In the family of a debt-laden father and a bed-ridden mother, I am the elder sister to a 16 year old brother. Life has never been compassionate to my parents. Business never worked out, health never supported and finances were never sorted. Luckily, I qualified the entrance test and got myself an undergrad seat in one of the government college away from my hometown. Though the fee was way less than that of the private colleges, my parents used to struggle paying up on time. However, my mother made sure I completed my graduation, taking financial aid from her brothers. At the outset, I finished my studies with a fair result.

Post graduation, mother’s health started deteriorating further and we did not have sufficient money to give her care from a private hospitality. I was offered a job at a distant city, which I refused, only so I could give utmost attention to her. There was a list of expenses and liabilities laid in front of us, but no assets, no income to cope up with it. Father’s retail shop was of no good.

We were in a fix... Until one day, I saw our President, Dr. Kalam, delivering a speech to the students of a university. The moment he said ‘thank you’ and got off the stage, I knew who to seek for at this moment of disgust. I started following him.

The challenge, my young friends, is that you have to fight the hardest battle, and never stop fighting until you arrive at your destined place. What will be the tools with which you will fight this battle? They are: have a great aim in life, continuously acquire the knowledge, work hard and persevere to realize the great achievement.

My aim was pretty clear, but I started wondering how to channelize hard work and perseverance. Being the potentially stronger in the family, I was expecting my father to figure out everything. I fought with him for his negligence, cursed him for not working enough and almost murdered the respect that I had for him. But it wasn’t bringing out a change. Rather, it was worsening the situation.  

When it comes to us actually making a positive contribution to the system we lock ourselves into a safe cocoon and look into the distance at countries far away and wait for a Mr. Clean to come along & work miracles for us with a majestic sweep of his hand.

It struck me hard. What was I doing? I felt silly for pressuring and cursing my father. I finally stood up to be the magician myself. Mother’s medical urgency was prompting me again and again; and I knew I could not wait any longer. I started stressing on the different things that I should do to bring in some help. I asked my peers, teachers and relatives but no one showed enough concern. I applied to a number of jobs in my hometown but there were no vacancies. I personally visited them too, but the hiring season had gone past. My mother asked her brothers for help again, but they refused this time as the previous dues were not cleared.

We were slowly losing hope. In the process, my mother started undergoing mental traumas. I was running into a distressed state where everything was turning black. I could not see any rays of hope, recovery or sanity. I found myself staring at the ceiling with a blank mind. Doubts started creeping in; will we be able to make it?

We are as young as our faith and as old as our doubts. We are also as young as our self-confidence and as old as our fears. We are as young as our hopes and as old as our despairs.

I got up. I needed more of it, I needed inspiration... before it was too late.

Creativity is seeing the same thing as everybody else, but thinking of something different.

All I could see was an end. What was beyond the end? A door? But where was it? I was sitting with my mother while we were going through old photographs. The smiles that we were adorning in the pictures made the moment nostalgic and saddening at the same time. There were pictures of birthdays, anniversaries and other insignificant, but memorable milestones. We came across a picture in which I was holding a big smile, a trophy bigger than my face and a certificate. Mother and I simultaneously remembered that I was awarded the ‘Artist of the year’ at school. She remembered how I used to draw on all the walls of my grandparents’ home, how I repurposed wedding cards into birthday cards, how I made gift boxes out of cardboards of used products....

 Just then, my mind started churning. She was in a happy state of recollecting the long-gone happy days but I was suddenly not paying attention anymore.

That was my moment of creative being.

I realised, I was not putting my talent to work. Graduation business took away my zeal of making paintings and creating new things out of nothing. I started missing all of it. But keeping everything apart, I knew what to do now. I knew now, that there is a door beyond the end- I had to paint it myself!

Excellence happens not by accident. It is a process. You have to work hard to achieve it.

I ordered stationary supplies and started off. I took as much time during the day and worked nights together. Some days, I got only a couple of hours of sleep in total. My mother started worrying but she knew I wouldn’t stop.

 I worked hard with perseverance. Finally, I came out with a series of paintings, collectibles and gift items. It took time, a long time; but it was worth it. I approached a few galleries and they agreed to buy them at a handsome price. My creations were sold out within less than a month and I was left with a pocket full of solutions.

Everything started to fall into place. My mother recovered, I arranged a small toy shop for my father and little brother acquired his degree too. Things were not super great but we were just okay.

 I owe my success, my mother’s life and family’s stability to the finesse, Kalam. His words were enough to kindle the light in me. In short, he saved me.

I would like to ask you, what would you like to be remembered for? You have to evolve yourself and shape your life. Write your dreams down on a piece of paper. That page may be a very important page in the book of human history.

A dried fern, a set of utensils, a bed, an old blanket and a ceiling fan. That is all that could fit in his small room, which he was about to leave forever. He had tears in his eyes. He was always confused about why only his room always looked very crowded and others didn’t. His was room no. 11... of the Criminal Cell. 

He was about to be 'discharged’ from his exile. His mother was sitting in the front row of the waiting hall. She was holding a steel box wrapped in her old saree.  She looked tired and rusted. The wrinkles on her cheeks deepened as she smiled to her son, coming from a distance. He did not smile back. He came closer and stared into his mother's eyes.

 'You cried last night.' said he, wiping his tears.

'Saanj baba, englis pura seekh gaya!'  She almost fell in his arms, not able to stop herself from crying out loud. They hugged after a long time... a long 3 years.

'Chal ghar chal, Rani aaj ischool nahi gayi hai tere liye.' She said, waiting for his answer.

'She will loose studies of one day.' He replied, again in english.

'Englis seekh rahi hai wo bhi.' A satisfied mother said as they stepped onto a rickshaw.

'Saanj bhai, kaisa hai re? Pehchana mujhe?' asked the rickshaw wala with a big smile.

'Anup. How are you?' said Saanj, remembering him this time.

'Very fine, very fine.' His smile curved even more.

They got down in front of a little snack shack. A short girl, with a book in one hand, waved to them from inside and came running to the rickshaw. She was about to hug his brother, Saanj, but hesistated. She asked instead, 'Bhai, kaisa hai tu? Patla ho gaya hai. Aman bhaiya sab kaise hain?'

He looked puzzled. He stared into nowhere for a moment and suddenly jerked his head and screamed, 'AAJU, AAAAAHH! Aaju ko bulao!!' He screamed with pain as he held his forehead with both hands! Anup and his mother held him tightly.

Rani started crying in despair. 'Aaju mar gayi hai, bhai!! Bhool ja usko!!'

Anup and maa kept holding him. Saanj’s screams slowed minutes later. He sat down teary eyed. Saanj's mother asked Anup to invite Karim chacha.

After a while, Saanj was lying on the bench behind the shack while Rani helped their mother in preparing lunch.

They prepared rice and baigan bhaaja, Saanj's favourite. Rani went behind the shack to call her brother, but he wasn't there. She screamed to her mother, 'M-Maa, bhai kahin chala gaya hai!' She instantly ran towards the two ends of the street and returned. There was no sign of him. She felt guilty of herself about not being careful. Rani then ran up to Anup bhaiya's place to inform him about Saanj’s absence. Anup, without second thought, went on a search and suggested Rani to go back to the shack.

After about an hour or so, Anup returned with Saanj in the rickshaw. Saanj got down and straightaway went inside the shack and started eating the rice and bhaaja kept on the table.

'Wo bus stand me baitha tha. Muje pehchanne se bhi inkaar kar raha tha.' said Anup in a low tone. 'Karim chacha?' asked Rani. 'Aayenge raat tak... clinic band karke.' said he, dissapointed.

Rani went to Saanj and asked, 'Bhai, chess khelega?'

Saanj replied, ' No.. I will win you.'

Rani laughed, 'Haha! Bhai galat bolta hai. I will win over you bol.'

Saanj tried to smile. 'Dukaan... Open when close when?'

Raani said, 'nine ko open, nine ko close.'

'You are in five class?' Asked Saanj.

'Six' she corrected.

She corrected him with the same answer fourth time that year.

'Are ek chai milegi?' They heard from a distance. It was Karim chacha.

'Karim chacha! Aao baitho. Laati hu chai, in two minutes!' Raani ran towards the kettle.

'Saanj beta, welcome back home.' Chacha said.

Saanj starting feeling uncomfortable again. He jerked his head again, this time vigorously.

He screamed, 'AAJU KO NAHI MARA MAINE! AAJU ZINDA HAI. AAJU KO BULAO!'

He was shivering and shouting. Chacha held his hand tightly and gave him an injection. Saanj slowly went in a trance, unconscious state. Rani and his mother watched from a distance.

The time Saanj was up, Karim chacha was sitting beside him, writing something in his diary. There was nobody else around.

'Aman taught you English?' Asked chacha.

'Yes. Aman thinks i am good.'

'Aaju. She is dead. Do you accept?' Chacha asked.

Saanj was quite.

'Do you accept?' he asked again, trying to push his feelings.

'Your question hurt me.' Saanj said, closing his eyes.

'It is good that you are feeling it, you have to feel Saanj. Let it out. You will feel good.'

'Chacha, I know I need medicine.'

'I will help you with it. Hindi me baat karen?'

'Haan.' Saanj said.

A few days later, Anup and Saanj went to their junior school to meet their teachers. Saanj was an obidient and curious child back then. He always wanted to learn speaking english. But due to their low financial status and problems with father, he could not complete his schooling. He wished to see his mother and sister happy... always.

'Did they keep you in very bad condition?' asked Mishra sir.

'No sir. I learned to live there.' Saanj replied.

'We are sorry to say that you, being accounted as a murderer, we cannot file your name on our Alumni list.'

'It is fine sir.' his eyes were looking downwards.

'Are you comfortable now? Do you feel OK?'

'Yes. I need little time.'

'Ofcourse, you will have it. I am sorry about Aaju. She was one of my favorite students, just like you.'

'She was my favorite too sir.'

'Do you feel, ummm... Aaju changed you?' asked sir in a horse tone.

'No. Something else did.'

'What is it? ' sir asked with raised eyebrows.

'Alzheimer did, Sir.' 

I was just half awake when a voice encroached my peaceful morning. It was my mother’s, it took me a minute to figure it out.

Next! I grabbed my half fallen blanket, covered my face and tried to sleep. But, the noises did not let me. This time, they were more than one. I stepped down the bed finally, and crossed that distance till living room which seemed to be a mile away. We had some guests and maa was talking to them, or I can say screaming with them. I rubbed my eyes to clear the picture and there I saw; maa, masi, masa and two others. I greeted them, all of them, but they kind of ignored me amid their serious discussion. That day I realised that you might be the best son or you are home for just 3 days or you were a scholar all your life, you will just be ignored if there is a serious conversation going on. And when I say serious, it is not about the cold war between India and China or about the monsoon in Delhi, it was about a neighbour’s wedding. I stood there thinking for a while and then went straight towards the washroom. The voices were so clear from there, thanks to our compact 2BHK apartment. I chose to hear them.

“You won’t believe Meenu, I told his mother straight that how she could agree for this marriage. She just walked away, couldn’t say a word.” Maa said to masi.

“I think there is something wrong with Anup. He is MBA, earns lakhs per month, is good looking, then why this girl? There must be something we don’t know.” masi replied.

 “Yes, she is not even rich.” said masa. This much was enough to tense me. I was suddenly breathing heavily. I had come home for a week for Anup’s wedding. He is not just a neighbour but my childhood friend. We were similar. Went to same school, graduated from same college, I went Bangalore to pursue career in IT while he post graduated with MBA. Last night I was busy celebrating with Anup and other friends. But this morning snatched my hangover. I knew what they were talking about, why they were talking so and why they did not like Anup’s wife. But I prayed not to hear those exact words. But they continued.

“She is an MBA too, they were batch mates…” said an unknown voice.

“But she is too dark, couldn’t you see. There must be other girls in his batch”, I heard maa.

“Yes, you know I couldn’t even get her face, she just camouflaged with the lights”, said masi.

For the next few minutes, all I could hear were laughs. I couldn’t take anymore. They kept on saying when I joined the room, this time without caring about being ignored.

“So you people are talking about Priya”, I sat beside maa. All the faces stared me for a while and then maa said, “Anup is your best friend, couldn’t you tell him to find a good girlfriend.” And the laughs continued. “And why do you people think she is not a good girl?”, I added.

“This generation is so blind about relationships, Raghu think about his kids they will be dark too.” Masi replied to me. “So what masi, even your children are dark, because masa is, does it make any difference to their personality?”, and I crossed the line for them. “Beta, I am a man, head of the family but a woman… needs to be pretty.” said masa.

“So it is not about kids, then what? About being a girl. So, Priya is MBA earns equally like Anup, she has mentally supported Anup when he was down after uncle’s death, and they make a good duo with their compatibility. They have taken responsibilities of both the family way before the marriage and haven’t failed yet. She is better in fact best choice for Anup for she loves him and he reciprocates”, I took a deep breath. “Love lasts for days, but there are other things too, how would he manage with her, I mean how he would love her?” said masa. “Are you talking about sex?” I replied, to which maa frowned but I did not stop, “Let it be a private topic for them.” “But what about family status, you don’t know how her mother is going to answer people.” said masi.

“Which people? Whom should she answer? People like you? Maa? People like us?”

 There was a silence. No! They did not get my words. It is just that… they faced the mirror and stood staring to what they are.

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.

“Maa, do you see the big jumping horse?” she almost plunged from her seat pointed out to the airplane window.

“Jumping horse? Where, Tiya?” the lady sitting on the aisle seat asked.

“There.... in the clouds, maa!” she was still pointing and looking incessantly at the clouds outside.

“Oh, yes. Now I see it.” Her mother confirmed and her shocked face went smiling.

I was on the window seat and she was sitting between me and her mother. I had been noticing her since the time we boarded the airplane. The adult looking fair girl, named Tiya (which I overheard), had a slightly twisted knee and behaviour of a 12 year old. Autism, a disorder widely found but improperly judged, had her. She was initially whispering to her mother while we got on the plane but later got very excited looking at the shining white clouds passing by. Her consciousness was fixed on the window and the views outside.

“Hi, do you want to exchange seats with me?” I asked with a smile.

Her almost-smiling face turned to a wide-eyed shock as she saw me looking at her. She turned away immediately, moving her eyes from one thing to the other timidly.

Her mother noticed and smiled at me.

“She is not used to talking to strangers, I am sorry." the lady said in the politest of manner. That is when I noticed that Tiya was holding her mother’s hand tightly throughout.

“Oh! No problem, aunty. You can ask her... if she wishes to sit by the window.” I said.

 They exchanged a few more whispers. I looked outside and around, trying to act natural. But just then, a sharp unexpected scream startled me.

“AAAAAA....." "Hahahaaha.” “Hehehheh..."AAEE...”
Two kids in the preceding row were playing a strange game where they punched each other one after another.  

“Stop it, you two!” their mother, sitting adjacent to them, shouted out loud. With no positive response, she turned back to the movie she was watching... plugging her earphones.

They did not stop. For which I had to put on in my earphones too and play some nice songs on my new phone. I checked on Tiya; she looked disturbed. She had her shaking hands covering the ears and an agitated facial expression. Her mother was comforting her without saying a word. She calmed a little after a while... That is the magic of mothers, I suppose.  

I had a Disney animated movie on my phone memory; which I played to pass the time. After a little while, I felt Tiya’s head coming closer to mine. I tried to look at her from the side of my eyes. She had her eyes stuck on my phone, probably curious about the animated movie which I was playing. I tilted the screen a little so that she could see clearly. This time she smiled back at me.

Soon afterwards, we started talking. I asked her simple random things and she replied to each of it with a smile. She even let me see her drawing copy in which she scribbled words, animals and stick human figures. She was no longer holding her mother’s hand.

I could see Tiya's mother gently looking at her daughter with love, on whatever she did or said. Tiya got scared when the airplane experienced slight turbulence and when the naughty kids shouted and kicked the seats repeatedly. But there was no disrespect or anger of any sort; not on Tiya or on her mother. I guess, her mother chose to be calm and subtle at every time... so that she could teach her daughter to be the same.

Being a sober mother, having Tiya, nourishing and cherishing her....all this and she was smiling. This made me question the unimportant things that I complain about every now and then.
That day, I did not expect I would sonder and understand the real meaning of it. I did not expect Tiya and a parent to Tiya, could teach me lessons for life. I learned to stay, and to stay kind. It became clear to me that is not about the heights that I would reach during my existence, but it is about the little milestones that I create for myself on the ground.

Sometimes, people whom we think need assistance, assist us in making our lives better by enlivening the little lamps of goodness inside. I thought it was Tiya’s curiosity that bought her to me, but in actuality, it was her generosity.

What is the mother? They asked me. And then found the desired answer without my consent and suddenly I became a cover story for that news channel.

Dekhiye iss mother’s day pe, ek bin maa baap ke bacche ki tadap.

You can find an eleven year old boy near the square begging every day. He starts when the signal turns red. Every vehicle that stops at the signal has somewhere witnessed his plea. Some of them ignore, some of them push him away, some give him a penny or two and some of them just pass by.

But! No one ever bothered to think about him, about his background that why is he begging?  Where are his parents? Are they alive or dead? If they are dead why the boy is not sent to any orphanage? Why begging? Is he alone or is there a racket? Is there someone who is forcing him to beg?

What is his story? What is the story of the boy who begs?

The boy refused to tell anything so we decided to cover him one full day. A team of cameraman followed him from morning to night and what we got at the end was shocking…

And they told what I do all day. I come to the signal in the morning, I beg with my friends. We get the money. Give it to Sahab, behind the hotel. We eat wadapav near the station and then we enter the railway station and beg. In the evening we handover the final amount to Sahab. Trice a day that we go to the signal for begging. Morning, afternoon and night when there is maximum rush. At night we often go to beach and beg.

We tried but couldn’t find the link that dragged him to this cruel business of begging. And he is not alone, there are many like him. We have seen these boys and even girls sobbing in the corner, they miss their parents, they say. The only words that the boy said were, “do you know where my mother is, I miss her”.

On this mother’s day, our team asks the nation to stop and see the miserable condition of these beggars and their urge to meet their parents… their mothers.

They lied in the TV show. I don’t miss my mother because I never had one. I have no clue of where was I born, how I grew up and who brought me to this signal. I am not allowed to say who make me beg. But this is the world I live in. All that I can do to survive is begging. But why is it a story for people. Why is it a matter of concern? I beg to live. May be I can do better things, go places and earn more, but how does it matters to the nation?

I have seen people, so many people. In cars, trains, bikes, buses. They travel; they are together, with family. They wear good clothes, eat biryanis, they have family. They must be rich, they enjoy life. But what if I don’t have these, still I breathe; still I earn and feed my stomach. Only thing that I regret is giving my earning to Sahab. He is selfish; he uses our money to feed his family. His wife wears jewelleries. His kids go to school, they don’t work like us. Oh! That is why family is important.

May be I could save myself from Sahab if I had a family. Then I could have all my earnings with me or I would not be working at all if had a family. I never thought this way. But what now? Can I get a mother now?  The TV show said people should adopt us. But why will they? But! If they do, if a mother can save me from Sahab , then I surely need a mother.

Dear Son, 

I stood gazing the bullet when entered the campus. Every time that I heard the bullet roar, a smile had conquered my face and that day even the bullet looked me back. My incentive heart popped out as the rider walked by my side & took her seat in the class. My eyes couldn’t stop staring her and that day even she didn’t take her eyes off me.

Love is to live, hate is to war

Love is to live, hate is to war

She pierced his eyes

And left him wounded like a cigar

Even the most pakau shayaris by my friend couldn’t lower our romance. I now knew she wasn’t an ordinary girl. How other stories in our village took place: Boy looked at girl and she blushed, boy stared girl and she complaint her friend, Boy followed girl to her home and she shied. But here! In our story: I looked at her and she asked me why, I sent letters to her and she started playing with me, her brother beat me and she warned him to not touch me. And that day, she stared me all the time in the class, not thinking about what others think, not caring about the professor and breaking all stereotypes that how a girl should be.

As it was not enough to stare me that she came all the way to my home driving her tractor. My stomach giggled as she asked me to meet near the fields, yeah! Indirectly but she did it. And my life changed, yes my 18 year old life changed as she proudly walked into it. 

Love is to live, hate is to war

Love is to live, hate is to war

She has now entered your den

She will set us far   

           

His worst shayaris continued as we came along. And I never realized what was the time that I had actually fall for her.


Parshya

                                                      ___

Dear Son, 

He was such a shy boy, and dumb too. It had been months that I knew he liked me. Thousands of time I hinted him that I too liked him. But! Blame his decency or innocence that I was ready for the leap and he was just walking behind me. Actually it wasn’t his fault, no one else could be as gutsy as me, and even my cousin brother couldn’t stand before me.

The time he gaped at me while I played kho-kho in the ground, the way he looked at me when we crossed ways in the campus. He feared me like others did but then there was a sense of owning when his eyes fell on me. May be I fall for that look. 

Initially it was all a fun game for me; I liked to tease him when he sent letters to me, I liked to bully him in my way. I wanted to meet him more, talk to him and spend my time like that.  

And that happened soon. I was not that person who could hold things for long or wait for the right time to appear. I chose my time and drove to his home.

That was the first day we directly met, talked and looked into each other. Those were the moments when I actually felt myself to be ordinary as I was not able to freeze time. 

If he was the field I wanted to wrap it on me, if he was the pond, I so wanted to jump into it and if he himself was the time I wished to travel the time.

Our days became a routine as we me every day. The fields in our village witnessed our love and our friends became our armor as they cleared the way for us to meet.       

Love is to live, hate is to war

Love is to live, hate is to war

You two are now together

Let us go to the bar

His friend started his weird rhyming. I wished I could teach him English.

 

Never in life did I imagine something like that could happen to us. I blinked my eyes and everything that I had was gone. There was a grand party going on Archi’s home. We were all dancing and having fun when I saw a people fighting and soon we too were dragged in. 

They beat us really bad. parshya, I and Pradeep were badly beaten by Archi's family. They had discovered Parshya nad Archi together. Our little heaven changed into hell.

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.

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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.

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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.

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“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.