I don’t remember when I started walking. However, I am sure I must have taken longer than others to balance on my legs. Anyway, that is not the point to be discussed here. It’s about one of my two best friends, with whom I spent 7 to 8 years of my life, since the time I started walking until I lost it. I was so attached to it that maximum of my time during the days, I used to keep hugging it or stand beside it, leaning. It was hard for me to tolerate if someone else touched or hurt it.
Okay, let me first describe the features of my best friend (The White Frangipani flower Tree). Height about 7’, perimeter of the trunk – not more than that of a just married woman’s bangles. Every morning before I get up some street woman came and plucked all its flowers. Though I had never seen flowers in the tree, I knew how its leaves could be used. My mother used to pluck three leaves from it every morning for her prayers. She used to keep the leaves in front of the Basil plant in our courtyard and place some sweet on it as “Offerings” for worship. During those days, I used to ask my mother if the flower tree felt pain when she plucked the three leaves.
For several years in my life, I used to wonder if it was a tree without any fruit and flower. But one morning, when I got up early by chance, to find my friend imaginary beautiful in the early morning. It was filled with white coloured flowers looking just like an Oriya bride draped with a white saree for the marriage ritual. In front of my eyes, a woman was plucking all the flowers from the tree and the white coloured tree turned into green within few moments. I felt like pulling the woman’s leg so that she would fall down on the floor from the stone she was standing on. However, I soon realised that with all my power, I wouldn’t be able to even tickle her.
Though I never believed in destiny, they say how long we stay with anyone in life is already fixed on a prior basis. My father decided to detach my friend from our lives. I felt like someone was going to cut one of my body parts, but was too young to even stand before my father, rebelling was far away from coming into existence. He was a man of strong opinions. Changing his mind was almost impossible for anyone in my family. So the day was fixed when my best friend in front of our house was to be uprooted. The reason was cited to be the parking problems.
I was not informed about the date when the tree was to be uprooted. One day, I got up only to know that I lost my friend forever. Running towards the spot, looking at the hole that was created after uprooting the tree, shedding two drops of tears into the hole, these were the only things I could do at that time. I was feeling so helpless. I thought if these people had asked me for suggestions, I could have suggested the idea of shifting it to some other place. I didn’t know whether it was possible for them or not.
I was only eight years old then. Everyone was considering me a child. Truly speaking, I found all the grown up people in my family, whoever was directly or indirectly responsible for separating me from my best friend, to be more immatured than I was.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Deteriorating the manly image (2008)
It was in the first quarter of 2008. I had started working as a content writer in Mumbai. My second brother had also come to the dream city to try his destiny. Both of us were living in our first sister’s in-laws’ house. We were not comfortable staying there, but didn’t have any other option.
One day, to everyone’s surprise, my third brother made a phone call to me. As we rarely talked to each other, there was a dead air for a while. Then, he revealed the reason of making the call. He said that he had watched a dream the previous night. I thought the subject of the dream would be, “I abused him with some foul word. He complained against me to our first brother and I was beaten black and blue, the two colors I disliked the most.”
Before I could reveal my wild guess, he said, “Do you remember during childhood, we used to go to village Lathi to visit the fair? In my dream, both of us were going to see the fair. As usual, a tractor moved across us and we ran after it. What usually happened, we both used to end up in failure. But this time, there was a difference. You tried your best and went on to the tractor; I couldn’t. I ran after the vehicle for a while and then fell down on the ground. You were staring at me until you could see me. And then, you disappeared. The alarm rang up. It was 6:30 in the morning. I got up. I thought, as grandma used to say, dreams seen during early morning are often true. You truly, went far away from me in life. But do not stop here. You have a long way to go.” He kept the phone down.
One drop of tear came out of each of my eyes, deteriorating my manly image. One travelled towards my right ear through the right cheek and the other, from my left eye, climbed towards the tip of my nose. It was about to fall into the glass of water which I just forgot to drink after having my dinner, I returned to my senses. My sister saw tears in my eyes for the first time since I was in Mumbai. My second brother asked me “what happened?” My sister didn’t say anything. It was all a blur, but I could see one drop of tear falling from each of her eyes. Even she hadn’t heard our conversation. It’s so nice to have a sister. They are so touching!!
One day, to everyone’s surprise, my third brother made a phone call to me. As we rarely talked to each other, there was a dead air for a while. Then, he revealed the reason of making the call. He said that he had watched a dream the previous night. I thought the subject of the dream would be, “I abused him with some foul word. He complained against me to our first brother and I was beaten black and blue, the two colors I disliked the most.”
Before I could reveal my wild guess, he said, “Do you remember during childhood, we used to go to village Lathi to visit the fair? In my dream, both of us were going to see the fair. As usual, a tractor moved across us and we ran after it. What usually happened, we both used to end up in failure. But this time, there was a difference. You tried your best and went on to the tractor; I couldn’t. I ran after the vehicle for a while and then fell down on the ground. You were staring at me until you could see me. And then, you disappeared. The alarm rang up. It was 6:30 in the morning. I got up. I thought, as grandma used to say, dreams seen during early morning are often true. You truly, went far away from me in life. But do not stop here. You have a long way to go.” He kept the phone down.
One drop of tear came out of each of my eyes, deteriorating my manly image. One travelled towards my right ear through the right cheek and the other, from my left eye, climbed towards the tip of my nose. It was about to fall into the glass of water which I just forgot to drink after having my dinner, I returned to my senses. My sister saw tears in my eyes for the first time since I was in Mumbai. My second brother asked me “what happened?” My sister didn’t say anything. It was all a blur, but I could see one drop of tear falling from each of her eyes. Even she hadn’t heard our conversation. It’s so nice to have a sister. They are so touching!!
Attitude - Use of foul words (1991)
Though it is not considered as too serious affair to use foul words, it was not welcomed when I used one of the most prominent foul words, that too abusing my third brother. It was in 1991 when I was 11 years old. My eldest brother saw me when I used the foul word. However, I didn't think it was audible to him. So when he called me with an angry gesture, I decided not to look scared as he might not have heard the foul word uttered by me, maybe it was for something else he was calling. Hence I crossed the road in style resembling the way a king moves after dispersing his ministers.
At the very moment I reached home, my brother hold me through my right hand. It was too strong to resist. At that age too, I was intelligent enough to be sure that he heard the bad word. He took me to a seperate room, closed the door, picked up a stick, and started beating me black and blue. While beating me, he kept uttering "what word did you use for your third brother?" I thought if I let him know, he would let me go; as if he didn't know. I uttered the word and said, "this is the word", being as proud as Saleem saying Akbar that he was in love with Anarkali.
However, I was beaten even more after the utterance of the word. I was saying to myself, "if you didn't want to hear the word, why the hell you asked me?", using the same word in my mind for him too. Anyway, as I was crying loudly, my first girlfriend and my mother came for my rescue. No, no, please don't jump to a conclusion that I also had a real girlfriend in the age of 11 though I was born in a small conservative town in the most conservative family of the locality. It was my grandma. I call her my first girlfriend as I used to fight with her the way nowadays, I see, it happens with most of the couples.
Both my first girlfriend and her only daughter-in-law were banging the door. The more they banged the door uttering my name, the more frequently I was being hit. The reason, I think, my brother was beating me because I cried with a voice loud enough to invite the ladies for my rescue. Again, I was saying to myself, "if you don't want me to cry, why the hell you are beating me?" But this is the way he was.
The voice outside the door became louder enough to force my brother to open the door. Now, both my mother and grandma asked the reason of my petiable posture (I was sleeping on the floor on my back just like a dog in alter position, a very rare scene). My brother said that I used a foul word for my third brother. My only girlfriend at that time reacted instantly. She said, "so what? Are you beating him for this simple reason?"
My brother was aghast. He hit me even harder. I think, he was also releasing his anger for my grandma on me. But the problem is that he was asking me "what foul word you used?" By the time I knew that he would leave me if I said "I am sorry, I will never use this."
I was feeling sorry for him. How could he just think I would say that? He knew me since last 11 years. But he wanted to change me with a blast, which is yet to happen. God was always with me. To my rescue, my brother's best friend was outside our home, calling my brother's name. "Is Narayan at home?", he yelled again and again. My brother had to leave. They had to discuss a movie that they had watched recently. I used to hear their conversations. They were using thousands of foul words while talking, many of them were for the villains of the movies. "So what was my fault? Was it because I used it for my brother?", I thought.
Before leaving, he gave me a final hit with the stick, believe me, it was the hardest by then. I thought I should not lag behind. I yelled the foul word again, believe me, it was also the loudest and sharpest by then. He also gave me a kick as a good bye sign. But to his own amusement, he was about to fall down. Somehow he could manage his balance and left to release the anger on his friend.
The next day, my mother asked me, "Have you used any foul word today for anyone?" I said, "I will never use." My mother said, "If you had told the same thing to your brother yesterday, he would not have beaten you so much." I said, "But it was a question of my self-respect."
Now, I still don't understand, what was that attitude?
At the very moment I reached home, my brother hold me through my right hand. It was too strong to resist. At that age too, I was intelligent enough to be sure that he heard the bad word. He took me to a seperate room, closed the door, picked up a stick, and started beating me black and blue. While beating me, he kept uttering "what word did you use for your third brother?" I thought if I let him know, he would let me go; as if he didn't know. I uttered the word and said, "this is the word", being as proud as Saleem saying Akbar that he was in love with Anarkali.
However, I was beaten even more after the utterance of the word. I was saying to myself, "if you didn't want to hear the word, why the hell you asked me?", using the same word in my mind for him too. Anyway, as I was crying loudly, my first girlfriend and my mother came for my rescue. No, no, please don't jump to a conclusion that I also had a real girlfriend in the age of 11 though I was born in a small conservative town in the most conservative family of the locality. It was my grandma. I call her my first girlfriend as I used to fight with her the way nowadays, I see, it happens with most of the couples.
Both my first girlfriend and her only daughter-in-law were banging the door. The more they banged the door uttering my name, the more frequently I was being hit. The reason, I think, my brother was beating me because I cried with a voice loud enough to invite the ladies for my rescue. Again, I was saying to myself, "if you don't want me to cry, why the hell you are beating me?" But this is the way he was.
The voice outside the door became louder enough to force my brother to open the door. Now, both my mother and grandma asked the reason of my petiable posture (I was sleeping on the floor on my back just like a dog in alter position, a very rare scene). My brother said that I used a foul word for my third brother. My only girlfriend at that time reacted instantly. She said, "so what? Are you beating him for this simple reason?"
My brother was aghast. He hit me even harder. I think, he was also releasing his anger for my grandma on me. But the problem is that he was asking me "what foul word you used?" By the time I knew that he would leave me if I said "I am sorry, I will never use this."
I was feeling sorry for him. How could he just think I would say that? He knew me since last 11 years. But he wanted to change me with a blast, which is yet to happen. God was always with me. To my rescue, my brother's best friend was outside our home, calling my brother's name. "Is Narayan at home?", he yelled again and again. My brother had to leave. They had to discuss a movie that they had watched recently. I used to hear their conversations. They were using thousands of foul words while talking, many of them were for the villains of the movies. "So what was my fault? Was it because I used it for my brother?", I thought.
Before leaving, he gave me a final hit with the stick, believe me, it was the hardest by then. I thought I should not lag behind. I yelled the foul word again, believe me, it was also the loudest and sharpest by then. He also gave me a kick as a good bye sign. But to his own amusement, he was about to fall down. Somehow he could manage his balance and left to release the anger on his friend.
The next day, my mother asked me, "Have you used any foul word today for anyone?" I said, "I will never use." My mother said, "If you had told the same thing to your brother yesterday, he would not have beaten you so much." I said, "But it was a question of my self-respect."
Now, I still don't understand, what was that attitude?
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