Democracy: To Each His Own

Democracy: To Each His Own is a 6 minute: 10 second short film.

Synopsis:
Democracy is a United Entity with a variety of People who have different views on Democracy.

Crew:
Written, Produced and Directed By: Jubith Namradath
Director of Photography: Prasanth Pranavam
Original Background Score: Saji
Associate Director: Arun T V
Production Controller: Bablu
Editor: Jayasankar
Illustrations & Graphics: Sanal Dev, Shajeer Basheer, Aravind Ramachandran
Art: Linil
Make-up: Ratheesh Punnad
Stills: Jijith Namradath
Production Manager: Nithin C K
Production Executive: Bhaskaran Vattoli

Cast:
Sooraj Menon as 'The Youth'
Saji as 'The Majority Government'
Indira as 'The Minority'
Nithin C K as 'The Missionary'
Lathika as 'The Have-nots'
Shajahan as 'The Previous Generation of Youth'
Vipin Prakash as 'The Youth who is worried to Dream'
Snehamritha as 'The Majority who tires to Lure Others for a Living'.

Democracy: To Each His Own on Facebook

And the Movie.

Brotherhood in Bar

In the Bar

I sat by the red dim lights of the bar. Half of my face has gone black by the night outside. And I looked into the cold night outside the window. I could see the chillness stare at me like a lunatic. And the candle lit in front of me like a virgin. Candle was looking outside. She was nervous when she saw chillness outside the window, staring at her. I put my lips close to the window and called him a rapist. He got offended and turned his back towards me.

This bar has been my hide out for years now. I have no clue why I tend to call this a hide out when it was more of a home. I was suddenly alert by the heat of the cigarette that burnt my fingers. Ah…, the fire. I remembered Coonan, the fat doper. 28 years back, when I used to be depressed after counting the number of cigarettes we smoked together, he would lecture the Cave man theory of Cigarettes.

He reasoned that Men were always afraid of fire and hence worshiped it. When reasoning and logic started playing ministry to the King called Ego, men started believing in supremacy. There was no other way to fight the fire, rather than inhaling it and sending black clouds to laugh at it – Laugh at the royal bright sun tint getting fucked up, royally. Smoking was more of an ego. And the ego headed people we are, we go on enjoying it.

That day is still young though Coonan had left to join the ultimate ego, a year back. And I could see sometimes smoke leaking through the clouds. I would look at the skies and smile at him. Coonan was all about ego. And he persuaded me to believe that I was all about it too. A confused person that I was, I have grown frustrated on thinking about the confusion developed over the years thinking whether I am all about ego or not.

“Hello...”

I saw a lean white guy standing in front of me. He had long hairs and resembled the Jesus Christ I have seen in photos. He was looking closely. Was he the same waiter I asked to get some cigarettes? Or was he the bartender? When did the bartender start roaming around with out a uniform? I grinned.

“Hello …”

He repeated.

“Yes…” I scratched my face. It was neither bartender nor that stupid waiter who had gone to get cigarettes. This was some other guy, may be the watch man or may be the owner. Is it time for the bar to close? Well, this was a 24 hour holy place of addiction. No closing. I am not going to leave.

“Aren’t you Mat-row-bottom, the writer?”

Oh. Shit. Here’s some stupid who does not know how to spell my name and has come to discuss the shit I write – Those things which I myself don’t remember.

“No. I am Jesus - Relaxing after the resurrection“

He looked confused. Jesus can’t be in a Bar. I called for the waiter. I thought my new acquaintance would be offended. Well, it worked out the other way. He instead looked at me admiringly. I guess some one had told him that Geniuses do have the right to offend and they don’t give a damn to the holy shit called politeness.

The waiter came over and handed me the cigarettes. It’s been an hour that I have ordered it. And I wanted to catch him by his collar and throw him out.

He smiled at me. Don’t do that. I smiled back. I won’t.

I saw the new acquaintance a little hesitant on what he should do next. I waved my hands to him and asked him to come over and sit. He pounced on the couch like a crouching tiger. I looked at him bewildered.

“Hi. I am Leo. And my girl over there… (He pointed his fingers to the right most corner and I saw an Asian girl smiling at me and raising her glass.) …is a big fan of yours. She wanted to ask if you would like company.”

“Call her over.”

He waived hands at her and asked her to come. When she was coming over, I could feel that she was hesitant and eager simultaneously; she looked like the new bride waiting for her man on their bed. When she came over and was standing right under the red light, she looked like Kaali, the death goddess, ready to fight the evil in me. I felt a little weak. But I decided to give a look loaded with ego. Coonan, you were right. I am egoistic.

I shook hands with her. She called herself Vani. Vani – the lotus goddess. When I told her my name, she smiled. Oh, the stupid institutionalism!

She started speaking volumes of the books, I wrote. Leo wagged his head and approved every single thing she spoke and often got amazed at how right she is. He would often touch my hand and press it when I dozed of in between. Vani was fully immersed in her lecture that she was not seeing me or Leo, but was living with the characters she thought I created. She behaved and acted like many of them. At times I could not relate to what she was speaking. Did I write all this?

I saw Leo taking out something from his pocket. It was like old packets of money that Maharajahs used for paying salary to their men of court. But the money looked white, more like sugar. No – Like salt. Money has changed into Salt. This might be one reason why Mahatma Gandhi headed the famous Salt Satyagraha. He produced salt from sea and knew it was money. Now here, sitting somewhere in Glasgow, I was watching the Maharajah Leo create salt from Money. Was Leo protesting against something? Like freedom, may be or may be the taxes on salt. Now Maharajah Leo looked more like Mahatma Leo. He bent his head and looked at me above his glasses. I rose from my seat in respect. He touched my hand again. There I was standing in front of a Head wagging Salt Maker and a radio that looked like a woman, who does not even open eyes when she is transmitting. I felt bad and selfless. Coonan, you were wrong. I was so self-less and had no space for ego.

Leo put the salt into the spoon and heated it over the candles that lit up our table. The Virgin Candle happily lit up the spoon as she was just loosing her virginity. There rose a slight gray smoke from the spoon and I could see something was boiling. Oh. So that was it. Why is Leo not bothered about people around? Who knows? I waited for Radio Vani to be turned off for speaking something. Somehow, I felt that interrupting another person is a crime. May be, Radio Vani knew it too. She never stopped.

Leo took a syringe out from his pocket and took the syrup in it. He kept the spoon aside. Did these people come hear to drug me? Who the bloody hell knows? And who the bloody hell cared? I carry a body that’s too willing to accept any kind of addiction. Come onto me and screw me up. He tied his hands up and injected it on. He closed his eyes and he kept a smile onto himself. I felt envious. I am the Big Dude Writer sitting here. Drug me, first. Oh, my ego. Coonan, you were right.

Leo would have wagged his tail too, if he had one. He was smiling and his body was dancing a light dance for a music he could only listen to. He passed the apparatus and the object of desire to Radio Vani. OK. This was the method to shut the transmitter off. She proved to be an expert than Leo. She finished it off quickly and put her head on Leo’s shoulders. It looked like both of them could hear the music now. Fuck you people. I want to listen it too!

Leo passed it on to me. The waiter appeared from thin air. And looked at the apparatus I was holding.

I smiled at him. Don’t interfere. He smiled back. He won’t.

It was long time since I used Heroin. It would date back to my days with Coonan. And that was the only time he did not accuse me of ego. May be he always did that because he saw himself in me. The needle got in and inner. And I could feel the bottom of my feet cold. And the chillness was slowly creeping in to reach the control panel I carry somewhere on my head. But it was smooth, a smile creased my lips and then I could hear the music. I looked out – Out of the window. The chillness whom I accused of being a rapist was smiling at me. It was saying something – Some thing in a deep coarse voice.

“You should have let me in before.”

I smiled at him. I took time to realize what you are, my lord. I looked at the Virgin Candle. It was showing tinges of blue. The sunset tinge was no more there. The virgin was dead. The greedy is born.

And then I could see that the darkness got darker and the red light, ruddier. Leo and Radio Vani disappeared. And then the fight began between the red and the black. I looked close. The red was Kaali, the death goddess. And the black was King Dhaksha. There was fire burning high in front of them, witnessing all. Kaali was interrupting the King in the midst of a fire ritual. I looked at the fire. Aren’t you the same force that I inhale every now and then and exhale out as black stupid smoke? I felt frustrated. How come you are here witnessing the battle with me? Who gave you right to Equality? I felt frustrated. Coonan, you were right again.

Kaali slaughtered the King and threw his head into the fire. The king was left with a body that was trembling from a split of organ. And the Fire swallowed the head. Kaali dissolved into the red. I took the fire into me and exhaled out black smoke. I was glad. I laughed loud. And then I thought of home which has become a hang out when I live in the Bar.

Amulu

Amulu was the most beautiful thing in my life at one point of a time. We had similar vibrations in speech, thoughts and belief. We were a happy family with 2 children – Ahalya and Arya. Everything was that perfect home until the day she had a nervous breakdown and was admitted to a hospital. Doctor told me that her nerves were weak. And has a low blood pressure. What doctor never told me was she would loose sleep and would become a monster with restlessness. Well, she lost sleep. If she could get one hour of sleep a day she would smile at me. She looked always drugged and was always frustrated. She was changing.

I tried everything that I could to put her to sleep. Anything I tried made her more weak and tired. Nothing helped. She began to hate the sight of me. And that’s when I left. I left home to travel and get peace of mind. I left much after Arya left for his college days in the hostel and Ahalya for doing her PhD to US. I went to India. I traveled across the country. It was more of a pilgrimage than a travel. And I started getting bored – bored of listening to people who spots me in a crowd and bored of me wanting to talk to people. I always got a new acquaintance when the last thing I wanted to do then was to speak or smile. And then I started missing her and I ran back home. In the flight, I thought that I could try some heroin to put her to rest. Well, she hated drugs. She hated me using it too. But I decided to try. I was missing my love. I wanted the person I loved, back. And I did not care for what she would think. I was in a worry if she got through all these days with out sleep or if at all she did, would throw stones when she sees me.

But things were different. She was much better. And she just smiled when she saw me. I felt as if I was an uninvited guest. But I was glad she is looking better. Then I found that she is leaving early in the morning to return some time in the noon. I could see pastors visiting our house once in a month. And she always made sure of one thing – to avoid me. I once stopped her, the pain unbearable.

“Amu…”

“I am Esther. Amulu is dead.” She gave me a cold look.

I could not help but smile to myself. The drug was injected much before I bought heroin – The Drug called Devotion.

Ahalya

Ahalya was in a rage when she knew this. She tried shouting at Esther. Esther did not bother. Some times Esther looked like she did not notice anybody but for the pastors who would visit the home once in a month.

Ahalya once tried to abuse the pastors. I was sitting in the living room and preparing for my next book. The pastors listened to everything very patiently and blessed my daughter before they leave. Ahalya felt insulted and Esther felt victorious. These stupid men clad in black gowns might be some real good MBA graduates.

Arya

Arya came home as Ardan Khan. He looked powerfully built and declared that he has dropped out from college to join the film industry. He is moving to Bombay as he was selected to play the lead role after a screen test in the forth-coming Subhash Ghai movie. I felt proud of my son. And his new name, I thought was a necessity as every hero in Bollywood ought to have a Khan in them. Like Shahrukh Khan, Aamir Khan… and so on. And every other hero who does not have a Khan in their name could be hiding it for astrological purposes. Like Akshay Kumar Khan, Mohanlal Khan… and so on. But end of the day, every Hero is a Khan.

But later on, I discovered that every hero is not a Khan and my son has converted to Islam in the first year of graduation. It always seemed so funny that in a family of four headed by an atheist; there were all the major religions that made the Divided India.

The Holy War

Esther once declared at the dining table that she has decided to join a divine center in India to spread the knowledge of Christ among the needy. But there was a problem. She wanted Ahalya to get married. That was her only worry. I looked at my daughter. I could see her getting frustrated. She declared that she would never marry. She would not let her leave home. I felt that all the thinking that I have been doing over the years have spoiled both my wife and my child.

Ahalya is still screaming at Esther. And Esther is not hearing anything. She declared that she might not hold the call of god and might join the troupe even if Ahalya remains unmarried. Ardan threw a plate onto the window, broke both and went out without having dinner. I was thinking of the holy shit that made religion. The next plate that my dear daughter threw at her mother hit straight on my forehead.

And they left

I felt a touch on my hand. It was Leo. Not the Maharajah and the Mahatma – Just Leo. Radio Vani was missing. I looked at her couch which was transmitting volumes of what I wrote, a few hours back.

“She is in the car, blown off.”

I smiled at Leo. He had some thing else to ask.

“Could you write something for me in this book? She would love it.” He pulled out a notebook from under his jacket – Magician Leo. I searched for my pen. He had it ready too.

I smiled and wrote.

The Brotherhood in Bar is holier than the Holy wars at the Dining Table. - Mathrubotham

He read it and smiled at me. Did he really know what I wrote? Yeah, may be. He would have. He looked so. He was looking at my signature.

“Your name is one wonderful thing, Mat-row-bottom”

I smiled again. He thanked me, I thanked him too and then he left. Coonan, you were always wrong. See his smile. You don’t smile with that innocence to an ego-headed prick.

Naalu Mazhapaatakal

Naalu Mazhapaatakal - The 4 Rainmoths is a 7 minute: 19 second short film.

Synopsis: A drop of venom in the womb, A set of rain moths are born in the sky above the volcanoes.

Written and Directed By: Jubith Namradath
Produced By: Hari Rajan, Madhummal Vipin
Editor: Deepu S Kumar
Music: Rajiiesh Raghunath
Cinematography: Binendra Menon
Associate Director: Sajith Kumar
Graphics and DVD Cover Designs: Bibin Mathew
Playback & Voice for Nandhu: Stalin Sathyapalan
Assistant Cameraman: Jebin Jacob
Voice for Priya: Sumom K

Cast: Madhummal Vipin, Aamina, Jubith Namradath

Naalu Mazhapaatakal on Facebook

Watch movie on YouTube

White Weird Thoughts

Packing up 

When I opened the shutter-like windows of my first class compartment and held it up, I could hear the triumph of the train warrior conquering all its way and still roaring. The wind was rushing in to over hurl the train of its track. The fog tried to blind the train. I admired the determination with which it shoots into the midst of fog and wind. And the train was sure, almost next to certainty that the fog and wind will loose. But, being the elements of the creator himself, the fog-wind team had the best of spirits. The creation of man on wheels had the best of determination. 

I took my hands off and the windows fell on the panes closing everything out. And I could hear the wind curse me from behind the folded metal barricades. A conspiracy was cheated. I tried to sleep. Thoughts rushed in. 

When I decided to make a trip up north, I had skipped Delhi from my list. If I step foot in the Capital city, my uncle would be adamant that I stay with him. And the Asst. Commissioner of Police is not that easy to be nodded off. So skipping Delhi from the trip was purely intentional. 

I decided to wind up after Jaipur and Agra. The marijuana supply was exhausted and either of the places did not prove blushing with the green weed. Further expedition up North might be just like injecting a barrel of ice-cold pieces into my nerves. I made a last call to tell my mom that I was coming. 

Her Police brother and his wife had made some pottery for her and I was told to collect it and pay them a visit. I tried to convince her that DHL would do that job better than me. Well, it all seemed like my mom wanted me to be there at Delhi, no matter if I bought the pottery back home or not. Delhi peeped in like a proud player called back to the ground. 

Before getting in the train, I got myself a companion. The price was a bit too much, but the feeling of coldness was worse. She was the guide who took me around Agra. She called herself Nandhini. And I did not really bother. I told her I am Gopi Kishan. She did not bother either. With the Ghagra cholli and her long skirt, she looked like a model. It all looked like Delhi was tempting me to come over. 

The train halted some where near Faridabad. It wanted rest. The wind and the fog halted with the train. All of them were gasping for breath. Elements of the almighty obviously had ethics in abundance. 

Nandhini was lying on my chest and asleep. Like always, I felt frustrated to have slept with a woman. And then she started weighing heavy and I felt I was warm and in no need of a company. Gently, I pushed her aside and got up from the berth. I opened the window to throw the plastic away. Wind did not even look at my side. It had concluded that, with me, it is prone to treachery.  I shut the window down and lit a cigarette. And then I saw that Nandhini was looking at me and smiling. She was whispering my name. She was showing faces. 

"Gopi…"

I smiled back and asked her if she wanted a cigarette. She nodded her head. 

"No… "

She got up and took her handbag. She was still sitting on the couch and her hands were searching for something in the bag. She took out a roll of paper and unfolded it. I was surprised. It was the green weed – A little tanned though. 

"Where did you get this?" 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

"As if you have never seen it…"

I smiled at her and took it out. May be I did not know where to look for it in Agra. The train jerked a bit. And I could feel that the wind was alert. 

Delhi 

Delhi in December is at the coldest of her moods. I started to shiver the moment I got out the train. The train was too tired and happy of its victory that it was planning for a good 12 hr. sleep. The wind was trying to fix a deal with the temperature levels, not ready to accept its defeat. May be they would freeze its engine. I wanted to say good-bye to all of them. But then, I was shivering and was looking at Nandhini. She came to me, pulled my nose. 

"Good Bye."

I gave her an extra 500-rupee note. She accepted it, smiled and pressed my hand tight before leaving. I did not know where she was going. And did not want to ask. I believed that every extra word spoken is an extra step closer. I did not want to get close with any body. 

I was wearing 3 shirts, all buttoned till my palm. Still, I was shivering. I went to a pay phone and inserted a rupee coin. The old man sitting at the counter gave me a cold look. May be he understood the number of Asst. Police Commissioner on the red LED Display. The phone was out of coverage area. I did not want to try a second time. I called up mom.

"Mom, Its me."

"Tell me, Bala…"

"I have been trying to reach your stupid brother a million times now. He seems to be out of coverage area. May be he is busy with work or something. I am planning to roam around the city for today and catch the next train back home. What say?"

Mom was a little dull. 

"But Vishwanath told me that he would come to the station to pick you up. You are not at all interested to go. Are you? Do one thing. Wait there. I will call up Jayanthi and see what’s wrong. If he would not be available, she would make some arrangements for you. I can’t let you wait there like that. "

"But Mom…. "

"Bala, I thought you would be interested to meet Indhu. You forgot her?"

"Indhu. Who’s that now?"

"Oh. Come on Bala… You forgot Indhu? Incredible! You were so fond of her when you were a kid."

I saw rain drip from the red roof of my traditional homestead. The water droplets marched in a line. And I saw her in a white frock playing in the rain. She was trying to stop the water drip down and would laugh loud when the water slipped out through her little hands. It was more or like the fight between the train and wind. Just one thing was different. Here both of them – Indhu and the water – were elements of God. I would run to her and hold her close to me. Her Balettan and his Indhumoll would embrace and fall down. In almost all instances, Indhu would get hurt and she would start screaming loud. Afraid of the police uncle, I would run away leaving a crying Indhu behind. 

"Are you there?"

My mom was screaming over the phone. She did not realize the time I traveled in seconds. 

"Yes, Yeah… I am. "

"It’s ok that you have forgotten them. Now don’t tell them straight on face. Did you understand?"

"Yeah…"

I sat down at the waiting chairs on the platform. I was not feeling cold. Why is it that I never thought of Indhu? How did my mom know that I was fond of Indhu when I myself did not know it? Now I did not mind waiting. I wanted to meet Indhu. I did not mind Police Uncle any more – nor Jayanthi aunty. Water droplets fell on me. I could see little Indhu running in circles playing with the rain. Another drop fell on me. I looked up. It was the poor ceiling and the melting fog. 

Drive with Naik Saab 

I got a call from one Mr. Naik. He said he would wait at the entrance of the railway station. He spotted me by the color of my dress. We shook hands and then we walked towards the vehicle. It was a Police Vehicle – the old Mahindra Jeep. I assumed him to be a Hawaldar. But I was astonished to find he was the Sub Inspector of Police. Poor him. This might be the best escort I ever received. 

He drove me through the notorious fogs of Delhi. I saw nothing in front, except the thick white cream all around. But Mr. Naik seems to be seeing everything. I asked him about Police Uncle. He said Uncle is at home and was expecting my call. I said I tried a number of times. 

"How many times?"

The police type questioning was new to me. 

"Once. "

He laughed loud. 

"Vishwanath Sir has told me about you. You seem to be funnier, young man. "

I realized I am looking like an idiot. But I smiled at his remarks. It was obvious now that my police uncle thought I am a clown. What will Indhu think of me? 

The sky was clearer and I could see tall buildings standing proud at the Great Capital. Mr. Naik stopped on the way, got out and asked me to wait in the Jeep. When he came with a plastic glass of tea, I looked closer and saw a teashop behind him. 

"U seem to be shivering. Have this. "

"Thanks. "

I poured it straight into my mouth and got my throat burnt. I spit the tea out into the jeep and gasped for air. Naik Saab gave me a cold look. And then he smiled. 

"Come on. Easy, young man. "

He sipped his tea and went back to pay the bill. I cursed myself. Would he tell all this to Police Uncle and would all of them laugh at me as if some clown has come from Kerala to meet his uncle in Delhi? What the hell – I shrugged off my weariness. I started feeling better. 

When we stopped again, I could see a Mansion in front of me. The sky was clearer and the fog has started to give way to the sunrays. We both went inside. I was removing my shoes. Naik Saab asked me not to worry about it. We entered in and the fog was no more there. 

Police Uncle & Family 

I saw pieces of clay and a half done work in the center courtyard. It was like my home in Palghat – I must say it was almost similar. The sky was open in the center courtyard. I stood there watching the clay built. There was no one near. I heard a voice from behind. 

"Bala… Oh my…! Come here, Bala… "

It was Jayanthi Aunty. She came almost running and then hugged me. She was seemingly delighted to see me. I looked at Naik Saab. If he is going to tell how many calls I made and how I had drank tea, the scenario might change. He was busy on a phone call. 

"Vishwettaa… See who has come? "

Jayanthi aunty was calling out the Police Uncle. My God! I was always afraid of this uncle. With his big mustache and hoarse voice, he used to look like Kroor Singh in a Television epic – Chandrakantha. 

I could hear him laugh from somewhere inside. May be he is happy that the clown has finally found his Sub Inspector to get the drive home. When he came out I was stunned. He had no mustache at all. A clean-shaven Police uncle was beyond my thoughts. But here he is with all smiles and his hoarse voice. 

"Hei... my Kid, How are you? "

"I am doing great, Uncle. "

"Yeah… u should be; U should be… "

He laughed again. I saw a head peep out from behind his calf muscles – A pair of eyes, which wore a glass and some stupid hair, which looked like grass and coir. 

"Come out Inder. "

Uncle pulled him out gently so that I can see him full. He was a kid and was stooping his head down and was looking at me through the space between his glasses and his eyebrows. I remembered my Principal at School who used to look the same way. 

"Ha… This is Indhu’s younger brother. Inder. Indrajith, in fact. Inder, say 'hi' to Balettan. "

I looked at him expecting a “Hi”. Inder did not bother to say that and ran inside. May be he did not like me. Police Uncle was laughing at his son’s arrogance. Where’s Indhu by the way? My eyes started wandering. But she was nowhere to be seen. I did not want to ask my Aunty or Police Uncle about her. I thought they would tell me. They did not. 

"You look tired, Bala. Go freshen up yourself. Naik would show your room. "

And then my police uncle nodded at Naik Saab and went inside. What the hell? What the hell does my uncle think of himself? He is using another government servant for his household works. I felt like telling Naik Saab to mind his own business. But then I wanted to meet Indhu and did not want to create a scene. Naik Saab was already above the stairs carrying my bag. I ran behind him. 

Inder aka Indrajith. 

Geyser helped me beat the cold water. I had a neat shower and was fresh and did not even feel like I had been traveling long. May be, its Indhu. Yeah. Its just Indhu. I was amazed at how much her name was igniting me. And how I lived all this while with out even thinking of her. I have to find her. I was growing impatient. 

I went down the stairs and entered the first room I saw. I saw Inder playing video games. He saw me enter and gave me that not-through-glass look again. I decided to break the ice. 

"Hi… "

He did not even acknowledge and started to play over again. I felt like giving one hit on his head so that he, his glass and his stupid video games would crash in one on one. But I smiled. I wanted to see Indhu. I went near him. 

"Well, I used to like video games; what do you think about the brick game? "

He gave me that most-stupid-on-earth look again. 

"Brick games? Grow up Brother… "

He started laughing. What the hell? I did not even know what the Brick game was all about. I have heard it somewhere. But why the hell is he laughing? I felt like peeing in his mouth the very next time he opens his mouth to laugh. But I laughed with him. 

"Oh yeah… Crazy no? But I used to love Brick Games…" 

He stopped laughing and I was the only one left laughing. 

"Btw, where is your sister? "

"She is sleeping. "

"Where? "

"In her room. "

"And where is that? "

"The next one. "

"Thanks Bro’. Now you may play that foolish, constipated game of yours and I won’t interrupt. "

I gave him a gentle hit on his head and I could see he was frightened. I laughed loud again just to annoy him. And then I hummed a tune and went to the next room. When I looked back at him, I could see he was still looking at me stunned. His eyes were bigger and were looking at me through the glasses. 

Finding Indhumathi 

When I moved the door, I could see her sleeping. She was facing the other side and I could not see her face. I could see through her nightdress, the pure sensuality of her dark, ruddy skin blushing at sun that’s hitting from outside the window. Blood rose to my nose and I wanted to go inside. But I closed the door and walked out. 

My God, what’s happening to me? I have never felt this for any other girl in my life. What I felt in the past was always desire of the body to flush out white weird thoughts, which would happen either with or with out a girl companion. And now, it’s different. It’s hitting me straight on head and heart. And I am not thinking about anything else. Going back to Palghat would be the last thing I want to do now. I want to see you, Indhu. I want to talk to you, Indhu and may be, may be I would never want to leave you and go. We would embrace each other and fall in the rain. I would make sure you would not hit the ground. And if at all anything hit you and you are hurt, I won’t run away. I would be with you, hold you to my self and kiss all those wounds and the tears that might drop down. I don’t care if the police uncle or the whole Police force comes over. 

"Aha... you are standing here? I was searching for you… "

I looked back to find Jayanthi Aunty. She took me by hand to the center courtyard. She had arranged some pots that were colored and beautifully sketched. She saw that I liked the pots. 

"How is it? "

"Fabulous. "

"Do you know that Indhu made all this? "

"No. "

Oh my dear…! I went near the pots to touch it. I could feel her dark, ruddy skin blush to the pinkest of colors. I took my hands away in a second. I was sweating. 

"What happened? "

"Nothing." 

Now Jayanthi Aunty was telling me of how to pack the pots and take it along. I was not listening to her. My mind was traveling. The water droplets fell on the pots. I ran to embrace Indhu. But I slipped and fell down, before I could reach her. I fell on the pots. The pots were all broken. Little Indhu started crying again. I was gasping for breath and was crying with her. My hands & legs were hurt and bleeding. I did not care. 

"Amma… "

I heard a gentle, sleepy voice from inside. It was Indhu. 

"Oh yes. She got up. Now let me prepare tea for both of you. I am sorry I was waiting for her to get up. Now I can finish the job in one shot. Otherwise, I would need to prepare the tea two times, which is not really interesting. Hope you understand. "

"Yeah. Sure. No Problem. "

Jayanthi Aunty went inside. I was left alone in the center courtyard. I felt it overwhelming to go inside her room and tell her that I have come for her. But I decided not to. She might need to change the dress. She might not like any one entering her private room just like that. It’s been long 15 years. She might not even remember me. And then I felt a pain in my chest. No. She will remember me, for sure. I walked to the kitchen. 

Jayanthi aunty was preparing tea. She said the tea powder was a gift from a tea estate owner to Police uncle and was fresh and rich in fragrance. Yeah. I could smell it. It was fresh. 

"You should not allow Indhu to sleep like this. Its already 10 in the morning. "

Jayanthi aunty smiled. 

"Oh. You are just like your dad. Forgot to tell you that she came over from her trip, may be, an hour before you came in. Even we did not know she was coming. She is always like that. "

"Came over? From where? "

"Ask her only. Who knows where she is going? Do you know that she is a columnist and is into writing Books and all…? She is currently working on some tourist spots or something. I don’t have the education to understand all this. But I hope to have confused you to the best of I can. I always confuse people, you know… "

Jayanthi Aunty was really sweet when she said that. And I never knew my Indhumoll had grown up to be a writer and a columnist. That’s really cool. Aunty poured tea in two cups. It smelt really good. I grabbed my cup of tea. She took the other and headed for her room. 

"Ah... here she is – My lazy daughter. "

I turned around and saw Indhu standing at the kitchen door. Something stuck me hard and I realized that I was looking at Nandhini. The cup fell from my hands. It broke and spilt tea all over the kitchen. It fell on my naked legs too. It burnt. But I was numb. 

"Oh Bala… what’s this? See Indhu, he is very angry with you for sleeping late. "

My eyes were full and red. She was looking wide-eyed at me. Even her eyes were red. Or is it just that mine are and I am seeing red all around? 

"Move out… I am going to clean the floor. No more tea for you. Bad boy. "

Found & Enough 

I opened the windows and let the air come in. The air hesitated a bit and then started creeping in slowly. The train was roaring over the rails. And there was no one else in the coach. I wished the air good luck. I said to it that I was ready to conspire and out throw the train from the rails. Tears rolled down my eyes. I did not want to get back home. I wanted the train to slide over and kill every one. I did not bother who else is killed with me. I did not care if every one in the train was willing to conspire. I looked out to see if the fog was enough to blind the train. The air hit me hard and my head froze. I saw that the fog was just not enough to blind the train and it was too smart and was searching his path like an eagle on rails. 

Back Home 

My mother liked the pots and was praising Indhu. I did not even look at the Package of wooden box and hay in it. My mother called out to me saying there was a clay work of Krishna and Radha in the package. I did not really bother. It was inside a plastic cover. She left the cover with me asking to open it carefully. I opened it reluctantly. She went back to the Pots. 

The Shilpam was beautiful. It depicted the romance of Krishna and Radha. I could not help but admire it. And then I found there is a letter clipped to it. I opened it. 

Baletta,

It’s been long 15 years that we have met. And I have always been thinking of you. I made this Shilpam as a memoir of my love for you and decided to give you if we ever met. Something deep down inside told me we might never meet - That I am wasting my life. I tried to find you in every man I was in acquaintance with. None of them were you. Everyone was a disguised animal.  Even when I met Gopi Kishan in the train, I tried to find you. But you were not there. Instead, I found another animal weak in the meat. Now I know something. You never existed. You were just a part of my fantasy – a part of the Shilpam that you hold there – The Krishna that his Radha would never meet. Thanks for coming over. Thanks for telling me that the Balettan who ran to embrace me in the rain was never there. 

Indhumathi. 

The letter slipped from my hands and fell on the Shilpam. 

I need you 

I dialed Indhu’s home. Jayanthi Aunty picked up the phone. I said all the pots arrived safely and mom was really happy to see all the pots. Aunty was delighted. 

"Is Indhu there? "

"Yeah. I will give it to her. "

I heard her call out Indhu’s name. A few seconds later, Indhu attended the phone. 

"Hello. "

"Hi. Gopi Kishan here. May I talk to Nandhini? "

There was a pause. 

"Yeah. Speaking. "

"I just heard that you are traveling alone on an assignment to Haridwar. And I know that you might need company. Well I am free and I am the only one who is living in this planet who has characteristics and a past very similar to your Balettan. Before you ask me why should you give me a chance, I just want to ask you why should you not? You said your search was over and you have come to a conclusion. My search has just started and I feel that you have the characteristics and a past very similar to my Indhumoll. And I know that I need my Indhumoll back – At any cost. "

I stopped and listened to her. She was not saying anything. But I could hear her breath. The breath that I felt so close in the train and never knew whose it was – the breath I am longing to hold on to. 

She might have smiled. Because it started raining and I could see a little white frock running in the rain. I left the phone there and ran into the rain – to the center courtyard. I fell on the mud on the plants with her. She was hurt and started crying. I did not run. Instead, I kissed her tears and wounds. 

My mother came running. I could hear her shouting. 

"What on earth are you doing there? You have spoilt all my plants and you have dirtied yourself. Look at you... are you kids to play in the rain?  Oh my gods… are you kissing the plant or eating it…"

Thrayambagam

Guru Swami 

Death knew its defeat. He knew he could be won over by selflessness.  Selflessness didn’t want to be a warrior. It chose to be armor. The war of righteousness was won and the death was defeated. 

I listened to the monk teaching the state of mind, the Mahabharata. The death was Bhishma; the selflessness was Shigandi. He taught that the characters in the epic were our own selves in different situations. Yudhishtira was our better part and Dhuryodhana replicated the worst - Both were with in us. 

When Islam and Bible taught how to live methodically, Hinduism taught the same a bit graphically. The closest comparison would be Macintosh graphics in comparison with the MS DOS or Linux. Or like relating to films more than books. 

I go to Sabarimala every year. I believe that in a year of 365 days, one needs to know all possible sort of intoxication. For me, Devotion was one. Clad in the black and the tulasimala, I sat down at the gathering, barefooted. I was ready both spiritually and mentally for the pilgrimage. 

This is the Lord Ayyappa Ashram, situated far and away from the noise of the City. Here’s where I come every year to get ready for the pilgrimage.  A thatched roof and wooden bars bought the natural ingredient of peace in the hundreds who were ready to seek salvation. 

Our mindset is like Thrayambagam – The Bow of Lord Shiva – Unbreakable. The strings of the bow never meet. Lord Rama will be born. He is Knowledge.  He will break the Thrayambagam and tie the strings. Then there will be flood, rain and storm. The sun and the moon would rise together. The bow is your mindset. And when the bow is broken, you will be subject to change. The flood, rain and storm will bring the renaissance in you. And there will be a new self, who is more educated and with a new mindset - another Thrayambagam.

It was the darker stage of the twilight and I could hear the chariots of moon roll. The monk was at his best today. I could hear the silent plea of insecurity – The mantra of Swamiye Sarnamayyappa. This was the month of Vrishchikam. I tried to close my eyes. My mind left me to wander out of the ashram - To the past 20 days I have been living like a monk, to the 20 days that lay ahead and then to the past behind. 

The monk who is preaching is called the Guru Swami. And the hundreds who gathered in front of him were all Swami. All of us are called the first name and then they would add Swami to it. Like all belonged to one family – the family of God with the same second name – Swami. And they called me Parasurama Swami or Paru Swami. 

All of us were listening to Guru. He talked about Thrayambagam and its relativity to mind. He talked about the war of righteousness. When he concluded, the chanting of the mantra grew and it filled the hundreds of seeking minds.

 

Manu 

When I got out of the ashram, it was close to 9pm. The Banyan tree was direct opposite to the Ashram, across the road. Old men gathered around it and younger men who passed by nodded to them in respect. There came a bus, which halted there and then went off like a frustrated monster that is not happy with its daily chores. Few women, who was late from work was hurrying home. There was hardly any streetlight and a Swami offered them a torch.  

I went near the Banyan tree. I was waiting for Manu. He was on his way back from office and had agreed to pick me up. I could still hear the Bhajan. It came with the breeze and caressed me. This was one ambience I would want to come back every time. 

The bike halted abruptly. Manu was on it. I could hardly recognize him with the helmet on. 

“So what’s up, Paru?”

“Good. Where are we going now?”

“We will have some food man. I am kind-a famished.”

“Awright then.” 

I got in the backseat and the bike shot ahead. Manu is more of an intellectual when it comes to spirituality. He has an answer for everything. Sometimes when he speaks, I felt like he is named after ManuSmriti. 

When the bike was speeding up, the wind fought the speed and hit us strongly. But the wind did not know that Manu was wearing a helmet and I loved the wind. 

We halted in front of the Chai shop. Raja gave us a broad smile. This was one person who was interesting in every way. He wore red lipstick and maroon nail polish. And he asked us which color suited him best. He always ended the conversation by pinching on Manu’s Cheek. May be that’s why he showed us all his make-up. He just wanted to pinch Manu. When he walked away, I would look at Manu. Manu would give me a wicked laugh. 

“He might be a gay”

“And u?”

“I don’t mind.” 

And then he would laugh out vigorously and all other customers in the teashop would look us be-wildered. 

“Tell me this Paru… why do you go to Sabarimala every year?”

“I love that place, the ambience, the intoxication which is devotion, the communal harmony, the…”

 “Wait. I got my answer. So you said Communal Harmony?”

“Yes. You know that we bow to Vaavaru Swami. He is supposed to be the playmate of the lord and he is a Muslim. We have constructed a mosque for him. And we let the Islam have the control over it. Is it not great?”

“Hmm. It is. As far as we believe what you said.”

“What does that mean?” 

So that’s it. Manu has something in store for me today. Raja came with the Snacks we ordered. 

Manu leaned on the chair. Took a cigarette packet out of his pocket and offered me one. I smiled and ignored. He smiled broader and lit one. The smoke went up in the air. 

“Do you believe that Lord Ayyappa lived in this earth? Or are you convinced that it’s just another story?”

“I prefer to believe that he lived.”

“Hmm… Cool. So he lived. Where? India?”

“Yeah. Kerala, to be precise. The Pandalam Dynasty. It has references in History. He was born as a prince there. So it ought to be true.”

“Good. You are close. So you believe in History. And you trust logics and facts.” 

I was not feeling easy with this conversation. But I had to continue. 

“Yes. I do.”

“That’s great. India was a land of Dravidians. And then Aryans migrated here. We were happy with our spaces. But often fought out of greed. But we all worshiped the Trinity. It was always Vishnu, Shiva and sometimes the not-so-lucky Brahma or rarely natural forces which led to the Trinity again. What I meant to say is… We were all Hindus.” 

I was listening patiently. The smoke was filling the air. It might be the first time I am being a passive smoker. I was hyperactive otherwise. 

“So. When was the first Foreign Invasion?”

“Don’t know.”

“Even I don’t.” 

Thank god. He does not know something. 

“But there’s something I know. That’s about the first Muslim invasion.” 

I did not reply. 

“It was Genghis Khan. He was a Mongolian. Not sure if he is a Muslim. But his name sounds like Shahrukh Khan. So I thought he might be.” 

He laughed again. I did not. 

“Then there was Tughlaqs and Mughals.  Do you, by any chance, believe that Vaavaru Swami was a descendant of these barbarians?” 

I gasped for breath. What’s he reaching at? 

“Which means Ayyappa lived when Mughals were ruling India. Or later when Tippu Sultan was converting Kerala.” 

“I don’t know.” My sound faded away. I finished the tea in one gulp. I wanted to get away. 

“You can always argue that Muslims were there before Mughals. But that does not prove anything to ones consciousness. Or does it?” 

He smiled now. Leaning front, face close to mine, he blew the last puff straight to my face. 

“So. What say sir?” 

I got up from my seat and walked out. Half of my mind wanted to run away. And half did not know what to do. I stopped. Looked back at Manu. He was still smiling at me. I went back as I wanted to punch him on his face. But I sat down again. 

“I don’t care.” That was vague. And I did care.

“I don’t care about all this. And I can’t take too much history. These are all beliefs and I would like to get away with it.” 

He smiled. 

“Its your wish man. Nobody is bound to believe anything. But certain facts need to be told.” 

I closed my eyes. I can’t take facts. I always hated them. 

“In Upanishads, it says of the existence of Vaapuran. He is supposed to be one of the demons in the mob that Lord Shiva controlled. Lord Shiva was obviously concerned about his son at Pandalam. He then sends Vaapuran to accompany Ayyappa. This dude is our object of suspect. He is no Muslim. And you don’t really have to construct a mosque for him. Because he does not care.”

He laughed again. He took his helmet and keys and got up to leave. 

“Relax. Go ahead with your pilgrimage. We will talk after that.” 

He washed his hands and left. 

I sat there alone. Did he just come to pick up and leave me here at this Chai shop? Or he just wanted to prove a point? I closed my eyes. 

The eyelids shut heavily as if it would never open again. I could feel the wind and the sea. The sea was rising. Rising like never I have seen. Then there was flood. The wind grew stronger. Soil was swept away and the pale flesh of earth was visible. It grew red as seconds ticked away. Then there was mud all over it. I looked up. I saw the moon and the sun side by side. The clouds could not stand them and ran away. There was a loud crack. And the trees fell down. The earth split and swallowed everything. The sound got worse. Suddenly, I got hit and fell down. 

When I opened my eyes, there was a crowd looking at me. A nail polished hand was rubbing my cheeks and eyes. And there was water spilt on my face. 

“What happened Sir?” 

I pushed Raja away. Then I saw genuine concern in the people around. I smiled at them and said I was ok. After paying for the tea & snacks, I got out. I saw tea stains on my shirt. 

The Thrayambagam is broken. And the strings are tied. I smiled.

 

After Godwin

Jincy was online.

"I read Godwin. What was the message?"

"Nothing."

"Why? I thought stories ought to have a message."

"Hmm. We have had enough messages in the past. There's Bhagawad Gita, Quran, Bible and many others. Do your consciousness seek messages in every story you read?"

"I dont know"

"U need n't. Messages don't really work. Its all about a persons free will on how he should live, see, read or feel. And i write stories just because i feel like writing."

"Hmm. May be you are right."

"I am."

Godwin

My Uncle

Simon Aldfrid, my uncle, was a librarian. The best part of having a librarian uncle is that you don’t really have to go to the library to know Charles Dickens or Mario Puzo. Simon Uncle was more than a library himself. He believed that he belonged to the Angles and Saxons. Angles and Saxons had their roots in Germany. They migrated to Ancient Britain in the 5^th Century. And was later conquered by Normans when Hitler rose to power in Germany. Simon Uncle says that his people were forced to serve the British Army and later they were deported to India when East India Company handed over the wealth, power and integrity of the Nation to the Queen. Simon Uncle belonged to that mixed race of Angles, Saxons, Normans and finally Indians.

When Simon uncle belongs to that race, so do I. And he told me I should have at least 3 children and they should each have three and so on. When he said this, his eyes slid an inch and he fell into a trance.

I am Godwin Aldfrid, nephew of Simon Aldfrid.

 

The Ghosts

Godwin in ancient Angles literature means “a Friend of God”. I never had the chance to be-friend god. But I heard about the Ghosts.

I joined the school where Simon Uncle was the librarian. I was glad that he would be around. I met new friends and learnt to see the life fresh. This was a boarding school. I was happy about it.

There was a difference in my friends at primary school and those at boarding school. In my primary school, parents of my friends would sympathize with me, as I had none. And they made sure that their children are taking a note to realize how lucky they were to have parents. I always ended the conversation saying I have my uncle. In the new Boarding school, there were no parents. But a few confused minds.

There I learnt about the Ghosts. They were some frustrated Dictators re-born as senior students. They were supposed to be the guardians of hell. They were 2 and none really knew them. But they were everywhere. I began seeing them at night. And a friend said my bed is stinking of urine. I was hurt and spend lesser time in bed.

 

Obvious end of the Mystery

I go to Library when there is nothing to do. I loved to see Simon uncle overseeing the places where each author is supposed to sit. He knew what is there and where it is. He just knew everything my little brain could think of.

When I entered I saw his assistant, all smiles. He is Solomon. And thinks that Angles and Saxons really existed and that they were the supreme race on earth. It sounded like if they were not, he would loose his job.

“Where is Uncle?”

“He is inside with his favorite children.”

Well, I am his favorite. I thought. I could feel my chest pounding until I saw them sitting across a table and Uncle was talking about some thing. May be its Angles and Saxons.

They were 2 of them and were all ears to my uncle. The first guy was lean, terribly lean. He wore a heavy metal bangle on his hand – too heavy that his right side was always low compared to the left. His long fingers told me he could be an artiste. The second guy was dark and bald. He wore an attitude on his face – too much to let Uncle stop and think if this guy knew it better. His physique told me he could be an athlete.

Uncle looked at me. He smiled. Stopped his lecture. And called me to him.

“Well, Godwin. These are my children.”

He pointed to the artiste. “This is Jubith” and then he pointed to the athlete. “This is Sreejith”

Both gave me a cold look. The question was obvious. Who the hell are you?

“And this is my son. Godwin.” Uncle smiled at me. They did not care. May be its just because he calls every one his children. I wished to tell them that I really was his child. I stood close to my uncle.

They got up. Smiled at my Uncle. Gave me that cold look again. Walked out.

“They are good children. Just not the best.” Uncle smiled. Nobody got the certificate except me. And I knew why. I was either Angles or Saxons.

Arun Kumar ran in breathing heavily. Seeing Simon Uncle, he slowed his pace and tried to walk normal. Uncle did not seem to notice. I got up and went near him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Did you see them?”

“Who?”

“The Ghosts”

I felt my throat dry.” No. Where?”

“Arey yaar. They just walked out.”

I was confused.

“They were two. One guy had a heavy metal bangle.”

They are good children. Uncle’s voice echoed and trailed off.

 

The Crime

I was in 8^th class now. 2 years were long and eventful. It is Diwali and we are all waiting near the parade ground for Ragesh. He had promised us a gift on Diwali. He had said that we would celebrate the day “King Size”. What was that? May be he will come riding in a chariot and take us all to a palace where they served great non-vegetarian food.

He came late. There were no Chariots and he looked like a thief. He gathered us all under a rock and opened the cover he hid under his vest. It was a bottle. A bottle of Beer. Some one said, “WOW”. I felt like a moron sitting under the rock holding the bottle. Everybody drank from the bottle.

I was a team player. I joined the team.

It was dark now and the fireworks blessed the place from heaven. Diwali was in the air and people were gathering in the parade ground to have a glimpse of it.

Ragesh was talking some crap about how-he-got-the-bottle stories. He was blabbering about his local contacts. Everybody was on a high. And everybody got a turn to boast about something. Everybody listened to the speaker with utmost patience. And silently nodded when the speaker concluded. We made no noise to catch the attention of people around. Someone pointed at me. It was my time to boast.

I had nothing in this world to boast about. Except the supreme race I come from. But no one would be interested in that except Simon Uncle. I decided to cook up a story.

“I met the Ghosts.” Immediately I had all the attention, focused.

“I saw them stealing a book from the library. They realized I have seen it when they were walking out. If I tell my uncle about this, they are gone. They pleaded to me. I said I would consider.”

There was a silence. They could not believe what I said. But soon all were glad and clapped their hands loud. I became a Hero. We did not mind the noise. Everybody was relieved of the frustration they were carrying since the day they joined the school. A rocket went up to burst into wonderful flowers. In the light of the fireworks, I saw 2 men standing behind the rock. Their face was barely visible. But the heavy metal that hanged down a fragile hand reflected colors that came from the Sky.

I could feel my sweat running down the forehead. I fainted and collapsed.

 

MI Room

I opened my eyes. I could not open it fully, though. It hurt. I knew something has happened. The fan had n number of leaves and it looked like it was a complete circle – Like a stretched Kimono. The colors were just the shades of Grey. I am familiar with this place. This is the Medical Infirmary Room – fondly called MI Room.

I could see Simon Uncle sitting next to me holding hands. His eyes were full. I tried to move my hand, I could not; neither could I move my legs. There was something terribly wrong.

“None of your friends stood for you.”

It took some time for me to understand what Simon Uncle was talking about. Was he continuing something that he was talking before I opened my eyes?

“But I can’t leave my son behind for some ruthless…” The sound faded away or maybe, I was not interested. He might talk of the racial supremacy now.

I could see the shadow of the Ghosts in the night lit by Diwali. The heavy metal glare hit my eyes sharper. It felt like I will faint again.

“… And I got them suspended from School. The Ghosts are no more.” It sounded more like an echo.

What did he just say now? Suspended. Did I de-fame the Ghosts? With obvious fear and not love, my eyes were full. My hands and legs hurt worse. There was a hot liquid that was going down my stomach. It accumulated and begged to be free. I did not know what to do. I did not know how my friends would great me. Definitely I would not be given a war hero’s welcome.  I would be labeled a Complaint Box. I did not want to do this. God, I did not want to. Why did you name me as your friend, when you never cared to listen to me?

I could see a pair of eyes coming closer. It was the doctor, examining.

 

05^th May 1998

Simon Uncle decided that I would join another school. He was thinking of finding another job too. He started to hate the school. Now the Dickens, the Puzo and the Grisham would not have a person to govern them. They would wander like lost dreams all over the library and might escape their imprisonment into the school and might go to meet Simon Uncle in his new job.

But things were clear. I am quitting the school. I walked along the bathroom side corridor of my house. Nobody really cared about me after I was discharged from the MI Room. I realized that everyone loved the Ghosts and it was just not the fear. I wanted to tell something to myself, as no one else cared to do that. So I said

Whatever, my role in this play is over, its time to quit, its time to escape.

I entered the Trunk Room. This is where we keep our boxes when we first enter the school. We enter it again only to take the boxes & leave. I was leaving.

The Trunk room is dark and darker as you get in. I did not care. I saw my box. It should be heavy. I tried to recollect what was there inside it. It is been long – long 4 years. The box was on the top of 4 other boxes, all piled up together. It fell making a huge noise when I tried taking it down. Dust flew away choking me to gasp for breath. It was not normal for any one to enter the trunk room alone. But I was alone since the day we celebrated Diwali.

When the box fell down it revealed a window that had been shut since the box came in. The air around enjoyed the new get away that was discovered. And the light showed up brightening the trunk room. A massive shadow passed over my figure. I turned back to find none.

Huh. I was relieved.

I took the trunk that had fell down and carried it out. It was heavy. But I could manage to drag it along. Suddenly the door shut and I was surrounded with darkness. The window I discovered was far and the light from it formed a white thick line on heavy dark metal boxes. I was growing weak on the knees. The hot liquid that I felt when I lied in the MI Room accumulated again and it slowly started to slip free. My shorts were wet.

A matchstick was lit. A yellow flame grew strong and beautiful and I saw the person holding it.

Sreejith.

He lit a cigarette. Smokes replaced the flame and it all died away. Darkness returned.

I stood like I was expecting him all the while. The box that I was carrying slipped down and the hot liquid flew stronger between my legs. And then I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was from behind. I did not have the courage to look back. I did nothing. Then across the fabric I wore, I felt the metal bangle. The sweat started coming back. I felt like I was slipping into a darkness that was worse. Suddenly I could see many – all like in an X ray. Simon Uncle, His Speech on Angles & Saxons, His Library, My friends at Day School, their Parents, My friends here at Boarding, Jubith, Sreejith and then there was nothing.

 

I belonged here

It was snow white around. And there was nobody else. It should have been 3 – 4 years since the trunk room incident. I don’t remember what happened there. Whenever I try to do that, a pain hit my head. Then I would stop and think of better things. I felt there is a membrane around me that I did not have when I was at Boarding School. The best part of this life was there was breeze all around. There was music. Not the kind of music I use to hear at School Mess. This was quiet, a music that was everything – it was more like the chanting of a mantra. The Aum. I never knew what it was. No one ever told me what it was. Now I know. I could see the water, the air, the earth, the fire and the sky with in me. I felt like an Intellectual. I was never hungry and I never felt taking a leak. I tried to turn my body and I could see the world spin. I could see clouds everywhere, but no human beings. This was absolute tranquility. This was where I belonged. This was heaven.

On 5^th of May 1998, I was killed.