FAVRE LEUBA...

It is a very old watch, Favre Leuba, an imported one belonging to the 60's era but still running like a steady horse with the seconds' arm ticking accurately in this 21st century. It is a steel grey automatic watch which is regularly worn by my proud dad. The dial has luminous hands which glow during the nocturnal power cuts.So far, it has never failed us and makes us complete all our tasks punctually. This watch is treasured by our family as it has its own story to tell. It was bought by my dad with his first salary.

It was the summer of 1984, we kids were playing monopoly in our sunny terrace enjoying our vacations, my dad was the chairman of our building and was supervising the pre monsoon cleaning of the water tank. The contractor was petrified of him as he was a hard balled task master. Even,we kids used to be afraid and in awe of our dad. There was some problem with the valves in the tank and my dad climbed the ladder to look for a possible solution. The tank was about 6 meters high and an imposing structure. While trying to descend, he lost his footing and fell down with a crashing sickening thud like sound. I thought as if someone had thrown a massive gunny bag on the ground, such was the intensity of the sound. But as we came to know that our dad had sustained this fall,we rushed towards him. Seeing him with a big bleeding gash on his forehead brought tears to our eyes and we rushed him to the hospital. He had sustained multiple fractures in his knee, thigh bone and the wrist of his right hand. He never cried and was surprisingly in a relaxed state of mind. He did not wince with such poly trauma also, may be he did not want to express his grief in front of his small sons. But I never saw him cry. He was discharged after a month and a couple of surgeries, slowly he made complete recovery and was again busy with his life. A walking stick accompanied him for a couple of months which was discarded later, sorta like Forrest Gump by him.

He walked and ran like a normal man.

When he sustained the fall, the wrist watch in his left hand sustained the impact and protected that wrist from trauma. The entire watch broke with the springs and levers running hay wire on our terrace floor, my friend had collected the parts and gave them to me when my dad came home. The watch was repaired by a glass eyed man in Mumbai and was restored to its original pride and shining glory. The watch recovered, with my dad and became symbolic of our dad's survival. He wore it the day, he resumed, going to the office.

It was a protective amulet for my dad. Till date, that watch has been revered by us.

I have a collection of Swiss watches, including a Rolex also. They reside in my special velvet lined drawer. They are arranged in a neat row by me and regularly polished with a moist muslin cloth with some tooth paste.

But, my dad's Favre Leuba ousthines them all.

It is not a mere time telling watch,

It tells us the story of hope and survival.

REST IN PEACE.

I was returning from a late night show, was pretty dark as it was a moonless night. I stayed on the third floor and climbing the flight of stairs was the biggest nightmare for me as I surely believed in ghosts and demons lurking , in our staircase. To worsen my panicked state, the lights also had gone out. It was pitch dark. The pack of dogs in our building were also nowhere to be seen, their recognising bark followed by a whimper used to reassure me on such dark nights. The ascent to my home was the toughest hurdle in my life at that moment, I was shivering inside and with a prayer on my lips, slowly began my 'upward' journey.
There was a reason for my paranoid behaviour.
A few days earlier, a young bride had just poured kerosene on her body and had burnt to death in our ground floor flat, probably it was a dowry death or so , but we were too small to understand such moral implications.I had seen the charred body lying lifeless on their kitchen floor, believe me folks, it was a very ghastly sight for a young school boy like me. Her black shrivelled body used to constantly appear in my nightmares during my childhood. I used to wake up sweating and hug my mother, who would protect and shelter me. It was a trying time for me at such a tender age. Her husband had sustained the customary burns on his hands while trying to save her. I never came to know the legal course of this incident, soon he was out of the lock up and roamed freely in our society.
Back then, Dowry laws were not very stringent and the brides or their grieving families never used to get justice from this oppressive system.
I had other reasons also to justify my fears, A funeral centre was just adjoining our building where the fires used to burn daily and constantly. Also, my bedroom window was flanked by a tamarind tree, which used to harbour spirits in the night, along with the blind bats who used to frighten me and my brother to our bones.
Fortunately, nothing happened to me as my prayers overpowered the dark spirits and I safely reached home. I decided to buy a small torch, the very next day with my pocket money.
A few months later, I came to know the sad plight of the widower in our ground floor flat. He had turned into a schizoid person who was jittery through out the day and never slept a wink in the night.His life had become a never ending nightmare. His thoughts were constantly about his deceased wife and drove him mad. Soon, he was shifted to a mental institution for better care and treatment. I heard that he never recovered and still can be seen chained to the steel bed, screaming for mercy. The spirit had possessed him and taken over his soul. So, the elders said. His wife had suffered in death and he was suffering in life, if you could call it a life. He never publicly admitted his role in his wife's demise.
But, you could see the guilt in his red sleep deprived eyes.
The wife's spirit never allowed him to do so.
She was extracting her revenge.
I was happy for her soul.
It would rest in peace.

CHOCOLATE KUMAR.

It was our summer vacation in the early eighties, We kids were mightily excited to read the banners proclaiming Chocolate Kumar's arrival in our home town. He was a cyclist, who pedalled for a stretch of 3 days continuously in a marked circle, round and round, much to the cheer of the gazing crowds.He was accompanied by a team of helpers to take care of him in these endeavours. An accompanying cute clown dwarf was the source of giggles all around. The children used to adore him. His main job was to collect the money showered on the cyclist, in an over sized hat.
Soon, Chocolate Kumar arrived in our town and the loudspeakers sprang to life to add to the carnival atmosphere in our small town.
Chocolate kumar was an acrobatic cyclist who could ride blind folded, on a single wheel, stand on the seat and even ride while facing behind in the opposite direction. He was really talented. The cycle was his symbiotic host, he feeded off it, but also pampered it with a garland and all season shine on the black metallic body.The hot Sun never deterred him from this back breaking activity. He was allowed an half hour grace period for his daily toilet break. The evenings drew a lot of crowds, the music, real loud, used to propel him to pedal faster. We used to clap heartily to support him.The adults used to whistle and cheer him up.Of course,the clown used to regale us with his somersaults and jumps and a comically small tri cycle, which used to tumble on his riding attempts.
It was all innocent, unadulterated fun.
On the third evening, as the event was coming to an end, Chocolate Kumar was in intense pain and agony and it looked as if he would not complete the event. But, somehow he survived to finish his task, much to the relief of the gathered cheering crowd. He had managed 3 days on the cycle, that too, non stop. The fatigued Chocolate Kumar was garlanded by our local obese, corrupt corporator and given the prize amount.
Everyone clapped till their hands hurt.
As he was getting down from the dais, I could see the dark red blood, staining his trousers near the calf region. A varicose vein had ruptured and hence the oozing of blood. It was an expected occupational hazard for the cyclist. His team immediately bandaged his leg with a roller gauze and stopped the ooze.The thick legs bore the brunt of his continuous cycling and the fragile veins were giving way. He still smiled, despite the pain.
He kissed his dear cycle and with tears in his eyes, bade us all goodbye.
We never heard of him again.
But, he is, still entrenched in our beating hearts.
The eighties were our wonder years.
I wonder about the plight of such cyclists in this 21st century.

LISTEN TO UR HEART.

A long time ago, Chaitra was thrilled when the dove couple decided to make a home in our kitchen window sill. She was very fond of birds as she was small and common things which we ignore in our busy lives were treasured by her. Children derive pleasure from insignificant trivial things in life. The doves used to sit on the window sill and mutter incomprehensible sweet nothings. Chaitra used to listen in awe. The kitchen was a new play pen for her as she slyly shifted her toys, much to the consternation of my family but we had always pampered her and could not say a word to her. Her daily activities used to revolve around the couple. She used to keep a pail of water and few grains for them to feed.

Soon, the couple fructified their love and an off white coloured small egg was laid in the nest. Chaitra's joy knew no bounds as she celebrated the event like a foster mother to the egg. Now her focus shifted to the incubation of the egg and the daily progress was constantly updated to us by her like a chirpy news reader. A small baby dove emerged from the hatched egg and again, this event too was enjoyed by her like some birthday. She gave chocolates to us and was gleeful that whole day.She was the unofficial guardian angel of the dove family!

The baby dove had started to grow and the flapping wings started to give him mobility. Small jumps on the window sill were applauded by my innocent daughter.Little did she know, that the baby dove would soon fly away. The day came and brought tears to her eyes. She asked me about the whereabouts of the baby dove and its well being. She was worried about the safety of the baby dove from the ever threatening crows. I allayed her fears and told her that the entire dove family was safe and sound.She sulked for about a week and slowly shifted her toys outside the kitchen, back to her room.

I was also affected by this chain of events, seeing her love for the doves, I left eating eggs for a period of about six months.

I just did that out of love for my daughter and her sentiments.

I felt better that way and could share her pain. There was no motive behind my act, Chaitra was unaware and incapable of understanding my decision also.

Life need not be based on practical and logical decisions.

Sometimes, you have to,

Listen to your heart!

A LOVE STORY.

Rani never used to sit on a window sill waiting for her prince charming to take her to the promised lands of bounty and beauty. She was aware of her limitations in life.God had been unkind to her since birth.She had Polio. Both the legs were flaccid and limp, Life had been cruelly drained out from them. She had, only her crutches, for support in the walk of life. Her family of rich parents were supportive but used to get exhausted with her ambitions and dreams of leading an independent life. God had clipped her wings, a long time ago. She had passed her matriculation exams and called it a day as she was not able to face the constant unconcerned sympathetic stares offered to her by the normal crowd. Much parental persuasion compelled her to take a correspondence course. Studies was never her primary concern in life, she was too busy, fighting her inner battles of struggled existence.

She met Raja on the net and an instant liking developed between them. They could connect to each other on various topics in life. He could understand her curiosity and excitement. He even came to know of her crippled status but never waivered from his decision of marrying her much against his parents' wishes. She was overjoyed and thanked her lucky stars. God had decided to paint a smile on her sad face. Raja truly loved her regardless of her condition.
Such true love is indeed hard to find nowadays in this age of arranged marriages of convenience.

Raja married her with a great pomp and celebrations, they even had a honeymoon in a nearby hill station. He treated her like a normal lady without any pretence or sympathy. She was his true love and his source of pride. He looked after her, well. He never cried when the doctor told them that they could not have a baby. Rani cried for months, suffered in silence. Raja was made of much sterner stuff, though. They decided to go for an adoption and soon their house was filled with smiles and laughter. The little angel brought back the charm in Rani's life. They lived happily ever after.
A couple of years later, Rani left them, off to her heavenly abode after a brief illness.
The adopted little angel felt lost in the big house and required a mother for his upbringing.
Raja could not think of remarriage as he still remembered Rani fondly. He decided an easy way out, he left all his work and concentrated on the upbringing of his child. He was a rich person who could feed the next seven generations. The child grew up to be a handsome man.
On the day of his son's marriage, a crippled beggar came hunting for left overs of the marriage feast, she was shooed by the workers but Raja saw her and offered her food and also packed a box of sweets for her.
As he retired to bed, he saw the box of sweets on his bed! His dead wife Rani's spirit had eventually come, to bless his child. He could not control his tears.
Next day, they found Raja on the bed, lying peacefully with a smile on his contented face.
He would be reunited with his wife soon.

PATERNITY LEAVE!

I'm really busy nowadays. My life has changed for good after the arrival of my baby boy last week. I feel happy, more so from within, nowadays. Tranquillity exists despite the noisy footfalls of the wishing guests in our house. I have completed my family cycle of progeny genesis.

Hum do hamaare do.

Chaitra is really very happy and her ever smiling face is the symbolic barometer of the exuding joy in our family. However, she craves for her mother's company who is very busy and occupied, blissfully with our baby son. I have an added responsibility of handling Chaitra, which I gleefully comply with. I take her for Tennis class in the morning, drop her to the school bus and pick her up in the evening. Soon, I will have to take care of her homework too! Also, I have to keep a watch on my baby boy when Mansi is eating or in the shower, I burp him after a milk feed. I have stopped blogging nowadays as I hardly get time. At night times, I have to get up to give warm water for cleaning the baby.

I love helping my wife. I have a great backup team in form of my eager to help and guide-parents!

Most importantly, I have to focus on my hospital and my patients to ensure a steady monetary inflow. Fortunately, I am able to juggle all my tasks and get rewarded by an admired and appreciative glance from my dear wife.

Who says parenting is 'one man show', I am ready to disprove that fact. It is a team effort.

I too, need a 'Paternity Leave'!

.MR SHARMA.

It was a serpentine queue, people in all colour faded clothes were standing in the sweltering sun, waiting for the water like the drought struck farmers waiting for the rain.Mr Sharma was first in the water line as he had arrived very early, in the morning. He had to fill the 2 buckets for his home, his wife ailed from a stroke and was bed ridden from a decade. He was a punctual man and was getting late for his work, thanks to the municipal corporation. All his life, he had toiled as an ordinary clerk in a garment firm with paltry wages. He was over 65 now, he had to daily, look after the basic needs of his wife right from feeding to cleaning her.

Age was taking a toll on him.

The tap hissed and spluttered to life after a long delay, however the flow was very slow to fill his buckets. He was reminded of his bladder condition, he used to sit and strain for long hours in the bathroom where each drop released brought relief from the pain in his over sized prostate gland. He was advised surgery but could not gather enough money for it. Somehow, the buckets filled up and he started ascending the flight of stairs, home. The slippery stairs claimed one more victim that day, Mr Sharma fell down and all his buckets' water trickled down the stairs like some water fall cleaning them. His hours' effort had all gone to waste.His arched back was hurt again, He had to take a decision that day.

His wife was bed ridden since last decade and in a semi comatose state. She was totally dependent on her husband for every breath of her sensory deprived life. Her eyes begged for mercy, Mr Sharma had ignored them so far, Today, he sadly, eventually decided to oblige her.

He calmly suffocated her with a soft pillow, she succumbed without a semblance of a struggle which was any way, never expected from her nor desired by her. He went to a doctor to get a death certificate for cremating his dear wife.

At the funeral pyre, The only companion was a lonely resident dog, who howled at every passing corpse as if he was grieving their loss.

Mr Sharma came home, a much relieved man.

He had eased his wife's suffering at last. His urine flow improved and he could no longer feel the pain like before.

Next day morning, Mr Sharma was seen, first in the queue at the municipal water line.

The tap was heavily over flowing, like never before. So were, Mr Sharma's eyes!