Idi

It was the last day of Ramadan- the air was thick with festive glee. The children were all over the market place buying their favourite candies, young girls selecting the most beautiful ensemble for the D-day and men purchasing the best meat for the daawat tomorrow. Her house- a one room space in the crammed street- overlooked the market. She looked at the scene outside with great intent, absorbing the happiness and contentment that was being radiated from each and every face that she glanced at.

She remembered her son, and daughter. A tear trickled down her cheek thinking about how she had lost her daughter in the riots. What was her fault? Had she done wrong to anybody? She was a devout Moslim, and had always believed in helping the poor. Today, she missed her terribly. If only she could have her back, if only her life had not turned out the way it did. If only...

Her son had always been a handful. Never the one to listen, he was the one who had to be handled with great care and interest. After his sister's tragic demise, he had become a lot more serious. There was always an intense expression in his eyes, a hardened look. He obeyed everything his mother said, and tried to be the most diligent son, but something was amiss. He started metamorphosing into someone with a purpose, someone who hid his motives from others- probably himself too- so that the world would not know what he was up to. One day, he left home without saying anything to his mother. She thought he would return in sometime. He never did, and it was almost 8 years now.

She was determined that he would return tomorrow. How could he be away from his beloved Ammu for so long? She would make his favourite dishes- Rogan josh, Kesar Biryani, Shahi Qorma and Seviyan. "He will come", she kept repeating to herself. After putting her heart to the preparation of the feast, she was worn out and slept immediately.

---

She woke with a start! Rushing to the door, she flung it open hoping for him to be smiling on the other side. She couldn't recognize who this person was, definitely not her son. He asked for permission to enter as he had something important to talk about. Verifying his credentials, and it turned out he knew her son and his whereabouts, she let him in and offered his a glass of rose water. He drank it with ravenous thirst and asked for some more. She looked longingly at him, hoping that he would be the carrier of a good message. He began talking about how her son had left home to join the extremists in their quest to wreak havoc on society, their plans of a large scale macabre in the town hall on various festivals and their callous behaviour towards the suffering of innocent lives. He was one of them too, but one day something changed- forever. It was Eid, just a day like today, and both of them were walking on the streets, a day off from their mission. They came across a rickety boy, who begged them for some alms. They spoke to the child and asked about his family, and the boy wept silently. As it turned out, he belonged to a well to do setup, but had been orphaned during a blast a few months ago. The two of them froze in their places, because they were the ones who had planned the gruesome act. They felt a burden on their conscience, something they could not live with, and in that moment they decided to flee.

That was 3 years ago, and today both of them were teachers at a Madrassa in the next town. They had taken to teaching young children, who would be the future of the country and transform it into a place of harmony and prosperity.

"Why did he not come back in the past three years?", she asked.
"He tried to, but every time he resolved to return, he remembered the boy and cursed himself for being the culprit for all his miseries. Maybe it was someone like us who killed your daughter, and because of this he could never face you." He fell silent.

Her vision blurred, and she stumbled on her chair. "Take me to him ", she said beseechingly.
"He's here."
She turned around, and there he was. Taller, a lot bonier, but the same softness on his face. The mischief clearly visible in those blue eyes. She rushed, held him with care, and squeezed his arm to confirm his presence. "Where have you been?", that's all she could manage to say before she choked.

---

They ate heartily, shared anecdotes about the past eight years. Her son was back, and he was no longer on the wrong. She remembered her daughter again, and prayed that she be fine in heaven. It was evening now, and it was time for them to leave. As they were departing, he said, "The last time when I left, I did not ask for your permission. Today, I do Ammu. Permit me to leave- only to come back- and pray that I never lose sight of the good."

She blessed him with all her being and prayed silently for his well-being. She thought of the Idi that young ones receive from their elders. God had been very kind on her this day. He had given her the most prized gift- her son.

Random Ramblings

There is inherent goodness in all of us, and that is how the chi flows. The good, the better and the best- I categorize people in that very way. So what if people always doubt you? So what if you are the shade of black in their eyes? If you can eat your square meals a day, and sleep with a spartan conscience, noting else should matter, right?

Sigh. It does.

We are inherently a confused bunch of people. We crave for 'fitting in' and yet try to be unique. The paradox is baffling, and sometimes, there are things that the human mind is never supposed to know. The best way to know yourself is to gauge your responses to various situations. I surprise myself every now and then, and in the process, I evolve.

Time is fluid- it run faster than you can catch up. And in the process of running- huffing and puffing- do snatch a look at yourself, fleetingly if nothing more. You will be surprised to have aged beyond your years. After all, age is just a number and experiences make your existence count.

Ab 'Bus'?

Everyone has a check list, nay a bucket list, for all the things 'checked' and all those which remain hollow circles and squares. Coming home from Roorkee in a shoddy dilapidated Rajasthan Roadways during the wee hours of the morning was not a predominant entry anywhere on that list, but then again, it was a beautiful journey.

The silhouettes of the trees at the far end of the fields, dark stoic figures waiting for the dawn to break, reminded me of the stillness that is life. Time changes- days give way to nights and years to decades- but the being is inherently the same. We all crave for the soothing moonshine, and the comforting rays of the sun. Perspective, or so they say.

To think of all that has flashed by in a span of 3 and a li'l more years was purging in many ways. What if Roorkee never happened? Sometimes I wish it didn't, at others, I can't express my gratitude to the comatose 360 odd acres. The irony that is life.

There are moments when you are weak, and tick-tocks when you can take on the world. No one really likes plain Vanilla ice all throughout, there has to be a change at some point. Variety that is life.