THE GIRL IN THE GREEN SWEATER

It was a cold winter evening and cool breeze was floating around as we walked out of the cafe. We were chattering away, and no part of our conversation made sense. The aimless conversation went on for what it felt like forever, none of us knew what we were talking about.

After a few hours, she interrupted me from my ramble, walked ahead, stood in front of me, and said, "Do you think you can do it?"

Her large, broad puppy-like eyes were sparkling with curiosity and she had an insolent grin on her face. Her excited face made her look even more cherubic. She was wearing a green sweater was bringing out her fair skin, and all I could think of was how good would she look if she let her hair loose.

I had to bring my thoughts in order, to answer the question she had put in.

"Yes," I said.
Honestly, I was unsure. But I said it, because her excited face was wonderful to watch.

I had to distract myself from her once again, looked around at the lonely street where we stood and asked,"Do you want me to do it here?" Fortunately the road was not crowded.

With a gentle smile she nodded.

I did not think after that, looking into her eyes, I held her hand and pulled her towards me and lifted her. She was in my
arms. Her head was leaning on my right shoulder and I was looking into her eyes again. This time, they were closer to mine.

I kept walking. After a while, I started panting.

The road was not crowded but there were some people around, and were staring at us.

And suddenly, I stopped feeling the chill of the cool breeze.

She was still smilimg when I released her after sometime.

"Oh gosh…you did it," she murmured.
I was still staring at her. Her smile was still intact on her pursed lips and she was looking even more beautiful. I do not when but before I knew it, I pulled her towards me and hugged her. The moment was incredible. Suddenly, life felt
different when she was in my arms.

We continued walking thereafter.
That was the day when I did what my instinct told me. All those thoughts were genuine, they were unprocessed, they were my first thoughts and were my heart's instructions.
I call them pure thoughts. They feel wonderful.
Every season has it's identity, we need to amalgamate. There is beauty in every moment.

But there will be those rare wonderful moments that you share with that special someone. They don't come all the time. We should not let them go.

Main Aur Mera Ghar... Aur Thodee Chay

Dearest Friends.
People check their watches hoping its time to go home
Schoolboys keep waiting for the school bell so that they can rush home.
Because home is the place where life rests. Therefore
Need of a home cannot be described. It's more exciting to look at the
rain sitting in the window and it's nice to be at home to protect from
cool winter. Beauty and the necessity of the home lie there. It takes
ages to build our own house because house is beyond walls. Our entire
life roof witnesses our dreams and doors protect our privacy. We all
have great memories of our home.
I struggl ed to buy a place that I can call home. With your support
and blessings I could . Yes, I have bought my own house. It took me
26 years and 6 months to own a house. For the first time in my life I
felt as if I have accomplished something...

Here are the pictures of my place and I hope you like it.
Please feel free to drop in anytime!
best regards.
amol

CHAPTER SEVEN - SUMMER AND SOMEONE AND JAMUN...

Do you want Jamun..? ‘Someone’ is asking..

Sometimes we meet ‘someone’ and keep thinking about the same person. More the relationship gets deeper longer it hurts during separation. It’s normal to fall in the lake of relationship and later on face the ripples of memories. What is abnormal is, I know someone whom I never Met or conversed with but still I am being touched. I feel something is left. What relation is this…?

I have eaten many Jamun [Black plums/Indian black berries], which are seen during the summer season as a kid. Purple tongue and lips that was the after effect of the small sweet fruit, I still remember, with the purple tongue we used to frighten others. Somehow I came across the Jamun sellers this summer and they became. ‘Someone’ for me.

When I roamed out of City [Mumbai] I saw many women who sell Jamun and karvand [wild berry/small black fruit] near Karjat, Kasara, Lonavala [Places near Mumbai]. Black faces with wrinkles and typical Adivasi dresses without footwear. They looked as if they have not had bath since a week. Wearing big rings in the nose, traditional jewelleries and dry hair I doubt whether they know about hair oil. Those women keep looking at each person/passenger to sell their fruits. Sitting whole day on the platform holding a fruit basket and swatting flies/mosquitoes they run towards the windows when the mail arrives. I kept looking at those women, where do they come from? What exactly are they doing with their life? Few of them also carry bunch of leaves and reach to Dadar [In Mumbai] early morning by catching the fast train. When I vaguely calculate the amount, which they earn at the end of the day, I found it less than what I spend on the chay[Tea]/coffees.

Unknown places, Unknown people but what is not unknown is feelings. That's the identity of a human being. Of course right vision and a lot of struggle is must to accomplish goals... but the question is those women even don't know about it. Their illiteracy and innocence touched me... I don't know why and how they became someone for me? Summer is too hot, and Jamun is a sweet fruit, which refreshes and changes mood with a colorful tongue. Is that Jamun seller’s life as colorful...? I don't have an answer.

What I have or what I imagine is, suddenly sparrows are flying away from the station, because the mail blows its horn before entering the station. The women are picking up their fruit baskets and taking their position while the train enters.
Do you want Jamun?. My someone is asking…..

CHAPTER SIX - FEATHERS AND BLOOD.

Where the night is afraid to sleep and life doesn't like any rules and
regulations. Yes that's the glory of Mumbai, which attracts crores of
people from all over the world. Mumbai has modified a lot in last
couple of years. The common birds like crow and sparrow also
disappeared from the City. But only one bird stayed back in the city
and managed to build its nest somewhere on the old buildings. Your
guess is right it's the pigeon. Red roofs of the old Godown's and
buildings, and almost all the seacoasts of Mumbai are occupied by the
pigeons.

The place I am talking about is the heritage of India and the
incredible part of Mumbai where hundreds of pigeons have built their
nest. Every morning when the sun rises, all of them fly into the
sky... and later on come back at the same place near the heritage
where the old gentleman awaits for them with the bucket in hand filled
with grains. An old gentleman simply throws the grains and those
pigeons simply catch it, few pigeons used to also sit on his hand. The
luxury of seeing them while eating grains and fluttering their wings
has been experienced not only by the gentleman but also by any other
heritage visitor. Those pigeons have become as famous as the Heritage.
The Pigeons are famous for making relations I guess.

Taking sky under the small wings they fly wherever they want to but
Heritage house is the destination for them. It's been many years and
the bond has become stronger. The vast sea and the ships are also an
awesome thing which is right opposite to the heritage... but things
happen, situation changes and life shatters.
That's what happened that night. When the sun went back all the
pigeons reached to their respected nests on the heritage house...But
something went wrong, somebody started firing, within a while many
places blasted. Few pigeons flew into the darkness; they never knew
how to fly in the darkness. But they had to fly, even the small sound
of clap make them conscious what would have happen to them after
hearing the bullets, which could drilled the wall. Many pigeons
breathed their last after the blast and firing. Few of them collapsed,
few nests burned along with the pigeons... the situation didn't settle
down till 3 days. Those who left will not dare to come back to the
heritage. The heritage is wounded and the biggest bond is broken....
The dust will settle down, the blood will be cleaned... but will those
pigeons dare to build a nest on the heritage house?.... The sun is
rising everyday but now no one is there to take him under their wings.
The gentleman is coming at the same place with a full bucket, but only
2- 3 pigeons are there...
Will the Heritage Tajmahal Hotel ever have pigeons on its roof?....

CHAPTER FIVE

I am amazed, I am confused, and I am unable to make my estimation. As I always do, I never judge people but try and relate to them. Though I try, there are times when I think I do not understand people at all. Let me narrate an incident.
A while back, I travelled out of Mumbai. The place I travelled to, Muslims were in a majority. All I could see were mosques and green flags, listen to their prayers [Ajaan]. The red roses in the mosque with fluttering pigeons all over. The men there were a colourful sight to look at. While they wore clean white kurtas, their long beards were dyed with exotic colours and their lips a bright red from chewing pan. Many more were a beautiful red like. … Everything a beautiful sight to see expect for black figures. Black Figures? With no faces and no one knows if they young or old after locking themselves inside the black shutter. They were all veiling their eyes too … Be it schoolgirls, college girls or women. That’s the traditional costume known as Burkha/Burka. Is the Post - Modern - Globalized India?
One of those women I saw was eating Dal Roti at a small hotel. To take a mouthful, she has to pull her veil - up with her left hand, while feeding herself with her right. I was disgusted with the guy who was sitting (probably her husband) with her watching over her ordeal to eat a mouthful of food. It’s also a feeling of helplessness to watch some suffering inside a locked cage. To my eyes, that guy looked like a joker having fun locking up an innocent bird.
What is caste? What is religion? Is it more essential than someone’s liberty? If you are tying up people like you do animals, what is the difference between a human and animal... ! But what intrigues me most is, are these women even aware of liberty?
Long ago, a woman talked about liberty. Actually she expressed her feelings for another woman who was brutally killed by the society. All she did was express herself and ever since she had been chased away from her house, and hiding her little heart and breathe from the world. All she wishes is to eat Dal Roti at her own will ... Unfortunately the so called superior Indian democracy cannot allow her to have it. Her name is Tasleema Nasreen and she sacrificed her entire life to independence..... May be others are not as ready.... and still eating their Dal Roti in darkness, inside the veil. Let’s hope, something will change in near future... after all Change is a law of nature. That’s what BHAGWATGEETA says too.

CHAPTER FOUR

12 Years of age. Summer Vacation. Half pant, t-shirt, and the winding roads of the Town [Fort] where I was floating around with my bicycle. Town was the dream place for me to roam... the old buildings with great architecture, each building is a heritage, old statues, with wetted body and summer was collecting revenue while riding. And ice cream /candy was not affordable. The remarkable indication of summer was a yellow flower tree and a beautiful red Gulmohar. Every summer, the yellow flowers fall down, and the yellow road steals our attention. Several times I have picked many yellow flowers from Jehangir, Harnimon Circle, Mumbai University and other places in Town. Often I decorated my bicycle with these flowers... but there was a special treat of summer for me... The Booksellers resided below the yellow flower tree. I am grateful to summer for introducing me to such a beautiful world.

That was a time when, the booksellers through piles of books had decorated streets. Many book lovers used to browse the books for hours. The piles of the books and their smell, encyclopedias, Shakespeare, world war History, world literature of Twentieth Century... Most of the books were old and all the books were in English. The titles were heavier than the books, many of them I couldn't read. I was eager to browse the books, to turn the old, dusty pages. I was always lost in there. Uncountable titles, how much to read and how much to understand. I had the same question at each of my visit ‘When will I read this all’? When will I visit the unknown world? When will I get lost in the world of books?

Many booksellers used to yell at me I remember Suresh, who used to sit on the encyclopedias, either he used to have Paan or clean his teeth with a small safety pin...Once when I took a book, Suresh got furious and screamed at me...
[ye idhar timepass karne ko aata kya ? ]Are you coming to do time pass here? I was scared... He deflated one of the tires of my bicycle. I wanted to cry.. I said, [main idhar time pass karne nahi aata] I don’t come to do time pass... And I left, riding a bicycle is a great thing but carrying, pushing a bicycle is horrible I was seeing those hathgadiwalas’ they had a heavy load and more sweat than me... that was my first introduction to those who work hard. Those people are still the hardest working people I have ever seen in my life... Summer collects more revenue from them. It was a lesson for me...
After a week, I again visited Suresh. I showed him a 5 rupees note and indicated towards the piles of children’s book. Each book was for 5 rupees. He stopped cleaning his teeth and looked at me without anger, he asked me to choose. I was a customer I realized that. I began browsing. I took one; it was an illustrated fairytale with big fonts. I don’t know, what went through his mind, but he didn’t take money. Thereafter I continued visiting Suresh and over the years was introduced to other booksellers as well. I had a good relationship with those booksellers and the whole area of town. Smell of First rain and books [whether its new or old] always impresses me.... Years passed, and I enjoyed dedicating my nights to words. Many times I used to visit town... but summer was always different...

CHAPTER THREE

It was a time when I used to chase my goal with full enthusiasm 24 x 7. That was an unforgettable summer afternoon on the platform of Andheri station on a crowded Sunday. All Railway stations in Mumbai are filled with shrill announcements, heavy crowd, people always in rush, Red spots of spitting, used tickets, watches not working, incorrect indicators, tobacho/gutkha packets, overwhelming dustbins, shoe shiners in between the platform with their wooden brush sound... tasteless food at the canteen, lots of hoardings…. Well it isn’t New, I found a bench and began reading a book…and a fat man sat beside me began looking into my book. The way he was looking into my book, to eat it. he began looking around when he satisfied with the book and me I guess... I always hate those people who just look into your book, your news-paper, in your note-book or in your life without your permission.

Several times I have faced those Gentlemen’s, It’s always embarrassing to read or to write while somebody is staring you. I usually travel by train and therefore I have faced several of these Gentlemen’s. Snatching newspaper without your consent is also remarkably silly thing I have suffered through these Gentlemen’s. So, I just turned a bit and continued reading… the time was passing and the crowd was gathering. Sunday is always crammed.

Suddenly a child sound interfered in my reading. The sound was different from the regular noise of the station. I looked up.. then looked down…a small tiny girl around 7 years, not higher than my knee. With an unclean frock and without a week's bath, she asked for 2 rupees.

She had a straight and patient look. I don’t have any money I said and drowned into the book…. She didn’t react for a while. I was waiting for her to leave but she didn’t. Her presence disturbed my concentration in reading and I kept turning the pages. Where was I? … I had lost my page!.. !Meanwhile she asked for 2 rupees more than twice. She also knocked on my knee once. Her voice wasn't disturbing, but not having any money was. When again she asked for money I genuinely told her that I was penniless. [Jhoot bolte ho]I am a liar she said and sat beside me and began staring at me. Her frock was dusty and stitched on many places..Her hair was open and she was without sandals. I said Sorry... I really don’t have any money. She said [kaam nahi kartein] Don’t you work ? [kabhi kabhi karta hoon] sometimes I work.. I said … she began laughing. She had a cheerful smile with glittering eyes. It was uneasy looking at her as she had an intense look. She had a small bag like a pocket fixed on her shoulder. She pulled out some change /loose coins and showed me. [Aapke paas to bahut paise hai] you have enough money I said. She smiled and Said Let's count!. And again laughed… she had a huge gap between her teeth, I kept my book beside and began helping her to calculate. My Neighbour? How could he leave this moment? ... he was constantly looking toward us.. When we completed counting, I realized along with my neighbour, another 4-5 people have gathered around and were looking at us. I told her its seventy rupees. She replied … [sau ko tis kam hai..] 'needed thirty to hundred'. I told her to hide the money. But she didn’t bother and began playing with the coins.. She showed me some coins and asked who the people on them are… I told some names. Sardar Patel, Gnyaneshwar… She asked 'why there isn't salman khan on the coin'?. I didn’t answer. I only insisted that she put the money into her pocket and leave….she said [tis rupai de do fir jaaungi..] give me thirty bucks and I will leave.
People were constantly looking at me. I could give you hundred if I could have. But I don’t have money to eat. I am really penniless. I said…
She looked at me and said…. [To main de du tumhe paise.. kitne chahiye bolo]… may I give you the money...? How much do you want...? and she began showing me all her coins.. I was shocked. I was scared. I was embarrassed. I said Please hide your money and go… She came closer to me and began insisting me that i take the money. She also put some of the coins in my pocket… I was Horrified… [tum kya kar rahi ho..mujhe nahi chahiye…par tumhare paas to kuch bhi paise nahiye…] I was embarrassed because people were looking at me, what will happen if some one will misunderstand? I don’t want your money I said… and I put all her money in her pocket. I didn’t understand how to react to her innocence…

Well, she left after sometime… …I entered the train, the crowd crumpled me, I closed my eyes... I was thinking about the girl… but another child-like noise distracted me... I looked towards the sound, crossing the crowd the 8-9 year old boy reached me and asked for money. Of course, I was without money. But I don’t know what came to my mind and I put my hand in my pocket... I found a 1 rupee coin... No doubt It was that girls... I felt embarrassed. But the boy was tagging to my knee... I gave him the coin.. He smiled... even he had a small gap between his teeth.. he left and very soon he disappeared in the crowd.
Yes, everyone disappears in the crowd but
We don’t know why some incidents happen in our life and leave an impression forever…