Summer vacation had always been my favourite part of the year, just like many other Indian kids! Maa, papa, bhaiya and I made sure we travel a lot and meet other members of our extended family. Visiting our old family home, visiting nana-nani’s place, hanging out with cousins, sleeping until noon and non-stop eating! Even maa and papa did not follow the ‘you have to bath everyday’ rule!

Well, all of this decreased as we grew up. My grandparents perished one by one and everyone else started fighting for the little land and money that they had left behind. Family became foe and cousins became awkward strangers. We four were left with a forsaken vacation thereafter.

We are all grown up now and these memories have started fading. It was 6 years ago that bhaiya got hired by a construction firm in Dubai. About 2 years later, I got a handsome job in Doha as an art instructor. I was allowed to live out of the country only because bhaiya lived nearby. Maa and papa wanted to continue staying in India. Bhaiya always travelled overnight to my place on festivals and holidays even for a day to make sure I don’t get stranded alone on happy days. We celebrated holidays by roaming about the city, shopping for each other and eating junk for dinner.

During his foremost year in Dubai, bhaiya gifted maa and papa a trip to UAE with his first salary during the summer vacation. I joined them too and we had the time of our lives- reliving old memories and enjoying together like we did in India. Since then, it became a tradition. Every summer vacation, we picked a new spot in the Middle East and spent the most happening time of the year together.

This year was different... this year was special. We all planned to stay at my place and tour Doha. I had saved and bought a gold chain each for maa, papa and bhaiya. It was the first time that I was offering them something. I had also planned to introduce the love of my life to them, and ask them if I could marry him. But, things did not happen accordingly.

A few days before the arrival of maa, papa and bhaiya at Doha, I woke up to a shocking news. I could not digest what I saw on the TV. Many neighbouring countries including UAE had broken ties with Qatar. I did not care about the crisis, I did not care about the accusation made, and I did not care about its certainty... it was not the matter of concern for me then. I could only see a failing plan... a failing tradition.

I did not know how to react. I was angry and anxious at the same time. I wanted to run away from here. Papa sounded very scared on the phone and maa was crying. Bhaiya convinced them that the situation is nothing to be worried about. But then, we all were highly disappointed.

I could feel the nostalgia seeping in. Back in the past, relations got abandoned with the family, plans changed, people separated, amity died. I could see everything repeating.  

For whatever reasons it may be, why making a connection and keeping the relation alive has to be so demanding? Why do most relations end up in a brawl? I had lost faith in humanity once again. No connection ever remains forever. Now, all that I could do is wait... and hope. At least, hope remains forever.

I looked around the room to find my place; on the left side of the door was a supplanted centre table full of baggage, next to it was a maroon polished almirah that touched the other wall, attached to which was the floral carved wooden double bed full with sleepers and next to that was my sister sitting on the floor stitching her blouse. There was an old computer table on my right that now served as another baggage counter. I found myself in middle of nowhere. Middle! That clicked me and I settled on the floor near the almirah.

Somewhere I felt middle-class to be a social name for poverty, I realised this when I glanced the room for the last time before I took a deep breath to start. And the moment I took out the nail clipper to cut my nails a sharp but curious voice held me in between, “you can’t cut nails at night.” And I faced up to see my cousin on the bed. How did I overlook her while observing the room? I thought... and then I overlooked her one more time. “You DON’T cut nails at night.” she was restless this time. “Yes you don’t”, a voice with more authority came this time; it was my sister’s. 

I continued cutting my long dirty nails and asked them the reason for not doing so at that hour of the night. And for no surprise they were ready with the answers.

Cousin: one loses money if they cut nails at night.

Me: whose money?

Cousin: areyy! Your money, you fool.

Me: who told you this?

Cousin: I know.

Me: how?

Sister: you would have known it too if you listen to our elders... you are a girl...

There is a time you know you need to take the blame and call off the conversation because; if you stretch it anymore it can get deadly. It was that time. I nodded and ignored them at the same time.

I had a sleep. NOT GOOD. NOT SWEET-DREAMY. JUST- SLEEP. It was so because I got to sleep amid various snoring as our tiny middle-class home had no soundproof rooms or in better terms... the doors didn’t close due to seepage.

Tujhko uda kar ke!

Tujhko uda kar ke!

Tujhko uda kar ke le jaaenge badri ki dulhaniya...

I woke up confused to whether I was dreaming of an item song. But! It was television. Drawing room and my bedroom, which was not exclusively mine, were happened to be planned diagonally opposite, separated by a small dining. And slowly as I gained conscience the song was accompanied by other background scores...

 Nani: roti banao jaldi jaldi tiffin bharna hai.

Ma- aai thamb! Ban rahi roti, tu bas.

Mami- kab jate hai chinu aor saha kam par...

And it went on. It was not every day that we had this many people in our house but Chinu’s birthday was some occasion for them to reunite. It was pleasing to meet all, it always was. But to SLEEP, to HEAR, to RESIDE, it was always clumsy. 

I waited for ten long minutes to use the tommilet. And yes! It takes a lot of effort to wait... for toilet ... in the morning. Then I brushed my teeth with cousin Dinky, Parrot Chikki and one other at the backyard.

I stepped into the 7x4 feet kitchen to find three women working in team; one rolling the flour dough balls, other was making parathas and the last one, was cooking sabzi. The moment, yes the moment I took a spoon of boiled egg in my mouth, my nani turned to me, “pehle nahana chaiye tujhe!”

I kept the plate back in the platform sighed and raised my voice against it. I said, “why?” and next, maa gave me an angry look that was enough for me to leave the kitchen that very moment.

I ate my breakfast hearing advices, hopes, stories and what not. But mainly advices... DON’T BE LATE, YOU GIRLS SHOULD COME HOME BEFORE DARK, EAT LITTLE MORE YOU LOOK THIN, WHY DON’T YOU CARE FOR YOU FACE YOU LOOK HORRIBLE, STOP WASTING SO MUCH TIME ON FITNESS YOU ARE NOT FAT BUT WORRY FOR YOUR FACE YOU HAVE TO GET MARRIED.

Maa’s continuous hold on you through her 'KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT' look let go the moment and you successfully clear that level according to her when you put a smile at your face and node a yes... all the time. And it was an escape.

And when you think that everything in your life from now on would be better, you just miss the fact that you have a boss for whom you work.

With a hell hectic day of two urgent assignments that day, I was blessed to have a senior female employee who was always ready to give me a detailed speech on the fact that I was a girl and I should be safe.

HER LECTURE:

You should take care of yourself, that worker was staring at you.... I think you work well only when boss pays attention on you.... you should not get emotionally attached to boss; he has a flirty nature... take care of what you wear... I am concerned for you, otherwise I wouldn’t have told you all this... you are like my daughter... I am just advising you... you are grown up, but it’s my duty...

I heard everyone. Instead of disagreeing, I ignored every single word that was told to me. I am done hearing you. Now HEAR ME, HEAR ME. YES I AM A GIRL AND I KNOW IT. I KNOW HOW TO BREATHE, HOW TO DRIVE, HOW TO EAT, HOW TO SIT, WHAT TO WEAR, WHERE TO GO AND WITH WHOM, HOW TO BEHAVE AT THE WORK PLACE, HOW TO WORK, HOW TO TAKE CARE OF MYSELF AND HOW TO BE SURE ABOUT MY SAFETY.. AND EVEN IF I DON’T KNOW THESE THINGS, IT IS MY PROBLEM NOT YOURS, ALL I KNOW IS I AM A GIRL AND NOT A MACHINE WHO WILL ACT YOUR WAY JUST BECAUSE YOU WANT ME THAT WAY.

But this time the reason that kept me shut was just being tired of hearing those things and because it was not bothering my work.

Eight at night, in a busy main road, I was driving my scooty when I heard some boys yelling and abusing badly, they were behind me on their bike... Like advised I didn’t turn and kept going. When I heard a female voice loud, I sank in fear, but I gained my courage to turn for another girl and I saw a scooty fallen on the road. The yelling boys were nowhere to be found. There were two girls on the road. One of them told me that those boys were following them from sometime, they were drunk and were asking them to stop and when they didn’t, one of the boys kicked the girl on the back seat and drove off. The girl was not injured physically but mentally, she was not saying anything and was only breathing heavily.

The girls had worn scarf covering their whole face, neck, chest and even stomach, just their eyes were visible. They were fully dressed with jeans and top on. I helped them clean the dust and asked them to complain, to which they said, “Nai baba! Bach gaye na, bas. Marna thode hai complain kar ke”

For the first time in the whole day I regretted something, regretted not turning at the correct time. I could have caught them or at least I could have seen the number plate on their bike. And it also made me think that- you say what you want to say to a person and go off but don’t realise what impact it makes on that person. The way those girls responded, I realised, they were not fainthearted but they too were a victim of hearing things that girls SHOULD NOT DO and were the obedient Indian females- who didn’t complain.

I felt a sharp pain in my back as I turned to the side in the bed. I woke up to a new morning with an old ache. People who work on computers whether be an engineer or accountant or data operator, every such person must be having the same pain. I faintly unlocked my phone and suddenly my whole system changed. I rushed to the bathroom.

While I was struggling with my earring, I heard the announcement of flag hoisting on television. I ran to the drawing room and stood in attention for the National Anthem. As I was hymning the tune I saw the president paying salute to the flag, army doing the same in their beautiful uniform and the flag flowing in the air with its chin up.

“I want to see this live someday”, I declared in my mind room. The army persons were paying tribute to the flag; the crowd was quite sober out there at the event. It was when my phone rang that my eyes shifted away from television. It was my colleague on the other side.

“Office on 11, be on time”, it was more like an order. “Hey! I have got a set of tasks lined up, I will be late. Please wait till I reach.”, and I hung up with an explanation of being late in the near future. What I watched next was the president standing with his head down in respect and before him was a lady standing in a white saree and a blue shawl.

Her features told me that she belonged to north east and the commentary next introduced her to be the wife of late constable who lost his life fighting the terrorists. His wife politely received the honour and left the stage. As she was walking down the steps, I saw a grief yet satisfaction on her face.

She was crying as they pulled the camera on her. It was live. She met the president, she got the honour and she was crying. He had lost his life serving for the nation and she had lost her love. Nor she had anyone to complain, neither did she gestured to complain. She was polite and took it as an honour. He had chosen the nation first and she obliged.

My phone beeped again to a friend’s message. Meet me in 10 minutes. My friend was in town and he was leaving to the city he worked in that very noon. I tugged my hair, put my heels on and took the keys of my bike. I was driving my way to the cafe when I felt a change in the air. The weather was soothing, different from the other days. “May be the patriots and leaders who lead us to this day are doing this change”, I felt.

I reached the cafe. I was waiting there for my friend when I saw there was a change in the scenario. There were people hanging around with the flag painted on their face, gipsy and bikes were campaigning around like leaders, people around me were busy taking selfies. It was all engaging yet disturbing for me.

As we settled on a table; I and my friend couldn’t hold to watch the television in the cafe. The republic day ceremony was still on air. We were enjoying the showcase. The tableau from different states showing their culture, art and nature mesmerised my eyes and held them for ten long minutes.

Likewise, even my friend was concerned about the value of the day. “You saw the people? I don’t know what they feel it to be. I saw a flag waving on a gypsy.”, he was surprised. “Haha! Doesn’t happen in your metro city”, I said mockingly. And our talk over the respect of this day went on.

I left for my office, biding him goodbye. I missed the flag hoisting but met and greeted everyone. We sat over a light conversation on Bollywood with our boss and then he proudly told us how every year they celebrate the Independence Day and the Republic Day, invite friends, family, neighbours, workers, clients and even the kids passing by the office. They try to create a healthy celebration and a remembrance of the day.

Next, I drove back home. I spent the afternoon watching a movie on television that was based on a cricketer’s life and how he won the world cup for the country. It was a good film though.

I went for a walk in the evening with my friend. I told him about my whole day and how I felt about things; about the weather, the people, the television and everything else. He heard me with a smile and reciprocated politely as I asked him for his opinion. He said, “I think all the people who live nearby should gather in a ground and remember the freedom fighters and defence officers who have sacrificed their lives for the nation; that will be the best way to celebrate this day.”

And he was right, I realized. That one response summed up my whole day. Everything that I had felt that day, everything that had made me think a lot, that every thought got an answer when he said. “. We should at least resolve to follow a thought or a way given by some patriot.” such wise words felt my eyes as they dropped a tear of satisfaction.

The event of celebration that was been held in the capital every year, that was shown live to us, that we ignore every year, was actually a way to meet our real superheroes. The event salutes the efforts of our soldiers, give them a chance to rejoice and also show them the country they guard.

The flag hoisting give us a moment where all of us unite to pay respect to the nation who fought for our freedom, the flag that represented that freedom and the people who survived and even sacrificed for that freedom and the people who were trying at present to keep that freedom intact.

The small celebration like the one that was held in my office was just a way to keep the day alive, save the day to pass like just another holiday. And try to be a voice who said “We salute you” to the ones who worked even that very day for our safety. I got the purpose then.

The movie that had been telecasted was actually a salute to a sportsperson who had contributed shaping our country by his game and making the country proud in the international level. The channel contributed to the day by showing us the man who inspired us to be a better person and pursue our dreams.

The youth that was flaunting the freedom and was waving flags on their gypsy and bikes should have heard my friend. They could have got what this day was about and how they could have respect the day doing something better rather than wasting it that way.

 “By crushing individuals, they cannot kill ideas.” by Bhagat Singh, I read. I pledged to follow these lines and to never stop following my dreams and ideals even if it costs me to stand alone. I tried to make these words alive.

“Remember the freedom fighters and defence officers who have sacrificed their lives for the nation; that will be the best way to celebrate this day.”

I tightened the grip over my pheran when a cold gush of wind swayed through me. It was just like another cold winter morning. I was sitting on the curved edge of the lake, thinking about my father. And, I was trying not to.

I slid my leg down towards the water inch by inch. The water surface felt like glass, tight and shiny. Just when I put my whole foot on the icy floor, it cracked open and I lost balance. I frantically grabbed the branch of the tree hanging just beside me. My feet were in water and I couldn't move for a generous amount of time. I was not thinking straight. The sudden thought of drowning in this disturbingly cold water made me jump out of the lake at once.

I was back, sitting. This time, I couldn't feel my feet inside the shoes. I managed to stand after a very long time. Later, I started marching back home with my heavy bag.

---------------------------------------------------------- 

"Did you get the fish?" mother asked.

"No." I replied, pretending to look uninterested.

"What!! I told you!! We are expecting guests if you remember!!" she started shouting.

"Maaaa, calm down. The fish is in the bag." I smiled, warming my legs with the woollen scarf.

"Ohhh, Hahaha! My sweet Lado!" She vanished into the kitchen with the bag in no time.

My cousins were visiting us from Srinagar for the first time. Mother wanted to give them the best hospitality.

"What can I help you with?" I stood up wearing two socks together and went towards the kitchen.

"Chop these." She slid a plate full of veggies towards me. "Have you set the music player up?"

"Ma! What will we do of the music player? Play musical chair?" I was getting irritated.

"Zoon! You are 23 and you still argue like a kid. Be nice to them. Anjana likes you very much. She always asks me to tell you to talk to her.... and Aditya, he is a sweet boy too. Always listens to his elders....” and she was doing it again. Her anxiety was making her chatter. This happened every time when she had a lot of work to do.

We cooked and did the dishes. The temperature started lowering around 2.30 pm. Mother was getting worried because they were to reach before it was 2 pm.

"Maybe we should...." the door knock interrupted her."Finally they are here!"

She ran to open the door.

"Come come!! Soon! It is very cold outside! Get yourself covered. How are you both? How come you are late? Was the road not good? Did th...."

"Ma! Let them answer one-by-one!" I broke her speech.

Anjana and Aditya were covered with woollens. They seemed lost upon the bombardment of my mother's questionnaire.

---------------------------------------------------------- 

It was already late. We did not take time to gulp down the yummy dinner. Soon we were gathered to drink the mandatory kaada, covered in quilts. Ma was somewhere in the bedroom.

“Thank you, aunty! It is warming up the whole body!” said Aditya, loud enough to let Ma hear.

“Yes, it is. And we know aunty is a great cook. The fish was delicious.” Anjana said with the widest smile.

‘They are sweet’ I thought in my mind. “She likes to cook, and this fish is one of the special items.” I was trying to look sweet too.

“It is called the Hokh Gard, isn’t it?” a curious Anjana asked.

“Yes, Anju.” I said. Ma came with scarves for all of us.

“Wasn’t this fish curry Ratan uncle’s favourite too?” Anjana asked.

Aditya glanced up immediately. Ma was staring at Anju, but soon she turned away. And I pretended not to hear her.

“I will go and make the bed for all of us.” I said and walked away.

 ---------------------------------------------------------- 

Ratan Neka is my father. He was in the transport business, so he had to travel a lot. It was last year’s winter evening, Ma’s friend from the town came to inform her that my father had been attending and visiting another woman. The cold weather and stirring news was sucking all the senses out of her, but she opted to regain strength. She chose to ignore her, believing it was just a rumour.

The next morning, my father was home. Ma did not bother him with any query or even a single doubtful question. It was a cold evening and we finished dinner early. They both covered themselves for a long walk to the lake. It was a mandatory thing that Ma had enforced. I bid them goodbye and settled under the quilts with a nice book. They did this walk after every dinner, whenever we all were together. But this time, only Ma returned back home.

Some say my mother pushed my father into the freezing lake after knowing that he was an infidel. Some say she took her revenge. It was a chilly winter night of doom for us. Eventually, everyone disowned us. Just like Ma did the other day, I chose to ignore what everybody said or did. I never had the courage to ask her what happened that night. Since then, I have feared winters, the season that I once loved. Since then, the thought of drowning in the icy lake make me sick in my spine, as if I have felt it myself. Since then, whenever I pass the lake or sit around it, I try not to think about him, but I fail.

---------------------------------------------------------- 

“Let me light the Kangri again. Can you place the lamp near the outdoor tap?” I asked Ma while she was standing against the wall, lost in her thoughts.

“Ye-yeah.” she abruptly went towards the store room.

After lighting the pots, I went outdoor to check on Ma. I saw her struggling to light the lamp while she was wiping tears off her face. I stood there for a moment, feeling bad for her. There was nothing that I could do.

I ran and hugged her from the back. She couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“I did n-not do it. I did n-not kill your fa-father.” she said, breathing heavily.

I hugged her tighter.

“It was an ac-accident. Th-the soil was slippery...he sl-slipped... he went out of sight in no ti-time.... I stood there staring!! Coward I am....” she broke into huge cries.

“Let it go, Ma. Let it go.” 

I did not know how to handle such situations. I kept hugging her tightly. We both cried. This cry was held back since last winter. It was much needed- letting go.

Anjana and Aditya were listening. They came and hugged us from behind. Nobody was saying a word. We had a moment of unity. This moment of silence cleared everything.

Like every other year, I was short of ideas. I always wanted to make the most productive resolutions for the New Year. I am great at business ideas, I am good at inventing new recipes in the kitchen, but I don’t know what happens when it comes to resolutions.

I asked my friends about theirs. One of them said he would stop eating tobacco, one had promised to launch his start-up this year and the others do not believe in resolutions at all. I don’t eat tobacco or cigarette, I am the CEO of my company and I am a hardcore believer of resolutions. No hope here. I felt like drowning. A few days back, my wife said that we should make most of the first day of the year because the whole year follows it. I promised her that we would spend it the most memorable way, the most ‘perfect’ way.

I had to do something about the resolution thing!

‘Help me out. I am looking for resolution ideas!’ I updated my social media status.

My aunt asked me to shift to my hometown, my friends had other rubbish ideas, but I wished to murder the ones who told me to become ‘nicer’ or ‘kinder’ or to ‘love more’. Come on! I am nice enough and I am kind enough to the world. Is that even a valid resolution?

I realized there was no luck in asking anyone anything. Maybe I had to spend this year too without an aim. Little did I know that this first day of the year had different plans for me.

 I woke up to my ringing phone. It was 8 in the morning.

“Good morning, beta.” It was my mother.

“Mummy! Why did you wake me up early in the morning? Don’t you know it’s my holiday today? I would have slept till late. You just ruined my day!!” I was yelling, almost.

“Are beta, I am so sorry. I just wanted to wish you a happy new year.”

“Whatever. I will call you after breakfast.” I hung up not caring about her reply.

It soiled my mood. Neera was probably in the kitchen. She came running to the bedroom upon hearing me shout.

“What happened, Durjan? Who was it?” she asked.

“Mummy.” I was upset.

“It’s okay. Sleep some more.”

“No, I am done.” I stood up and went into the bathroom.

A little later, Neera and I were on the breakfast table.

“It was a moment of the past. I think you should bring her back home.” she said in a serious tone.

“What do you mean? I am doing it wrong? She is safe in an old age home, not in a jail!” I was yelling again.

“She does not deserve a jail. You know what happened that night.”

“Yes, I know. She was to take care of Appu. She had one job!!” the innocent face of Appu, my little daughter, came in front of my eyes. She got lost. Nobody knows where.

“But it was not mummy’s fault. She is an old lady, she had a habit of sleeping at 9. We were late. It was 12 when we returned.” Neera justified. We had never discussed this matter before.

 “So, what? Bringing her back home will bring our Appu back?”

“Is keeping her away making it any better?” she was firm, a picture of her that I don’t usually see.

“Yes it is. I cannot stand her. Not after all this.”

“Wasn’t she there from the day when you first stood on your feet till the day you actually stood on your feet? I know it was not easy for us. It was not easy for her too. Now, she is alone there.”

“There are other old people around. And, why are you supporting her? Have she started calling you, moulding you?” I was not sounding sensible and I knew.

“Not moulded, but she had shaped me. She taught me your favourite dishes. She taught me to take care of a baby. She wanted to make Appu stronger than you.”

“Rubbish. I don’t want to talk about it. Finish off your works soon, we will leave for lunch at 1.” I walked away. I knew what I was doing. I kept myself busy in office homework.

It was time. We drove to the Rajasthani restaurant for lunch. It is my favourite spot to go on holidays. I was thinking about the lovely food we were going to have. My mood had started getting better. I tried to forget the morning brawl and kept up the smile.

We entered the restaurant. Most of the tables were occupied because it was the new year day. I ran my eyes through the hall to find a good seat when I saw an old woman sitting alone on the corner most table. She looked pretty much like my mother, but a lot older. That’s when I remembered that I told mummy that I would call her after breakfast. I quickly killed the thought as I found an empty table near the centre.

But... “This way, Sir.” The manager guided us to that very corner table.

When we got closer, I realised that the old lady was no one else but mummy. She had aged so much in a short time- I thought in my head. Her face was full of wrinkles, a lot more than I last met her. The smile added to the curves of her skin. Yes, she was smiling but I was not. I glared at Neera.

“You did this?” I asked standing near the table. She was silent.

“Sit beta, you both look really good.” Mummy said. I gave way for Neera to sit in front of mummy, then I sat beside Neera. I was not looking at mummy. But my eyes were craving to look at her, her grown wrinkles and her white hair.

 “How are you, mummyji?” Neera asked.

“I am good, beta. We don’t have things to do there. So, I made this halwa for you both today.” She passed a box towards me. I took it and kept it on the table.

“I am yet to make a halwa as good as yours, mummyji.” Neera was trying to impress her or something. It was out of my understanding.

“But, your kheer is my favourite. Uh... was my favourite. S-sorry.” Mummy lowered her head when I glanced at her. “Durju, I feel so happy to see you both after so long. Have you started colouring your hair?”

“Yes. Now, please order the food Neera, I am hungry.” It was getting more awkward for me.

 We finished eating. I was silent the whole time. Only Neera and mummy exchanged a few thoughts. Instances of the past came running in front of me. Things that she said often, how she saved me from the tuitions, how I slept in her arms every night – came in my mind in flashes. I pacified with time. I would not say that I became comfortable, but her presence was okay for me now.

The waiter kept the bill on the table and left.

“Durju, isn’t this the shirt that your ex-boss gifted you? But you know what will look even better with this grey shirt? This blue cardigan that I knit for you.” She had bought another gift for me. Why?

I was staring at her.

“I worked extra long yesterday to complete it. I had to. I started learning to knit in March. It was my resolution for this year. And you know that breaking resolutions is not my thing.”

I was still staring at her. How could she? After all the negativity, after all the anger that I showed her, how could she work the year long for me? Every moment of Appu’s absence made me hate her more and more. My belief in destiny made me soothe my sorrow soon but the ego made me keep the grudge on my mother. I knew all this time, that it was not solely her fault. But I hated her.  

But she, she made me her resolution. Not thinking about how wrong it was on my part to give up on her and leave her on her own. Papa left her suddenly too, without an explanation. She did not complain. I left her too, she did not complain. I suddenly felt very guilty. My eyes were wet. I could see her eyes twinkling a little more too. I was her resolution. And maybe it was my time to return the gesture.

“You are coming home with us today.” I said. Neera grabbed my hand and we smiled.

This year, I unknowingly created two resolutions for myself. One- I would never let my past control my present. Two- My mother is my root, my nourishment. I will never leave her side, I will be her nourishment from now on.

Maybe it was destiny, maybe it was karma. But, the first day of this year went just how my wife and I wanted it to be- PERFECT.   

Oh the weather outside is frightful
But the fire is so delightful
And since we've no place to go
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

It was very late at night when I finished my freelance assignment. I finally shut my desktop down and switched off the charger. When I attempted to stand, the lack of sensation in my legs made me remember that I was not an average person anymore. The sudden jerk channelled a sharp pain through my spine. I sat down in disappointment. Paraplegia destroyed my simple but happy life. And now, I was nothing more than a piece of load for my wife and daughter. I was not used to this immobility yet. It was only 28 days after I got discharged from the hospital. Day by day, only the physical pain was fading, not the mental.

“It’s Christmas, papa!” said my little one the next morning. After the accident, there was not a single day when she came running and hugged me from behind. Not a single day when I snatched the TV remote from her and we ran around in the house. Not a single day that we spend the night eating and sleeping in the living room itself. She could not. I could not.

“Papa!!” her yell brought me back into reality.

“Yes, beta. Merry Christmas to my Taani.” I said when she came and kissed me on my forehead. I felt like a kid, and she my guardian.

“Merry Christmas! Get up now, I have made your arrangements in the bathroom.” she instructed. She could have asked me for presents but she did not. She could have done her make-up while singing in front of the mirror but she did not. She could have spent her Christmas morning with her friends but she did not. I knew I was the reason.

It doesn't show signs of stopping
And I've bought some corn for popping
The lights are turned way down low
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

Daily activities which took no time were now hefty jobs for me. Sometimes, the urge to stand and walk and run made me cringe to frustration. Everybody said that I was not good with patience. I should have learnt to keep some when I was not abnormal. Now, it felt impossible. I tried my best to look composed every time.

As I came out of the bathroom on the wheelchair, my wife Ranjee was standing with a wrapped box and a face full of grin.

“Merry Christmas, Jay.” she said, handing me the box. She had bought me a present. But, why? Wasn’t I who was supposed to buy my family presents?

“You bought me a gift! This was not needed, biwi.” I said to her.

“A gift is not a need, a gift is a gift!” she proudly declared with a wide smile.

It was a red t-shirt. “Red is the colour of Christmas and red is the colour of love.” she was almost jumping. “I love you!” she said quickly and ran away.

How sweet it was of her. And I couldn’t even thank her. She has always been loving and innocent. Can she handle every one of us in the long run? What should I do to help her when I am the one in need?

I needed assistance in everything that I did and Ranjee & Taani were totally affected by it. I had to quit my day job and find a work-from-home job. This directly put pressure on Ranjee financially. Taani spent her time at home helping me in petite works. The guilt was eating me bit by bit.

When we finally kiss good night
How I'll hate going out in the storm!
But if you'll really hold me tight
All the way home I'll be warm

Ranjee and Taani were busy in the kitchen. I was staring at the TV screen mindlessly. The sudden sound of falling utensils made me realise that I was watching cartoon. I tried to grab the remote but it was kept out of the reach of my hand. I tried to lean, I tried to stand, but could not. I wheeled my chair inside to work a little and to keep myself busy. The charger got stuck in the chair wheel and came out of the plug. I knew I could not plug it in myself.  

I was getting irritated with my state. I wanted to end it. I made up my mind instantly. I knew that the best way to end everything was to end me. I just needed an opportunity and a chest full of guts.

‘Never miss an opportunity’ my father used to say. I wheeled my chair slowly towards the cupboard. I opened it all by myself and started looking for the packet of blades that I bought last month. My hands were not shivering, I was not nervous. I knew that it was for the best. I searched, I frantically searched.

“Jay!” Ranjee’s abrupt call frightened me.

 “Yes!”

“By the time I set up our dinner, could you help Taani in maths?” Ranjee asked.

I regained the lost consciousness in a go. “Yes, why not?” I was good at it. We sat and worked. And finished her homework soon in the afternoon itself.

“Thanks, papa. What would I do without you?” said Taani and went into her room.

This unattended question made me think way beyond what I was considering. What would they do without me? My mind flashed scenes with worn out faces of both Ranjee and Taani crying in front of my picture frame. I pushed those flashes aside. Something changed in me. Maybe, the storm was subsiding. Maybe, I crossed the storm successfully. Maybe, I won.

The fire is slowly dying
And, my dear, we’re still goodbying
But as long as you love me so
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

It was a holiday and we spent the day lazing around, watching TV and eating junk together. We watched ‘The Valentine’s Day’ movie on the Christmas Day. I wore the gifted red t-shirt in the evening. We were together. We smiled, we laughed. It was just like any holiday. My inability did not matter anymore. A gush of positivity ran through me right when the church bell rang. I smiled.

“Take me to the carols tonight.” I told Ranjee.

“Sure, we all are going.” she was smiling with me.

“Yaayyy, finally papa has got a wish!” Taani was highly cheerful that night.

We reached the church gate. I wheeled myself inside and we all sat to pray. The moments of silence and the festive day taught me some great life lessons. Difficult times are to be fought with full spirit and faith. Family is not about perfections; but about accepting the imperfections and still be happy. Family is the ultimate strength, the anchor to life as long as we are here. And not to forget, Christmas can set anything and everything right.

'Let It Snow' is a song written by lyricist Sammy Cahn which is widely played during Christmas as a carol. 

4 a.m. Dawn. The time I wake up every day. It was a usual morning, until I heard arms fire and bombs. I waited for a while to understand the state of the valley; it dint take me any longer to sense war with the sound of heavy guns, four consecutive bomb blasts which trapped one of our posts at mountaintop.

Standing in my lobby that morning, I saw a changed picture of my valley. A layer of smoke had added a new flavour. The best I could do was to wait, but my mind was flickering as our village could have been captured too. Just then, I remembered the previous morning, and realised how different was it.

A day before, after fajr ki namaz I took a walk around the valley; from the bank of the river that comes from east, to the beautiful mountains covered with crops and herbs, to the dense wood forests, to the valley covered with green lands, to my home. Mornings are my favourite, as they take me to the beauty of the nature and into the lap of my family. Breakfast is the only meal when all of us are together, on one table.

The table occupying 10, was full of dishes; kulche with cholay which is favourite to all of us, tea, fresh fruits and firni. My wife cooks the best red rice firni. It’s her own recipe that we all cherish. Red rice has high market value but as we crop it ourselves, it’s as common as daily meal for us.

The best warm breakfast and a light conversation with my family was my source of energy for the whole day. Being a 65 year old, I never felt really old when I see my two sons their wives & 3 grandchildren and of course, my lovely life. After the meal, I headed for our rice fields in the mountain with my elder son. Near the evening, we were back in the valley.

Before going home we visited the weekly market near sarhad. I sat there chatting with some mates till late. The market is the most colourful treat of the valley. With shops selling fresh vegetable and herbs completely organic, with mates sitting over hookah near tea stall, with soldiers visiting us on duty, with young girls husking rice in one corner, with stalls offering hot kulche and much more; it appeared to be the most happening, yet organised fair.  After dinner, I slept early that night as usual.

When I recall my days, my life and my family; I see a satisfying picture before my eyes. But when I see my work, my valley and my people; I feel I could have done much better with my life. At a young age, I was interested in my state’s tourism and had even worked as a tourist volunteer. I had great love for the beauty of my valley and wished the other countries to experience and praise this beauty too.

So many times that I tried to actualise my idea of welcoming foreign tourists, at least from east in the valley with my fellows; I got failed every time. With time, I accepted the situation for our region, being a state of war, was never ready to take people from the other side. And this is the only thing that I knew I would regret when I die.

I stood there in my lobby for long, hearing those undesirable sounds of guns and blast and thinking about my whole life as the fear of death followed. I heard my wife calling me from behind. She asked me to get inside as we could be targeted. Although they dint come near our headquarters but armed people could never be trusted during a war.

I walked inside fast as the heavy arms gun were heard. I followed my wife as she walked back to our living room from the lobby crossing the drawing room, to reach the basement.

 This house was built by my abbu when I was fifteen. A perfect three-storied home, crafted with the finest wood of our forest. There lived the six of us- abbu, ammi, chaccha, chacchi, me and Riaz, chaccha’s son. I built the third storey later when my grandchildren were born. The basement was built when the wars became frequent near our valley. It was built my abbu when I was in my late twenties; it helped us survive during war. Nearly all the pakka houses constructed these thick walled basements during that time.

We were all sitting in the basement for hours as the firing and blast continued near the sarhad. The sounds became louder. We tried to assume what made them come this near to us, crossing several kilometres of sarhad. Thirty years had passed since they came this far last time. It had been thirty years that our family had loosened a bond. 

My wife was continuously praying for goodwill, bahus were pampering my grandsons as they were frightened by the sounds, my sons were talking about the possibilities that could occur next when I went to flashbacks of what had happened thirty years past.

Before these thirty years, we had a different relation with the east. Yes! Sarhad stood there even then, but people from the other side were allowed to visit this side, with security. They crossed to our side mainly to visit peer dargah, to visit markets and to meet there closed ones who were once their neighbours; not the neighbouring country but neighbouring house. Even with the line that was dividing us, we shared reunion often this way. These visits from east had inspired my idea of foreign tourism coming to our side.

This was the time chaccha had taken a leap to the east when he got a job in a pharmaceutical industry. Abbu never opposed his decision to move to the other side as chaccha was passionate about his career and this often visits from east gave us chances to reunite. But one war changed our fate for once and for all. One war and we were forbidden to see our family. One war took away Abbu’s peace as he died in regrets of not meeting his brother and the same war killed my hope to be brothers, with the other side.

10 a.m. Morning. Our life resumed as the sounds stopped and they returned to their side. Later, on the news, we heard that they were soldiers from east who were taking the call on militants of our side. The next few days went in fear of wars, hatred, blames on both ends.

But for me, it was a hope. I was hoping for a positive change after this war. From that day till date, my prayers recited the same:

Bless us with love. May this war end the hatred between the two pieces of land, may this war break the silence between both sides, and may they rejoice the bond they shared once when they were following your path. I apologise for being selfish my Lord, as I am hoping this war would erase the line of control and let me meet my childhood friend, my brother on the other side: Riaz.

Youth. That day, when my senses woke up into a new morning, I saw a gloomy picture of myself in the mirror. My eyes had swelled from crying the whole night. I had a real bad sleep, flipping here and there, thinking and rethinking the same thought; thinking of the possibilities that could occur if I too did something valuable for my town like he did.

I kept the unwelcomed thoughts aside and quickly dressed up, as I heard continuous hymns of people. I stepped out of my home and encountered a crowd, a real crowd. The road was full of people walking with mourns and tears, with the same anger that I was feeling right then. I joined them and headed towards the square to salute his efforts, to raise a voice against his killing and mainly to take a step that had kept my mind shrinking from the time he was gone.

Security officer. All these years, serving in the town as a government servant, I had faced a lot of protests, strikes and what not. But no difficulty can ever be comparable to the one of that morning; because fighting an armed enemy is way easier than controlling an armless mob. From the previous night, we were prepared that the next morning would be challenging for us.

As soon as I woke up, I prayed to God for strength to fight the situation that was to come next. I wore my uniform and stepped out for my workplace early. We were all ready with our arm guns, rifles and armour to control all the anger of the town. A day before, looking at the mob, a thought hit me badly. A directionless youth of this country, a militant who was killed in encounter, was receiving mourns of two lakh people, was rewarded with gun salute and was becoming history in the name of bravery for a huge number of people; things I was never going to get even after serving the town... all these years.

Militant. From the last three years, the time I pledged to fight for our people and our rights; I had an inspiration from an unconventional courage and a brilliant mind. Being our leader in such a young age, he had commanded and delivered actions that can never be thought without him. He had generated a flame in our hearts and minds that was burning high inside us from that day when we were biding him to God and would be burning for the rest of our lives to serve our purpose of living.

That morning was a sleepless, yet awakening one for most of the younger ones of our town. While we tribute our leader for his sacrifice, I saw people and more people all over my sight praying for our hero. I was sad that he left us that soon. It wasn’t his time to go. I promised him there at his coffin not to rescue his murders. At the same time, I was relieved to find people showing anger for the same. He had served his purpose then and there.

Civilain. Surviving in this town had always been tough. But that day captured all of us to a frame where many of us didn’t belong. I was born and brought up here with curfews, protests, attacks, strikes, shutdowns and killings. Everything till that day had maintained a distance from me. But that day, when I saw people coming out on roads, when I saw a fellow civilian setting a vehicle on fire, I knew that it was going to trap all of us.

My exams were rescheduled; I couldn’t move out of my house due to the protest. At the same time, I couldn’t sit at home and watch the show. It was my town, my neighbourhood and my freedom that was on stake, from the time I was born till date. I had to at least participate with the ones who were fighting.

Media. For the last few days, I felt the way dead people must be feeling; like how it would feel to release your body and be invisible. I was there, I knew everything, I had the rights to say, I could speak up, but there was no one to listen. That day, when he had been killed, I reached the spot with my team to cover the whole incident. I couldn’t see the killing, but I witnessed everything afterwards. From more than two lakh people mourning for a late twenty two years old militant, to the never ending protest between the armless civilian and the armed security.

By the time he was killed, mobile internet, telephone services, newspapers, media was pulled off air. More than twenty five days of our work was hampered. The curfew implemented in the entire district, got removed and was imposed again. The civilians protested against the killing by stone pelting, strikes and setting buildings & vehicles on fire. The police and armed forces defended by the pellet guns, teargases and rifles. The government bodies asked civilians to keep calm. With the death poll rising from two to eighty five and thousands of civilians getting injured every day, I stood there, in a total blackout.

Youth. The path of sacrifice had never been easy and I guessed that to be the reason of all my second thoughts. But days went by and the gloomed picture got stinks of hatred. Public safety act- they called it. Public, we, our town, had been victims of the inhumanity. One from the public was that aged man in my neighbourhood who lost his eyes due to buckshot. One from the public was that five year old girl who got wounded from pellet shot. And one from the public was him, who lost his life fighting for this public.

Public safety act- they called it. Then who was safe in that entire chaos? And what we even meant for them? Nothing. Not the public but the district that they were protecting or authorising, not the public but the beauty of our state was their interest, and with this, all my second thoughts were gone. I pledged to serve- the way he did. At last, I did clear the picture.

Security officer. But then I thought. It wasn’t my job to sit and think about public reactions, about the media allegations or the political accusations. My job was to kill any type of nuisance in the town. I was pretty much doing that on my part or at least was trying to do to the fullest without caring about my whole life, my family and my home.

I waved the emotions and remembered the pledge of my service. I pulled my gun on, took my armour and started controlling the mob. The nation needed an action. The town needed a reaction. So, all I did was to keep going. My work had to go on.

Militant. All I had to do was to keep his work going and punish the enemies. My courage boosted when our youth valued his sacrifice and joined us in huge number. We, together, had fought against the armed forces and we still were fighting. They would be defeated and would move out of our state to the place they belong, to their country.

Our God was blessing us with exposing other brains towards our thoughts. Our commander had now created a revolution- sacrificing his life in the path of freedom. And our people were protesting with us against the outsiders for our rights. There was no one to stop us now. We all united to serve our purpose. I could now sense freedom coming in the air of the town.

Civilain. I finally decided what to do and joined the mob. But! There, I stuck. I stood there paused. What I could see around me was war. I stood out to speak but no one was actually saying or listening. We were shouting. And when one of us set a police station on fire, the officers in uniforms were right after us. I ran. I ran fast for my life. All these years that had passed in militarization- I knew one thing that, the officers- they would never listen.

I ran long till I reached the bank of the river. I stopped, turned back to see the uniforms. I swallowed my own breathe and jumped into the river. I stayed there for long waiting for the security forces to clear by. After a while, I dared to swim upwards to the bank. I found no one. There was no one in uniform. I sighed in relief, and as I was walking towards the town, I noticed my reflection in river. But wait! It was not moving with me. It was floating. Yes! My body, it seemed dead.

Media. When I looked for conclusion, my pen dropped no ink. It’s hard to find who was wrong and where. Breaking the law and being a rebel to your country was wrong but inhumanity could never be an answer for that. There would always be a source that set fire; it would be as tiny as a matchstick or as big as bomb blast.

Why we needed to punish the civilian to safeguard them and why civilians had to fight security to end an ongoing war? Who gave us the right to act inhuman to regulate the law and order and why? Who decided our purpose of living? And who was the first, who thought violence would be a way to put things right?