in the British Army. He seldom use to come home may be once every 3 or 4 years. And we use to sit around and hear the stories of war which he use to share with everyone he used to meet in village while he stayed with us. I don’t remember having any father figure in my life for first 14 years in my life all I had in name of father was a person dressed in loose and tattered suits doing all the household chores, milking cows and selling milk to the neighbours, was my mother which I used to call BIBI (a respectful word used for women which I learnt in my Arabic class). I was taught in government schools where I felt in love with the calligraphically attractive Urdu and Persian in the very formative years for this love I sacrificed a lot on the personal front let go off my needs to acquire more of the former. Later this love with words would become my trade, but that part comes later before that I complete my school which in those days meant to clear standard 10^th exams. After which one either has to go to city or Lahore if by chance you are lucky enough to get admission in the Lahore College of Arts. But I was not prepared yet to do that as I told you earlier about my father’s participation in the family affairs was near to negligible, I wouldn’t completely give all the credit to my father there were other contributors to this delay which I forgot to tell that I also had 3 younger siblings in my house out whom one was girl, the youngest one. And on top of all the money orders from Burma will start thinning and becoming erratic. The reason of which I would come to know later when Bapu returned after getting discharged from the Royal service that he had started taking opium for his spinal pains form the time when he got a bullet wound in his lower spinal region while being on front. But one thing I notice years later while giving him a back massage with a special oil from Hakim’s that he never had any wound on his back ,his back was as smooth as a newly mud plastered pot.  Which started as an excuse for medicine later on continued till he died in his bed at night which was around 55 years after I called him Bapu (father or dad). I still think that there were some unsaid things between me and Bapu I used to see despair and disappointment in his eyes when he used to see me working with my mother for earning money. And he used to be there on the bed lying on his back thinking of something I don’t know what? May be he thinks what I should do with my life what I should do with my children’s life to make it better or may be these are thoughts of head my head only which were resonating in my mind to make my family’s life better. A year later everything would come clear when my father called and asked me that would like to run a business with me? I thought for a while I was in dilemma whether he is giving me a business idea so that I would work on it or he is trying to seek my approval, the power of giving my approval would must have attributed to my current role in the family. But whatever the thoughts at that time were doesn't matter because saying yes to that was only option I had got at that time. So later on till the following year I was proud of first thing that was me and my dad’s thriving business of small retail general store which was the only one in the entire area.The same year my father called me once again asked me by taking my name, what do you want to become in your life son?

To which I didn't replied at first but the patience of this man was like a sheep…….so after a long pause there was no option I had to speak…..

I wanted to pursue studies further by going out of the village to some city or to Lahore. I wanted to become a writer and write about things.

So why don’t you?

Because Bapu we have got a business to handle house to take care off, there are 3 other who need much more than I.

You don’t worry son now I am here I will take of all this you go and fulfill your dreams.

I was afraid to look up on his face, I didn’t knew what his expression of responsibility would look like.

So I didn’t looked up sat there for a while silently and stared the ant on the mud floor trying to infer where that ant was going and why it is moving so fast what’s it trying to find?

Later on with this discussion many days passed I have lost the time frame of that time please forgive me of my matureness.  But the day came soon when I applied for the Lahore College of Arts and got admission due to my credentials. Later on 6 years will pass until return home after finishing Master of Arts in Persian and Urdu language. After 4 years of returning home I started feeling discontentment form my teaching life, I felt my dreams are bigger, my stories were longer, and my words were refined for the government school students. I needed to breath for a while I wanted to explore for a while so I planned to go to city to hunt for a better job in a newly opened university. But there was condition form Bibi that I will only let you go if you marry a girl who according to her keep me accompanied and would take care of me in the big life of city. So as the custom demanded I couldn’t say no to elders. So I was wedded, on 20 Jan of 1948 to a much younger girl who I knew from Bibi was named Satoo. I didn’t even had a look of her face before getting married everything was fixed by Satoo’s elder brother and Bibi’s elder brother. I was sitting in my wedding clueless, but in those days we used not to have so many options of interaction with opposite sex or a luxury of Court ship period. So I and Satoo came to the City where we stayed at Gurudwara’s inn for two days. During which I had to walk to the university campus to inquire about my application of candidature. On third day I finally got my letter of recruitment which was not much of a surprise because other people for the post of Lecturer were not aptly qualified for the post, whereas I was being considered as an overqualified candidate for the job……

My family has multiplied like amoeba from the time we have shifted to city, we have shown year on year growth of 100%. In three years I had three kids. And they growing at a rapid rate away from the village’s life of hard work here they were in city enjoying what I didn’t the prime of life: youth. I didn’t looked back for few years though tried keeping contact to parents via letters and for special times in last three years I used Telegrams which they told me that they flaunted in the village I think they were more happy receiving the telegram than the subject matter of it. I used to tell them frequently to come and stay here in city with me and Satoo but every time I received a reply “not now”. Later on after around 10 years I asked Bibi and Bapu to come again and they agreed too. It was big change in our life we thought so but we didn’t knew why the sudden change of mind which on their arrival I got to know. My mother was suffering from a rare neural problem which at that time I didn't knew what is called? But 8 years from then I would found out from a doctor at the newly opened dispensary at campus that the problem is called Parkinson’s syndrome but I didn’t felt regret of losing my mother to some unknown disease because he also told me that this syndrome is irreversible. University quarters were small and large enough to house three adults, now where 4 adults and three children were getting older in an exponential manner. Soon after parents came to the city I started looking for a bigger place to stay after a month or so we shifted to a rented accommodation which was little away from campus I had to travel by local bus to reach campus but new place was much more airy and had enough room all 7 of us. Few years would now pass I don’t know exactly how much but a significant period of time when I got a loan sanctioned Rs. 8,000 from university to acquire land and build house on 1000 sq. ft. area. By that time my eldest son would be studying Masters of Arts and younger would be completing his graduation in regional college and my youngest kid, would have been married to the business man of another city much bigger than ours.

My family lived a happy life in our new house which took around three and a half years to complete, by that time my elder son would be married and shifted to another part of the state as he will be working there and living with his family till he retires from the present job. In the meantime the year is 1970 when my younger son married off to the love of his life. I and Satoo were a little sceptical of the idea of love marriage at first but then one of my friend while discussing my dilemma brought my degrees and prestigious job in between my decision so I had to take less taken road of those times. Within 6 years of both my son’s marriage we had a typical thriving Indian family with two children each and their fathers holding good paying jobs which ensured the best life for them. My third source of proud my well settled sons.

Soon after my retirement I started feeling aged and wrinkly. Now when I see myself in mirror I touch my sin near to the eyes there I could see pockets of fat and wrinkles……….I think I am turning Budha now and soon younger people would start calling me by all those different names which were meant for the frail old people. I tried to delay those days by working endlessly in my personal library on writing novels, stories, and poems. I also used to attend some conferences on linguistics, which helped me to be in touch of younger people.

As I told earlier about my third proud, they are my proud because of the care and reverence they give to me and Satoo. They are worried of any minor health issue or some minor fever which we knew is not going to turn into pneumonia or typhoid. I have everything one would ask for in his life.

Living in a country like India it’s surprising that people of relatively younger ages know so less about matured people. There is stereotype that all elderly people have a hearing problem, they have problem in communication as they think we can’t put what al we feel in a line or expressible sentence even if one would have spent an entire lifetime putting feelings, characters  and rhymes in formations. You have to spell out your last held position at doctor’s office if you have gone for general check-up because he is extremely polite or putting it this way more polite than he would be to his own father just because you are treated as a patient even if you are just a matured person. I don’t know what all I would be learning form my years of maturity, may be this age will be able to give another source of proud or my days of pride will come to an end at a count of three?

Unexplained Contradictions.

Today I Am disturbed and feeling sad for a 3 year old kid, a pregnant wife of 30 years and for the person whose lying today on death bed. I was feeling helpless, there loss was unmeasurable and unimaginative. I am not sure how to put this in words but the loss here about which I am talking about is not only the loss of life but a loss of humanity, a loss of life and moreover a loss of a warrior.

Months back, when I saw Aman lying in the bed helpless I was in tears and was trying to comprehend what a person like Aman would be going through right now who has given everything for his beloved people but now that same person I lying there In front of me helplessly seeking for death to come . Few day back when I got a news from his wife that his heart ceased and he finally died completely. I didn't know what to say to her. It was for the first time in my life that I was dumbstruck and was fumbling for words today I lost a friend a brother and a person whom I had admired the most in my life.

Aman was a dear friend of mine since the school time. I would rather say he was a person a perfect balance of a friend and family. I being orphaned at a very early age never came to know about the comfort and meaning of family, till the time I met Aman in my formative years of school. I began visiting his house and came to know how a person called mother (ma) feels, how mother cares for the child, till than I never felt I was deprived by the nature from any comfort of life but suddenly this new definition of family and mother flabbergasted me and annihilated my kingdom comfort.. Aman knew the loss of a parent, he lost his father in the militant attack Lal Chowk firing in 1993, when he was in his Shikara a wild bullet struck in his head and he was dead on the spot. Aman was of 8 years then when the misfortune befallen on him and his mother , his mother used to work on the shikara aftermath and used to earn a meager income . The rate of deterioration of the social condition of valley and economic condition of Aman's home was same. It felt like valley had deep relation with Aman. Being a person who has seen difficulties of life he was close to the realities. He was focused in studies, because for him studies were the only way by doing which he could get a good job and could help his mother.

MOVING AHEAD IN THE TIME FRAME:-

It was my 20^th birthday Aman came to me he was not looking well and his face was ashen-end, pale and looked the same when he got the news of his father's death. I half-jokingly asked him “who died? Why are you looking pale and sick?” He saw me right in my eyes and told nobody died but is dying as we are talking. I asked him to explain me what he was talking about. Yar amijaaan …...... he started crying, asked what happened to Amijaan? He was crying for quite a time unable to speak I grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard asked him what damn happened to Amijaan.

He was again mute just the muffled cries were coming from his throat .I could no longer restrain myslef to know what happened to Ammijan so I ran towards his house towards_Cheeni Chowk . From quite a distance I saw black smoke rising in the sky, people hurling and running for buckets of water, I couldn't believe what I was seeing I wanted to get faint, to die, and to wake up from a bad dream all at a same time. But I want prepared to see the next thing I turned towards hi house and it was visible now form the Khan Bazar Road. The houses in the Aman's colony were burning in the high flames and people were trying to douse the fire. I ran at my fast pace, I was running breathlessly towards his house. Suddenly I felt jolted and I got tripped over something , I tried to stand up again but my hand slipped watching in the direction of Aman's house I never noticed why I tripped what was the thing on which I tripped . People came to my rescue they wiped of dust from my white kurta but the thing they couldn’t wipe and will not be able to wipe from my mind was the human blood on my white kurta I fainted the second I saw the thing on which I tripped.

It was hell of a lot paining my ankle got dislocated with the injury .I had hazy memory about what happened in the morning. It tried to remember hard and make connections about the happenings. Suddenly I felt a comforting touch, somebody gabbed my hand with the soft hands, it was a relief to know somebody is there beside my hospital bed to help me. I turned my head slowly my neck pained a bit. But it was manageable, when I saw a familiar face of my friend Aman. He had a stint of joy, smile on his face and his eyes were teary. None of us poke for a moment, we wanted to remain silent forever, and I didn't wanted to know what happened earlier this morning. He stood up and was going to leave, he strode across the room and was about to exit, but came back and hugged me and started crying. I didn't asked him neither he told me anything about the happenings of the day. He just stood there taking me in his arms and continued to cry for a long time. After an hour or so the silence in the gloomy room was broken by the nurse, she came in for a routine check-up and told me that earlier this morning I was brought here in unconscious condition , which was because of the anxiety attack which I suffered because I saw blood oozing out from a dead body of a bomb blast victim. She spoke like nothing has happened I felt like I am again given a new scar on my soul. My people again have suffered because of some misguided jihad-is. I felt a pain in my heart , I could feel my ophthalmic artery pounding in my head gushing with the blood of vengeance I wanted to get out of the bed and wanted to kill those bastards who killed my people my friend’s father and now hi mother was dying with 96% burns ….. But all the pounding stopped everything felt silent only the sound I could hear was of the cold January end wind blowing out on the fresh snow . Only one fear was now in my head what Aman ha to tell me I regarding amijann? The news should be good or else I will be devastated again …...but now that will be forever. My senses of affection will be doused off if any unfortunate thing happened to her... Aman turned to me and looked with the small strained eyes of his and his silence told me all but still I couldn't believe that the lady, the person who made me well versed with the relationship of mother and defined a term family for me I no more and was dead because of Militant bombing in Cheeni Chowk..

I was heartbroken we two were sitting in the room and staring at each other with teary eyes now I became orphaned once more now the pain searing in my chest rose to throat and became a lump I couldn't speak anything I couldn't console my brother I couldn’t hug him I froze in the chilly evening and laid there still staring towards Aman.

We didn't talked for a two or three days we didn't knew what to say to each other for a long time the loss of mother was same for both of us we couldn't console each other. The fire vengeance was avenging in me but Aman looked calmer and contented with the condition of the valley. Soon he became self-involved and He moved on with his life he left the studies and started working at the lake in place of his mother in the shikara... I tried to convince him to study but all went down the drain he was too broken to hear all anything. With the passage of time things started to heal up but the memoirs were still were fresh the bombings, bullets, militants lal chowk ke kisse keep on happening don't know when it will end.

Opportunities for educated people were shrinking with every passing day, so I decided to move away from Kashmir after completing my graduation to Delhi as I was getting a respectable job there in travel industry. I advised Aman to leave with me to Delhi where he could have found a work but he imply denied he wanted to live and take his last breath where his parent took theirs. He refused to come out of the rotting heaven on earth. With a very heavy heart I took depart from the valley on august 23 19__

And came to Delhi …......

Time passed 4 years later I came back to valley to my orphanage's get together. It filled me with happiness that I was getting a chance an excuse to visit my land where I grew up. And moreover I was going to meet my friend Aman again. I reached Kashmir, Srinagar on 27 October 19__.

I passed from Lal Chowk , entire Chowk is was defaced now the building are torn down near the centre of activity in Kashmir. Army men were on each every corner of the road and nowhere it look like my own beloved Kashmir which it used to look few years back........

I travelled across the city to reach the road and when I reached there I saw a lady was there outside Aman's house who had broom in her hand and was sweeping the periphery. On asking her I came to know that lady in front of the house was the wife of Aman , I told her about me , in an instant she told me about me and Aman's adventures our stories of childhood and she told me that Aman used to talk about our friendship and the time we spent together . Upon asking about the well-being of Aman her joy faded away he was no longer smiling and talking. Her eyes went numb. I asked again about Aman. She then asked me to come with her he guided me to a room ...it was a same room where her mother dead body was found 5 year back ….he was lying on a bed and looked all weak and wrecked ...his face lighted up upon seeing me... he kept on lying on the bed and made no move to move and hug me ...I tried to say salaam walle kum and waited for his reply ...no reply came from other side … I was baffled that what has happened to my friend . I looked back at his wife she standing on the doorway with her numb eyes.

Aman tried to rise from bed but couldn't he tried to speak but it was just a hum of some sound from his vocal cords I could hear....in this while Aman's wife brought me a chair I sat near Aman and she sat on the bed near Aman's feet , she started to tell that 3 year back when they got married , a short while after Aman started having back pains and started felling numbness in the toes … on the first diagnosis doctors thought it was because of the strenuous nature of work of his he is getting the problem....they advised to rest for few days … which he did and felt somewhat better but soon after that in a week or so he was unable to stand his feet went cold and he diagnosed by paralysis...he was completely broken after that. According to doctors it happened because of the condition named Lumbar spinal steno sis which Is a rare disorder in which the spinal cord vertebrates tarts narrowing down and the patient lost the locomotion ability and then slowly a spinal column narrow the nerves are pressed and the body ceases to function …....and the patient and his family has to wait till the time the heart functioning ceases..

a lump formed in my throat I wanted to vent out all my anger vengeance and agitation on the people because of whom Aman suffered and wasn't able to all those things which a man of his age would have had done …. But I had to control my feeling because I have a friend to console..... I moved to outside in the veranda to let the moment pass of me. What I should think in the situation like this I was unable to comprehend what was happening from last 1 hour to me it too much to ingest. I turned my back to the room and got off the veranda stairs and stopped a rickshaw and told him to go towards Lal Chowk. I turned my back from a friend once again I didn't had enough courage to see in his eye and say everything will be alright in a short while …

After I received the call of Aman's wife informing me of demise of Aman I thought was It right on my part to get off the curb after all those years of sharing and caring ….