THE FLOATING DIARY (Short Story Journal – 13): A FORGOTTEN SCAR

Memory is such a bizarre phenomenon! Just when my amnesia is slowly erasing away my mind, a sudden gust of past images brought back a long lost memory! Such is life, when we begin to lose our most precious treasures, it brings back something that we had been searching for so long.

Ever since the time I can still recall, I could never remember the reason behind a four-inch long scar behind my left thigh. When I was in college, one day, Maa asked me, “Pravin, when did you get that scar on your thigh?”

I was naturally surprised on receiving this sudden question. It was a Sunday afternoon and I was roaming around in my trunks when Maa saw the scar behind my left thigh. Aunt Padma rushed in from the kitchen and scrutinized me thoroughly (as if I was still a child) and then retired on the sofa with the words, “Good heavens! I wonder when you received that. However, it seems quite old, though the traces of it are still visible!”

Aunt Padma’s deductions were correct. The scar did seem like a very old one and only the mark on my skin has remained. However, the weird part of the entire episode was that nobody remembered how I got it! The history and the mystery behind the forgotten scar of mine had somehow vanished from the minds of my entire family, including me!

****

Today, on a lazy Saturday morning, as I sat near my window and watched the showers come down from the clouds, I suddenly remembered everything! I was ten years old then, and had moved to Mumbai along with my family. My Baba enrolled me into “St. Joseph’s Missionary School” and my education commenced in this new city. I made quite a few friends shortly and settled down amid my new environment. Among the fresh acquaintances in school, there was a boy named Tony Macaulay. Tony and I didn’t become friends immediately, instead there was some sort of an antagonism that he developed towards me. I couldn’t understand the reason behind this dislike, but my young mind wanted to overcome it and befriend him. Tony had an innocent charisma that appealed to me, even at that tender age and I wished I were his friend.

Once during a holiday weekend, the school authorities arranged for an excursion for the students of the junior school. The plan was to take the students to the “Queen Mary’s Church” in Little Colaba. The parents were asked to drop the children in school early in the morning and the school bus was supposed to take all the kids on a daylong trip. The itinerary contained a morning trip to the church, followed by a lunch session and playtime within its campus. At five in the evening, the bus was again scheduled to bring back all the students to school for dispersal.

I was excited about the trip, more so because it was supposed to be a solo one without the presence of parents! It was a kind of thrill that every child experiences at that age. There were quite a few school busses and all of us headed for the trip with full enthusiasm. As we reached the destination, the appointed teachers queued us inside the church, to maintain decorum. There was a brief prayer session and then we were dispersed slowly. At noon we had a hearty lunch and then all the children were allowed to play in the playground within the boundary of the church campus.

Around late in the afternoon, as I was strolling around the bushes at a corner of the church’s northern boundary, I saw something! Tony was standing near a pit and peeping inside while trying to do something intently. I felt inquisitive and went near him. As I came close, I could see a small kitten sitting at the bottom of the pit and howling for help. The pit was deep enough, with protruding rock splinters along its perimeter, and was not possible for a young boy to get in and out of it easily. I asked, “Hey Tony, what happened? What are you trying to do?”

Tony didn’t notice my arrival and was astonished initially on hearing my voice. After the initial confusion, he replied, “I want to save that kitten, he is stuck inside that pit… But I cannot find a way to do so. This pit is too deep and dangerous!”

This was the first time I realized that Tony had a strange pitch in his voice and a body language that I had previously mistaken as his antagonism towards me. Since we were completely unfamiliar with each other, even he felt hesitant to ask me for help. I tried to make a good use of the situation and quickly said, “Tony, I will climb down into the pit and you hold me tightly. Once I grab the kitten, you pull me out! Anyways, my name is Pravin!”

Tony was a bit skeptical about the idea but agreed. Thus began our mini adventure and while we succeeded in rescuing the kitten, I ended up bruising the back of left thigh, as it brushed against the protruding rocks! I squalled in pain as Tony helped me out from the pit. The little kitten ran away ecstatically into a nearby bush while I sat on the ground. The bruise pained a lot but Tony tried his best to soothe me. However, we were both happy that we could succeed in our little act of heroism!

Tony saved me from any humiliation in front of the teachers. He told our class-teacher that I fell down while trying to save him from skidding on a slippery ground. Our class-teacher, Mrs. Sutherland, praised me for my valor and took me over to the church’s infirmary where I received first-aid. Luckily, Mrs. Sutherland forgot to inform anything about the incidence to my parents after we returned. Perhaps she thought it best not to raise an alarm among the parents! I was also cared to tell about it to Maa and Aunt Padma, so I decided to keep it as a little secret. For many days, I avoided to exposure my bruise in front of my parents. I was good at it and could escape any confrontation. The wound healed soon and my relationship with Tony became friendly. We were no more antagonists, but became buddies.

Years moved on, and with time, I forgot about the incidence completely. A few years later, Tony went away to South Africa along with his parents and I lost all touch with him. As the little Tony behind the forgotten scar faded away from my mind, so did the existence of the scar. Moreover, such was the stroke of luck that I could not even remember anything about it.

Finally, today, the fond memories of Tony and the forgotten scar have suddenly returned home, to my mind and I stand here with a smile on my face. I don’t know whether miracles happen or not, but I really wish that a miracle happens and I get to meet Tony again, just like a miraculous gust of lost time has reminded me about the FORGOTTEN SCAR!

THE FLOATING DIARY (Short Story Journal – 12): MIRZA SAHIB AND HIS POETRY

“Literature is Life!” … I have always believed in this statement. Ever since my schooldays, my love for reading poetry has become stronger with the passage of time. Today I would note down about a little effort that I had promised to undertake for “Mirza Sahib”. It is an effort that would make me a bit happier, perhaps. There are so many unsung talents hidden among the multitudes of this country. This is a humble endeavor on my part to try and do something special for even one of them.

Three years ago, I went on an office sponsored trip to Kolkata. I was on a stringent-timeline two-week assignment for my employer, but I was happy because I always wanted to see the “City of Joy” that is famously referred to as the “Cultural Capital of India”! I admit, the city didn’t disappoint me. I was enthralled by the enigmatic mixture of cultural diversity and the abundance of greenery that surrounded Kolkata. In the month of February, the climate of the city was extremely enjoyable and I especially loved my after-office, evening strolls around the famous “Victoria Memorial Hall”.

During my visit, I stayed in my company’s guesthouse located in the Bhawanipur area, which was at a walkable distance from the gardens at the “Victoria Memorial”. The lush green stretches of open fields, popularly called “Maidaan”, were situated close by and I often went there for grasping some cool breeze after sunset and sat on the concrete benches that girdled the area.   

It is here in “Maidaan”, on one such evening, when I met “Mirza Sahib”! While I sat quietly on a lonely bench under a tree, I saw an oddly dressed old man standing on a small platform and performing something animatedly, while a small crowd gathered around him. I felt a bit inquisitive and went up to the crowd, as the conversation was not audible from where I was sitting. The last faint rays of the setting sun were silently receding and the envelope of darkness was being confronted by the dull glow of the gaslights lit by the vendors and hawkers. As the initial confusion cleared, I focused on the man standing upon the makeshift podium. He was reciting poetry, to be more specific, he was reciting “Shayari”, and I loved whatever he was orating and the manner he was enacting the entire performance.

The entire episode lasted for about thirty minutes and then everybody dispersed after offering meagre alms for the show they just witnessed. I felt pained on thinking that a talented man of this age has to literally beg to earn money in exchange for his brilliance! I left some contribution from my end and went away hurriedly.

Even though I went away, the thought about the old man didn’t vanish from my mind and I returned back the next day, at the same time, to see him again. This routine continued for the next four days and I got more and more engrossed in the talent of the old man. Finally, on the fifth day, I approached him and asked him his name.

“Sahib, I am Salim Mirza.” Replied the old man while I sat beside him after his performance got over and the spectators went away. “I am now seventy-two years old. However, my poetry has the richness of over a hundred years! My forefathers were poets in the court of Emperor Wajid Ali Shah and moved here along with him. I still live in Metiabruz, a mirror city of Lucknow that he created here in Bengal.”

I sat speechless and listened while Mirza Sahib continued, “The legacy faded away many years ago but I have clanged onto it. This Shayari of my bloodline is like oxygen to me and I continue to keep it alive… till my last breath. I don’t know how many more years I will live, but I regret that with my death, this great legacy would also die a silent death!”

There were tears in his eyes and I felt a remorse. The unsung hero, Mirza Sahib, is so very correct. Within a few seconds I made up my mind to do something about it. I asked him, “Mirza Sahib, if you permit, I would like to record your poetry on tape. I don’t know whether I would be able to do anything much, but I will definitely try to spread it across to as many people as possible. This would be my humble effort to keep your talent and heritage alive!”

Mirza Sahib agreed and the next day I purchased a portable voice recorder and over the following few days I recorded his beautiful Shayari. Soon, my day of departure arrived and I bid farewell to Mirza Sahib. I gave him some money as a token of respect and promised him that I shall come back soon. However, I didn’t keep my promise and as I returned back to Mumbai, I got lost in my daily routine and Mirza Sahib went missing from my mind.

Years have passed and among those years, my life has been in turmoil while the thoughts and the promises to Mirza Sahib vanished from my mind. However, today, after three years, I again found the tape recorder and spent the entire evening listening to the beautiful poetry of Mirza Sahib. Tears rolled down from my eyes after I finished listening and I sat wondering about the old man.

I don’t know whether he was speaking the truth about his legacy or his association with the Great Wajid Ali Shah. But something was very pure in him… it was his lovely Shayari. I note down today in my journal that I shall treasure the recorded poetry of Mirza Sahib and at least once, I would try to get it broadcasted over radio so that the country can listen to the lyrical genius. I know it would be a tough job, but I shall make it happen, I promise myself!

After that I shall visit Kolkata, find out Mirza Sahib and tell him, “I am sorry Mirza Sahib that I forgot about you. However, I have done my little part to keep my promise finally.”

I don’t know whether Mirza Sahib is still alive or not, but I trust the almighty that my words would surely reach him, wherever he is.

THE FLOATING DIARY (Short Story Journal – 11): NEIGHBOR, NEIGHBOR!

Let me make a quote… A person’s world becomes special when one is blessed with a GOOD NEIGHBOR! Indeed, my personal experience says, a good neighbor makes life so much easy. This is the reason why my journal would remain incomplete if I do not write about this special being… My Neighbor! Even though my above words might sound a bit satirical, what I am about to write is absolutely true and represents a subtle comedy that destiny often plays on fellow mortals. Thus, I note down this unique mention about this subject today, so that when my memory vanishes, I would have a reason to laugh out loud and feel good about life again!

A few months ago, the empty apartment opposite to that of mine, got a new occupant. Mr. Surrinder Chhabra, a single unmarried man in his mid-fifties moved into the two-bedroom apartment along with a bunch of vintage furniture and a huge collection of books. Being an inherent lover of storybooks, I became naturally attracted to this otherwise elderly gentleman. Two days after his arrival, I knocked on his door and opened a conversation, to break the ice! Mr. Surrinder Chhabra appeared to be a sober man, but somewhat reclusive by nature. However, he was courteous enough to invite me inside his apartment. I spoke about various things and in return learned that Mr. Chhabra got recently transferred from Dehradun! This was again another startling information as the name “Dehradun” brought fresh memories from my childhood. That evening, we spoke for about fifteen minutes and I retired after inviting Mr. Surrinder Chhabra to my place the next day.

Over the next few days, Mr. Chhabra and I became quite well acquainted with each other. I asked my newspaper boy, Arun, to deliver his daily quota of newspaper as well. In return to my courteous friendliness, Mr. Chhabra offered me to lend books from his huge collection. He felt pained when he heard about my impending amnesia and encouraged me with his reassuring words. A sweet bond of neighborly friendship developed and I felt happy to get him as the man next door who is always happy to help.

Two weeks passed without any interruption and time moved on in its normal pace. Then, the thing happened! I knew Mr. Chhabra was not home for a few days as his door remained locked throughout day and night. I felt a bit awkward that the man went away without letting me know where he was going. Then again, I pondered that it was too much of an expectation from my end, from somebody whom I had only known for a couple of weeks only.

One morning, Arun knocked heavily on my door, while delivering the newspaper. It was about six-twenty by the clock and I was startled by the manner of the knocking. It was Arun’s usual habit to knock lightly on the door, after delivering the newspaper. But this was something else. The knock was more like a distress call and I hurriedly opened the gate. As I unlocked the door, the boy rushed inside, almost pushing me aside, and closed the door behind him with a bang! There was a clear expression of shock in his face and he was sweating profusely! I was confused and asked him the reason for his anxiety.

Arun replied in a tone of complete shock, “Sir, Mr. Chhabra is a g-g-g-ghost! I think something supernatural is happening ever since his return!”

Unable to believe his words, I asked Arun to explain further. He continued, “Sir, every morning, at dawn break, I deliver newspapers to the apartments in this building. Mr. Chhabra never picks up his newspaper, but keeps his door semi-locked so that I can drop it inside his apartment. I had been doing this ever since he moved in. Through his semi-locked door, every morning, I can see him sitting beside the window in his rocking armchair and looking outside. The last few days, after his return were no exceptions to this. However, while going down in the elevator, one day, I saw something! I saw someone walking up the stairs! In the dim morning sunlight, I saw Mr. Chhabra walking up the stairs like a stone apparition! He stared blankly at me with large red eyes. The first day I thought it was a mistake of my vision, but the same thing happened for the last three days! I am so scared sir!”

I didn’t have words after hearing this discourse. A chill ran down my spine too. However, I gathered courage, held Arun’s hands tightly and went outside. I knocked on the door of Mr. Chhabra’s apartment while Arun stood behind me like a ghost himself. The door opened and Mr. Chhabra came out and stood in front of us with large red eyes and a blank face. His voice asked in a heavy baritone, “WHAT DO YOU WANT? WHO ARE YOU?”

I must admit that at that very moment, I felt scared too on hearing the voice but controlled myself. I didn’t know what to say. I was speechless! Before anything else happened, somebody else emerged from within the apartment and stood in front of us. To my utter surprise, it was another Mr. Chhabra!

Arun shrieked, “GHOST! GHOST!” while I held his hands firmly. Just then, the second Mr. Chhabra broke into a fit of laughter while the rest of us stood helplessly.

As the air cleared, I understood what was happening while the second Mr. Chhabra spoke, “No Arun! There is no ghost! This is my twin brother, Paramveer Chhabra! I went to visit him in Surat and had brought him here to stay with me for a few days!! I am terribly sorry, if the identical looks have caused any confusion and anxiety to anybody!”

Both Arun and I understood whatever had happened and I too broke into a fit of laughter. The person whom Arun had seen as an apparition was actually the twin brother of Mr. Chhabra who went for morning walks every day, but didn’t recognize the newspaper boy. Arun made a weird face after understanding his foolishness and quickly went away after apologizing, while Mr. Chhabra introduced me with his twin brother.

****

Mr. Paramveer Chhabra has gone back to Surat and our lives have also moved into the normal routine. However, it is important for me to note down this funny incident here today so that even if my amnesia erases the memory of this “Comedy of Errors”, I shall not fall a victim to this mirror image of my beloved neighbor’s sibling… again!

It is so very true; a person’s world becomes special when one is blessed with a GOOD NEIGHBOR! Indeed, a good neighbor makes life so much easy. I feel lucky that I have Mr. Chhabra as my prized neighbor.