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!

THE FLOATING DIARY (Short Story Journal – 30): Ravana Dahan #MeeToo

Today on the auspicious day of Vijayadashami, I sit and write in my journal about an incident that shook me to the core! It is midnight now, but I am writing down about something that happened a few hours back. I feel a strange energy within me now. It is a power to whatever is right. I wonder, how this Dussera has become special with a simple vow that I pledged.

Ajay, my college buddy, had invited me over for dinner tonight. I was elated to receive the invitation as I had not met him since a long time, despite the proximity of our respective houses. I dressed up in a nice traditional attire, bought some sweets and reached Ajay’s house sharp at 7 PM.

Ajay, who now works at a bank, had always been of philosophical and radical bent of mind. In college, I used to think that he would perhaps become an author or a political leader. He was always the first person to stand up against any wrongdoing and protest. Ajay’s unique bent of mind attracted me towards his personality and we became good friends. However, with passage of time, the revolutionary young man, gradually made truce with harsh reality. Today, after about a decade, Ajay lives a peaceful with his wife Shweta and their little three-year-old daughter, Titli.

As we sat in the living-room and chatted, flashes of past memories whizzed past my eyes. I said, “Ajay, it has been such a long time since we chatted like this. I remember our college days, I still cannot forget the strong and powerful revolutionary of our class… Ajay!”

“Pravin”, answered Ajay with a smile, “Everything has a passing phase. That phase is well past now. We have to live in the present world. I am happy for who I was, and I am happy for who I am today.”

Little Titli played with her toys. The innocent child, with neatly made curly long hair and mischievous eyes giggled on her own as she fiddled with her dolls. She cuddled up against the sofa on which Ajay sat and hummed a nursery rhyme and was busy in her own world.

Ajay looked at her and turned his eyes towards me and said, “Now, she is my world. She, my princess, my TITLI.”

The little girl sat, as if, under the shadow of her father. It was like a canopy of protection under whose shade she felt safe and secure. I noticed that there were tears in Ajay’s eyes. I looked at him for some more time and asked, “What is it Ajay? Is anything bothering you?”

Ajay replied, “Look at her. She is such an innocent child. She looks so divine in that little red dress and that polka dotted shorts. Today, everybody admires her and cuddles her like a doll. However, last night I had a dream. Yet, it was not just a dream… it was a reality check!”

“What sort of a dream?” I asked Ajay.

He replied, “A dream that was an eye opener… Pravin, soon my little Titli will grow up into a young lady. Soon, the glances in the eyes of her admirers would change! Soon, the innocent child would be looked upon by lustful eyes! I just cannot tolerate it! The world is becoming so perilous. How will I protect my child! Pravin, today Ravana is not a myth… he is present in our personalities that give rise to #MeToo! Be it personal, be it political, be it the changing nature of man or woman, unless we all kill that demon, no Dussera would be complete! What sort of a world are we creating for the future generations? A place where #MeToo rules or a place where love and harmony prevails…”

I looked at Ajay while he added, “In my dream, Titli questioned me… Papa will the MeToo Ravana gulp me down? Papa, save me from this demon! I woke up from my sleep with a jerk! It is not just a dream… it is not just a voice! Pravin, it is the voice of every child, male or female, who would make up our society tomorrow. Unless, we kill the MeToo Ravana in us… the world can never be safe for our children. I wish, this year, the Lord gives us strength and power to end the era of imperfection so that we can all take a step forward and do whatever is right!”

“Yes Ajay. But, how can you or I bring in such a revolution?” I asked anxiously.

“Perhaps, the first step is standing up against anything that is wrong! If we, insignificant individuals, stand up against whatever is wrong, then a cyclone would soon brew up and wipe away the demon!” answered Ajay.

“Pravin, I don’t know how it will happen. I only know that it must happen!”, continued Ajay and picked up little Titli on his lap, “But, this is something that I vow to do for my child and for every child who would become an adult tomorrow. Unless the view of every man and every woman changes, we can never bring this change.”

He finished with, “This year, Vijayadashami must be all about Ravana Dahan #MeToo and everything that is wrong for a healthy society! I hope, we groom our children to respect each other, to protect the modesty of women, to treat everybody with honor and dignity. The ten-headed #MeToo demon must not extend its reach further. We, mortals of this world have the duty to end this fiend!”

I came back home with a strange feeling in my heart. Tonight, whatever I write here in my journal, cannot be explained in words perhaps. I am not a father, yet, but I still feel a strange attachment to little Titli. I feel the strong message in the words of Ajay and I pledge to do my bit to support the cause he has picked up. It is a pledge, it is a vow, it is promise that I have consented with Ajay, to make the world a better place. Even though I don’t know how, but the honest intension within our hearts tell me that we would soon find a way.