Continuation from, here – A title goes here

Two figures walked, tired after a game of cricket through the dusty streets of the village. The contrast between them brought a smile to the onlookers. The tiny tot walking arm in arm with the lanky man – multiple tiny steps trying to cover the same distance as a single step of a grown up man. In spite of any physical apperances, they were friends. At least both of them thought that. Their reasons all so different. One ignorant of the troubles and prejudices of adult life, and the other craving innocence and truth.

The odd duo slowly reached a small house. It was yet another of those rows of houses – so alike, and each so different. They say, "people make homes" and it has never been so apparent, as here. A tired lady came in her saree, all set with a metal plate holding two towers of lime juice. Both of them smiled at the same time, ever so thankful for the refreshing cool that it brought in the dusty, heated streets. They made themselves comfortable in the concrete slab set in front of the house. The smell of hot pakodas streamed through the house and pandered them to get in. However, neither of them moved. The young one continued his one sided monologue on his philosophies of life.

"Govind, itni tang mat kar sahib ko", called his mom from the kitchen, attending to straining the oil from the pakodas.

"Nahin ma! Yeh mera dost hai. Main apne doston ko tang nahin karta", and he jolted inside, not able to hold himself anymore to devour some pakodas, fresh from the stove.

He gazed into the house, observing the stark inside. There were two rooms. All whitewashed by the same guy who practically whitewashed all the houses in the village, except for the rich old geezers' who somehow got wind of the fact that emulsion looks better and that he could afford it. As he observed the decor and was humbled by the simple, yet comfortable setting, he sensed Gopal coming back with a tray. He thought to himself, about how lucky he was, to have got such an impressive kid as a friend. There were no ends to what he would preach about.

"Here, have some pakodas", Govind said in perfect English. The accent and intonation never ceased to amaze him, everytime he spoke to him. He was amazed at how the school was actually urging these boys to speak in such fluent English. He took one and savored the taste. No, nothing ever came close to it. And the friends hastened to finish it off.

"You eat a lot Kisan", Govind ventured to score one over his friend. Kisan just took a long look at him, caught his breath and took a sip of the lime juice, and continued the attack. "Ok, the last one's for me", cried Govind as he snatched the plate and took it in, gobbling up the cooling pakodas en route to hand the plate over to his mum. She gave his a pat on the head, and placed a kiss on his cheeks. She called out, "Dhyaan se jaana, aur ghar vaapas jaldi aa jaana, aur apne dost ko jyaada tang mat karna. Aur haan, aaj Baba ghar jaldi aa rahe hain", to the back of Govind, who was wasting no time to get back to Kisan, to continue the thread of conversation he was having, or to start a new thread….

No one saw the smile in her simple face as she turned back to the hot oil, dropping in some more pakodas to be fried, waiting for the man of the house to arrive.

The dynamic duo now continued their retinue to their usual "hang out" place, named so by Govind, after he was introduced to an English sticom from the school. He even arranged stone slabs abutting an ancient banyan tree, and called it "Central Perth", aping it more and more. Here's where they had their evening spent for them! Govind droning about the day, and him, listening to everything. Lilted by the guy's company.

"She made it only because Baba was coming home early. Not for me," he said in mock sadness, sitting at the slab closest to the tree, looking at him for some sympathy. He just smiled and sat at their favorte spot. The slab, closest to the tree. They loved this spot, well at least he did. A clear view from the mound showed the entire village in all its splendor. He could see the farmers walking back with their cattle. The women shopping for dinner vegetables and other things, to be bought in caprice or a momentary impulse. And he could see the sun – the only reminder to his true self. He loved watching it set. He loved watching the orange sky, slowly turning red, almost crimson before the final sigh and drop. And the pure white moon, if presen. It reminded him of his own previous life as he referred to it, to himself. He had been a bright shining star, pervading light, to breathe life. But, slowly, his life had turned ugly, deathly and before the final crash, it was bloody. And he arose as Kisan, with no taint on him that people would notice – as a full moon, he thought to himself.

Govind decided to break the silence, which he thought lasted long enough. "You know why I love this place?" It was a teaser question. It was as if he almost dared Kisan to reply to it. "I love it because, I can do a lot of things from here. Spend time with you, keep track of when Baba is getting home, and the best part. I can kill these mota mota ants out here." A pristine smile followed. "Hey Baba is coming," he cried and jumped up and ran towards the village.

Silence sweeped in on him again, swarming his head suddenly as he watched the crimson grow brighter the surrounding darker. He stretched his legs and enjoyed the sensation of blood rushing through his legs, as they moved from numb to life. He picked up his diary and shook the pen to clear the clot caused by keeping it the other way.

I love hanging around with Govind. He helps me feel comfortable with his smatter. And I am yet into one of those moments, which I dread. I don't remember much from that night. However, I do remember some horrible things from that night. We were driving on the highway. I was tense and pissed off after the final letter. She was there right by me, feigning support! Little did she realise the amount of breach she had caused in me. All along, she was merely pretending, playing with my whims and using me.

I sometimes ask why? Why can't a person be loved the same way they love someone else? I gave her everything I had. And in the end, at the final point, I gave my life. That was the only way, I could justify my love of her. Yes, she was a fake. She had led me on right from the very moment. Only on retrospection do I feel so used and manipulated. At that point, I was just like another love sick yuppie clinging on to her breath, her words, her scent, she was indeed what my very life meant. Probably that was the reason why I felt it so hard. To realise that your very life was a farce!

And that's why I decided to end it all that day. And that's why I made the car swerve and buckle and crash on to the tree, very well knowing that I could end something that I found recently – Me! But, I knew that I wouldn't want to hurt her. And I knew I couldn't even if I wanted to. I still remember the sounds that night. The screeching tires, the bursting glass, the dull thud of a heavy body hitting the trunk. The shriek of a scared woman, the fear in her eyes. It hurts to have caused her so much pain. But, it had to be done for me to get away from that life! As the car hit my side to the tree, and I caught my final moments of consciousness, I saw her, hanging limp in front of me. There were shards of broken glass all around us. The Air Conditioner was blowing overtime and the air just tipped the cold atmosphere into a freeze. As I closed my eyes, my wrinkes ceased to crease, and my lips tried to loosen up…

I woke up first, to the water splattering all around me. The weather was as predicted in Google. A light shower came from the smattering of dark clouds around me. My deed wasn't done yet. I woke up and moved towards her. The rain had washed some of her makeup. The female behind that coverup still brought a feeling in me that I can never forget. It was hard to shirk everything away, and I fought hard to take it off my mind whilst I brought her body outta the wreckage. I lay her on a patch of green at a safe enough distance from the car. The putrid smell of gas was slowly burning up through my nose mixed with blood. But, nothing mattered anymore. The sun was setting and the moon was coming out….

What makes a person not love another person the same way he/she loves her/him? And why should everyone play along, as if it's a compromise? Shouldn't life, or at the very least love be devoid of compromises? I learnt one lesson though. Honesty builds trust. Trust better be one of the major part of the relationship anyone gets along. Yes, I am smiling at the very thought that I have turned philosophical these days….

Thinking has become a habit!

Well, I had to after losing the power of voice.

I don't consider it all that bad.

A small price to get this life, a friend like Govind and freedom under the stars….

He stretched his hand now, realising that it too had become numb. His lips pursed, he decided to do the full stretch under the stars. The moon was rising through the clouds and becoming prominent. "Yes, it was all worth it to cater to the things I finally found – freedom, love, the moon, ME!"….

He was sitting in one of the many inconspicuous tea-stalls that plagued the town. A hot tea was served in a tall glass, so different from the sparkling china cups he was used to. He took a sip and studied his surroundings, completely at peace. The washerwomen were starting on their morning rounds. A milkman, walked with his daily sustenance bull tagging along behind him by a rope. The little calf was running amok here and there, following its mother. The usual chitter-patter followed around the tea shop, most of which he couldn't comprehend.

He was dressed in a white, starched kurtha, and matching pajamas, bearing the usual crinkles of a day's walking. It was a sharp contrast to his typical pressed Park Avenue shirts and Giordano suits. Hawaii chappals adorned his feet instead of Gucci shoes. His pocket lined with a splashing leather wallet and his Treo-65 was occupied by some loose change. His array of business cards was left with his suits. A jute shoulder bag accompanied him containing his diary, a Reynolds 045 ball point pen, with some emergency refills.

A mild reflection from the water tumbler kept next to him showed a thick stubble forming on his face. His dark eyes, underneath the bushy eyebrows stared back at him. He actually thought that it now bore some life. He had replaced his Raybans and the Ralph Laurens with a simple shell spectacle – plain, black and covering his eyes.

The playful calf came and took the banana skin, which he had placed next to him. He was surprised by how he was able to even bear the calf so near him. He hated cattle… He gave it a small pet on its head and it went off again to its mother, now chewing on the skin, half hanging from its mouth.

There was no prominent smile on his face. Yet, everyone else passing by and occupying the benches around the area sensed that this guy was happy. And they were happy for him as well. He started to pen down his thoughts again. It had become a habit ever since he started.

xx – xx – xxxx

Today marks a month since I left everything! I remember the day I started off from the office! It was impulsive! It was something that I would never have done. Not after spending 2 years, changing myself from an impulsive being to a thought driven businessman. I sometimes think that the change was probably never required. I never should have curbed my natural instincts. It wasn't meant to be. What has success brought me? I am sure I can answer that – fame, money, women, her! IOW, everything that I dreamed of. But, then it was all a fake. Everything was just a fake. Even her, she turned out to be a fake!

I think I am finally coming in terms with it. What caused it, I still wonder, never repenting a moment. I do know that the last letter was just the tipping point. Things were spiralling downward for a long time. On retrospection, a lot of signs should have meant something. For all that you know, I may even have noticed it, but just ignored it. I have heard that success changes a man! I now feel it. It changed me, didn't it?

"Aur ek chay doon?", asked the chaywalla in the native tongue. He looked up and signalled for one. He was slowly becoming a regular customer here. He loved the warmth of the people and the innocence of them. The chaywalla brought him another large glass filled with the warm liquid and aligned a cigarrete and matches with the tea. He removed the previous cup and wiped the wooden table with a ragged cloth, completely brown and reeking of milk. Nothing bothered him though. He lighted his own cigarette and continued to attend a fresh request from a new entry into the open house.

He glanced into the direction of the new comer. A soul of wrinkles, hobbling on a stick greeted him. Each step of his was a laborious process. First came the cane, caressed by his right hand. His left foot slid slowly about 2-3 inches. He then glanced through his broken spectacles to the horizon to be aware of any changes in the surrounding, followed by his head going down again to will his right foot to cover the distance. Graciously, the chaywalla went to him and guided him in getting comfortable on another charpai. The radio still blared on the speakers spitting and spatting.

The road to this town is beautiful. I never could really notice it in all my previous trips. To think that I would notice while coming on a bus, along with half the town's population sharing the meagre space! I finally feel at peace. It's amazing, the concept of perception.To think that you know-it-all from the very many reports that they generated for me!

I have even found a friend here! Someone I can trust and someone who trusts me. His name is Govind. He can go on and on about things in this town. Probably, the biggest chatterbox I have met in a long time! He even gave a name for me, which I have decided to adopt for my stay here. Kisan uncle. So, whenever someone asks my name, I just convey – Kisan. Although it sounded initially like the ketchup company, these people don't realise it.

Everyday, Govind and me, we have a game of cricket along with his friends – all about the same age, studying in the same school, which was planned to be decimated as well, along with this town. After the first day, they decided not to let me play as I was too big and would hit the ball too hard into the ditch. Now, I just umpire the game. Secretly, I do favor the little chap's team. The best time of the day comes afterwards though, when Govind and me lie on the grass, at a mound not too far away after a lime juice to quench our parched throats, after the game.

He drones on and on about the people, what he wants to become when he grows up, why his father should give him more money, why his mother should start a hotel and a trillion other things. I think I have enjoyed his conversations more than anyone else's! It's amazing to comprehend such a fresh, innocent perspective on things

I think I will go back once though! To completely eliminate all traces of me and this town. Sometimes, I feel guilty for leaving just enough information there. But, they can never get hold of it without my access rights. Technology has its own advantages.

"Aur ek chay doon?", asked the chaywalla again. He shook his two fingers, closed his diary and walked towards the field, where Govind was calling him…