THE FLOATING DIARY (Short Story Journal – 33): CIRCUS

Friendship brought a new meaning to my life today… kudos to the nostalgia of CIRCUS! Today I must write this down as part of my journal so that this emotion remains engraved in my memory forever! Not all stories are meant to extract a learning and a sense of knowledge and wisdom, some are simply meant for enjoying the beauty of emotions that keep us alive irrespective of the fact that we are humans or animals.

Every year, it is a customary habit of mine to visit our old house in Dehradun. Aunt Padma and I did the same this year too and visited our little old fashioned English-styled bungalow during the winters. Amid the beauty of Mother Nature, there are many memories about this place that are soaked deep into my heart. My childhood had shaped here and I am what I am perhaps by the magic touch of this serene country. My father, my Baba, my hero taught me many things and this was one shrine where I received his companionship. Almost adjacent to the “Gandhi Park” and a few hundred meters away from the “Clock Tower” is the sprawling Parade Ground. My fondest memories of this place, as a child, are of the Circus! Baba used to take me and I used to thoroughly enjoy the performances! Not only were the human performances, but also the acts by the exotic animals like the leopards, monkeys and hippopotamus, were my favorite. 

Gone are the days of the grandeur of the Circus and many of them had suffered from the demons they bred and the government had aptly banned the cruelty of animals and the repulsive lifestyle meted out to the poor creatures. However, to the child within me, and maybe in many others like me, the charm of Circus vanished when the animal performances were curtailed. I don’t want to justify any brutality, it’s just a feel which a child who had grown up the in last millennium perhaps misses and feels nostalgic about.

Bulakiprasad had been the caretaker of our bungalow for perhaps the last twenty-five years. My father employed him and he still lives in the bungalow and takes care of it. He is like family and aunt Padma and I have a special emotional attachment with him. Even though I don’t have much memories associated with him, maybe because I went away from Dehradun even before such a bonding could develop, I still remember that every Sunday Bulakiprasad used to take a leave from work. Maybe Baba knew the reason, but I never bothered to ask.

This year during our visit, on a Sunday morning, as aunt Padma was making breakfast for us, Bulakiprasad came and said, “Amma, I leaving from the day… I shall be back by the evening.”

I wondered what Bulakiprasad did during the Sundays! He didn’t have any family and lived alone in the outhouse of our bungalow, however he still takes his customary day-off every Sunday. I felt inquisitive but didn’t say anything. After finishing a sumptuous breakfast, I told aunt Padma, “I am going out for a stroll. Let me absorb as much old memories as I can!”

I put on a jacket and walked out. The thoughts of Bulakiprasad vanished completely from my mind. I walked down the memory lanes and arrived at the gates of Zoo! The name “ZOO” created a childlike cheer in my heart, and in that winter morning, I purchased a ticket and went inside. The impulsive act was not futile and I enjoyed my trip as I went inside. Time flew by and I kept roaming around with a refreshed mind. Finally, I arrived at a corner which hosted rescued wild animals and their offsprings. Near a railing that housed the exotic and huge mountain tiger I saw him… Bulakiprasad!  I write this in this manner because there was something in the expression of his face, something in the tears of his eyes that made me feel a pang in my heart. I was confused and I wanted to know.

I approached him and patting on his shoulder, said, “Bulakiprasad, what are you doing here? Why are you crying?”

Bulakiprasad as initially startled to see me and felt awkward. He quickly wiped off his tears and replied, “Nothing sir!”

I urged, “Bulakiprasad… maybe we don’t bond much, but I consider you my family, just like Baba used to. Every Sunday you take a leave from the bungalow and vanish for the whole day. Now, today I see you here in front of this cage and that huge Tiger! What is it? Tell me, we can share a few emotions.”

We sat down on a concrete seat and Bulakiprasad replied, “Pravin Baba… every Sunday I don’t vanish. Every Sunday I come here to meet my family!”

I felt weird and stared at him while Bulakiprasad continued, “Before my elder brother approached your father to make me the caretaker of the bungalow, I used to be a performer at the Great Exotic Circus of Dehradun! My buddy my daughter was the famous tigress Sheena! I got her when she was a few weeks old and I grew her up like my own child! I never married, she was my companion! With the Great Exotic Circus, Sheena and I traveled many places and gave many famous performances! I was a star ringmaster and Sheena was my partner! She grew up to be a huge tigress and a beauty to look at! My daughter!”

My heart was feeling a pain while Bulakiprasad spoke, “When the owner of the company died, the Circus went out of business and donated Sheena to this zoo, here in this segment! I felt a pain that was beyond comprehension. Parting with my own daughter was like death! However, I had to do it. I left my job at the circus and started to work as the caretaker of your father’s bungalow. He, your father, knew my pain and made arrangements with the zoo authorities so that I could visit here, every Sunday, free of cost, and meet Sheena! That is something which I had been doing for the last twenty-five years! It completes my family!”

I wiped off the tears from my eyes and asked while looking at a huge tiger that was roaming inside, “So, is that Sheena?”

Bulakiprasad smiled and replied, “No Pravin Baba, Sheena died at the age of nineteen. That is the maximum age a tiger survives. This is Shahenshah, the son of Sheena! He knows me, he loves me. Even though I am not allowed to touch him, I meet him every Sunday and I can see the love in his eyes!”

I don’t know whether I saw the touch of love in the eyes of the tiger that morning, however the belief in the heart of the old man, Bulakiprasad, and the bonding he shared with the lineage of his daughter Sheena, was something which created ripples of turmoil in my heart.

I touched his hands and told Bulakiprasad, “Sheena was your daughter and we are your family. I am glad you share this beautiful story of friendship with me. Friendship is not just a bonding between two human beings, it is a pure love that can be beyond the fences of spoken language… you prove it that friendship can be so beautiful between a wild tigress and a human being too!”

I came back with a heart full of happiness and as I write this journal, I wonder how many such people exist who truly loved their Sheena and still feel the pangs of separation from them. I don’t want to argue, I don’t want to justify, I just feel that friendship wrote a new meaning in my soul. The pure love of Bulakiprasad and his tigress daughter Sheena is an example of unconditional love that keeps us alive!

THE FLOATING DIARY (Short Story Journal – 32): HAPPY DIWALI

DIWALI, the Festival of Lights ushers in the season of happiness! It is the celebration of good over evil. The celebration of the victory of positivity. Every year I celebrate this year with my friend Saurav Mishra. This year was no exception to it. However, the Festival of Lights brought in a whole new meaning in my life.

Saurav arrived early in the morning and said, “Pravin, this year we would visit my cousin Arunav at his house for the celebrations.”

I was a bit taken aback as I had never heard about Arunav. I enquired with a questioning look, “Who is Arunav? You never told me that you had a cousin named Arunav.”

Saurav smiled and replied, “It’s never too late to make new cousins!”

I didn’t question him further. During the day, we were busy with the customary rituals and in the evening I told aunt Padma, “I am going with Saurav. I will be back by eight ‘o’ clock. Then, we would have dinner together.”

Saurav drove me in his car and the two of us headed out. Evening had already veiled the sky above and Aunt Padma got busy lighting the Diyas, the tradition earthen lamps, around our house. We drove around the streets of Mumbai and headed towards the outskirts. I wanted to know where we were going but refrained from asking.

Around forty-five minutes later we reached a colony which looked more like a congregation of Chawls. Saurav parked the car and the two of us walked inside. The people of the colony had lit the lamps and the entire atmosphere had a serene aura. Some of the families were lighting fire crackers in the central courtyard.

A few old ladies who were standing at a corner, welcomed us with, “The Rama of Kaliyug has arrived! Come, let us celebrate together.”

I didn’t understand the meaning of their ecstasy and looked at Saurav. He smiled in return and escorted me inside a large room by the courtyard. A middle-aged man walked up to us and welcomed us inside the house. A woman came up and served us some refreshments.

Saurav spoke with the middle-aged man, “Arunav, meet my friend Pravin. This year we would celebrate Diwali together. Where is Diya? And where is Roshni? Call the others also. Let us begin the fun!”

Arunav shook hands with me and then Saurav and I went outside and joined the others in burning the colorful fireworks. The cracking sounds mingled with the glaze of dazzling colors filled the night sky. Old Bollywood songs were being played on a loudspeaker. I liked the environment and got engrossed into it. Another lady came and served us Ladoos. There was a smile on everybody’s face.

Presently my eyes fell near the door of the large room where we initially met Arunav. I don’t know when, but a few children had come and gathered near the pavement. In the front stood two young girls, around eight or nine years old. From their look I understood that they were identical twins. Behind them, stood about ten more kids of around the same age. However, something else was startling about them that brought tears to my eyes.

I could see that all these kids were blind! Yet, the stood and enjoyed the Diwali fireworks as if they were witnessing the colorful displays with their own eyes. The joy on their faces, the happiness in their expressions showed as if they were fully engrossed in the celebrations. I stood like a stone and looked at these kids for whom the Festival of Lights was a stark irony!

Arunav had come and stood beside us. Saurav held my hand and said, “Those two identical twins are Diya and Roshni. They are Arunav’s daughters. However, from an early age they had lost their visions! I first met Arunav when he came to work as an electrician at our office. He doesn’t have the means to afford costly treatment for his daughters.”

I kept looking at Saurav while he continued, “When I approached my office’s CSR department for help, they refused due to budgetary reasons. However, that day I pledged to myself that I will make a difference myself!”

“Over the last six months, I had worked relentlessly after my office hours to collect funds and resources to help these kids. I had taken them to doctors who had assured that a corneal replacement will bring the gift of light into the lives of these two innocent girls!” Saurav was shaking with emotion while he spoke, “Those other children who are standing with Diya and Roshni are students of the local blind school where they study together. Some of their blindness can be cured while the diseases of the others are incurable. I have pledged that I will do everything to help them!”

Arunav added, “Sir, one in every thousand child in India suffers from this disease. What is the use of Diwali of these angels of God don’t see the gift of light? It is not because Diya and Roshni are my daughters, my heart pains for every other kid who suffer. Look at their ecstasy, look at their excitement. They are feeling the celebration of lights, but they cannot witness Diwali with their eyes!”

I felt something within my heart that I cannot express in words. I smiled, went ahead and touched the little angels and came back. I looked at Saurav and said, “Today, I promise you Saurav that the Festival of Lights will have a new meaning for me too! Let us hold hands to bring the gift of light into the lives of these innocent angels. And if I ever forget, due to my amnesia, just show me a picture of Diya and Roshni.”

Saurav smiled and said, “Thanks Pravin. If we can get a few people to join this cause, then truly it would the homecoming of Rama!”

At night, I laid my head on aunt Padma’s lap and cried. She passed her feeble fingers through my hair and said to me, “Pravin, I am glad that you have joined hands for a deserving cause. Even if I am not there, I know that you would continue to strive for it. Wish you a HAPPY DIWALI.”

THE FLOATING DIARY (Short Story Journal – 31): CHIRIYA

Every CHIRIYA needs to fly! Every fledgling deserves to determine his or her destination. Every child is special. Every child is born free! Let us pledge to give them their freedom…

The sound of our speeding train produced a mechanical hum while we, the passengers sat inside the compartment and headed towards our destination. This was yesterday night, when I was traveling to Shimla. Yes, Shimla, the alpine town where uncle Devendra Shome lives. He had always lived there with his wife and son, Amit Shome. Amit is now an engineer and lives in Bangalore. However, uncle Shome and his wife, aunt Deeksha, still lives in Shimla. I, along with aunt Padma, had decided to visit them for a couple of days.

As I boarded the train with aunt Padma and the huge serpentine vehicle hooted its whistle and moved out from the platform, the glimpse of a face flashed in front of my eyes… It was the face of CHIRIYA! Yes, it was the name of the little girl servant who worked in Uncle Shome’s bungalow. I met her only a couple of times during my annual visits to Shimla, before she disappeared. Nobody knew where she went. She vanished unnoticed from our lives, like a passing tempest.

The first time I met her, Chiriya herself was about eight or nine years old and was the resident of a nearby village. She was a child whose parents needed financial support by any possible means and thus sent her to work, like many others of her age. She used to clean the tables, wash the utensils and also arrange Amit's room.

I was seven-years-old, maybe, and Amit was about five. Her complexion was dark, her hair was always untidy, her dress was mostly worn-out, but her teeth were white! When she smiled, her teeth showed as a stark contrast to her entire appearance. She looked like a little lanky baby ghost!

Occasionally, during afternoons, Amit and I used to ask her to play hide-and-seek with us. Little Chiriya could run very fast! She was so fast that I once told her, “Chiriya, you should become an athlete!”

Chiriya didn’t know the meaning of becoming an athlete and used to reply innocently “Bhaiya, I am happy here! I get good food. I get money. My Baba and Maa are happy too!”

Once I asked Maa, “Why does Chiriya have to work? Why does she need to wash the plates?” However, I never received any satisfactory answer. Then one day, I heard that Chiriya was gone. Nobody knew where she went. Deep within my young heart, I felt an unknown pain and I told myself, “She is gone to become an athlete!”

****

We were in the first-class compartment, occupying one lower and one upper berth. Opposite to us, was a lady, Mrs. Mathur, and her son Dipak. The little boy was about ten-year-old. He had a round, melon shaped face with large expressive eyes. I liked his innocent smile and the tone of his sweet melodious voice. It reminded me of my own carefree childhood.

Presently, as we stopped at a major Railway Junction, a little boy came inside with a broom and began sweeping the floor vigorously. He finished his task within minutes and raised his hand for some monetary reward.

Aunt Padma said sternly, “We didn’t ask you to do this. Why are you asking for money? Why don’t you go to school little lad?”

The boy replied with a smile, “My parents don’t have the money to send me to school. I work here to earn for them. I don’t beg, I work to earn.”

Aunt Padma didn’t have any reply to whatever she heard. I took out some money and gave them to the boy. A melancholy filled my heart. I guess, aunt Padma understood it and held my hand tightly. I said to her, “I suddenly remembered Chiriya!”

****

Aunt Padma and Mrs. Mathur had been chatting while I sat near the window and looked at the changing rural landscape. As evening fell, the veil of darkness covered everything and I shifted my attention inside, within the compartment, towards the conversation between Aunt Padma and Mrs. Mathur.

“So, Dipak is a young star!” exclaimed aunt Padma.

“He had been acting in television soaps for the last four years. We are going to Shimla for a shooting…” ejaculated Mrs. Mathur proudly.

Mrs. Mathur shifted her focus towards Dipak and said in a serious voice, “Dipak, you had been memorizing the script for the last few hours! How long more do you need to finish the task?”

“Maa”, answered little Dipak, “This is a lengthy script and is so boring. Its taking me a long time to finish! Can I read my storybook for a while and then memorize?”

The little boy had not lifted his eyes from the bunch of papers ever since he boarded the train, this afternoon. However, Mrs. Mathur replied with a dry smile, “Son, first finish your work and then you can read your storybook. You need to be fully prepared for the shoot.”

Mrs. Mathur handed over a sweetmeat to Dipak, perhaps as a reward to complete his mundane task, and kissed him on his forehead. The boy returned a tired look and then dug into the bunch of papers. Even today, as I looked at Dipak, the face of Chiriya flashed past my eyes and I felt an unknown pain.

Child labor is a crime! We all say this, admit this. However, a collective effort is never undertaken against it. How will that happen? Is there an answer to the problem that the little sweeper boy raised yesterday? Are not the likes of little Dipak a victim too? Are there not millions of Chiriya across the breadth of this country, whom we had been employing for years?

I don’t have an answer. However, as I sit here in Shimla tonight, and write this journal, the questions keep haunting me. I am writing this in my journal so that when I shall read this piece after years, I shall be able to feel the pain, feel the desire to fight against it.

Every CHIRIYA needs to fly! Every fledgling deserves to determine his or her destination. Every child is special. Every child is born free! Let us pledge to give them their freedom. May the little CHIRIYA in every child be able to flap their wings and fly high!