Impure

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She was a busy woman. Her youth and impeccable looks made sure she never went out of business. She had been initiated into the flesh trade by her mother when she was barely twelve, when all she had wanted to do was fly kites and feast on flavoured ice. But five years into the business, she was adept at fixing rates, faking her feelings and sweet talking her clients into showering her with gifts. She had even mastered the art of lying to herself about the pain, the disgust, the helplessness and the anger that she felt.

During the initial years her mother had warned her, “Never fall in love with a client. They are not here to give us what we want but to take from us what they want.”  She had believed every word of it until she was swept away from her feet by a man who visited her every Friday. He was in his thirties, fairly good looking, with a streak of gold encircling his ring finger. They spent many nights enjoying each other’s company, talking endlessly until dawn snatched him away from her embrace. She realized that she was deeply in love with this man. She felt trapped between two worlds that could never meet and decided to confess her love to him, convinced that he too felt the same. He was different from the other men she had been with.

His words echoed within her, filling her eyes with grief. “How can an impure one like you even dream of a life with a gentleman like me?” She thought it strange that it was always the woman who was made to feel impure and not the man who was equally involved, even after having betrayed his wife.





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Hope

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On some days he was at the café, staring at life outside the window, downing endless cups of coffee. Black, strong, sugarless and piping hot. Crumpled sheets of paper were strewn around the table, proof of his failed attempts. He snapped at the waitress if she tried to clear up the mess. When he could take it no longer, he would walk out into the open and roam the streets, his senses taking in even minute details of the world around.

On other days he would sit by the beach watching the waves crashing onto the moss laden rocks bathing in the golden rays of the setting sun, wondering if the scurrying crabs and the flying birds had a story. He was lost within his thoughts almost all the time, forgetting to eat, sleep and change. His stubble and unwashed jeans were silent witnesses to his growing agony. He hardly spoke to anyone but himself, which made people stare at him and exchange glances that declared he had lost his mind.

 

But he was a writer, not a madman. He cradled stories within him that tossed and turned impatiently, waiting to find expression. He did not want to give up. His resolve to pen a few words became stronger by the day. Every day he set out with a pen in his hand and hopes in his heart, positive that the silence of words would end soon.


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Grief

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The morning sun was hidden behind grey clouds and the wind brought with it soft sprays of the morning rain. It was getting cold and the inmates of We Care hospital slowly made their way inside after having spent an hour in the beautiful garden with Janet, the social worker. She came thrice a week to hold hands, listen and speak to them. They could say anything to her. She would listen patiently without judgement, sometimes responding with a few lines of poetry or a mere nod of the head or engaging them in a fun activity. That seemed to be enough for the patients who had been admitted there to recover from the shock of bereavement.

Once the group session was over she had a few individual sessions. Janet walked to the cafeteria where Maya waited every day to share her pain, the tragic demise of her husband. As she listened, offering her thoughts occasionally, Janet was taken back to the days when she herself had been stricken with grief when her son, barely five, had left her to be lonely forever. They had been playing at the beach when he spotted a shiny object in the water and ran after it, never to return again.

Janet was devastated and had withdrawn into a shell. She was an emotional wreck for several months until her friend, a psychologist at We Care had suggested she come in regularly to meet others who were also battling the pain of loss of a loved one. She had come a long way from there, learning to cope and simultaneously lending a hand to other grievers. She was glad she had someone to steer her through troubled times and so was determined to do the same to others too.

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Fear

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Thirty two pairs of curious eyes followed me as I walked across the classroom on my first day of school. It was the middle of the term and I was taking the place of a teacher who had resigned. “Good morning, how are you feeling today?” I asked. The children seemed to be puzzled. Nevertheless, they answered “Fine ma’am, thank you.” I could see that they were exchanging glances, their eyes communicating in a language I could not fathom. Were they up to some trouble?

Since it was the first day I wasn't too keen on beginning a lesson. First, I needed to get to know them and make them feel comfortable. So with a smile, I started asking their names and things they liked. The tension in the air was palpable. Some of the kids didn't even look at me in the eye. Did they have trouble accepting me as their new teacher?

Things continued this way for a few more days though we were well into our Math lessons. I didn't give up hope. Then one day the unexpected happened.

“Akanksha!” I called out to a girl in my class.

“Yyyes ma’am…..ma’am I am sorry. Please ma’am. I will learn up.” She was trembling, her words reflecting some hidden fear.

“But what are you sorry for?” It was my turn to be confused.

She looked down without answering when a boy spoke up “Please don’t use that stick ma’am.”

I followed the boy’s gaze and saw a cane on the windowsill. I picked it up and threw it in the bin. “We don’t need this.” I smiled.

Suddenly the clouds of fear parted and I saw sunny faces. I was sure that the rest of the term would be full of fun and learning.





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Euphoric

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I nervously paced the deserted corridor that smelled of disinfectant. This was my first time and I didn't know how things would turn out. I said a silent prayer and wondered what it felt like to be on the other side of the curtained glass door. I was clueless and that made me feel left out. I wished I had someone to keep me company to reassure me that everything would be fine.

Would you like to come in?” A head popped out of the glass door.

“Is it allowed?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to be there. What if I screwed it up and fainted instead of feeling happy and proud?

“Come on in.” She said with a smile.

I changed into a green gown. I could hear my heart pounding and my mind suddenly went blank. I walked up to my wife who was propped up in an awkward position, and held her hand. She was happy to see me and managed to smile even between the bouts of severe pain that made her scream.

Her grip tightened, her face turned red and she let out a blood curdling howl. I watched as a tiny head and then a dainty body pushed its way out, into our world.

“It’s a girl. Congratulations!” Someone had said after cleaning up the baby and swaddling it before handing it over to a delighted me. It was one of the best moments in my life as I looked at her face staring back at me. I kissed my wife who beamed as she held our little princess. I couldn't stop the stream of tears.

“How does it feel? my wife asked me.

 "I am a dad!!! I feel euphoric!!” I said.

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