Happy Birthday T...a

What could make a great gift for you? That's a tough one and the pressure gets compounded by the fact that it's your birthday. This is your first birthday after our marriage and I want to make it special for you. I have been searching online for an unusual gift, something other than normal, like you. And then I came across this cute (I know you like cute things) and unusual looking jar, a solar sun jar, which the seller declared was more magical than it seemed, and I again thought about you, and he even tried selling me the idea of it being a time machine. The idea was farfetched and I never thought too much into it but surely the jar was cute and I was praying that you would like it.

It was almost mid night and I could feel the restlessness in you, to know how your first birthday with me would be and what I would gift you. I would be lying if i say I was not restless myself, worrying whether you would like what I have got for you. I blindfold you and take you into the room, I whisper in your ears "Happy Birthday Sweetheart" and you jump with joy and hug me back. You see the faint yellow light filling the room, coming from a strange looking jar and you ask me if that's for you and I nod in affirmation. You take it in your hands and tell me it's so sweet. You stare at it as if I gifted you the Sun itself and you want to see how it looks from up close. Then you turn back and ask what else have I got. I give you a birthday card and you start reading it aloud. I sense that you wanted something more and that you were not really excited about the jar. Though you never said anything I could read your mind, and you know that I could do that.

Somewhere in the middle of the night I woke up startled; might have been a bad dream. The yellow light from the jar was still radiating in the room. I found myself getting out of the bed and moving towards the source of the light, without my volition. I took the jar and felt captivated by the light coming from it. It felt a little eerie and then the words of the seller flashed in my mind, "open the lid while the jar is glowing and make a wish and you will travel through time". Without my realizing what was happening I opened the lid and I made a wish. The next thing I remember is of being in a hospital. No, nothing happened to me. I am actually walking down the corridor of the hospital, but not sure where I am going. I could feel me walking behind myself and trying to see what I was doing. I stop in front of the maternity ward and peep in. I see lot of newly mothers with their new borns sleeping. I step in and start to look around. Little did I realized then what I was looking for but the moment I saw her I realized that this was it. It was your mom, and I could recognize her instantly as if I had seen her a hundred times before. She was in deep sleep but looked really tired, like after a storm, from the experience of delivering her first child, who was sleeping next to her, a girl. Yes, it was you. I came closer to the bed and looked at you. Surprisingly you were not asleep, and I smiled thinking that you don't sleep much even now. You looked at me and smiled, as if you knew I was coming and you were staying awake for me. I fell for your smile, as I always do and I took you in my arms. You felt so small and delicate that I wanted to put you back on the bed, but I was afraid that you will create a scene if I did that and I did not wanted to be caught in a maternity ward, dead in the night, with a baby in my arms which was not mine. I brought you close to my face and kissed you. I looked into your eyes and felt lost, not knowing where I was, what was happening and what I was doing. Slowly you closed your eyes and I came out of your spell. I closed my eyes and made a wish again.

You were still fast asleep, just as when I had left, oblivious to what I had done and what I had in my arms. I looked at you and whispered in my mind, "look what I have got for you. I got you". I closed the lid of the jar and felt relieved and startled at the same time. The words of the seller resonated in my mind, "you will believe me one day". I pressed you into me and took you into the other room. I sat on the couch and looked at your face. I thought about how you were not happy about the gift I gave you just hours ago and now when I'll give you yourself what would your expressions be like. Would you be able to recognize yourself and feel weak in your knees or will you just get worried about whose baby is this in your house. I guess you will recognize yourself, but that would be the easy part. The hard part would be to explain to you how I did it. But after all is said and done I am sure you'll be overjoyed.

Just then you enter the room. You might have woken, and not finding me next to you, might have got worried. I am worried too, not sure how you would react to having a baby but when you see yourself as your baby I am certain that you will be at loss for words. I don't think it gets any better than this. We always think that we know best as to what is good for us and if one gets to shape one's own life, what could be better than that. I hope, you remember all the small things that you wanted to do when you were young, all the things you disliked, what made you angry and sad and what set your heart racing, what you disliked about your parents and what you always yearned for them to do for you, how you always wanted to be pampered and no one to get angry at you. Though the list of how, what, when and why seems endless I am sure it's all stored away in your mind. I am giving you a chance again in life, to do all of it your way. With all that you have experienced in life I am sure, if given a chance, you will be the best mother to yourself. Once you get over the initial shock of seeing yourself in your own arms, you would look at me and ask, why such a gift, why me? Well, haven't I said I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Well, I had a change of mind. Now I think just the rest of your life is not good enough. I want to spend the rest of my life experiencing the whole of your life, growing old with me as my wife and starting younger as my girl. You would call me selfish but I would agree to it gladly this time. Just that very moment you smile, as if you were listening to what was going in my mind.

You come close to me and take her from me. Then for the first time you look into your small sparkling eyes with relief and kiss yourself. I am waiting to hear what would be the first words you would say to your baby, to yourself. Then with eyes filled with tears and voice choked with emotions, you utter the words - "Happy Birthday Tisca"

It's only words- Are they?

What happens inside our mind is incomprehensible. I was fascinated to psychology years ago for the same reason. My mother feared too much love for the subject ,would turn me a psycho which I do not deny I am ,still it fascinated me . A part of mine interprets my thought processes as I act it out, just as you make sense of each word you read now. Is that not fun?

You read with such ease that you never realise it is a miracle. Reading these words and making sense of it simultaneously amazes me. If your eyes get locked at something you did not understand your Microsoft word (your brain) searches for synonyms or something similar you heard to assist you/

Imagine being illiterate , you roam around seeing colourful shapes that mean nothing to you. And imagine the joy you had while reading your name – the bond you felt with those colourful shapes which meant you- which meant your identity- no wonder each time we learn a language we learn to write our name first and cherish it.

And this mind of ours is cluttered with lots of words big and small- compliments, taunts, appreciation, pain, love notes, sweet nothings, and nothing- something.

We index them neatly, some of us have them cluttered too, some lucky one lose them. We bring them out in fights, crisis and cud chewing moments and delight, pride and weep over them.

Sometimes in the middle of the whole process mind goes blank and if you know what I mean it’s a beautiful experience. There were moments when I kept repeating A-L-W-A-Y-S back and forth and still could not believe it is a word and forgot what it meant. Only people who love words would no what I mean and not passerby. I often pause at scrabble board and amaze myself at the discovery of new meanings. The problem Is we throw words in a sentence as if we made them.

I have a friend who loves Derrida deconstruction) and keeps deconstructing a word till you cant any further. He asks what’s a chair? And I said, “something you sit on”. “But that could be a log too”, he says and then I say, “well chair is a thing which has a back support can be of metal or wood or plastic and of a particular shape”. But disproving me, he gives alternatives for all the above. Google the word chair and you would see pictures which will re define your definition of a chair.

And if conveying the meaning of something non living as a chair is so difficult, what about a living mind? Doesn’t a word fail to express the most joyous and saddest moments of life? Just as cameras cannot capture the essence of the moment. Doesn’t the transfer of thoughts from mind to paper lose a lot of essence? Nothing living can be preserved so we call them memories. What remains is just an evidence which says “ I was here- I experienced it”. And still all these literature, pieces of information flung at you in papers mystify you that they convey a lot. Do they?

That’s what makes me crazy about human mind and words.

'WE', the people of India

Today is one such day when Her Highness is not around and I feel like putting up a post. But I am not thrilled to do it because it's difficult for me to come to terms with the fact that Bhuji is looking after a friend who has contracted Swine Flu. It's really brave of her, and another friend of hers, to forget their sense of well being and help one of their batchmate. In the end, in the fight against the unknown disease, it's was only these two people who came forward to help and everybody else had excuses galore. 'In prosperity your friends know you, in adversity you know your friends', the words echo in my mind. And sitting hundreds of miles away I can only pray for their health and humbly request the same from you. But still can't help reflecting on the kind of people we are and therefore sharing these thoughts with you :-

Why are our homes and building complexes spick and span but the sidewalks and roads a settlement of trash and filth? How hundreds of us can crowd around an accident but not a single one to help the victims? Why do we need to swear with every breath to make a point? Why are we always a crowd and never a queue? And when we are in one why do we always feel the need to jump the queue? Why are we always in a state of hurry as if life is an infinite-athalon? How did we end up being the second most populous country with ‘SEX’ being such a taboo? Why do we worship women as goddesses but burn them alive when they our wives? Why do we know exactly how others should lead their life and nothing about what we should do with our own? Why do we feel it’s ok to engrave our names on historical monuments, as if the great grand-children will come looking for it? Why are the roads always in a state of being dug-up; looking for a lost civilization are we? Why punctuality never landed on our shores, maybe because time and tide waits for Indians? Why do we become arsonists and plunderers at the end of every peaceful protest? Why we travel ticketless and then complain about the pathetic state of the transport system? Why are there more people coming to see-off friends and relatives at a station or an airport than the number of travelers themselves? Why do we evade taxes by all possible means and then grumble about the sorry state of affairs? Why do we always feel an urge to spit while we are on the road and never so at home? Why do we always jump red lights as if red means to pass and green too? Why is bargaining the synonym of shopping for us? Why do we never smile; saving all of it for afterlife are we? Why do we relieve ourselves at will with no regard for places, people or protocol? Why are we so hooked up on boobs and six-packs? Why do we need loudspeakers to spread the word around and crackers to declare celebration? Why do we try to retrieve our overheard baggage even before the plane has landed? Why some of us have never uttered the word ‘Sorry’ in our whole life? Why do we always prefer cheap over quality and fakes over genuine? Why engineers and doctors are only what our children are expected to become? Why dowry is an excuse for the payment of expenses on a boy’s upbringing and education; do girls get it for free in this country? Why is money next to godliness and they keep switching places? Why do we think foreigners are the horniest creatures roaming on the planet and an easy catch for that matter? Why telling a lie comes naturally to us and giving excuses a habit? Why are we indifferent when we need to react and belligerent when we need to be quiet? Why capital punishment in schools is part of the curriculum? Why politics is not ‘for the masses’ but ‘for the money’ and politicians are ‘not by the people’ but ‘by the powerful’? Why do we need wars to unite us as a country, otherwise there are enough battles to be fought within? Why is there a waiting list for anything that can be listed? Why is life all about a job, a house and two square meals? Why are cricketers paid millions in this country and martyrs and war veterans die in penury? Why maiming a child increases his begging potential by many folds? Why the caste divide renders some people less than human and others turn into kings? Why do we have so many religions but so little faith? Why is there so much emphasis on education but none on learning social sense? Why everything here is done with an ulterior motive and acts of compassion took the last flight to Mars? Why is the birth of a girl child akin to the death of the Mahatma? Why are here more shanties than decent dwelling places? Why do we complain about the incapability of the government but never go to cast our votes? Why are we so worried about after-life when we know not what to do with this one? Why is the best thing the authorities can do it to say “we are doing our best”? Why is getting justice such a long drawn out process that winning and losing doesn’t matter in the end? Why do we get to see elected representatives only during election campaigns and never after until it’s time again? Why does something get built in ten years when the plan was to do it in one-tenth of that? Why life in the villages is so appalling that living in the slums is like Las Vegas? Why religion divides us from the ones who follow a different one, no lesser from the ones who follow the same? Why voyeurism is a means of entertainment and neighbour’s affairs a primetime soap? Why is corruption so rampant that one has to grease a palm, even to gets one’s stitched back? Why is my ego as big as a hot air balloon and the sense of forgiving the size of a pin-head? Why are our driving skills pre-human and the conditions of the road prehistoric? Why are we satisfied with what we achieve and never try to push the bill a little harder? Why does a 'selfless act' makes us to think twice but for a movie or Pizza Hut we are ever ready? Why are we like this: We, the people of India, why?

A snake, a stalker, few paranthas and lots of pain

2:05 am: I woke up with a shooting pain in my chest. I could not breathe. I badly wanted to yawn and realised the more I tried, the more it ached. Technically there was congestion between my sternum and the lowest rib, at the right side. I tried all yogic positions hoping it was gastritis. Then tried hot water bag and analgesics. They had no effect and it was almost 3 am. I thought of waking my friends but felt pity on disturbing their schedules the next day. I thought of calling the ambulance as I was almost breathless. Finally I decided to call my loved ones at home though it felt crazy at that hour of the day. I was scared that I would not hear from them again. Mom was an insomniac so she picked up the phone immediately. She said she had a premonition that something was wrong and asked me to go to the hospital immediately. Our dear editor took some time to pick up and was tensed. I noted mentally not to call men folk in crisis- that is if I survived. Somewhere at the back of my mind I strongly felt it was gastritis. I was still scared because one of mom’s friend died of cardiac arrest which she mistook as gastritis and had therefore deferred going to the doctor.

3:30am: I could not bear it any longer and called my friend ‘T”, who was far more composed and thought we should call the person next door too. ‘FOI’, who was next door person, thought it was 6 am and I was calling her for playing badminton, so she said she won’t make it now and dozed off. “T”and I called the ambulance and she asked me to rock myself till the ambulance arrived. Now as if my planets - Mars and Jupiter were waging wars, all the three emergency numbers of the hospital went unanswered. The security guard at the hostel called up the control room and informed no one was responding at the hospital reception and that we had a case of emergency. I was crying feeling helpless. I just wanted to breathe, I could bear the pain but I wanted to breathe and maybe to even live. I thought of all those dying patients I sat with at Regional cancer centre who gasped for their final breath. I decided not to fight with the editor and my friends- if I came back alive. I decided to work seriously, pray hard. I thought of all my friends at the insti whom I wanted to talk to. If this was my last chance they too would regret not meeting me. There was no sign of the ambulance even by 4 am . I was carrying this pain inside me for 2 hrs now. I consoled myself saying this is nothing compared to the cross Christ bore. I saw that “T” was drowsy and I realised the angst Christ had when his friends and disciples were sleeping at Gethsamene. “Spirit is willing, flesh is weak”, I kept repeating inspired by my spiritual alter to calm myself. “It’s nothing fatal you idiosyncratic hypochondriac,” my rational alter yelled.



The week before had also been hellish. I had two bad experiences on campus. A stalker who followed me saying some crap and also proved to be an amateur exhibitionist. My friend and I who were victims of this incident had lodged a complaint hence I was famous among the security officers. The very next day I spotted a snake in front of my room. Now placing all these pieces of jigsaw puzzle together, the security officers drew a traditional and logical analysis. The traditional one was that my planets were on a collision course and these were all series of mishaps indicating it. First the stalker, followed by the snake and now the chest pain.
Logical version was that all the events from the week has stressed me and I was scared which led to the chest pain. So unlike other cases, this time the security officer himself took his bike to go see why the institute hospital was not responding. If the girl died they would be accused for not tracking stalkers who frighten women on campus.
If they asked me I had a third version which would make more sense. I had Alu parantha the previous night and Alu sabzi and Dal in the afternoon. I have a medical history of gastritis since 10 years and I don’t need any planets to contribute further. Alas! They had their own theories and I was bathing in their pool of pity.

4:15 am : Finally the ambulance arrived and I was rushed to the hospital. The
drowsy nursed tried injecting panatcid, failing four times, to find a vein. The doctor was irritated at the early morning emergency and listened to my woes. I felt miserable being there, disturbing their sleep.
“The pain will persist whole day”, she said and prescribed something for gastritis and muscle pain. ”T” was worried if they had diagnosed it wrongly in their sleep and what if things worsened in hours. We stayed back till morning and returned to my room. The pain still persisted. I drifted to sleep promising myself – If I survive .............................I won’t eat Alu paranthas ever.

Not just football....

There is more to football than just kicking the ball for us (me & my brother). Anybody recalling their childhood days would agree that it was more fun doing things which were suffixed with ‘dire consequences’, by the dark forces; our parents. Though our ‘don’t do’ list was much longer than the ‘do’ list, some things were as close as being outlawed. Football though never featured in the ‘don’t do’ list (actually my father encouraged me when I started practicing for our school team), the combination of football and rains were a much ostracized event. I think anybody who has footed a ball will concur that nothing beats the fun of playing football in the rain. And we never got enough beating for doing that.

What makes football in the rain different from playing at any other time is 1) the cloud and rain would make it so cool around that one never felt exhausted and 2) (a highly debated point though) with the water and dampness in the field, the skills and tricks of the best of the players came to a naught, as if creating a level playing field. Though we never had the likes of Ronaldos and Kakas amongst us but the above two reasons at least brought the Tendulkars and Kasparovs to the football field. So far so good, but what used to cause trouble at home was bucket full of soiled & dirty clothes and cuts & bruises in plenty. The latter was not much of a concern as ours was a medical fraternity, but the former added to more wet clothes all around the house on overcast days. May be that’s what added ‘football in the rain’ to the ‘don’t do’ list. But for us what added extra fun was to go play and come back without letting the parents know (which you will read further, was not always the case). Mom was sometimes OK with it but we had hard time keeping out of dad’s sight.

On a typical day we would first start looking out on the field if somebody had started playing, as the field was clearly visible from our balcony. Then we would start listening to our parent’s conversations to see if dad was about to go out for some chore. We were sure on Tuesdays he would go to the local grocery market in the evening and that meant an hour’s play for us. It was not hard to convince mom but sometimes we just slipped out of the house once dad had left. If we got caught in the act then we would say to mom that we would be back in a minute. It feels so funny to me now that whenever I tried to slip out of the house my excuse would always be - "I’ll back in a minute," irrespective of what I was going out for or that it would never be done in a minute.

I don't clearly remember why we siblings never used to be in the same team. May be because we used to team up based on our age and the younger ones were teamed together and the elders in the other. Again this disparity in age was never a concern as we were just a bunch of kids trying to hit a ball through a pair of stones kept at opposite ends. Another thing that I clearly remember is that we always played bare footed and anybody who came to the field in sneakers had to do without it on the field. This though led to lots of cuts for sure but it was a necessary evil. Another must on the field was arguments and quarrels, on everything from goals to fouls to off sides. Sometimes these small disagreements were fought with more fervour than the game itself. My bother and I used to be the more vocal parties to the dispute as we took our disagreement seriously and often took it home after the game. I think it had nothing to do with football per se but we ended up doing this in all other sports, cricket especially because my brother was passionate about it (that’s another story). Otherwise the disputes used to be settled based on whether one was winning or loosing or had a winning or loosing chance based on that one decision. Not to say the kid who owned the ball had a greater say on the proceedings (but we did overcome this veto power later by pooling money to buy the ball). Though the quarrels did add another dimension to the game, with the rare elbows and kicks becoming more frequent. But there was one thing we all agreed and knew would change the fate of the game; if the sky would open up suddenly. Once it started to rain it was anybody’s game. Even a badly loosing team felt they have a chance and the, till now convincingly, winning team felt a knot in their throat. The sudden rush was so intense, as if it were the dying moments of the game even though the game might have just started. Once the field started to show up pools of water, it was anybody’s guess that staying on ones feet would win us the game rather than trying a lot of tricks. It was so much fun and difficult, at the same time, to get the ball from one goal to another, that we would end up laughing our heart out and celebrate our goals for minutes to come. I had another thing to worry about; to keep my specs dry in the rain. When it used to rain heavily the specs were of no use and so was I. My worst nightmares used to come true when my specs would come under somebody’s feet.

Though there was one other thing that used to worry us both while playing and that was to get back home before dad did. So we used to constantly keep one eye on the road and the other on the proceedings on the field. But as luck would have it we were often spotted by dad in the act of playing or just when we were done with the game. But it did used to make a lot of difference if we were spotted close to the house or on the field. Because if we were on the field then dad would come to the field and thrash us all the way home. It was so embarrassing in the front of so many kids who were getting extra dose of fun for the day by watching us getting thrashed.

Looks like and for certain that it was only our dad who would not bother about where he was seen setting his children right. But in hindsight I think this made the other kids not to mess up with us because they feared getting the same treatment from dad. As we grew older we were able to outrun dad on the field and made sure the beating always happened inside the house. But even if he managed to catch us he could not hold on to both of us. Whoever escaped would make a dash for the bathroom and start cleaning up. One would take so much time in doing so to let dad vent his anger on the other sibling and give him time to cool off. So eventually it used to be a race to reach the bathroom first. It was obvious that if you lost this race you won yourself a good amount of thrashing. It was funny once, when at the end of one such race, we came home, to find mom using the bathroom. We had never thought of such bad luck before. But were relieved that now we were both in the open and will have to share what was coming. We rushed to the terrace and started cleaning up taking water from the water tank. Dad became more furious this time as we were spoiling the whole water in the tank. He started to chase us and we took him for a ride in circles around the tank. It was like a musical chair with us crying to be spared and dad swearing at us. It brings to my mind the worst forms of getting cornered, getting stuck, a steep fall, a certain end. I can’t recollect how that ended but as far as I know my dad it might have been anything but happy. Funny indeed that often, after all that has happened, some moron kid would come to our house to return the football in full view of dad. Common sense was in short supply with those kids. They used to get the choicest profanities from dad and for us the misadventure doesn’t seem to end. Dad used to be in a foul mood for the rest of the evening and we used to stay away from his sight. It used to be so quiet in the house on such evening that we wished some relatives or friends would come home to break the curse. Even though we wanted the day to end quickly we knew that the night won’t be much fun either. We siblings used to settle scores in the night as one of us would have won the game or we would have quarreled on the field or one would have got more thrashing because the other reached the bathroom first. We used to make sure that we did not go to bed, or sometimes after, until we were even. I still love the game but deeply miss the days when we had more to look out for than just the opponents in the game. Playing football for us was not just hitting the ball.

A crazy night

I have reveries at times. They are mostly snap shots or collage of some incidents from the past and sometimes unknown scenes which I soon discover happening to me later. Recently glimpses of one of such craziest moments of my life hit me. A crazy eventful trip to Delhi, something I had brushed under the carpet and locked up somewhere in the cellars of my unconscious arose to my conscious mind. To the uninitiated mind the incident might not raise an eyebrow, but to me, when I look back at it with shades of prevalent moral and cultural values, common Indian sensibility and finally, for those who know me, copious feminist ideologies, it surprises me to no end as to how I ended up doing what I did.

This is how it went. Five of us in our MSW batch (three boys- Sam, Ikka and Mann and two girls- T and me) were recruited by CAPART (Council for Advancement of People’s Action and Rural Technology) in 2006. We were excited because we were going to work for Ministry of Rural Development and get our first shot into the inside life of top government offices (well it was very exciting then)

Before we go any further a note on all five of us might help you understand the incident better.
Sam was the most senior among us. His age was an unsolved puzzle. A calm and matured guy who took all the responsibilities.
Mann and I knew each other for five years coz we did our grads and post grads from the same colleges.

Ikka was the typical Wayanad guy - a charming little fellow. He was good at extempores and debates.

T (identity withheld on request or should I say - threat) was a mystic to me. A great Osho fan, took things at her pace. You could also call her a tortoise in this race called life.

And Me. Let’s not get there. Maybe I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.

My family hated the whole idea of their daughter travelling to odd places especially to those stinking rural villages. So the more I had to wait at home for the training sessions to begin, the more restless I became. We had no clues about the training period so when we got the dates, out of the blue, we had no tickets to Delhi. We finally managed one seat in 3 A/C through EQ (Emergency Quota) when we could have managed few seats in Sleeper if we really tried. The guys wanted to travel in A/C and even if that meant on the foot board. Though mom said we could carry food from home, the guys opposed it saying we will manage. I carried some snacks and mom like a typical Kerala mom gave me a bunch of banana (like six kgs and that was small to her). The crazy guys decided to survive on bananas to save money (we had daily allowance so if you ate bananas you got lot of money to save which you would later spend on shopping). Well, we were young and foolish and wanted to save money even if it meant starving (we means the menfolk).

We girls shared the berth at night and guys slept in the morning, taking turns. I was already crazy when I reached Delhi. Everything was fine until the last day of the training. The guys booked for a return train two days later hoping we would do some shopping before leaving for home. But we were free after five pm every day and did most of our shopping anyways. And after two weeks we were fed up and badly wanted to go home. A bigger mistake we did was assuming we would be permitted to stay for two more days. We thought we could bargain saying since we were informed late; we could not get any tickets. But the international hostel had many training programmes so they requested us to leave.

We managed to leave our luggage for the day and helped all other friends we met during the training to pack and leave for the station. There was no enthusiasm for shopping but we somehow wanted to kill time. Unlike today we had no contacts in Delhi then. We were baffled and found ourselves on the street. It was not a joke to find a place to stay for a day. Dorms at the station were full and we did not know where to go. Safety was a factor and so was money. We had to manage this crisis without letting our parents panic and even more, maintaining our own sanity.

Luckily Sam had the business card of a police officer who travelled with us on train from Kerala. He spoke about a lodge he ran near Hazrath Nizammudin. When we contacted him he said they had one room and could rent it out if we were willing to share. One room was a relief. But three boys and two girls in a room? “Would that be a problem feminists”, asked the guys? I visualised all those movies where the police raided shady looking rooms and if some things did go wrong what would I tell my mother? My mind was already listing down endless troubles. I trusted the guys but sharing a room with three of them in a room was not a pleasant thought. But this place was run by a policeman so we assumed it was safe.

When they handed over the key to us, they had a straight face. Inside the room, I began to feel suffocated. We all decided that this would be a secret and we would never tell this to anyone back home. To make it easy for us the guys got freshened up and left the room. That gave space for us girls to relax. We were asked to open the door only for them.

I was hoping to have a decent dinner but the guys came back with bread, jam and eggs. Bread and jam made sense but eggs made me confused. That’s when Ikka told me we could boil eggs in the vaporiser. T had one because she had wheezing . And we waited to see how long it took to boil eggs one by one. Naturally in such dire circumstances we had to resort to such stale pleasures. When it was bed time the guys were feeling awkward to sleep with their shirts on in the Delhi heat. We girls were irritated in our modest clothes but this had to be done. After the lights were off the guys did remove their shirts. When I woke up in the middle of the night I saw the guys huddled up as if they wanted to maintain a border on the bed. I don’t remember sleeping very well.

We tried spending the next day in all possible shopping avenues sleepy and tired. I remember crashing into slumber as soon as we boarded the train. We never spoke how we felt staying together. Knowing the guys and their background, I doubt they would ever do this and what courage they mustered for this crisis management.

As for me spending a night with these guys came as naturally then as awkward it feels now when I look back. This challenged the feminist in me. What was I scared of? Why had this memory faded away unlike others? What was I doing in the whole frame? Not even for a second did I think- we are friends and this is natural nor could I feel they were like brothers. Was I really narrow minded? Did the society reflect through me or vice-versa? Was I more feminist then or am I more now? And that’s why I still find it crazy.

Fire'd Drill

I had a great lunch and it was not long before sleep started weighing heavy on my eyes. It was a lazy day and I had no work to shoo the sleep away. This was becoming a trend now. I had experimented with: lime juice, mini meals and whopper thalis; but sleep would invariably find me in the afternoon. So we decided to head to the break-out area and treat ourselves with some antidote - Caffeine. Namit doesn’t indulge in luxuries like coffee or tea, but still came along for company. A few sips and the conversation started flowing: how we finally bagged the Oscars with some shit and lot of slum, how charming Hugh Jackman looked as a host and why Aamir always avoids those award functions where he can definitely bag some awards and always goes to those where he doesn’t stand a chance. The silence in between the conversation was broken by the shrill sound of the fire alarm.

The last time there was a fire drill; we casually strolled around, picked up coffee, then lazily took the stairs down and were the last to reach the ‘safe’ zone. The security supervisor was not at all pleased. He singled us and made examples out of us in front of the whole company. He was bemused by the fact that we were looking for espresso when we should be looking for the exit. A little more mockery and we felt as if we were on fire. So the moment I heard the fire alarm this time, it all came back to me. But I looked around and felt a sense of salvation. This time I can confidently carry the coffee around because I was in the break-out area and having coffee, when the alarm rang. Talk about being in the right place at the right time. Arrogance was wrapped all over me. But soon a voice on the messaging system informed that this was not a fire drill and there was an actual emergency. We looked at each other and didn’t knew how to react. We could sense urgency in people around us; who otherwise would be indifferent to fire drills and the voice from the speaker was adding to the hysteria. It kept reiterating that this was not a drill. We ran to our desk to fetch our ‘fire emergency kit’. We prized open the emergency kit as if it were a Christmas gift. Never before had we bothered to check what was in the pack: a trashy looking eye glass, a whistle, a smoke mask and an LED torch. Somewhere deep down we were excited to have got an opportunity to use these stuff. Shikha was still holding on to her coffee cup. It was no use reasoning with this girl.

The only good thing about fire drills is that it’s a one way street, you walk down the stairs but there are always escalators to bring you back. I remember of a fire drill in London, where one had to climb down twenty eight floors. But it was not as bad as it sounds because we were served doughnuts and orange juice when we came back and yes we took the lifts back. It was not a long way down this time; just seven floors. We joined a crowd of other employees, on the stairs, rushing towards the ground floor. It felt like we were coming out of a movie hall. There was silence all around; same as you feel, after you have witnessed something remarkable and people take time to let it all sink in. It was only later that I realized that we were actually heading towards something remarkable rather than coming out from one. With each passing floor we had more people joining us and suddenly there was a sense of frenzy that was starting to build. There were a few people with their masks on, some had goggle and mask both, others shining torch at each other and a few others playing with whistles. I tried looking around to see if there was any fire or smoke around; but none that I could see. The fire warden admonished us that the whistles were to be used only by a person in distress, to attract attention. If only I knew it beforehand, I would have blown both my lungs into it. It was not long before we reached the ground floor and assembled towards the evacuation point. It was odd that we did not see any signs to indicate an emergency or fire though we were relieved to have escaped from whatever was out there.

The Human Resources head of the company came forward and started addressing the group. It was odd; usually it’s the security supervisor who runs the show on such occasions. Then gradually through his speech it hit us; this was a layoff exercise and not a fire drill. He told us that the company was not doing well, business was badly hit, they had tried cutting cost by other means and this was the last attempt to shore the firm. Now I felt the fire starting to burn and the smoke choking my breath. But are we all out of jobs, I thought. We looked at each other with shock; words had no meaning here, everything was understood; we were all on the same ship, a sinking one. But there was a lifeboat thrown to us, though in a particularly weird way. We were asked to swipe our access cards on the turnstile and those who still had access still had their job and they can enter the building and those who don’t can take a cab back home. Any personal items left at the desk would be couriered to the individuals and their final settlements would be handed out the same way. There was no scope for discussion here. The fire was over but it was the pain that was left; it was lingering on. No one moved an inch. The HR guy, once he was done with the farewell speech, swiped his card and calmly went back in. A few others took the cue and soon there was a crowd forming in front of the three turnstiles. It looked like students standing in front of a notice board, trying to figure out whether their names made it to the passing list. But this notice board was much advanced; which blinked green if you pass and red if you fail. Those who didn’t pass had disbelief written all over their face, which slowly gave way to disappointed and ended with tears. They tried their access cards again and again but with the same agonizing result. The turnstile soon started looking like an international border, with friends at both sides, looking expectantly at each, not knowing what to say. The ones who made it in were not going back to their desks because they were worried for the fate of their friends and those who didn’t make it had nowhere left to go. It was not long before we got our turn at the notice board. Surprisingly we three reached the turnstiles at the same time. We swiped our cards and waited for the lights to blink green. We looked at each other in disbelief.