Experiences

“You are going on leave?” the lady seemed to want to continue chatting. “Yes,” he replied mechanically, then for some reason said truthfully: “Actually, my dad is quite unwell. Going to visit.” “Oh my God. I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?” she asked, her brows furrowing in concern. “Paralytic attack. Still in the ICU,” he replied and felt a tightness around his chest. “ Adada! ” she commiserated. “I’m sure he will get well soon.” Hari felt like crying. “Thanks—but I understand he is very critical,” he said. What was he doing, pouring his heart out to a complete stranger? Jet lag must have kicked in already. “Hmm, let’s pray he gets out of it soon,” she said. Silence fell at the table. Hari leaned back into the pillar behind him and closed his eyes. What was the appropriate emotion to feel for a father who was so detached, preoccupied, uncommunicative and unapproachable all his life? A parent who was so caught up in his own failure that he couldn’t see the...

“What an odd place!” Vijay commented. “This is enroute to the fort up there,” Sandeep pointed to the top of the high hill. “But what was the need to build a fort in the middle of a tiger filled forest?” Suchita wondered. “Or they used the tigers as their natural defense,” Vijay speculated. “Against who?” Suchita looked at him. “Who will come attacking a fort inside a jungle?” Vijay’s eyes shone. “Ah, it’s not who they are keeping out—it’s what they keeping in!” he said. Suchita looked at him through narrowed eyes. “What are they keeping in?” she asked, knowing that her husband was on one of his flights of fancy. “Haven’t you watched Black Panther?” he asked. “Seriously! Bandhavgargh is Wakanda now?” Suchita huffed. “Yes, these hills are protecting an ancient knowledge, too dangerous to fall into evil hands!” Vijay said dramatically. Suchita laughed. “You’re crazy!” “Oh you laugh—poor ignorant woman! Little do you realize that the sure hand of fate has brou...

Rohit was a fastidious young man. No, his need for order was not a result of any childhood trauma. He was just the latest in a long line of very neat, orderly people. His great grandfather was a very successful accountant during the British Raj, perfectly balancing balance sheets. He went against the Vastu diktats and built an ancestral home where every room was perfectly square and of perfectly same dimensions. His grandfather was a lawyer who grew to the ranks of the district high court judge. He was very unpopular for his fastidious judgments, but he maintained perfect justice and balance in his court. People used to correct their watches by the time he left for work in the morning, took his lunch break or went for his after-dinner constitutional walk. He was unfortunately attacked by some disgruntled party while on the above mentioned constitutional one night. He never came back home. His father recently retired as a chief engineer from an automobile giant. His depa...

Retired Bank officer Ramasubramaniam sat at his table near the window overlooking the courtyard of his building complex, rolling the shells in his hand thoughtfully. He looked outside with unseeing eyes, his brows furrowed. The unseasonably warm Sunday afternoon caused sweat to bead on his forehead, but he seemed oblivious to it. His lips moved silently in a chant. The air hung heavily around him, oppressive. He thought that he could feel a menace in it. He was worried. Not in the familiar, prosaic, petty way that a middle class man with a bank job and two kids worried, but in an inexplicably bigger, deeper way. He looked back at the shells in his hand and reluctantly arranged them for another reading. He came from a family of astrologers, experts who mixed the science with an ancient knowledge. As an educated man and rationalist, Ramasubramaniam had tried to deny his lineage, his unfortunate gift of natural intuition, but its force had been too strong. He usually did his re...

“Madam, you are not eating?” Bhuvana looked up from her book. It was the man sitting across. He was big—barrel-chested, heavy shouldered, and strong. His dark pitted and scarred face sported a bushy mustache. His hair was closely cropped. He was wearing a white shirt whose first two buttons were undone to reveal a bushy chest. There was gold all over him—thick gold chain with a tiger-claw pendent, a thick rope-like gold bracelet and an enormous ring on his left ring finger. Bhuvana smiled slightly. “No,” she answered shortly and tried getting back to her book. “You will get nothing past Chenagalpet,” he continued. The train rattled on through what appeared to be pitch dark and desolate landscape, endorsing his words. “It’s ok, I’m not hungry,” she replied. “Thank you,” she added as an after thought. The man and his wife exchanged glances. She was a thickset woman in an orange saree. Faint yellow of the turmeric she must’ve applied in the morning still clung to her ebony chee...