The Night

She looked at the man on the driver’s seat as she sat in silence knowing not what to say or what may come. She clinched her jacket closer and released a warm breath inside, “I am in an A/C car, there’s no need to do this,” she thought. The man next to her was in his mid 30s, she guessed, looked decent from every aspect, yet nothing he did so far, or was probably expecting to do seemed decent to her. “Are men decent at all?” she questioned herself. But something inside said she was too tired to answer her own questions. She closed her eyes and tried to remember something that may give her comfort. All she could recall was the warm embrace of her love, the man who she held responsible for this adventure she took. “Its strange,” she thought, “how a man replaces all warmth and love you’ve received so far from all dear ones, and then becomes too preoccupied or practical to love at all.”
“Where would you like to go?” came the voice from the next seat, pulling herself back to the realty around she looked at him, thought what to say, “Mmmmmm… I don’t know,” she tried to sound casual. As the car moved her thoughts churned. “I am confused, why don’t I trust my own decisions” she asked her self.
It was just a couple of hours ago, she was walking on braving the cold wondering if it was the right decision to venture out in the darkness merely to escape from the dullness of the life inside. “It isn’t all that late”, she convinced herself. It was quarter to eleven, the roads almost deserted, it was the heart of Delhi and she can count upon the safety of the Capital. Or can she really, she asked herself, it was Sarojini Nagar, in the heart of the Capital, where a girl was almost kidnapped from a bus stand had it not been for her luck or courage, and the people around… she recollected what she read in the newspapers hurriedly one morning just before rushing to office. And the stack of newspapers lying by her bed, most of them remained unopened, yet she was paying for the bulk, “I am the most unorganized person in the world.” The chill entered her light jacket, wondering why she did not put on some additional clothing before her adventure, she walked on. Clinching her jacket close, half covering her face breathing in warm breaths to make her feel warmer, she wondered if someone can make out if she is a woman or a man. “Is it any relief? Will the wind sweep what I am trying to escape?” she questioned. But something inside said she was too tired to answer her own questions. She realized she was almost running, “The world is a tragedy to those who feel, but a comedy to those who think” she remembered the quotation that appeared on her Orkut homepage in the morning. “I am one of those who feel what they think,” she craved for a cigarette but she knew lighting one, or even trying to buy one could result in a real disaster. In broad daylight, a girl smoking a cigarette is taken for granted to be an easygoing one, for the night, being on the road in it self is an invitation for being tagged a call girl.
“And just what am I being right now? In this car with a man I don’t even know…” said a voice inside her head. “Please, shut up”, she told the voice.
“Do you have a cigarette?” she asked.
He did not look at her, but she could see the smile saying I knew it. He reached out to the drawer in the dashboard, brushing his hands close to her body which was wrapped in her arms, opened the drawer, took out the packet and handed it over. Dunhill, and a lighter… she took the packet. He did not try to touch her hands this time. “He must have realized I am at guard,” she thought, holding on the packet, somehow she could not dare to light the fag. “Do I have to light it for you?”
“No, thanks.”
How uncomfortable a man’s company can be. She realized her body had something against letting this man come close to her.
“You did not love all the men you came close to,” the voice said.
“Probably they all came before I really loved someone,” she replied.
“Really”
“Yes…” All of a sudden she felt pathetic for ever loving some one. The thought of loving with all heart and soul and then after six months, wondering if he is still the same man you loved. The very thought made her hate herself. “This will be the way out. I am doing the right thing.”
She tried to look at him, expecting him to say something. What she really wished for at the moment was for someone to talk. But wouldn’t it be better if she would have simply chatted with some stranger on net. “Oh…these voices inside my head,” she hated them and considered them responsible for her confusions. To distract her self, she tried to enjoy the serenity of the town as darkness embraced all big and small. The darkness of the night has been feared by humans ever since eternity. Animal instinct, we are afraid of all we can’t see, like the life after death, if it is life at all. Fear gave birth to religion, fear was the origin of civilization, the reason for closeness, for the creation of society, along with the other most important thing, sex. Sex was perhaps the first basis of emotional bondage between the animals now called human. Yet, fear had its role to play as reproduction was the only way to survive. To live, amidst all that can be seen. Her journey tonight was unseen, but did she fear the consequence? With a deep breath she tried to look out of the window. “But I enjoy the nights,” she reminded, rather reassured her self.
An hour and a half ago, she was walking, thinking, pondering over her mistakes and achievements, if any. Her hands growing numb, she remembered the day at the gate of a public library as she was waiting for her boy friend. She was doing some research on the architecture of Delhi. It was hardly 8 pm as she noticed the watchman whom she saw every day staring at her. Feeling uncomfortable she took out her phone and tried to fake a call. “Madam”… said the man “kisi ka intezar kar rahe ho?” ignoring the question, as her instinct suggested, she tried to look busy. “Aisa hai, aj mere ghar chaloge?” said the man. She remembered shouting every curse and abuse she knew, enough to gather the attention of some passers. “This is not one world… there is no world without confines for women.” She was out today to break all confines.
“So, are you telling me someplace to drive to or are we going to wander whole night.” The cold voice echoed.
She hated the tone in his voice and wanted to ask if he talked with his female colleges, your friends, your family in the same tone, but it was not for her to ask.
“I told you I have no idea.”
“What crazy shit is this!” He slowed down the car, almost stopped it. She feared he was going to ask her to get out. It was foggy and she had been so deeply engrossed in her thoughts that she did not really know where she was. But he did not stop. “Thank God… Oh… why do we always call God for everything? Is it just in the developing world or even our richer brothers do it. God is there in everything we do, even if there is no morality, ethics, honesty or reason.” She was back to her thoughts again. A strange feeling of intoxication surrounded her, she had never imagined a night like this, neither had she imagined falling in love the way she did, or that she could use intoxications at some point of her life. “Am I an escapist, why do I feel drunk, I have not had a drop of alcohol…but I am not in my senses either.”
An hour ago, she was walking, no untoward incident except some passers by observing her keenly. All she wanted was not to be recognized, “God, please, no acquaintances.” She had started feeling tired, though she did not feel cold any more.” All of a sudden, she felt her father was calling her, “But he is not here, I am on my own now. I have not done anything wrong.” She was still wondering if people mistook her to be a man. She was 5 feet 8 inches tall, wearing trousers and looses jacket which actually belonged to her brother. She wished not to be recognized as a woman and covered her hairs with her cap. It had happened in the bus so often when the conductor pushed her aside thinking her a man, of coarse only to apologies later realizing his mistake as he saw her face. “Bastards…” she was on the main road, far from the lanes of government quarters.
The car stopped with a jerk and she came back to present, what now… she thought. The man got down crashing the door behind him. “Is he the owner or the driver of the car, how merciless for your own belonging?” The man was now standing out talking on phone perhaps. She remembered the same car stop next her almost an hour ago, the window rolled down and a cloud of smoke came out. The man kept looking at her for more than two minutes, as if trying to judge her before putting on the question. Somehow, she did not move away from the car, she stared back. His gaze eased after a minute or two and he said just one word; “Come.” The door was opened and she, God knows why, stepped inside. Last one hour in his car, they had shared nothing more than cold satirical looks, a packet of cigarettes, which she had not yet lit, and a less than a dozen words.
The door opened and he came inside. Restarting the car, he looked at her, the same judging look. She wanted to relax.
“Are you really doing this?” the voice asked.
“I have the right to use my body for my self, I am not just for being a dutiful wife every time, tonight must be mine…”
“It won’t be; you will be used again,” came the voice from the back of her head.
“Not this time, I know what it is; at least I won’t wake up tomorrow morning expecting him to love me.”
“Give me the fag,” he said. She forwarded the packet, just realizing she had been crushing it in her hands all the while. “Open it,” he said. Obediently following she opened the packet and he drew a cigarette. The car slowed, and then smoothly it went on again only to stop abruptly. She had no anxiety this time. He got down and opened her door gesturing to follow.
It was an apartment, in which part of the city she did not know. The chill surrounded her again; she realized she was almost shivering. In the lift, to the 8th floor, to her relief the corridors of the building were deserted. ‘804, Shobhit Raj’ read the sign on the door, he took out a key from the ventilator above the door. Moderate… she thought of the apartment as they entered. It had very basic but classy furniture reflecting that the person living there was sophisticated. A leather sofa set with a centre table, dark wood with glass top. A corner of the room was converted in something which looked like a bar but was too modest to be called one. Three doors were visible, she expected them to lead to kitchen, bathroom and bedroom. In the light of the room, she could see him clearly for the first time. He was tall, could be called handsome in some senses. At one point of time she felt rather ugly in front of him being shabbily dressed, tired and distressed. “I wonder why he needs this. Perhaps he may not even be thinking for a reason. A man has what he wants, without regret, without thoughts,” she thought as he offered her some Vodka. The alcohol was finally inside, yet the night so far has been under some intoxication. “Take off your jacket and be comfortable.”
The bottle was emptied in another half and hour, the passion was unleashed. At the back of her mind, the picture went on;
“A commitment is all I want, loyalty, is it too much to ask?”
“I am committed to you”
“How, with your wife at home…”
“I will be there whenever you want, whatever you want.”
“I don’t want to be a mistress.”
“You are not, I love you”
“Marry me”
Silence.
“You are using me, just like all others, and perhaps you are not even interested in using me any more.”
“Please shut up”
“Marry me”
Silence.
“Get out of my life forever.”
Her last words before she stormed out of the house, he did not even care to stop her. Questions: Why do I depend on him to be happy? Why do I depend on him to be morale? And why do I want to be loyal to him? Why… do I have tears in my eyes?
Answer: Because you are not thinking, you are only feeling.
“Get up,” came an unknown voice, “We have to leave before 2 pm.” She was beck to her senses. “You are not a professional” said the man as he handed out some money. She felt heavy, was it guilt, for what. I have done just what almost every man does, she thought. Standing at the door, the man asked “Should I drop you somewhere?” The first sense of fear since the beginning of her adventure last night came to her. “No.”
On her way back home, she remembered switching off her phone last night. Turning it on she wondered if he had called her, he must be worried, is he concerned at all; She thought. Few missed calls messages, only one from him. Satisfied with her revenge, guilty for her action, or just confused…the phone rang.
“So, feeling all right now,” said the voice.
“Hmmm… look I am sorry...”
“Its fine lets not bring our ego into this…”
“Why would his ego be hurt, its you who is apologizing for his mistakes,” came the voice… “I will talk to you later,” she said disconnecting the call. She looked at the phone in her hand, her long beautiful fingers; she loved her hands because they made her realize her strength. “I am not fragile, I don’t need any support…” she thought as she took out the sim card and broke it in two. “The night is over” she thought.

The ball of fire

“The sun is a ball of fire” Maya told her elder sister Pinky as she washed clothes on the cement slab which once used to cover a gutter. The sun shined bright up in the sky and its rays left a peculiar sting on their back. “Yes, it is written in Sheila’s class book, and it has pictures also,” chirped Maya “I will also go to school with her; she gets biscuits and bananas there.” “Ok, but let us finish washing clothes first” said Pinky. 10 year old Pinky was the eldest of the four siblings. Little Maya, second in the row was 8. “My back is burning, I wont sit here, the sun is bad,” said Maya. “Don’t call the sun bad, it is the only visible god, and the source of life,” Pinky remembered what her mother had told her long time back. “But Sheila’s book says sun is made of gas, like the gas malkin(1) burns in her stove” said Maya. “It can not be a ball,” said Pinky, “because… if it was a ball, it would have fallen on us, and we would have been burnt by now. No, balls can not hang in the sky,” Pinky concluded feeling satisfied with her logic. “But which book says sun is god,” asked Maya. “Malkin is observing fast to worship sun. Maalik(2), malkin have read English books. Why would she fast if it was just a ball?” asked Pinky. Looking at Maya, she finally felt her little sister being satisfied with the argument.
“When I grow up, I will go there and find out,” Maya said. “But where will you go?” asked Pinky. “Up, up, up and high up in the sky, higher that Bablu bhaiya’s(3) balloons, higher that the aero-planes, like they show in pictures in the English books. Whoosh… I will fly,” Maya animated a flight with both her hands stretched and started running in circles around Pinky. “I am flying to Sheila’s home” she sang as she ran.
“Sun is not a ball,” said Maya panting heavily as she saw Sheila. “Yes it is” came a cold reply. “No, my mother’s malkin has read English books and she is fasting for the sun god, but I will tell you the truth when I fly to the sun” Maya said with a tone of pride “and I will also go to school like you”. “You will never go to school because it costs 100 rupees and you will never go to the sun either,” Sheila said sharply feeling hurt about little Maya challenging her knowledge. “Yes I will” said Maya pushing Sheila aside as she ran back towards her makeshift accommodation in the slum.
“I must go to school tomorrow and I will go to the sun,” a tearful Maya declared that night. “But where will we get 100 rupees from,” said Pinky. “We can ask malkin,” Maya suggested. “Wont mother scold us;” Pinky asked. “But Sheila will laugh at me if I don’t,” said Maya breaking in sobs again.
Sitting out side the flap of the tent, their mother wiped her eyes. She carefully took out the money she earned during the puja that day. “This may be sufficient to get at least one admitted to school,” she thought. “Pinky’s mother,” called a neighbor, “they came asking for the money, 100 rupees or else our tents will be removed. You must pay them tomorrow.” Pinky’s mother clenched the money tightly in her fist, and broke into a bitter laughter.

Meanings:
1. Malkin: Mistress
2. Maalik: Master
3. Bhaiya: Elder Brother