Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus.

December 1, 2018. 

I stepped down from the train that brought me back to my past. Or should I say, to my unburied torment. I looked around and found everything built up again, right from the unstained blocks of a neatly recreated floor to an illuminated pole beside platform no.7. 

I thought to myself, "It feels like a resurrected place, soared from the ashes." I saw the people who were incessantly rushing towards platforms, chasing their merciless survival. I felt their hearts beating heavily and their brain freezing to one single thought, "I must get on the train or else its a pay cut that I cannot afford." 

And I suddenly realised that these people, all of them, have moved on. Or may be, they haven't but cannot wait to do so. They have locked that day, that particular moment of their life which had completely wrecked and crushed everything around them, which had shaked their soul to the core. "But then, isn't it the right thing? For how long will they be scared and hold on to something, even if it was so horrific? Do they really have the time to stop and think that it was the same place where gunshots were echoed, not in the air but in innocent people's chest? Can they really keep wailing on the fact that with no fault of their own, their people were killed? Can they really keep running from the chaos? Can they stop coming to the same station, board the same train with the same creased clothes and ghar ka dabba in their office bags, because of an incident, no matter how terrible it was?" I was questioning myself, when a chaiwala beside me poked me and said, "Are dada, pehchaana mereko? Mai chotu chaiwala. Bohot time baad aaye ho? Chai loge? Vahi cutting wali?" 

And after a long moment of staring at him and a huge scar on his forehead I said, "Are chotu, kaisa hai tu? Bohot bada hogaya." 

And with this, I remembered that dreadful day. 

Office timing, trains ariving with their usual "Chug-chug", people gathering all their stamina to board them, some finding a place to sit, some playing instruments to pass their time, some looking around bewildered and this "chotu chaiwala" making his ritual of melodiously screaming to call people and give them his special chai with his special smile. 

I remembered sudden treacherous sound of gun shots coming out of nowhere. The same people hustling with fear, some hiding behind poles, some running towards different directions. Again gun shots. Some of them hitting people in their chest, legs, brain. There were screams, loud wails, police sirens, tears and chaos. A Huge chaos. I remembered people being carried to hospitals, emergency rooms. The same people who had woken up thinking that their day would be full of work but at its end, they will be able to meet their friends, their loved ones, their family. But could not. Ever. 

I remembered myself lying beside a pole on platform no. 7, with my body drowned in sweat and blood, my eyes filled with tears and an excruciating pain. It was unbearable. Both for my body and mind. I remembered severe treatments later, both physical and mental, therapies, medications and a period of ten years to recover. 

But I was brought back to awarness by chotu who patted on my back and said with his traditional smile, "Ye lo dada, aapki pasand wali chai." 

I turned towards him and stood still. Suddenly his smile vanished and his chai remained untouched. Because all he could see was two empty sleeves of my shirt hanging helplessly for not being able to hold the cup of chai. He smiled dryly while I said nothing. But I could see his eyes feeling sorry for me. 

At that moment I thought, "If chotu chaiwala and every single stranger around me can accept the reality, if they can all forgive themselves for being or for not being present on the station that day, if they can soak the pain of losing someone or some part of their life and come back again everyday with a braver heart, stronger smile and even bigger strength to hold on to their survival, then courage has a brighter face. Losing my hands that day had made me weak. But courage gave me the faith to live again. Just like it gives every single person around me, everyday. Courage does not lie in royal thrones or power of mighty kings to rule the world. It lies in a burnt shoe of a kid who has survived in a war. Because when it comes to survial, there is no option left beside having courage and stepping up.

Image Source: Pinterest 

Barf-ka-gola

 ..."I feel this marriage is failing." His words echoed like a shrill noise in my ears. 

I was standing with a melted "barf-ka-gola" in my hand, huge pile of questions in my mind and a drowned heart full of pain and fright while he walked away ragefully. At that moment, he felt like a stranger to me. A person I did not know or loved, ever. 

"Since when is our marriage, a failure? How come I never felt it? Why all of a sudden? Because of a demotion in job? Am I the reason? Because of all the fights? Did I not understand him? May be--

may be this is just his frustration. He has worked hard. And that's why he might be upset. He will be okay once he settles down." 

All of these doubtful yet defending thoughts just rushed inside me and my mind quickly found a consoling escape from reality. We all do, right?

I threw away my melted, half-eaten, compromised barf-ka-gola and went home. 

For the next few months after he had suddenly vanished, I found myself frequently crushing on the floor, screaming and wailing, again and again.I felt- destroyed. I felt- betrayed. I felt- numb. I don't remember for how long I had stopped thinking, speaking or feeling anything. 

But I do remember that there were lot of cries, shivers and nightmares. There were quiet mornings and dreadful nights. There were sombre evenings and again horrifying nights. There were self-doubts and questions. So many of them. "What if this never ends? What if he never comes back? What if he has found someone else? What if he is dead?" My life felt like a dark, unending disaster to me. There was agony and a miserable downfall, 

until that one evening- 

when I was walking home from work and stumbled upon a toy. I picked it up and gave it to the child who came running towards me, took it and went inside a stadium which appeared to be a 'Mela' (funfair). 

I don't know what came to my mind but I just headed towards it. I stepped inside to find people with cheerful eyes, smiling faces and joyous screams around me.There were vivid lights and luminous colours gazing at me through their happiness. And there in a corner, I saw a crowd laughing and celebrating their existence with a"barf ka gola". It was all red, green, yellow and orange piece of cold delight. It was surrounded by soft giggles, unsaid romances and a low-key fun. And here I was, watching all of it and thinking about the last time I had a" barf-ka-gola". I remembered it to be melted, half-eaten, crushed and soaked into pain. I remembered it to be something frightening and malignant."I feel this marriage is failing..." His words again echoed in my ears.

But this time, something gave me the strength to walk towards that "thela" and ask one for myself. Only for myself.

I soaked the juice, took a bite of the frigid red coloured ice and watched people around me, still hopping with immense bliss and merriment. And at that fine moment, something in me just changed. Something, that I felt deeply inside me after so so long. Something that was mere beautiful and satisfying. It was nothing grand. Nothing huge. Nothing Magical. Just the usual me, having a usual 'Barf-ka-gola'. It felt cold but it gave me "the sweetest relief." As if I could breathe after so long. As if the whole world has gathered to take me into its arms, to hold me tightly and to tell me that "the sky is yours now and its waiting for you!" 

I found myself in tears but with a wide smile on my face. I ate it, I screamed with extreme joy, I hugged a little child for no reason at all, I filled my eyes with all the dazzling colours and the magnificent lights, I danced with strangers, I rode the ferris and looked at the world from top, I waived the sky, I screamed again and again and again but freely! 

And in that moment, I was born again. But this time, I wanted to live. 

Life grants us two choices, I feel. 

One: A choice to live in an imaginary world where there is always an alibi or a lie that would make us feel good for the time being, 

where there is sacrifice of our respect and trust just to hide from reality and give us a temporary smile. 

And two: A choice where there is freedom, self-love, strength and yes, a painful reality. 

Where there is a heavy storm but with a rainbow afterwards. Where there is bare land but beautiful roses afterwards.

But our mind always makes the first choice. Because we feel that not accepting the reality now would eventually make things better. 

And life? Ha! It surely has better plans for us.

It grabs our hand, pulls us out of our Cinderella fairytale and tells us that we are larger than all of this. That we are made for a world where there are challenges and sufferings but here, only we are responsible for them and no one else. We are made for a world which is filled with self-love, victories and greatness of life. 

A world that belongs to us. Wholly, without any backseats. 

A world where miracles exist but we are their creators. A world where there are people who fill our souls with strength and our hearts with their magical love.

And life makes us realize all of this someday or the other. But what makes me wonder the most is that: it does not give us a grand ocassion to realise this. Sometimes just a small incident is enough to make us feel alive again, to make us feel that "sweetest relief", to make us feel lost in the harmony of love. Love that is created by us, only for ourselves. 

Afterall, its comes down to nothing but acceptance of reality.

Afterall, its comes down to nothing but that one "Barf-ka-gola".