THE FLOATING DIARY (Short Story Journal – 37): POPCORN

It was a cool winter afternoon. I ran towards the window and peeped outside with eyes full of excitement. My eyes scanned the street outside and searched anxiously. My heart pounced while I tried to spot the bright signboard, “MAGIK POPCORN”. It was the name of the Dilawar Khan’s popcorn vending cart.

The faint voice of Dilawar reverberated around the corners of the colony, “Popcorn! Magik Popcorn! Come and enjoy a mouthful of magic right from the land of the djinns!”

As I spotted the lemon colored cart, I rushed out from my house and reached the corner of the alley where Dilawar had parked the cart. A mini crowd of young boys from the neighborhood had already gathered around him. I patiently waited for my turn. He knew me by my name and smiled at me.

Dilawar diligently and artistically mixed the freshly made popcorn in neatly crafted paper packs and then took a cup of hot fuming camphor and blew the smoke into the popcorn. This was a regular practice of Dilawar and he smiled while handing over to the customer with, “The smoke of the djinns trapped inside my magic camphor embeds its magic inside one piece of popcorn in this pack! Eat every piece of Dilawar Khan’s Magik Popcorn and make a wish! The special piece with the magic of the djinns would make your wish come true!”

This was twenty years ago. Time flew away like a whirlwind thereafter…

During my teenage days, Dilawar Khan of Kashmir used to vend popcorn from his MAGIK POPCORN cart with the special addendum of the magic of the djinns that could make our dreams come true! What’s more? It did work also! Many of us indeed got what we wished for! He was a real magician. He was a hero of every child and teenager in nooks and corners of local alleys of Mumbai and I was no exception.

One day, Dilawar went away. Before leaving, he told us, “I am returning back to Kashmir. My son is turning five years. I need to be with him. He misses me. I must see him grow up!”

****

Today, as I was sitting in my study room and was chatting with Aunt Padma, I heard a voice. It was a familiar voice that kindled a childlike excitement in my heart.

The faint voice again reverberated around the corners of the colony, “Popcorn! Magik Popcorn! Come and enjoy a mouthful of magic right from the land of the djinns!”

I exclaimed, “Isn’t that Dilawar Khan’s voice? What is he doing here after almost two decades?”

Aunt Padma was also surprised. I got up and ran down to the street. It was indeed Dilawar Khan, with his same old popcorn vending cart, with the signboard MAGIK POPCORN! However, the cart now looked worn out and dilapidated just like its owner Dilawar himself.

I walked up to the corner of the alley. Dilawar was indeed selling his popcorn in his usual manner. The cup of smoking camphor was also present and he smiled while handing over to the customer with, “The smoke of the djinns trapped inside my magic camphor embeds its magic inside one piece of popcorn in this pack! Eat every piece of Dilawar Khan’s Magik Popcorn and make a wish…”

However, there was a queer difference in his style this time. Even though it was insignificant, but it caught my fancy. Before handing over the popcorn, Dilawar was picking one piece from every pack and placing in his own mouth (as if trying to verify the taste before giving it to the customer). This was an unusual practice that I felt awkward about.

As the crowd of customers eased a bit, I approached Dilawar and stood beside him saying, “Dilawar, do you recognize me?”

His skin has crumpled and his health has deteriorated. His eyesight might have also become feebler. However, he looked much older than his actual age. Dilawar scrutinized me and then said after a while, “Pravin baba?”

I smiled and said, “Yes its me.”

Dilawar patted on my shoulder and said with a smile, “Do you want your favorite popcorn?”

“Yes I would love to!”, I replied, “I would also love to know about you and your son! How was life for all these years? How is it that you have returned after almost two decades?”

Dilawar started to make my pack of popcorn and spoke, “Life was good all these years and I had seen my little Ahmed grow up into a fine young gentleman! He joined the Indian Army and served his nation!”

“Where is he now?” I asked enthusiastically.

“I don’t know Pravin baba!” fumbled Dilawar, “When the war started in Kargil with the neighboring nation, five years ago, he was commissioned for duty! I sent him and he fought with full valor. However, after a few days, I got the news from the army that he has been martyred!” 

“What?” my voice stopped and I couldn’t speak further. I felt a lump in my throat that blanked my speech.

Dilawar Khan continued, “His body was never found. Some officers suspected that he was taken as a prisoner of war while some suspected that he fell valiantly while fighting but his body couldn’t be recovered from the treacherous trenches! I still have hope, even though five years have passed. My heart tells me that my brave Ahmed will return! The Army and the nation has rewarded him with a medal for his bravery and supreme sacrifice, but the heart of this father knows that he will come back to his old father…”

Dilawar gave me my pack of popcorn and took one piece from it and placed it in his mouth. He came close to me and whispered, “Ever since I came back to Mumbai again, from every pack of popcorn with the magic of the djinns, I take one piece for myself and make a wish for his return! Who knows, the one with the magic spell might come in my hand and my wish would come true!”

Tears rolled down from my eyes, while Dilawar placed the piece of popcorn from my pack, closed his eyes momentarily and made his wish. As he went away, I ate my popcorn and made a wish myself, “magic of the djinns, please bring back little Ahmed to old Dilawar Khan! May every soldier of our motherland be able to come home to their fathers!”

The aged Dilawar Khan slowly went away while pushing his cart of MAGIK POPCORN and hawked, “Popcorn! Magik Popcorn! Come and enjoy a mouthful of magic right from the land of the djinns!”

I don’t know why I am writing this incident in today’s journal. Perhaps, when my dementia wipes away my memory, I would love to see Ahmed return to his father and proves the magical power of the djinns! 

THE FLOATING DIARY (Short Story Journal – 36): TARANTULA’S VEMON

There is an invisible thin line between what we know as superstition, myth, belief, faith and truth! Such is the strangeness in these subtle sentiments that they define the manner in which we react so uniquely at times! It reminds me of the fabled TARANTULA’S VENOM!

****

Ram Ratan Yadav, our Dhobiwho takes care of all our laundry, sat at the foot of the dining table and discoursed, “Today, in our village colony, the feared TARANTULA was finally caught! Many had seen its feared web across trees and hedges and we knew that he was around. However, the ultimate victory came today morning!”

“What are you saying?” exclaimed Aunt Padma. “Did it kill anybody in the recent time?”

I turned towards the two of them from my sofa and listened. Ran Charan continued, “Last fortnight, the old priest got bit by this dangerous creature and he breathed his last! The venom is merciless! Everybody in our village colony was scared after that! Every time we saw its web somewhere, we used to shudder!”

I wanted to interrupt and explain some basic facts about Tarantula and the myths associated with it but refrained from doing so. I didn’t want to begin a lecture to educate Ram Ratan Singh. However, the subject of his discussion remained crouched up in my fantasy.

I got up and stood at the balcony. Down in the street, a man was taking his son to school. The little child seemed quite mischievous and his father struggled to manage his tantrums. The man expressed his discomfort and then said, “The angry demon with red eyes is watching you! He will come at night to catch you… Listen to me and behave yourself!”

The child paid some heed to whatever he just heard and then decided to obey his father. I smiled at the sight of this little drama and came inside. I was getting late for office and quickly got inside to get dressed. Today being a weekday, I had to follow my usual routine and Aunt Padma became busy in her work.

As I came out and woe my shoes, Aunt Padma approached me with her usual copper-worship-plate and its contents. She sprinkled some of her holy-water on me and muttered, “Don’t worry Pravin. Soon, god will wipe away this disease of yours! Soon you would become shielded by the holy powers!”

I didn’t want to say anything in reply and simply smiled and went out. There was something brewing up inside my subconscious mind. However, I couldn’t understand what it was. I thought it best not to nudge it further unless the cocktail ejects itself into my conscious mind.

As I reached office, I completed my usual tasks and then sat inside a conference to listen to a presentation. Mr. Atul Bhaskar had come from Delhi for this special meeting. Along with the rest of the team, I listened to whatever he had to say. Atul spoke relentlessly about the future of Telecom Industry and how it was all set to revolutionize the entire world in the next decade. He spoke about networks and platforms that would build a web of information around us. He spoke about how telecom technology would impair many devices as redundant. I was enthralled but felt disturbed with something. However, I again refrained from nudging my sentiments.

Rajesh accompanied me during my return journey. As we stood inside the bus, Rajesh asked anxiously, “Are we going to lose our jobs? Are many people going to become jobless due to this disruptive revolution in telecom?”

I replied with a smile, “No. The threat is somewhere else… A Tarantula’s venom cannot kill you.”

The spontaneity of my words amazed me and I kept silent for the rest of the journey. The strange feeling was slowly seeping out from my subconscious mind into the conscious one. Rajesh obviously got bowled out by my answer and became more confused. Even he became silent and got lost in his confusion.

****

As I sit inside my room, at my writing desk, and document this journal, the bigger picture is clear in front of my eyes. From morning, this thought had been cooking inside me…. The thought about TARANTULA’S VEMON! It is strange but is relevant. A Tarantula onslaught is not life threatening, but is often feared due to its external appearance. It definitely doesn’t use its venom to kill its prey. However, a myth is prevalent about how innocent creatures are killed by it. Everything about it is so similar to many experiences that we, humans, have in our lives!

Life itself is like a Tarantula’s Venom! It is a concoction of myth, fable, superstition, faith and truth! Ram Ratan Singh and the residents of his colony believe in a myth that is really a fable but not the real truth. However, the myth is what remains prevalent. 

Aunt Padma’s intense faith in the almighty makes her believe that the holy-water would eradicate my amnesia, but the fact is something else! However, it is a belief that keeps her alive and I don’t want to change that. This is again so similar to the Tarantula’s Venom… it just cannot kill a real prey! Yet, it is revered for a characteristic it doesn’t possess. 

Finally, the debates about the future prospects of telecom technology, how it will shape our future, how it will disrupt the job market etc. are making ripples across our minds. However, we are not thinking about the fact that it will change us, the human beings forever! It will lead us one more step closer to being mechanized and become slaves to gadgets! Again, it’s the Tarantula’s Venom that is getting an unnecessary hype as we human beings become more and more illiterate with our I.Q. becoming sharper by the day.

Tonight’s journal here is not about a feeling, it is about a realization that I want to remember the existence of the invisible thin line, so that I can distinguish between superstition, myth, belief faith, and truth and never fall prey to the TARANTULA’S VENOM.

THE FLOATING DIARY (Short Story Journal – 35): DARK CHOCOLATE

Nostalgia is a strange emotion. It is created by a subtle concoction of memories. It is a sweet and sour taste that we savor with our hearts. It is something that I experienced today and want to experience till I am alive. Even though today’s incidents were quite insignificant, they do carry a rich flavor that can only be compared to DARK CHOCOLATE! Yes, and dark chocolate has its own bitter-sweet taste in it too!

Today morning, I took Aunt Padma for a reunion of her old acquaintances. Some of these people were part of her extended family, while some were just friends. However, they had all lived a fond part of their lives in a locality called Vasant Colony. Two days ago, Aunt Padma received the invitation from Mrs. Savita Desai. We were invited to join the reunion over lunch at the newly built Vasant Colony auditorium. Initially, Aunt Padma was reluctant to go, however I saw a sparkle in her eyes. I understood an elusive childlike thrill in her heart.

I said, “Aunt Padma, let’s go there. You would get to meet so many different folks again!”

She agreed and we went. At the venue, we were greeted with full fervor and soon I could see Aunt Padma melt into the crowd of old acquaintances. I sat at a corner and observed. A person came and handed over a plateful of samosas and I munched the snack while listening to the conversation.

“Remember Padma, how we used to play hide and seek around that alley?” laughed an old lady, “My husband used to be so embarrassed with it!”

“I can still visualize those days when we played badminton across this street during the winter evenings!” mentioned another elderly man.

“The flavor of Gangu’s hot croquets still lingers in my mouth! He used to sell them on the footpath here! Padma, those were your hot favorites! We used to fight for the last pieces” mentioned Mrs. Savita with a smile.

I could see the happiness and cheer in Aunt Padma’s eyes as she re-lived the moments.

As we returned home, I could see an invigorated energy in Aunt Padma and felt good that she enjoyed her time. I went inside my room, changed my clothes and sat on the bed. A sudden fancy caught my imagination and I started to fiddle with my old belongings. The old wooden closet in my room is full of things from my childhood and I took them down, one by one, and relished them.

I found my old toys, my old textbooks (with secret scribblings), my drawing books and my scrapbook! With a heart full of excitement, I opened the scrapbook and flipped through the pages. There were many fond memories pasted in those pages and immortalized with ink! My eyes scanned though them and I felt an emotional pinch.

At last, I arrived at a page with a plastic wrapper pasted on it. The print on the plastic read, “ALADIN – DARK CHOCOCATES”. My mind flew away many years back and I remember something. Baba used to get me these bars of dark chocolates from a store called “ARABIAN KNIGHTS DELICACY” in Little Colaba. I used to be fascinated with them! Even the flavor has somehow slipped away from my taste buds but I still remember how, even almost twenty-five years ago, crazy I was about those chocolates. 

“What did you bring me Baba? Did you get those magical chocolates?” I used to ask with excitement.

What was Baba’s answer? I don’t quite remember now! His words have eroded away with the memories. I felt desperate to remember what he used to answer before handing over me the bar of dark chocolate! With a sudden urge, I decided to seek out the “ARABIAN KNIGHTS DELICACY”. I got up, got dressed and quickly came out from the house after bidding a hasty farewell to Aunt Padma. 

It took me an hour to reach the location in Little Colaba. I remember the place because the store used to be adjacent to Baba’s office building. I didn’t know if the “ARABIAN KNIGHTS DELICACY” was still there after almost two decades. I looked around the corners of the road. Evening was drawing to a close and the sun was almost setting. 

“This place has undergone a complete metamorphosis,” I wondered, “I hope I am able to find my destination!”

After roaming around for another twenty minutes, I was able to locate the “ARABIAN KNIGHTS DELICACY”! The once popular store, was now in ramshackle. The dilapidated walls and windows showed the poor condition of business. I felt bad at this sight.

“Do you have a bar of ALADIN DARK CHOCOLATE?” I asked without delay as I entered the shop. A thin old man, with an emaciated face stood beside me while the storekeeper (an equally old but fair complexioned man) looked at me with surprise.

“What did you ask?” the storekeeper enquired softly with a surprised expression, “Nobody has ever asked for it in the last ten years! I sold off the last few pieces a month ago to a caterer who wanted to make chocolate syrup! This man, standing beside you has come to collect a long due payment!”

“The ALADIN DARK CHOCOLATE factory has finally shut down”, lamented the man with the emaciated face, “We have withdrawn operations due to the meagre sale! However, I have this last piece left with me. I can give this to you! Please take it…”

I took the bar of dark chocolate, opened the wrapper and took a bite! The subtle flavor of the chocolate melted in my mouth and I remembered the beautiful taste! It brought back different memories that were there in my mind, locked within the chambers of my subconscious mind! The dark chocolate opened all windows and showered in the light of knowledge!

Like a flash of lightning, I remembered what Baba used to say… “Hocus Pocus magic show us; here is the Treasure for my Master!”

Tears rolled down from my eyes and I got out from the store, the “ARABIAN KNIGHTS DELICACY”! Nostalgia is indeed like a DARK CHOCOLATE. It makes us unique from every living being. I am happy, I could re-live that today and am able to immortalize it in my memoir forever!

THE FLOATING DIARY (Short Story Journal – 34): VALENTINE’S DAY

Valentine’s Day, the day of LOVE brings a cheer in everybody’s heart. This year, too, it was not an exception. As my impending dementia keep wiping away older memories, each day brings in something new and unique that enriches my experiences and I keep chronicling them in my journal. Today’s experience was something that I gulped down like an elixir of life and now am sitting down in the night to immortalize in my diary.

At seven ‘o’ clock in the morning, Mr. Bhushan Kapoor came and knocked on our door. Aunt Padma opened the door and welcomed him inside. I was in my study room and was listening to their conversation, while reading a book. 

Before I note down the events further, let me first introduce Mr. Bhushan. He is our old neighbor, for over the last twenty years, and is on the brink of being declared a successful septuagenarian! Mr. Bhushan has been a widower for over thirty years and lived alone in his little bungalow. He didn’t have any children and didn’t have the abundance of extended family members. Thus, he spent most of his days alone. However, this didn’t make Mr. Bhushan a recluse. He was indeed quite popular amid the residents of the neighborhood for his witty and enthusiastic nature. 

Mr. Bhushan had been visiting us regularly, ever since a time I cannot even recall. Perhaps, it extends to the time when he first moved into his bungalow and came knocking at our door for some milk! Aunt Padma and Mr. Bhushan were probably of the same age and, maybe that is the reason why they had a great equation with each other.

Over the years, I have watched Aunt Padma and Mr. Bhushan develop a nice friendship and through most of our days of crisis, Mr. Bhushan had been like a support for us. Aunt Padma always felt comfortable in his presence. Ever since her husband passed away, I had noted a melancholy in Aunt Padma’s eyes. She lacked a companion, a friend with whom she could share her thoughts. However, in my subconscious mind, I have seen that Mr. Bhushan had been that friend in her life with whom she could laugh a little.

“Padma Ji”, said Mr. Bhushan, “I want to ask you something. Next month I am going to be seventy years old! I think I can ask this from you as an advance birthday present from an old friend.”

“What is it Mr. Bhushan”, I heard Aunt Padma’s skeptical voice. Even at her age, I could sense a feminine discomfort that made me get up and come inside the living-room.

“Would you be my Valentine?” smiled Mr. Bhushan with blushing face and continued, “I want to take you out for dinner tonight.”

Aunt Padma jumped up from her couch with a shock and exclaimed, “What are you saying? I never expected this proposition from you and at this age! I don’t know what to say… but I want to stay alone!”

Mr. Bhushan’s face became red with embarrassment, and he got up to leave. I tried to stop him but looking at the expression on Aunt Padma’s eyes, I resisted. I winked at Mr. Bhushan while left by saying, “I am sorry…”

As the old man went away, I stared at Aunt Padma while she screamed, “Can you imagine his audacity? He is proposing to me, a married woman who has been windowed for decades! What a shame! I had always considered him as a brother… Bhushan Bhaiya!”

I couldn’t control myself and asked her to sit down saying, “Aunt Padma, listen to me quietly. I don’t want you so speak anything before I finish. If you agree, I will talk, otherwise I won’t.”

Aunt Padma nodded and sat down, with her eyes still flaring with anger. I spoke, “Aunt Padma… Mr. Bhushan has been our neighbor for ages. He has not only been like a family member, but also like a friend to you! Ever since you lost your husband, I have seen a loneliness in your eyes! Even though momentarily, that melancholy gets dissolved in the presence of Mr. Bhushan! This is not romance! It is a pure friendship!”

Perhaps, Aunt Padma saw some logic in my words and decided to keep quiet. I continued with full energy, “Stop bragging about this imposed brotherhood and sisterhood. Stop this Bhushan Bhaiya lullaby! Why do we have to add a brother or a sister tag to anybody with whom we are not romantically related? How does it help?”

Aunt Padma didn’t have any answers and I kept on speaking, “You don’t need to add a brother tag to every man just because you are a window! It does not increase or reduce your love for your late husband! It is a social practice that we have adopted for ages! Why can’t he be your friend only?”

“But… what is this Valentine dinner thing?” scorned Aunt Padma.

“Trust me,” I replied, “Mr. Bhushan is your friend and that is the most important fact! His presence in your life is important, he makes you smile! You don’t have to romance him… The Valentine dinner can be a celebration of your friendship. It can be an expression to show how a pure friendship can demolish the loneliness in both of your lives!”

I guess, Aunt Padma understood my point. She sighed a bit, got up and dialed a phone number. As the call connected, she spoke, “Mr. Bhushan… Pravin and I would be ready at 8 PM. Please come down to pick us up.”

That evening, the three of us visited the “Silver Moon Restaurant”. Aunt Padma and Mr. Bhushan sat on a table while I deliberately chose a single table for myself. From a distance I could see the happiness in the eyes of the two souls. It was pure friendship. It was pure hunger for a companion with whom they could share their smiles and tears.

Mr. Bhushan raised a toast and said, “This is for the beautiful Ms. Padma! Thanks for being my friend!”

Aunt Padma cleared her throat a bit and commented, “Uh… Its Mrs. Padma!”

I smiled and turned around. The restaurant was full and the murmur of human chattering filled the air. I took a sip from my wine glass and looked up. Perhaps, I was the only guy who was sitting alone on Valentine’s night. 

Presently, somebody tapped on my shoulder. I looked back and saw a pretty lady in a salwar suit. Her face seemed familiar but I just couldn’t recall. The lady pulled up a chair, sat beside me and said, “Pravin, it’s me, Sonia! Remember me? We were in college together…”

Faint memories flashed past my eyes and I recognized her. Sonia smiled and said, “My husband is in Delhi today. He had to leave urgently in the morning for an important meeting. So I am here all by myself! Hey, you remember the college days? You remember our college band? Remember how you and the other guys played a prank on me and my husband on my wedding? I was so embarrassed and furious upon all of you! I still remember that you had a crush on that foreign girl from Thailand! What happened next?”

I took a deep breath and explained about my amnesia to Sonia. I could see her eyes brimming. I asked the waiter for another glass of wine and said with a smile, “Sonia… be my Valentine tonight! Cheers to our friendship! Maybe, while talking with you during dinner, I will remember many precious memories of my life!”

At a distance I could see Mr. Bhushan and Aunt Padma laughing together. Indeed, Valentine’s Day is not just about romance. It is a symbol of togetherness that can redefine friendship. It wipes away loneliness.

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.”