Girl in Blue Frock

 She looked at the house every day and dreamed. The girl in the blue frock must be her age. She had a big nice house with that big fat man at the gate and the big black vehicle that takes her everywhere. She had once given a sweet thing to her which she ate happily. More out of hunger. But why did the girl in Blue frock look so pensive? Sad?

'Look at me", she thought. She had seen her own face in the mirror hung in the shop across the street. All the mud and dust had almost concealed her face. That, coupled with the fact that her bones were sticking out of her skin, must be the reason for people to be kind enough to throw a few extra coins at her every day. Her father was blind and half deaf too. Probably why he cried louder than her for those coins. Those gleaming coins decided every day for them. She knew she could never afford the sweet thing that the girl in blue frock gave her that day. And the taste still lingers. But she was happy as long as the shop-keeper across the street gave them a cup of tea and bread in exchange of those coins, every night.

She wanted to be that girl. The rag that she wore today has been her only clothing since she could remember. She too wanted to carry big covers inside a big black vehicle like the girl in blue frock. But why did she look so sad? 

More coins to be earned today....................

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I wish I could sit there in that girl's place on the road. I would exchange everything that I have today for that life. The car, the money, the chocolates, the school, the books, the dresses, the brooch and my father. The way he touches me at night, the way he gropes me..... I wish my mother was still alive. Probably, he killed her for me. How I wish I had died with her that night. The way his friends touch me make me want to tear myself apart bit by bit. This may be the price of being rich. I do not want all this. I want freedom. I want my body and my soul back. 

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Lot of people in their house today. No one looks happy? I got a few extra coins today. Some notes as well. Will eat rice tonight. The shop-keeper usually gives rice for so many coins and notes. Ever since father died a few months ago, the shop-keeper has been kind enough to me and allows me to sleep in the verandah after he closes the shop. Oh wait!! WHAT?? That's the girl in the blue frock. Why are they carrying her in that thin bed? Where is the big black vehicle? Is she dead? Yes, she is. Otherwise they would not carry her in that bad. When father died, the society workers came and picked him in that long white bed. Oh my God! Why did she die? I wish I had the chance to live her life. I would never have died.

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"Ma, I am coming to you.  I do not want to live this life any more. They are planning to sell me off to a 40-year old man in the name of marriage. I don't want to go. I want to live with you. I am coming to you ma. At least in my next birth, I want to lead a life as free as that girl who sits across our house on the road. As carefree as her."

You make me complete!

3 AM - "You make me complete"


He woke up with a start. Fatigue had taken over him.  The dim bulb in the corridor was still glowing to show light to no one in particular. May be it was there to make him understand how dim life's chances are at the other side of the door.

He has been patiently waiting since last night for them to come out and give him the verdict. The erudite young man in white coat seemed capable enough. Can he?

He was remembering the day when they first met. They made out even before they confessed their love for each other; such was their passion. They held hands, saw dreams, drew plans and talked. They found warmth in each other's hands.

He dug into his pockets to find enough money to buy her flowers from the hungry-looking girl on the street. It was more for the child than her, he knew. He told her the same while he gave her the flowers. She smiled, smelled the flowers and kissed him. And she turned around, walked up to the little girl who sold flowers and gifted the same back to her with the words, "think of this as a gift from an elder sister".

They held hands and walked happily. Even the stars shone brighter that night.
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The dim bulb flashes brightly and fades.. A face emerges from the now open door. His look said it all, "We tried, but could not save her. Sorry!"

Her parents cried loudly. The nurses brought some papers to sign on. After all, he was "the witness".

He started walking. He made her complete. But in between he was left a half-chiseled statue. The words flashed across his eyes. "You make me complete".

Tribute to a friend who is no more

Christ Nagar School (Trivandrum) has undoubtedly been one of the best schools in my town from the past two decades. From an all boys' school to a co-education school, across streams and facilities, the school has grown from just another English medium school to a name to reckon with, all thanks to the good management in the past and the quality of education that they imparted to the students. I was one among the lucky ones to have done my schooling there. Which is why a part of me still resides there.

Reminiscing this incident that happened back in '95 was not difficult. It has always been one incident I would relive again and again just to feel the magic of that moment once again. From a local school where mother tongue was the medium of education to a giant school campus where all the slick kids spoke smart english, I was a loner for the first 2 months. I could not really bring myself to talk to anyone then for the sheer fear of having to talk in my horrible no-grammar English which would have led to heavy rebuking and sneers at that time. And no one seemed to want to talk to this kid from the local school who really looked like a duffer with oiled hair and a chubby glum face. There was one face among all of them that was always compassionate. He lived an age far ahead of his own times. He was always known for his genius. VISHRUTH V U, that was his name. A fair and lanky boy with a slightly serious face and demeanour but one who exuded confidence and compassion, thats who he was. He resembled Harry Potter a lot. And as you can gather by now, I never spoke to him because of my ever-dipping self confidence and lack of knowledge of the mysterious language. After 2 months of lonely schooling, I had begun complaining to my mother about how I hated my new school, of course I didn't know then that my parents had to pay through their nose to send me there. One morning, I got out of the school bus that stopped in front of the enormous school chapel. I trudged along with a heavy bag on my shoulders dreading another lonely day (not to count the girl whom I stole sidelong glances at from time to time). I felt a hand on my shoulder. Vishruth!

Vish: Hey.. I am Vishruth. Your good name?
Me: Name? Gautam.
Vish: Nice meeting you. I am new to this town. Athu kondu ithu vare used aayittila.(So not yet used to the place)
Me: Ohhhh.... so you know Malayalam?? Wow!!! You don't look like a Malayalee.
Vish:  I am only part Malayalee. I was brought up outside Kerala all my life.

That conversation went on for another 5 minutes till we reached the school assembly for morning prayers. After that, he always stuck out for me when people left me alone, walked along with me after school, had lunch with me, played with me, laughed with me. It was all a dream. And a reason for bafflement for most of my schoolmates for the sheer fact that they could not accept a world-class genius being friends with a duffer local-school kid. But Vishruth never seemed to mind. I used to speak to my mother at length about his genius and his looks (which inspired many a jealous look from most of the boys).

It all went hazy after that. We reached 8th standard. The famous 8th standard where we learnt what life, love and friendship were. Vishruth's reputation was growing each day in school. Celebrated debator, elecutionist, speaker, artist.. he was all over the place. And his growth unanimously inspired awe and not an iota of jealousy in anyone. And I, more that anyone, was happy for this friend of mine. Inside my heart, I had cherished the good old days with him when he was my only friend, when the school genius was MY friend. During busy schedules of elocution and debates, he still found time to catch up with me and I remember my chest swelling with pride just because he used to talk to me. After all I was just one among the below-average students of my batch.

Time flew.

One morning in 2003, I got a call announcing a suicide. Vishruth had taken the extreme step. I held on to the phone still trying to absorb the gravity of the news that was just delivered. I could not move. My legs froze, my heart skipped a beat. "Vishruth..????????????", I screamed through the phone. Silent muffled sobs escaped my mouth. Before I could control it, I fell on to my mother's lap and cried till I could cry no more. Even she had grown fond of this boy whom she had never seen. A drop of tear fell from her eyes too. I could not believe it. Why would he do it? I was told later. Vishruth had shifted residence to Mumbai where he had to pass through slums to reach the plush apartment where he lived. He saw stark poverty around him day after day and the cancer of depression started gnawing into this heart. He considered himself to be "undeservingly lucky" in a world where poverty and starvation danced around naked. He hanged himself!

If he was alive today, he would have probably graduated from an IIT and then an IIM, probably a Stanford even. Such was his genius, his talent, his compassion and nature. A true gem. He may even have re-written the future of our country if he were to live now. With mobile phones and Facebook, the world would have known Vishruth and celebrated him.

More than anything, I would still have had a friend who walked with me when I had no one.

Vishruth - your presence is always felt in my heart, my friend. There will be no one else like you, ever!