The last kiss

That was the most painful kiss may be.

Sitting on the verge of their final separation, and as far as they could on the sofa in drawing room, Rajesh and Yamini were feeling pretty awkward after that kiss. He just wanted to say goodbye and move out of the house. But he had gotten up, bent down to reach her cheeks and had planted a gentle kiss. Then, he stayed there, just like that for a while. So did she. In those few seconds, they had travelled beyond the pain of their divorce and unending days and nights of differences and quarrels, to the days they were in love with each other and a kiss just meant a medium to convey that love. In these few seconds, they were hit by the fact that a kiss between them no more conveys the same meaning as it did in those years. Sometimes it doesn’t matter how we start. What remains with us, most of the times, is the way we end it. And these moments of finality of their relationship were going to haunt their lives for longer than they had imagined. In their quest of lost individuality, what they realized had lost was, the beauty of their togetherness. The same togetherness which was, once upon a time, beautified by their individuality.

Sitting silently on the opposite corners of the sofa, they wondered for the most appropriate action, or words, or whatever that could help them get out of the awkwardness of this moment. Finally, she broke the silence, “Do you remember our first kiss,” she paused and then with some hesitation pronounced his name, “… Rajesh.”

He wanted to say ‘yes’. But then he also didn’t wish to lie. Not now at least. But then saying ‘no’ wouldn’t have been very rude? He didn’t wish to insult her emotions. Not now at least. So he just smiled, looking down on his shoes. Then he continued the same smile towards her. They looked into each others’ eyes, or did they try to do so… tried so hard that it appeared as if they really did? Dilemma is not a good thing, not in such moments. He got up and said, “I think I should leave now,” and looked around the house. “Let me know if you need any help. I shall be in the city for some more days. Then I will be moving to…”

“Let it be Rajesh. I would not want to know.” Oh fuck! Why did I say that? It was so bloody rude. How does it matter if I know where will he be going? But I can’t ask him now. Can I? She wondered. He was already at his door by now, with his last batch of baggage.

“Well then. Wish you good luck,” he said.

“Yeah. You too.” She looked up, confidently and impatiently this time. Just before he was about to turn and open the door, she ran up to him, pulled her heels up to reach up to his face, and kissed him on his lips. Hard. Near passionate. And desperate. With certain ferocity, as if she wanted to recreate the magic of their first kiss. But then she realized it was of no use. She pulled her heels down and said, “Goo…” stopped for a second and then continued to finish, “bye, Rajesh.” They tried to respond to each other with a smile but couldn’t stretch their lips much. Probably they were sealed by that last kiss. He stepped out of house and shut the door softly. They never got to know, but both had stayed behind the closed door for a while. He - waiting for her, to open it again and check if he was still there. She - waiting for the bell to ring again so that she could open it without any delay. But neither happened.

The city of hills and the sea - III

After fifteen minutes of “oh, fuck!” wait, I finally halted a rickshaw which had its “For hire” up and jumped inside, “Chembur.”

“Arre… Chembur?”

Before he could say he would not want to go, I almost shouted, “Yes! And don’t say you too won’t go ‘coz your meter was up. And I am already late, thanks to many of your friends. I have to reach there in another 30 minutes so…” I just trailed off as he had pulled the rickshaw forward, half heartedly though. But it didn’t matter to me. I was fumed, first by the extreme heat Bombay is already facing in March (God! What’s gonna happen in May!!!) and then numerous refusals from Rickshaw-wallahs before this guy. So to cool myself a little, I just plugged in my earphones.

We had hardly gone a few meters ahead that we faced a traffic jam. The F-word reappeared in my mind but I just held it back before it could have got itself pronounced as I realized the driver was saying something. I pulled off the earphone from my right ear and asked, “What?”

He was saying something in Marathi, but my questioning in Hindi probably compelled him to translate it in Hindi, “Nothing Bhai. These traffic jams I say. See, in this afternoon also!!” He looked up at me from the rear view mirror.

“Yeah,” I said just to acknowledge the discussion but in a toneless manner to avoid any further chitchat. But it appeared as if he had forgotten my rash behavior exhibited few minutes back. So he continued, “I tell you bhai, half of these people don’t know how to drive. And more so if a Ladies is driving. “See. Why did she have to pull her car in the wrong direction?” he hinted to a lady driver to prove his point.

I nodded and realizing that now this was gonna go on forever till I reach Chembur, I plugged my phone in again but with reduced volume so that I could also hear what this fellow was yapping on. I didn’t want him to feel bad. After all he was the guy who saved me from the roadside frustration.

As soon as we reached Amar Mahal, he said, “Bhai, these people have dug up entire Mumbai. They will make something one year and will break and redo it the next year. It seems they are never satisfied with what they make… You see, they are now making a monorail here. God knows, from where to where will they connect…. I tell you bhai, Mumbai city has something about it…. Anyone who comes here never leaves… It’s not like bhai that they want to... but it’s like they just can’t… there’s something I tell you.”

By now I was all cool and didn’t mind his disconnected viewpoints. I asked him, “Where are you from?”

“Bhai, I am from here only.”

“Here means?”

“Sangali, bhai. In Maharshtra Only.”

“Yeah, I know.” I felt certain discomfort. Probably because I wasn’t expecting him to be from where he was.

“Where are you from, bhai?” My discomfort heightened a bit.

“Well I live here only, in Chembur.”

“No no. I mean where your village is?”

“Well I am from here only,” I looked away. I had lied. And probably he had guessed.

“No no, bhai I mean your parents, where are they from. ‘Coz you see, in Mumbai, everyone comes from somewhere at some point of time.”

“Well yeah, my parents… they are from U.P.”

He smiled in the rearview mirror. I am not sure what did he smiled at. Of an answer he was a little too sure ‘coz I didn’t speak Marathi to him? Of my being so stupid to try faking my place of origin? Of realizing that despite he was serving me, he had sensed a feeling of fear in me, and that gave a sense of pride to him? I don’t know. May be it was just a reasonless response. I don’t know. But I hated his smile in that moment. I looked away. And before he could initiate any further discussion, I took out my phone and dialed a random friend to have a very random discussion. I just ensured I did that in English, as most of the upper class Bombayites do, and it did continue till I reach my destination.

When I walked off the Rickshaw I felt weak and sad.

“Why? Why did I have to do it? Did I feel guilty of belonging to UP?

I tried answering my own questions in a reflection later. Where do I belong to? I don’t belong here, because I am not born here, even though I have kinda spoiled my Hindi, which is so Bombay-ized now that my parents sadly point it out when I talk to them. But I don’t even belong to my place of birth any more, because I don’t speak their language the same way as they do. I feel same alienation there, which at times I feel here, in such situations. Neither do I belong to any of the cities I have spent considerable time of my life throughout my education career. This un-belonged existence at times creates chaos within. And a mind smoked out with such chaos may force you toward deceit, big or small. But then I need to clear this chaos, ones and for all. I need to know… I need to know which place I belong to so that tomorrow I don’t feel awkward in such situations.

But then how do I define my place of belonging? On the merit of it being the place where my mom chose to give birth to me? Or my dad chose me to school at? Or the place I chose to study and work? All these places I have lived have contributed to my being, but do I belong to any of them? In this bedazzlement I realize, we don’t belong to places. Rather, they belong to us.

The concept of belonging would have been more appropriate in times when people spent their entire existence in just one place. Not any more. Today, we don’t travel around; we live around. The places we live around are defined by the way we live there; and not vice versa.

I cannot belong to here, or for that matter, anywhere in the world. The only thing that will belong to this place is my minuscule and unnoticeable contribution in characterizing this city, as what it will be known in days and years to come. I may not live here, tomorrow. But this city will live within me in the form of certain formations and reformations I have underwent in all these years I have spent here. And the only belongings with me from this city and all the cities I will have lived in will be… memories.

To read other posts from The City of Hills and the Sea, click below:

The city of hills and the sea VIII: The cities of Bombay and Pune

The city of hills and the sea VII: Sound of the city

The city of hills and the sea VI: Where the mind is without fear...

The city of hills and the sea V: Love Happens!

The city of hills and the sea IV: My Home, My Way
The city of hills and the sea II: 16 Jyotsna

The city of hills and the sea I: weaklings?

The city of hills and the sea: Introduction

Why Education?

How well do we understand a system that we have been part of, for a good part of our life? And if asked, what is the purpose of this system, how many of us would be able to confidently answer?

Unfortunately many of us would not be able to answer in affirmative. And no one is to blame. It’s the way we have been conditioned in those 15+years. A conditioning that has gone deep into our DNA and have become our thought process. And with such conditioning, if someone says that purpose of education is to become competitive or attain fame, one must not be shocked.

At the outset, let it be known that Education is not same as literacy. It is also not about schooling. Our current education system has been beautifully analogized by Sir Ken Robinson, educationist, in one of his speeches. He says, “We have to go from what is today an industrial model of education, which is based on linearity and conformity... We have to move to model which is based on the principles of agriculture. We have to recognize, that human flourishing is not a mechanical process... it is an organic process. You can not predict the outcome of human development... all you can do is, like a farmer, create the conditions on which they will flourish.”

Elaborating this thought further, we do not expect a tomato seed to become an onion plant; neither have we expected a sugarcane farm to provide us with rice. Rather we provide them with adequate conditions to grow and become what they are. Then why do we become so harsh with our own children that we ignore who they are and start expecting from them to become what we would want them to be? Ponder over.

Human beings are characterized by one or few basic talents, which we can call the core. Rest all is auxiliary. If we focus on the development of the core of a child, we automatically meet up with the auxiliaries, as they are nothing but just a by-product of the successful implementation of the core talent. And that’s what the real purpose of education is – to assist in identification and further develop the natural talent of a child, thus, leading to the enablement of his/her rational, logical and emotional quotient. Education should be such that it enables a child to be able to express his/her idea and apply his/her knowledge. Rest would all be a byproduct of this process; be it the profession a child would choose or the success that shall follow.

So if this makes sense, from where do we begin? Though the idea is cool, achieving it would be a gigantic task, especially when looked from outside the system. So first step would be to enter the system without a boxed mindset, ready to explore and innovate. As Sir Robinson rightly says, “It doesn’t need evolution. It needs revolution.”

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References:
http://sirkenrobinson.com,
http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/eng/sir_ken_robinson_bring_on_the_revolution.html

Corrections

Note: This story contains some adult (A) content. Please read further only if you are eligible. Thank you.
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She held his hands out just before he was about to move it inside her panties. She knew where he was leading to… she had known it from all the previous encounters, not with him but many men she had been with. And to all those men she did exactly the same. When they were ready… almost ready to get in, she would hold them on. Just there. And would run out of bed, at times apologizing and other times just lost; leaving all those men either amused or angry and bewildered. Tonight she did that again. She had just ran out of Rajesh’ bed and was dressing herself up when he asked, “What’s this? And why?”

“No reasons. I need to go home. Urgently…”

“But why? You said you will be staying here tonight!”

“Yes... I know I said that. But I also know that I need to go from here... right now.”

“But its 11:30 in night and it’s pretty late for you to leave... and I’m not letting you go anywhere. If you are scared...”

She cut him down, “I am not scared, for god’s sake! I just want to go home.”

“This is crazy! If you want me not to touch you, that fine. You can sleep in the other room. I won’t do anything… I really...”

“I am ready,” she just had buttoned her shirt, “you mind opening the door for me?”

“But it’s too late! It’s so damn late!!! You won’t get any transport!!”

“I can hear rickshaws outside… I guess that won’t be a problem,” she looked at him, “please.”

“But why? What happened? I don’t understand this.”

“You don’t have to understand anything, Rajesh. Just let me go, please.”

She ran out of his room, towards the main door. He came running after her, “please!! It’s pretty late. It’s not safe!”

“If you keep me engaged in further conversation, it’s gonna be further late,” she looked stone-faced at him, “open the door, please.”

“I am not letting you go anywhere, at this hour. You sleep in the other room. And you can go in the morning at whatever time you want.”

“That’s not happening Rajesh. I have to go now. I NEED to go now…,” she paused, “I WILL go now, Rajesh. Please open the door.”

“All right!” he gave up, went back to his room, put his pants on and got the keys. Down the stairs, he started his bike.

“You don’t have to drop me anywhere, Rajesh. I will get a rickshaw.”

He had already started the engine. “Sit on.”

She quietly sat on the back seat. When he moved the vehicle on she said, “I am sorry if it hurts you... In fact I know it does hurt you. And I am really sorry.” He didn’t respond. He drove her to her home. When she got off the bike, she only said, “Thank you. And sorry.” Before he could respond, she had already moved into her building.

When he reached home, he texted her, “tis’ crazy. If thr ws smthng wrong, u cd have told me. Bt tis is damn crazy!”

She clicked on the reply button, then waited for a moment to pass, and typed in, “Sry. U’r a sweet guy. Gn.”


“What is it?” she thought, “Why do I do it - with all those men lying next to me in their bed; naked and high on their testosterones… and most of them pretty sweet to me? What is it?”

***

Next morning Nalini was sitting a psychologist’s clinic. The nameplate read – Dr. Mitali Thakkar.

“I need answers. Answers to my own behavior. Because I don’t do it to them by choice. I mean though I do it by choice in that moment, I really don’t know if I want it that way in the entirety of the situation,” she paused and looked up at the doctor, “I am not sure if you are capable of providing me with it. But I want you to try. I want to try.”

“All right. Go on.”

Then she narrated some of her experiences, some in their exactness, some roughly because she would not remember them in precision.

“What do you think when you take that decision?”

“Decision of what?”

“Of running out of someone’s bed.”

“I don’t think of anything. It just happens.”

“Okay. Tell me something about your past.”
“What about my past?”

“Something… anything… like where have you lived… who all you had in your family… what were your relationships like…”

“I don’t find it relevant.”

“Leave it for me to decide, please?”

Nalini suddenly got up, “I don’t think it will help. How much and where am I suppose to pay?”

“You need help Nalini. And we can solve it together for you.”

“Where should I pay?”

Mitali looked up and sighed, “You may please meet the receptionist.”

“Thank you.”


In the train back home, Nalini tried to recall the child’s face from that night. But she couldn’t. She could only visualize the dark room and a girl, all of nine, sitting on her bed, sobbing badly but silently, in an effortful manner. She could just imagine how her face would have looked. Our memories contain mostly the actions we take in response to the situations we are thrown up in. Our own expressions are just felt and not seen as we don’t live in front of mirrors all the time.

When she reached home, she unlocked the door, went straight to her bed, covered her face in the pillow and wept. It was almost midnight when she woke up. While she was walking to the washroom, that night flashed up again.

She had just woken up in midnight to go to washroom. She had heard a moan from her sister’s room. She softly walked to her room and from the keyhole she saw her, caught under her brother-in-law, naked and in pain. When he forced himself inside her she exhaled loudly. To Nalini it appeared as a painful cry. She had run back to her room, petrified and indecisive. She had spent that night sitting stiffly in her room. Next morning she was told that Shalini had killed herself. But she knew it wasn’t a suicide but a murder.

***

Next day she was sitting in the Dr. Mitali’s clinic again.

“Are you scared Nalini?” asked Mitali once she was narrated with the account of Nalini’s childhood experience.

“Scared of what?”

“Of being fucked?”

“I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t kill, Nalini. It didn’t kill your sister for sure. If that’s what is bothering you, you need to know what exactly killed her. Find out what killed her. But don’t kill your existence with your assumptions… your assumed experience. We need corrections in our experiences, all the time, Nalini. Our past should never decide who we are going to be in future. It’s our present that should play this role. Correct it now.”

Sometimes we are so badly trapped in our past that we don’t realize it’s not our behavior but just a response to an event from the past that we are living with. Many times such a response or a series of responses gives an impression of our personality. However we actually don’t be that person. This leads to a dichotomous life. And to move out from this dichotomy, we need to go back to the same past... to break free from that moment … in order to live a life as our real personality would define and not the responses from the past.

While leaving from the clinic, Nalini remembered only one thing from the discussion, “Find out what killed her.”

It’s one thing to know what is right. And quite another to do the right thing, more so in its exactness. What if he actually killed her? What if he killed her and still lies to me? And what if he really didn’t kill her?

How does one suddenly negate something that was believed to be true for so many years? How does one forget and forgive so easily when all these years were filled with extreme hatred? If we realize it’s our mistake, at times, it’s still easy to forgive the second person, but not so easy to forgive ourselves for the grudge we hold falsely against that person. Sometimes we are not so much concerned about letting go our ego or shredding off our beliefs as we are about the way we would behave when done in presence of someone else. And it’s a huge decision to make when you have to choose between the past on which you base your existence and the future you wish to have for yourself. But at the end of the day we always realize that hatred for whatever reason is not as much a punishment for the offender as it is for the imposer.

***

When she rang the doorbell, a lady in her forties opened the door, “Does Mr. Sandeep Goel lives here?”

“Yes, he does. May I know who are you please?”

“I am Nalini. Nalini Mehrotra,” she hesitated in elaborating her introduction but then looking at the lady’s puzzled face, she said, “I am Shalini’s… Mr. Goel’s ex wife’s… sister.”

“Oh!” exclaimed the lady, “please come in.” She went inside the bedroom. After sometime, Sandeep came out. When they looked at each other, there wasn’t a sense of recognition. It was like they were meeting as strangers.

Post lunch Sandeep suggested to go for a walk. He asked Nalini to come along. Once on the road, she asked, “Why? And how?”

“I know you always believed that I killed her. But that’s not true,” he paused, “not entirely… and not technically, for sure.”

“What had happened that night?”

“Your sister was always very possessive about me... about everything. And this behavior of hers had started straining our relationship. But since I knew she was madly in love with me and so was I with her, we would always make up. However our fights kept on increasing. And to avoid them I started spending more time in office where I met Nisha. She would listen to my problems and slowly we grew into friends. That night when we were making love my phone beeped for a message. I ignored. But Shalini couldn’t. This I learnt later when Nisha informed me the next day that she had received a message from my cell saying, ‘Bitch. So that’s you. You wanna have him? Have him forever.’ The next morning we found Shalini dead in the bathroom. She didn’t give me even a chance to explain. I was…”

Nalini was lost. She didn’t care to listen beyond this. For her the story was over. She got up and started walking. Sandeep walked fast to catch up with her. Once close enough, he said, “I loved her too, Nalini.”

Nalini turned back, looked at him for a moment and said, “I am sure you did.” She will-ed out a smile for him, a smile that said, “I don’t hate you… not anymore. I forgive you… to forgive myself,” and turned back. She walked few steps forward, turned again and said, “I am sorry.” When she walked on, she felt clean.