May I help you?

Picture Source: amazonaws.com

Stage 1: An Understanding

“India needs six runs of the last ball to win this thriller of a match. Sachin, who is on strike, has not been in the best of his form lately; Glen McGrath, the one who gets to deliver the last ball, is”, Tony Graig exclaimed.   

Sachin tightened his grip over his MRF bat, even as the bowler started his run-up. After letting the ball leave his hand, McGrath looked up immediately to see if the ball did what he wanted it to do.

He wanted to know if he had just pulled off a perfect slower ball.

The trick about a slower ball is that, usually a batsman identifies it only after playing the shot, by which time it would have already done the damage. Moreover, when a batsman is in pressure, it is one of the most fatal deliveries to trick him into making a costly mistake. McGrath made no mistake in his calculations. It was a perfect occasion for a perfect slower ball. After leaving the ball, all he could was to hope that the batsman would fall for the trick, but in vain.     

The minute the ball left McGrath’s hand, Sachin knew what he was about to face. He let a smile escape his face. Sachin went on the front foot and slammed the ball over the covers all the way to the Six.

That day during the post match celebrations, a thirteen year old kid jumped over the fences; reached for Sachin and asked for an autograph on his bat. Sachin complied.

***

Maruti’s dream met an abrupt end when his mother yelled at him, ‘Wake up. Its 8 AM already’.

He woke up in a shock; disappointed to be back in reality.

His mother who was wiping the floor with a wet cloth urged him to get ready and finish his breakfast. 

He went to the restroom by jumping across the corners which were not wet.

***

 ‘Listen, how much will a new bat cost?’ she asked her husband who was getting ready for work.

‘A Cricket bat?’

‘Yes, I think Maruti needs a new bat. The bat with which he has been playing has a broken handle’

‘Have you gone bonkers? He scored 65 in his Math test; I think he shouldn’t be allowed to play 

cricket in the first place. What he needs is a Math Tuition!’ he replied.

‘He is only a kid. And he is crazy about cricket. This is his time. Let him have it’, she pleaded.

‘Since when has he been asking you to have this conversation with me?’ he continued.

‘Actually he never did. In fact, he didn’t even say to me that he needs a bat yet’, she replied making sure she was not loud enough to be heard by the boy.

‘Then why are we having this conversation? Maybe he doesn’t need the bat in the first place’

‘I know what he needs even before he asks me. It’s a mother’s thing, you won’t understand. Trust me’

‘You are spoiling him by giving him whatever he wants’, he said.

‘I am giving him what he needs; not what he wants’

‘Okay. Fine’, he said.

***

That afternoon Maruti walked into the kitchen silently and said, ‘Amma, can I ask you something?’

‘Yes’, his mother replied, even as she was cutting the vegetables.

‘You know that I have been collecting money in my piggy bank for quiet sometime now’, he said, showing her the clay pot which had a slot for dropping coins/folded notes in it.

‘I would like you to break it for me. I want to use the money to buy a bat’

‘Why do you want to buy a bat?’

‘My bat’s handle is broken. It hurts whenever I hit a six. And you know I always like to hit a Six’

‘I want the Sachin’s bat, the one with an MRF Sticker on it’, he said. He radiated a smile even as he said it.

His mother took the piggy bank from him and said ‘You know what, I have a better idea. What if I do not break your piggy bank and you could still buy a bat’

‘Promise me that you will work hard for your next Math test and I will give you the money to buy a bat’, she said producing a 500 rupee note from the sugar jar.

He smiled so broad that his lips seemed to almost bridge the distance between his ears.

‘I sure will. Thanks Amma’, he said as he took the Rs. 500 note.

‘Be careful with the money’, his Mother shouted even as he stormed out of the house for the store.

***

Stage 2: A Thanksgiving

Maruti came to a halt when he reached the end of the street. The store was on the other side of the road, and in order to reach there he had to cross one of the busiest roads in Mumbai: Kane Road, Bandra West.

Maruti did not know how to cross the road. He was terrified as he saw the speeding heavy vehicles rush past him. He looked around hoping that someone would help him cross the road. No help came. 

He then closed his eyes.

It was exactly 2 weeks back, when Maruti had to cross the road on his own for the first time. He was on his way to the school. His brother would always accompany him, but now that he had moved to a hostel, Maruti had no one to help him cross the road.

He had attempted to cross the road by taking a few steps but immediately retreated. The speeding vehicles terrified him. He looked around for help, but in vain. It was as if he was invisible to everyone, lost in the crowd of the adults.

Even as he was standing there helpless, he closed his eyes and started praying for help. His prayers were answered when he heard someone say: ‘May I help you?’

Maruti looked up to see the source of the sound. It was an elderly person, dressed in a safari suit.

‘Yes, Can you help me cross the road?’ the eleven year old kid asked him.

‘Okay. You know what! I will do something which is better than helping you cross the road! I will teach you how to cross the road’ he had said. This way, you won’t need any help next time you have to cross the road’

He held the boy’s hand and said, ‘first look at the left side, then at the right side and then again on the left side. If you see any vehicles coming, wait for them to leave. Remember to be patient, when a good time comes, cross the road.

They started walking, meticulously judging their every next-step. ‘The most important thing is not to panic’, the old man had said.

And before Maruti could realize, they were half way through: They had reached the Road Divider.

Maruti opened his eyes. His mind did a great job at recollecting every detail the old man had said that day. He obediently followed them and reached the Road Divider. The battle was already half won.  

He stood on the road divider and closed his eyes again. He felt his brain worked better when his eyes were closed.

When they reached the road divider, the elderly person said, ‘Ok now start by looking at the right side because the vehicles come from the right on this side of the road, then look at left and then again at right. Always remember if you see a vehicle coming you wait for it to go. You should start walking only when you are sure you can cross the road safely’

Maruti obeyed and took the lead this time. He decided when to start and when to stop walking across the road.

Maruti opened his eyes and followed his own leads to cross the road this time.

When he reached the other side of the road safely, he was elated. He looked back at the road with an air of a king looking back at the kingdom he had just conquered.

***

Maruti saw the old man, who had helped him cross the road a couple of weeks back, just a few shops away on the foot path.

Maruti wanted to articulate the good news that he was finally able to cross the road on his own. He followed him into a medical shop.

‘Why are you limping Mr. Sharma?’ the pharmacist asked.

‘Old age has its own perks’, he said and laughed. ‘I will get used to it’, he said.

Maruti, on hearing it, left the medical shop without talking to the old man.

He went to the sports shop which was a couple of stores way and placed the 500 Rupee note on the table.

The shopkeeper, Mr. Shah, knew exactly what this kid wanted to buy. The kid had been staring at the MRF bat for last couple of weeks through the window.  He took the MRF bat off the display and put it on the table.

‘I don’t want this. I want to buy that’, he said pointing at the walking stick.

‘What! Are you sure?’ Mr. Shah asked.

‘Yes’, he said pushing the bat away.

Mr. Shah obeyed.

Startled as he was, Mr. Shah followed the kid out of the store to see what he planned to do with the walking stick.

The kid walked up to the limping old man.

‘May I help you?’, he called out loud, returning the old man’s kind words.

Old man looked behind.

‘I was able to cross the road today without anyone’s help for the first time’, Maruti declared.

‘Thanks for teaching me’ 

‘You are welcome kid’, he said with a heartfelt smile.

‘Consider this as a thanksgiving’, Maruti said giving the walking stick to him.

The old man, who was floored by the kid’s empathy, accepted it without speaking a word.  

‘Why did you get this for me?’ he had put in extra efforts to produce the words.

‘I always wanted to buy a bat. Today my Mother gave me a gift; she gave me the money to buy a bat.

But when I went inside the shop I remembered something which she had said a long time back: The best way to use a gift is to give it to someone who needs it more than you do’

‘I figured you need a walking stick more than I ever needed a bat’, he smiled.

***

Mr. Shah, who had been eavesdropping over the conversation, thought in amazement, ‘The kid sacrificed his temptations only to help an old person he barely knew! Either the kid is naively innocent or he is absolutely stupid’

‘You need to realize that, nowadays, being nice is considered being weak. Kindness won’t help you get anywhere. I am not asking you to be absolutely selfish, but don’t be absolutely selfless either. You have to help yourself first, and then think of the others’; his father had said when he gave him the responsibility of the shop.

Mr. Shah completely believed in what his father had said.

‘It’s a bad world out there kid, you got to start thinking with your mind, not with your heart’

***

Stage 3: A Reckoning

Location: Platform-4; Dadar Station,
Time: 1800 hours

Mr. Sharma was sitting on one of the benches on the platform, waiting for his train.

He was still pondering over what had happened that afternoon. He couldn’t stop thinking about the boy.

His mind had rejected the gift from the boy, the minute he gave it to him. But his heart refused to obey.  The earnest token of gratitude of the kid was too valuable to refuse.

The boy’s words: “The best way to use a gift is to give it to someone who needs it more than you do”, were still resonating in him.

A young man who was in his late 20’s was sitting beside Mr. Sharma on the bench.

There was an announcement which said the train they had been waiting would be delayed by 15 minutes.

‘Fuck you!’ he shouted in frustration.

Mr. Sharma looked at him and smiled.

‘Hi, I am Praful Sharma’, he said looking at the young man.

‘Good for you’, came the reply.

‘Okay’, Mr. Sharma said, not making another attempt to start a conversation.

After a couple of minutes of awkward silence the young man spoke.

‘Uncle, I am sorry. It’s just not been a good day for me’, he confessed.

‘What happened’, he asked.

‘I don’t know where to start’, he started.

‘I…I hate my job…I..I don’t know what I am doing with my life. It’s all so chaotic. It suddenly feels like I am not the one who is controlling my life anymore’

‘My Manager feels I am not doing my job well. I am not doing my job well, because I do not like what I do’, he said.

‘I can never be successful’, he continued.

‘Then quit the job’, suggested Mr. Sharma.

‘I have a family to take care. I just can’t quit my job’, he said as if it was not an option worth considering. 

‘I mean, quit this job and do what you are good at. Follow your passion. If you like what you do, you wouldn’t have to work a single day’, he said.

‘Oh please! Spare me the stereotypical nonsense’, he started.

‘When I was in my college, I was an artist; a freehand painter’.

My friends and teacher always said, ‘You are born to be an artist. Follow your passion…and blah’

‘And I took them seriously. After I graduated, I worked for 2 years on my paintings and had an auction’, he paused.

He produced a large book from his office bag. He opened it and showed his sketches to Mr. Sharma.

The first sketch in the book showed a man’s face; the left half of which was crying and the right half was smiling.

‘This is absolutely beautiful’, Mr. Sharma said.

Similarly he checked all his sketches and was utterly impressed by his skill.

‘What happened at the auction?’ Mr. Sharma asked.

‘Can you guess how many paintings of mine I sold through that auction? Zero. Everyone says my paintings are great but no one is willing to pay for them’, he said with a depressing voice.

‘Passion is an illusion. It’s only a myth. Following my passion was the biggest mistake I ever made’

Mr. Sharma didn’t speak. He wanted to choose his words carefully. After a couple of minutes he broke the silence.

‘You know, you are right. These sketches are indeed beautiful, but I wouldn’t buy these’, Mr. Sharma said.

'What?'                                                                                                                                 

‘Yes. See, I am a person who works 9 hours a day. I have my own set of problems. Why would I want to buy a good sketch of a half crying person’

‘Where are you going with this?’ he asked.

‘Look, people won’t buy paintings which are beautiful; they buy paintings which they can relate to’

‘I am not good at judging art, but I feel you can relate to these paintings because you drew them. I, as a novice, have no time to spend on the intricate details of what it means’

‘I find this painting depressingly beautiful but I wouldn’t buy it because it is…depressing, to start with’

‘As a customer, I will buy a painting which talks my language; which lives my life. I would buy a painting which is made for me, not the painting which is made for you’, Mr. Sharma said.

The young man looked confused.

‘As an artist, you sketch things which you like; but as a Business man you should sketch things which your customer will like’, he said.

‘I am just trying to plant a seed of hope. You can either choose to be successful at what you like or witness yourself become a failure at what you hate. It’s your choice’

‘My train is here, I have to go’, Mr. Sharma said, leaving a thoughtful person behind.

***

Stage 4: An Expression

Arjun suddenly looked up and noticed that he had been sitting on that bench for half an hour pondering over the conversation with the old man.

His words: “As an artist, you sketch things which you like; but as a Business man you should sketch things which your customer will like”, were still resonating in him.

‘Draw something which the customer will like’, he said to himself.

‘Will it work? Is it worth a try?’ he thought.

There was only way to find out.

***

He started observing the people walking on the platform. He picked a person as a target and approached him.

‘Excuse me sir’, he said. ‘Can I talk to you for a minute?’

‘What is this about?’

‘Sir, my name is Arjun. I am a freelance painter. I would like to …’, Arjun started.

‘Sorry, we have a test in one hour. We are a little occupied with the preparation. Please excuse us’

Sir, the next train on this platform would arrive only after 15 minutes. Just hear me out. I won’t take more than a minute’, he started.

‘You guys can wait here just the way you normally do. I will draw a sketch for you in the next 15 minutes. You can take a look at my work at the end of 15 minutes and pay only if you like it.

‘Look, please we are genuinely not..’, he started when the girl interrupted him.

‘It sounds pretty interesting. Let’s try it out’, said the girl who was accompanying him.

Arjun hadn’t noticed the girl before; nevertheless he thanked her for showing interest.

The boy looked at her with disagreement.

‘Let’s give him a chance. We can discuss while we are waiting for the train just like we usually do, he will draw a sketch without disturbing us. If we like it, we buy it. What are we losing in this?’ she said.

‘Okay fine. We will buy your painting only if we like it. And in case we decided to buy it, we will pay you whatever we think your sketch deserves. If we do not like it, we just walk away’, he repeated the rules.

‘That would be great Sir. Thanks a lot Sir...and Mam’, he said.

While Arjun was digging his bag to find a pencil, the boy asked, ‘What are you going to draw, anyways?’

‘I am not sure, Sir’, he said sounding confused.

‘You could draw us?’ the girl asked or rather suggested.

‘Uhh..sure Mam. I could do that’, he said mentally thanking her for her suggestion.

Arjun then walked away from them, parked himself and started observing them even as they slipped into a conversation.

With a blank sheet of canvas on his lap, a pencil in his left hand, Arjun ventured to convert two strangers he had just met on the railway platform into potential customers. 

He had 10 minutes to color the canvas and impress them. He observed major facial features of the boy and girl and started the sketch.

He made sure he put in his best strokes to make his sketch visually appealing.

At the end of 5 minutes he had the basic sketch ready. Two people talking to each other amidst a crowd of millions. The sketch looked complete, barring the finishing touches.

He looked at his work with cynicism, ‘This is a great picture alright. But it is only depicting what they are. I mean, it’s just like a photograph. Why would they buy it?’

He knew there was something missing. He looked at them again.

‘Observe for the things which are not obvious’

The boy, who was dressed in a checked shirt and denim, carried a bag which suggested that he was a college student. His hands were in constant and random motion suggesting that he was probably trying to explain something to the girl. The girl was dressed in an old and a not-so-well-kept Salwar kammez which suggested that she was not the kind of person who would care to look beautiful. The frameless glasses gave her a nerdy look. She had long hair which was neatly tied. However, there was charm in her face which was difficult to ignore.

The train was just 4 minutes away now. Arjun needed to act fast. He continued observing them.

From the way they conversed, he could gather that they were fairly comfortable in each other’s company. They were standing at an oddly large distance and were constantly avoiding eye contact with each other. In spite of the high comfort level which they seemed to have had, there was some weird awkwardness between them.

In the middle of their conversation the girl let a smile escape her face, and that made the guy fumble. He looked at her with an air of a person looking at Taj Mahal for the first time.

‘He likes her!’

Arjun got what he needed from the guy. He now focused his attention on the girl.

She was not letting anything out.

‘Girls are much better at hiding their feelings’, he thought.

The train, which was now far in sight, would reach the station in 3 minutes.

Random thoughts started floating in his minds.

‘You could draw us?’ …. ‘People buy paintings which they like’

He wanted the random thoughts to end. He wanted to focus on the sketch.

He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds. A realization dawned upon him.

‘Oh my God! She likes him too’

The thoughts were not random after-all; his brain was connecting the dots.

'People buy paintings which they like’…‘You could draw us?’

She wanted both of them to be in the painting. She liked being with him. She obviously liked him.

The high comfort levels represented their friendship and the brewing awkwardness represented the love they had for each other. And the way they avoided eye contact with each other, it was evident that neither of them had the courage to express their feelings.

There was still one minute left for the train to arrive at the station.

He made one small addition to his sketch before showing it to them.

***

‘It’s beautiful’, she exclaimed.

‘Show it to me’, the boy asked.

‘It is great but… you made a small mistake; I don’t have a diamond ring on my index…’, she ended the sentence abruptly after realizing what it meant. She looked confused.

The boy took the sketch and noticed what she was hinting at.

An awkward silence followed.

‘Is it true?’ she asked him.

‘Yes’, he confessed.

He rolled up the train ticket, went on his knees and extended his hand.

‘Roshni Mehta, I have been in love with you for 2 years. I like us more than I have ever liked me. I am always yours, will you be mine forever?’

She nodded in agreement.

‘What took you so long?’ she said even as tears rolled down her cheeks.

‘I didn’t want to risk our friendship’

He took her hand and tied the rolled up train ticket around her index finger signifying the start of their journey together.

None of the three people noticed the train come and leave.

That day, Roshni discovered love in her friendship and Arjun rediscovered his passion as an artist.

***

Stage 5: An Enlightenment

Mr. Shah closed his shop early and rushed to the hospital.  He had received a call saying that his wife’s water broke and she was in labor. She had been admitted in the hospital.

‘How can this happen? The scheduled delivery date was not until next month’ he thought even as he called for a cab.

He rushed to the receptionist and fumbled, ‘My…. wife was admitted… in this hospital. She is… pregnant’, he said trying to catch his breath.

‘She is in OT-1; Second floor, fourth room on your right…’

He rushed away before she could complete her narration.

‘What happened? How is my wife?’, he asked as soon as he reached the hospital.

‘She is being operated upon. It seems to be a case of premature birth.  We are still not sure though. 

We will need some more time’, the nurse said.

‘Premature birth? That sounds dangerous, doesn’t it?’  He said sounding tensed.

‘It’s not as dangerous as it sounds. Believe me’, the nurse said.

‘God, please show us some light in this time of darkness’, he prayed.

***

‘Congratulations it’s a girl. Both the mother and the child are safe. You can see them after 10 minutes’ said the doctor who came out of Operation theatre.

‘Thank you, Doctor’, he said with a sigh of relief.

‘You should also be thanking the person who brought her to the hospital on time. Had she arrived a little late it would have proved fatal for both the mother and the child’, he continued.

‘Who is the person who got my wife admitted?’ he asked the nurse.

‘They were two college students, actually. They had to leave early because they apparently had an important exam today’

‘I can check the name in the admit form and let you know in some time’

***

When he went in, he looked at his wife and said. ‘I am sorry; I was not there with you’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘I am feeling fine’

Mr. Shah looked at the baby in the cradle.

‘She is beautiful. She has your eyes’, he smiled.

‘The people who got me admitted, are they still here? I wanted to thank them’, she said.

‘I am afraid; they had to leave before I arrived’

‘I wish I could thank them’, she said.

‘It just feels good when someone you barely know makes so much effort to help you’, she said.

His wife’s words reminded Mr. Shah of something.

‘You remember we decided that if it’s a boy, I will get to name him; and if it’s a girl, you will get to name her’, his wife said. 

Mr. Shah walked up to the baby, picked her up for the first time. He tried to be as gentle as he could.

‘So did you think of any name for her?’ she asked.

‘It's Roshni', he heard a familiar voice say.

He turned to look at the source. The nurse had just entered the room.

'The girl who got your wife admitted, her name is Roshni. The boy’s name is not mentioned in the form’

‘Thank you’

‘Roshni. God has, indeed, showed us light in the darkness’, he thought

‘I think I have a name in mind’, Mr. Shah smiled at his wife.

***

His wife’s words: “It just feels good when someone you barely know makes so much effort to help you”, were still resonating in Mr. Shah’s mind.

It reminded him of the boy who had helped the old man earlier that day and how he had thought that it was an act of foolishness. He needed to set something right.  

‘Where are you going?’ his wife asked him.

‘I need to say thank you to someone’, he said before leaving.

***

Maruti heard a knock on his door that night. When he opened the door, he saw a bat and a letter.

He took the bat in excitement and gave the letter to his mom.

The letter read:

“I couldn’t get an opportunity to thank the people who brought light into my life today. I would like to thank you instead for bringing up your kid the way you did. The values which you have imparted to your son are the values which the world needs the most right now.

I believe that receiving help from a random stranger is the second best feeling anyone can experience. The best one is being fortunate enough to be that random person who helps.

Today, some strangers on the train brought light in my life. I hope this bat brings light into your son’s life.

P.S:  I got this bat autographed by Sachin himself, when I was thirteen years old. It has been very precious to me ever since. Now I think it’s time to pass on this legacy to your son”

An art, by
Shashank

2 minutes love story

“Sir, this is a very old piece. It must have reached end of life”, the technician said.

“I do not have the tools to open the box and check what’s wrong. I will bring them tomorrow and will get it checked. We can then decide whether to replace it with a much advanced digital model or not”, he continued. 

“End of life”; these words started resonating in my mind. Has it really been that long since I was born? I was manufactured 15 years back and I have worked religiously ever since. And now, they are talking about replacing me. I am not really feeling bad about the fact that tomorrow could possibly be my last working day. In fact, I am relieved that my futile ordeal is finally going to come to an end.

***

I am a Traffic light, mounted on a pole. My life is all about monotonous iterations of red, orange and green.

Do I like my job? Yes and No. Yes, because my job is to keep people safe on roads and it makes me feel important. No, because people seldom obey me.

Am I happy for being posted at a scarcely populated place like Gandhi Nagar? Yes and No. Yes, because there is hardly any traffic here implying that I have less work to do. No, because there is hardly any traffic here implying that people think they do not need me and hence they conveniently choose to ignore my existence.     

I stand here day and night; across seasons, bearing the chills of winters, sweating through the scorching sun of the summers and getting wet in the pouring rain. 

***

The next day started with a strangely positive thought, ‘Today is possibly my last working day’

I shone green, signalling the vehicles to move ahead. Then I turned red. The counter in the timer started ticking down from 2:00 minutes. 2 minutes of red for a place like Gandhinagar is a long wait considering the fact that the traffic is bleak here. My Red-time, as I call it, can easily be reduced by half. I hope the new “digital machine” has lesser Red-time.

No sooner did I turn Red than I heard a screeching sound which is usually produced by the application of sudden brakes. I looked at the road and was astonished to see a girl, who was on a 2 wheeler, waiting for the signal to turn green.

I looked around. The junction was deserted. By typical human standards, she had no reason to stop and obey my futile orders; but she did. As far as my memory could stretch, this was the first time someone had stopped on red even when there was no vehicle moving across the road.

I looked at her in awe as her feet struggled to touch the ground. The five-foot-five girl, who had a helmet on, was dressed in a white tee and blue denim. She looked like girl who was in her early 20’s.

She removed her helmet, thus making her face visible to me. She had big expressive eyes, and a fair complexion. Her clear skin, which seemed to be immune to the pollution, was shining against the sun light. It seemed as if the sun shine was competing against the radiance of her bright face.

I realized that some other commuters, having noticed the girl; halted their vehicles and started waiting along with her for me to go green. She was instigating a change in people which I never expected of them. It was the first time I noticed so many people waiting at the junction for me. I felt important. People finally started noticing me. I didn’t want this to end. The day I finally found hope, cannot be my last day. Thanks to the girl; now I wanted to live.       

In the last couple of seconds, it dawned on me that I might not be fortunate enough to see the girl again. I wanted the time to freeze. For the first time in my life I felt that 2 minutes ‘red-time’ was too less a time to spend with this girl.

Having realized that her 2 minute wait was closing to an end, she put on her helmet and kick-started the bike. And before I knew she drove past me. I didn’t even get a chance to bid a good bye to her.   

I found myself thinking about the girl even after she left. I realized that there was some special aura about her which attracted me towards her. Is this the feeling which humans call love? Is it even possible to love someone you have just met? I was under the impression that love happens only when you know a person completely. What do I know about this girl? I know nothing; not even her name. Slowly but surely I figured out the answers to the above questions.

   

***

Love is not about staying together for ever after. Love is something which affects people in such a way that it changes their life ever after. The interaction between people in love can be as brief as 2 minutes but the after-affect can last for a life time. No other commuter had ever intrigued me like this girl did. The girl, for me, was more like a divine epiphany that knowingly or unknowingly motivated me to live longer and keep performing my duty and thrive to impact the life of humans in positive way.

Next day when the technician returned, he opened up my circuit box. After examining it for a couple of minutes, he said, “I don’t think we need to replace this anytime soon. I am surprised that it’s still working just fine. Some minor repairs and it will be as good as new”

   

***

an art, by
Shashank

We, the people

I will start off by clarifying that this article is coming from a person who is no cricketing expert, at least in comparison with most of his friends who can exactly narrate the 1983 Cricket World Cup final ball-by-ball, or any other match for that matter.

Now, having set the expectations right, I would like to ponder on the much talked about cricket match: World T20 finals held on the 6^th of April, 2014. For whatever reasons, India happened to lose that match. Ohh wait; I would like to have the luxury to rephrasing my last statement: For whatsoever reasons, Sri Lanka happened to win that match. Yes, I too, like any other normal Indian, was disappointed by the fact that India didn't get to keep the trophy this time. But that’s not something which troubles me. I mean; that’s what sports are all about right: winning and losing.

What troubles me is: how Yuvraj Singh has been made a joke off, on the social networking sites, during and after the match for his poor performance.

At the risk of repeating myself I would reiterate that I am no cricketing expert, so don’t expect a detailed critique of the match on where exactly things went wrong for the Indian team and who exactly can be held responsible for it. You can contact the “experts” for that. For the time being let’s just assume that Yuvraj is the sole reason for the India’s debacle, as is being suggested. What troubles me is how most of the people conveniently chose to ignore his contributions to the Indian Cricket team thus far, and started bashing him on the online social media. He played a prominent role in giving India its two glorified world cups (T20 World cup 2007 and ICC World Cup). One dismal performance on his part and we put on our thinking caps to come up with the best troll images on him. If this wasn't enough some blessed souls even pelted stones at his residence. Well done guys, you just redefined the term sportsmanship. If a country treats its player by making fun of him and pelting stones at his residence, then probably this country doesn't deserve a player like Yuvraj. We surely have some growing up to do, and only when we shall be mature enough to handle failure as swiftly as we handle victory, we shall be deemed to be worthy of having him in our team. The problem is not in you, Yuvraj; it’s in us.

Is it just me, or anyone else feels that something is inherently wrong with the way we perceive things around us. This question aims for an answer which addresses a wider perspective, not restricting itself to the world of sports.

Let’s take politics for instance. People who proactively voice their opinions by criticizing Government for its bureaucracy and corruption, are the same people who never cast their votes and perceive voting day as just another holiday. The so called youth of the country complain that politicians with good values and principles are scarce to find in the largest democracy of the world, but they conveniently choose to ignore their values and principles by participating in malpractices like cheating in exams and gaining an undeserving advantage over an honest student.

Another genre were we are always ready to voice our opinion is the Indian cinema. When we come across movie like “Chak De, India” and “Swades” we shower Shah Rukh Khan alone, with praises more than what he deserves; and when he comes up with a “Ra.One” we blame him (and him alone) for his dismal attempt, more than what he is accountable for. We somehow completely ignore the fact that a hero is merely a face of the movie and not the movie itself. No wonder our super stars, are larger than their movies, and their movies are larger than life.

We have always believed in individual glory, and somewhere in the bargain we have lost the true meaning of team spirit. No wonder we blame Yuvraj for India’s debacle.

I believe on April 6^th, 2014; Sri Lanka was definitely the team which played better cricket and earned its much deserved victory. Yes, as an Indian I was disappointed; but as a true fan of cricket, I was happy for Kumar Sangakkara and Mahela Jayawardene for receiving a rousing send-off as Sri Lanka won their maiden crown. It somehow makes me feel that they needed this victory as badly as we needed a victory on 24^th September, 2007 (T20 World cup 2007).

I believe we somehow have lost our power of appreciating good things and started looking for excuses to complain about the bad things.  We frown more and smile less, and whenever we smile we do that more at our smart phones than at people. 

It astonishes me how we find pleasure in talking positive things about irrelevant things like an Oscar winning movie which is somehow remotely connected to India; however we conveniently ignore the positives of an Indian player who has given us many memorable victories.   

It’s high time for us to stop complaining and start acting. If you are unhappy with a particular politician or his party, show it by casting your vote. If you are unhappy with the way Indian Cricket team is playing, then get into the team and change the status quo. If you feel you are too old to get into the Indian cricket team, inspire your son/daughter to take it up as a career and mold them into good cricketers.

Myth busters:
P.S: Yes, there are career options beyond Engineering and Medical.
P.P.S: And yes, girls can play cricket too!

    Yours faithfully,
We, the people

***

an art, by

Shashank

The Interview

Chapter 1: The ball is in my court

‘May I come in?’ I asked before entering the room.

‘Yes, and please take your seat’, came the reply.

I obeyed.

‘Let me walk you through the interview process we follow here. It’s going to last not more than 10 minutes. We are going to be the ones who will do the talking for the first 2 minutes. The next 8 minutes are all yours. Did I make myself understood?’ asked one of the interviewers while the other was silently observing me.

‘Yes, Sir’, I said even as I was analyzing what I had just heard.

‘You have decent academics and impressive live projects, so we won’t waste any of our precious time testing your technical competency', he started.

‘You have mentioned creativity as one of your strengths and storytelling as one your hobbies.

He is going to ask me questions on storytelling! This is my area. I cannot screw this up. The ball is in my court. Bring it on.

‘But for the candidate we are looking for, being creative is not enough. He needs to be spontaneous as well’, he started’, he continued.

'Where are they going with this?' I narrowed my eyes.

‘Have you ever been in love?’ the other interviewer finally gave words to his thoughts.

I was taken aback by his question.

‘No’, I said sounding fable. ‘No, Sir’, I reiterated, clearing my throat.

Now, that sounded more confident.

‘Great. So tell me the story of your first love in the most interesting possible way. You have 8 minutes to impress us’; he said looking at his watch.

‘Sir, I said I do not have a love story’, I clarified.

‘And that’s exactly why I am asking you this question. This paper in my hand says you are creative. I need you to prove it’

‘You can start in 10 seconds’, he concluded.

I closed my eyes in introspection; 10 seconds later I started my narration.

***

Chapter 2: The story of my first love

Date: December 7^th, 2007;

Location: St. Paul’s High School.

I was waiting outside our Headmaster’s room, and it was not a pleasant place to be in, especially for a student. But I was not alone.

‘So why are you here?’ I asked the girl who was seated beside me.

Her teary eyes met mine.

‘I was caught copying in the Math test’, she confessed.

Two minutes of awkward silence later she decided to talk.

‘And you?’ she returned my question, her eyes still wet with tears.

‘Pretty much the same. I was allegedly copying in the Math test’, I winked.

‘Allegedly?’

‘Then what! Only a fool would confess it. No offense meant huh!’ I said.

For no particular reason she did take offense and started crying even louder.

Uff!!! Girls!

***

‘Ms. Krithika, why are you crying?’ Headmaster had asked.

‘It was a mistake; I will never do it again. Please forgive me’, she said.

Headmaster had made many futile attempts to put an end to her crying.

‘Okay, I am deducting 10 marks from your final paper as a punishment.  You can leave now. Do not repeat this mistake’, he said.

No sooner had Krithika left the room, than the Headmaster turned his focus to me. 

‘You Mister, I am deducting 10 marks from your paper as well’, he waited for my reaction.

Haha! Didn’t know I’d get out of this mess so easily! 10 marks is all it costs!

‘And 1 week of apprenticeship under the school Librarian. He is planning to dispose the old books and order some new books during this vacation. He could definitely use your helping hand. You need to report to him daily at 0900 hours for one week during the Christmas vacation’

‘What! But she didn’t get any apprenticeship!’ I blurted out, conveniently ignoring my manners.

‘Now, that’s the reaction I was expecting from you! Krithika had confessed her mistake and promised not to repeat it. You did neither’, he said.

So, I am not getting any brownie points for the display of confidence?

‘But sir..’, I started.

‘You can leave’, he conveniently concluded the discussion.

***

‘Never knew our school had such a big library’, I announced.

‘It is a state of the art library. We have academic reference books, encyclopedias, novels, comics, and magazines. You name a book and you’ll find it here’, the librarian informed. As he was describing the library I noticed that it was deserted. 

‘This is going to be my worst Christmas vacation ever: alone, in a library’, I thought, not knowing that my life was about to change that very same day.

After working for a couple of hours I wondered if this was the most boring work on earth.

When I was half done with my work, I realized that the library was not completely deserted after all. There was a girl sitting in the corner of the room, surrounded by stacks of books.

Who in their right mind visits a library during vacation!

Suddenly, I realized that she could actually help me kill my boredom. It was then that I decided to venture into something I had never done before.

Anything to keep me away from boredom! Desperate times!

I walked up to her, and when I was close enough I noticed the girl’s ID card lay on an old book.

I could make out the words “Karenina” written on it.

Karenina! That was her name!

Random Note: “If you've taken the trouble of watching Bollywood movies you will realize that every love story essentially has five stages. They are as follows:

i.             Initiation,

ii.           Attraction,

iii.         Separation,

iv.         Intimacy and

v.           Termination”

‘Excuse me!’ I said; thus initiating my first love story.

***

Chapter 3: Different stages of love

She was covered in an old dress. It seemed as if she didn’t care how she looked. Had it been any other day, at any other place; I wouldn't even have noticed her. But today was different.

A few sentences into the conversation I was fortunate enough to get an opportunity to touch her. It was true love’s first touch.

Never judge a book by its cover!

The initial stages of the conversation were dull. I had to put in efforts to keep it alive. But once we broke the ice, the conversation became more engrossing and gripping. So much so that I even forgot to have my lunch that day. This stage is what I call: attraction. In this stage you enjoy each other’s company so much that everything else in the world seems boring.

The next day when I reached the library, I saw her waiting for me. I finished my work in 3 hours and then spent the rest of my time with her. This routine continued for the next couple of days.

On the third day when I had arrived in the library, she was not there. I waited for her for a couple of hours. I asked the librarian about her whereabouts.

‘She is out. She will be back in a couple of days’, he said.

My anxiousness got the better of me. Every minute that I spent without her seemed like a punishment.

Slowly but surely my anxiousness evolved into something more malicious: jealousy.

What if someone else started talking to her? What if someone else started liking her? He must be touching her right now! I can’t let that happen. She is mine.

Eventually my jealousy turned into possessiveness! Her absence was turning me crazy.

This is the stage where you actually realize that you are in love. This stage is called separation.

She was back after 2 days, as promised. She looked untouched; as pure as she was when I last saw her. 

Fortunately my anxiousness was in vain. She was mine and only mine.

After the separation the vigor of our intimacy had increased exponentially. In this stage, which I call as Intimacy, we got closer than I could imagine. Things became really interesting. This is the most beautiful stage of any relationship.

But all good things come to an end. So did this beautiful relationship of ours. Once I was done with her, we decided to move on.

This is the most difficult stage of a relationship: termination. Once it’s all over you are all broke and you are left with no clue about what to do with your life anymore.

‘It must be really sad!’ the interviewer said assuming that my story had ended.

‘For some time, yes. Though I had countless number of love stories after that, the first love is always special’, I started.

‘This first love of mine enabled me to evolve as a person. It imbibed in me, a sense of gratitude; I started thanking people more often than before. I never copied in any exam after that. It imbibed some values in my life. And most importantly it inspired me to never stop looking for my next love’

‘The limbo of sadness ends once you find someone else: your next love. And once you find her, the cycle repeats. Anna Karenina, written by Leo Tolstoy: my first love’, I said.

‘Written by Leo Tolstoy?’ exclaimed both the interviewers.

‘Yes! Anna Karenina is a book written by Leo Tolstoy. She is not a girl’

‘So when you said ‘Do not judge a book by its cover’, you were actually talking about a book!’

I nodded in agreement.

‘Karenina was not the name of the girl on the ID card!!’ they exclaimed.

‘I didn't notice the name of the girl on her ID card. The book on which it was placed had all my attention that time. I took the girl’s permission and borrowed the book from her table. I never saw that girl again’, I said.

‘At the end of my apprenticeship I had suggested the librarian not to discard the old books. And also thanked him for giving me this opportunity to help him. I later learned that the librarian actually took my advice and retained all the old books in the library’.

‘Anna Karenina was placed in the Classics section of our library. She was standing on the shelf waiting to impress her next reader. Only someone wise enough to look beyond her old damaged cover was worthy of her love’.

***

‘That Sir, is the story of my first love’, I concluded.

‘You took 9 minutes to narrate your story’, the interviewer remarked looking at his watch.

‘But it was totally worth it’, he smiled.

‘Thank you, it was a pleasure talking to you’, they said.

‘Just because I don’t have a love story doesn’t mean I can’t tell one’, I smiled.

***

an art, by 

Shashank