Of Flights, Foreign Places And Fears!

 

I am Rajesh, and I am travelling in a flight for the first time.

The last two months have been a whirlwind affair. When I applied for a job in Mumbai, the city of dreams, I was absolutely sure that I would not get it. How could I, a simpleton from the village of Palakkad in Kerala, hope to get a job in what people refer to as the industrial capital of India?

And yet, I got the offer. Before I knew it, my parents were making preparations to send me off to Mumbai. There were numerous calls every day from my relatives who were scattered around Kerala. Funnily enough, while many of the relatives had their family members working in Dubai, they still spoke and behaved as if Mumbai was a bigger deal.

While I am excited, I am anxious too. First things first, I am somewhat familiar with the Hindi language and I can speak English very well. But I feel that language could be a problem there. Then there was the city’s lifestyle. Mumbai thrives and comes alive at night, while for me, the day ends at 7 in the evening and my entire family usually goes to sleep by 8.30. A few of my colleagues from Mumbai who spoke to me over the phone for HR-related work teased me that while I was all gearing up to sleep, they were still working in the office. Would I be able to adopt this work culture?

Mumbai is one of the most active cities in the world, and in comparison, my village in Kerala leads a peaceful and unhurried existence.

As if all these differences weren’t reason enough to worry about, I had the big issue to deal with.

I was afraid of heights and the company had arranged a flight for me.

Looking around the airport, I feel a crazy urge to run outside where my parents are still waiting. I want to work in the comfort of my own village. I want to be surrounded by my parents and familiar people. I want to live the unhurried life of my village. I want to work at reasonable hours and enjoy peaceful evenings at my simple home. I want to sit at the front porch of my  home with my parents after dinner and watch the empty lane outside the gate of my house.

I take a deep breath. It is too late now. I will have to make peace with my decision.

The shuttle –bus transports me to the stair affixed to the aircraft that would take me away from my homeland to a land that is entirely foreign to me. I take a good look at the enormous plane and it fills me with awe and fear at the same time.

To my relief, I have got a window-seat. I quickly call my parents and have a very short conversation with them before I switch off my cell.

The plane starts running on the runway after few minutes. I grip the arms of my seat tightly, the speed of the plane both exhilarating and scaring me.

I am not prepared for the feeling of weightlessness as the plane leaves the ground. Even though I am not leaning out of the window, I can see the ground below and also that the plane is tilted. A cold palm settles on my heart and I quickly avert my gaze.

After a few terrifying seconds, the plane seems to fly steadily. The sign for seat-belts is off now. But I still wear it, afraid to remove it.

“First time in a plane?” The lady next to me asks gently. She looks middle-aged and like me, she is also on her own. I nod, unable to trust my voice.

She smiles. “I remember my first flight too. I was scared beyond words. On top of it, I was flying away from my maternal home to my husband’s home in an unfamiliar city, all on my own. My husband, not knowing that I was scared of planes, booked me a flight ticket as a ‘surprise’.” She laughs lightly.

I smile at her easy banter.

“There was the fear of flying but mostly there was the melancholy of leaving behind my parents. For a married woman, every visit to her childhood home brings both happiness and grief.”

I nod, her words comforting my own inner turmoil.

“But then you know what helped me deal with my fear and my melancholy?” She says. “I looked out of the window of the plane and saw the ground below. It filled me with peace for some reasons. May be the fact that I could still see the ground was a reminder that I am not that high.”

I gulp and peak a look outside the window. To my surprise, I see tiny buildings and thin twists that are roads at some places and streams at others. I keep watching for a few minutes, feeling settled.

I feel a tap on my hand. I turn around and see the lady smiling at me.

“The sight of the earth below also brought in the realization that wherever I go, I will always belong to the same good old earth and the majestic sky. No place is foreign as long as you have the earth beneath you, and the sky watching over you.”

A deep calm settles over me and I drop back my head in relief. With steady hands I get rid of the seat belt and give a grateful smile to the lady whom the universe had sent in my time of need. She smiles back and takes out a book from her bag to read.

I keep watching out of the window, the sight of the earth below me, and the sky in brilliant hues of orange and red filling me with peace and calm. I am ready for a new chapter of my life.

The One Who Got Left Behind

 

I am Shilpa, and I feel miserable.

It has been two days since I came to the United States to join my husband who had come here around six months ago.

I have a job here in the overseas branch of my company in India. My husband has rented a house in a cozy residential colony with lots of houses beside me, all having neatly manicured lawns and beautiful front porches. The neighbors seem friendly enough and have already welcomed me with home-made delicacies.

I couldn’t ask for a better life. And yet, I feel miserable.

All because I forgot to bring Marcel with me.

I was in my tenth standard and was suffering from anxiety. To help soothe my nerves, my father brought a stuffed monkey for me. I remember acting embarrassed when he gifted the monkey to me with a flourish. But secretly, I was delighted.

The monkey was black and white in color, and having started watching F.R.I.E.N.D.S, I named him Marcel after the character in the sitcom. Soon, Marcel became an inseparable part of my life. He sat beside me when I studied late nights and early mornings. He became my confidante when I developed my first crush on a boy and secretly confided to Marcel about him. He heard me rant about the never-ending studies and the silly fights I had with my friends. My friends often teased me, saying that it was uncool and unhealthy for a 14-year old to talk to a stuffed toy.

But Marcel was not just a stuffed toy for me. He was my emotional support. I slept better when I hugged him. I felt better after confiding my secrets, worries and anxieties to him.

Marcel was my best and sweetest friend, and I had just left him at my maternal home, thousands of miles away.

I was going to pack him in my suitcase. But since it was my last night at my home, I wanted his presence beside me while sleeping. I still carried conversations with him. I still clung to him for emotional support. And he had supported me that night by lying beside me on my pillow.

But then the morning had dawned, I had woken up late, my entire household was in chaos. I hurried through my chores and before I knew it, I had left my house and Marcel behind.

Now, as I sit by the lawn in the backside of my house, I feel a deep sense of having betrayed Marcel and acting all thankless by leaving him behind as I moved forward in my new journey. I feel my eyes well up.

I do what I always did whenever I missed someone. I start writing a letter to Marcel, foolishly hoping that my sentiments would reach him somehow across thousands of miles.

Dear Marcel,

I am sorry that I left you behind. I didn’t intend to. You know that. You also know how you got left behind on that chaotic morning I left home.

Marcel, I can never find enough words to express what you did for me. You helped me through my anxiety. You listened to me when I wanted to talk. You became my sole confidante, someone who never judged me for anything I said or did. You were my best friend and my morale support. You stood beside me through all the difficult times and the celebratory moments.

Now I find myself in a strange land surrounded by unfamiliar people and a new culture. That is not the distressing part. You aren’t there beside me to get me through this. I do not know how I am going to manage without you.

Someday I hope to return to my home. It may not happen soon, but I will return. And this time, I will bring you with me. It is only this hope that is carrying me through every day.

Thank you for everything that you did for me. I miss you.

I wipe my tears and keep my notepad aside. As I gaze over the lawn, my attention is driven to a movement in a tree. I focus on the tree and to my surprise, I find a monkey – a monkey with skin in the hues of black and white. The monkey jumps from one branch to another, looks at me, gives me a cheery wave and burrows inside the tree, disappearing from my sight.

I laugh in delight. Something tells me that my letter has reached Marcel and even from afar, he is finding a way to comfort me.

The Fortieth Birthday

 

I am Kavya, and it is not a good day for me.

Every time someone passes by my desk, I tense, dreading that someone will come to know that it is my birthday and will wish me. While I have always loved birthdays, specially mine, I am dreading this birthday like none other.

Today is my fortieth birthday. I cannot bear to think about this.

How did life fly by so fast? One day you are a teenager, dreaming about a career that will help you earn as well as make a good difference to the society, and about finding your soulmate and living with him happily forever. Before you realize it, you are forty, working as a software programmer in a MNC, earning not much but just enough to get by, and are woefully single.

I shake myself out of my pity party and try to concentrate on my work. A hopeless attempt, for while I am dreading that someone will make a huge fuss over my birthday, there is also that disappointed feeling that I am not doing anything special today. My parents called me over video to wish me. I am not expecting any other calls. Childhood friendships got lost somewhere in the flood of daily forwards, chat groups and reactions to every post in the social media. No one in the office knows and no one will bother. It has only been a year since I joined this MNC and while my colleagues are cool, we are not exactly wishing-each-other-birthdays close.

My intercom buzzes and I am summoned to my GM’s cabin. Work beckons as usual!

An hour later, I find myself outside the Ritz Hotel facing the beach. Chirag has accompanied me.

Chirag is the marketing consultant for our MNC. He meets potential clients looking for software for their firms/business and makes deals with him. He is the most successful consultant of our firm. At just thirty-five years of age, he is one handsome dude. That, along with his uber-confident stance and assuring voice ensure that clients fall for him within few minutes of meeting him.

Today he has arranged for a meet with the owner of the Ritz to know the software requirements for the hotel management. I have been assigned this project and I am super excited about it. Atleast one good thing would hopefully happen on my birthday!

Not just one. The beach!

I love it. I have often dreamt of spending evenings there on my own. But time constraints have made it impossible for me to visit the beach in the evenings. By the time I leave office, it is almost night. On weekends I am too lazy to leave the comfort of my home.

But the Ritz is situated at a walking distance from the beach, which means I might be able to spend the evening at the beach and hopefully catch a spectacular sunset.

I and Chirag step inside the hotel.

“Wow!” I say as I take in the grandeur of the hotel. “I am seeing a five-star hotel for the first time!”

Chirag smiles at me and gestures me to sit on the lounge while he proceeds to the reception. He talks to the receptionist who looks absolutely smitten by him.

“Seems Mr. Kapoor won’t be here until evening.” Chirag says with a sigh as he sits beside me.

“Oh. Now what do we do?”

He taps his fingers on his legs and then says, “Come on, let’s have lunch.” He gestures to the in-house dining inside the hotel.

I look at him wide-eyed. “You mean, there?” I know it will be too pricy.

He grins at me. “Come on.”

I follow him dazedly. Lunch in a five-star hotel’s restaurant!? Not a bad way to celebrate my fortieth!

I look at the menu and realize that I can’t pronounce half of the names in there. Without sounding condescending, Chirag explains the items to me and places the order.

A waiter approaches our table carrying a plate with red roses. He places them beside me with a smile and a flourish.

“They do this for everyone, you know.” Chirag says. I nod happily. I couldn’t care if they do it for every person coming here. This is special for me! I take the roses and arrange them in my handbag.

Over lunch, I and Chirag share news of the office. It is very easy for me to talk to him. He was the first one with whom I worked after joining the company. I usually accompany him on his visits to finalize clients and I interact with them for their software requirements. I have always found him to be easy-going and jovial.

Lunch passes by breezily and I really have a great time.

Chirag once again asks the receptionist and this time when he returns he shakes his head.

“Seems Mr.Kapoor won’t be here today.”

“Oh, okay. I guess we should return to the office then.” I say.

He looks at me and gazes out of the glass doors of the hotel. Then he looks at his watch and shrugs. “It is already four. Why don’t we spend the rest of the evening at the beach and call it a day?”

“The beach??” I ask incredulously. This is too good of a coincidence. My birthday is becoming more and more special by the minute.

I grin and Chirag grins back. “Come on.” This time I tell him and we both excitedly walk out of the hotel.

The beach is everything I imagined and better. The sun’s rays have painted the water and the sky in hues of pink and lavender. A gentle breeze blows, bringing with it the smell of salt and sea and I close my eyes to savor it.

Sitting beside Chirag who had miraculously brought a blanket with him, I feel complete today. Gone is the dread of my fortieth. This is life. I smile blissfully.

“I could use something to smile about.” Chirag says gently. When I look at him, I find him gazing at me with an odd expression.

I inhale deeply. “Thank you, Chirag. You don’t know, but today is my fortieth birthday, and you made it really, really special.”

He clears his throat. “I know.” When I look at him in surprise, he takes out a wrapped gift from his bag and gives it to me. “Happy birthday.”

“You knew all this while?”

He looks sheepish. “Actually, I also knew that Mr.Kapoor would not be available today. I just wanted to do something special for you on your birthday. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

I only look at him in confusion.

“I… I have a huge crush on you, Kavya. Right since the first day you and I worked together. I find you fascinating.” He says, sounding nervous for the very first time that I have known him.

“You do?” I ask in disbelief.

He chuckles. “Why so surprised? It is impossible for anyone to not to fall for you.”

“It is??” I ask stupidly.

He laughs. “Have you ever looked at yourself? You are… “. He searches my face for the right word. “You are you, Kavya. Amazing beyond words.”

His words warm my heart. I open the gift and gasp as I hold a limited edition of The Hobbit, one of my favorite books. I remember having confided in him a long, long time ago that I am a fan of J.R.R. Tolkien.

“You remembered!” I whisper.

“Of course I did. And I always will.” Chirag says. “So, what do you think? You and I – yay or nay?”

“I am elder to you by five years, Chirag.”

“Not an issue for me. Does that bother you?”

I look at him, seeing him in a new light. I think about all the moments we both have spent together. There has been laughter, fun and most importantly, companionship.

“How about you go out with me on a few dates, get to know me better? You can take your own time to decide about us.” Chirag says gently, understanding my hesitation in taking this major step of getting into a relationship.

If this didn’t work for me, then nothing will.

I smile at him and nod shyly. He looks as if all his wishes have come true in one moment.

We sit together in silent companionship, our shoulders touching, the promise of good times ahead filling my heart with hope.

The sun sets spectacularly, drenching the world in hues of orange and red. For me, they seem like the hues of love.

Flights, Babies And Magical Moments!

 

I am Navya, and I am traveling with my baby in a flight for the very first time.

I am nervous, and the reaction of the people beside whom I have to sit on the flight has done nothing to assure me. While one guy tried really hard not to wince, the other guy looked at my baby, shook his head and gazed out of the window.

Too bad that I get to sit in the middle of these two. Too bad that they will have to ‘suffer’ my baby who, in the meanwhile, looks supremely unconcerned.

The guy sitting on the window seat tugs his bag closer to his chest and stares out. The guy to my left leans back on his seat and closes his eyes.

I sigh. It is going to be a long flight.

---@@@---

I am Arnav, and I am frustrated.

It was bad enough that I didn’t get the window seat. I now have to sit beside a baby, who by the likes of it, gives every indication of being a royal pain.

I do not get the allure of babies. They are fragile, require a lot of attention and caring and patience, all three of which are missing in my case.

For two years, I and my wife have avoided the topic of parenthood. But she has started giving subtle hints. Although I do not mind becoming a parent, I just feel like I would not do much justice to the role.

The baby – Ayan, I think, I heard his mother address him so once – settles on his mother’s arms and grabs the bottle of milk with gusto. He makes cute cooing sounds. I would have enjoyed them if the baby’s tiny foot wasn’t kicking my ribs.

Actually, it wasn’t kicking. More like, touching softly, now that I observe.

A crazy thought comes to my mind. I gently tickle the baby’s underfoot. He widens his eyes, stops drinking and lifts up his head to look at me. Then he grins and playfully moves his leg up and down, gesturing me to tickle him again.

It is the grin that does me in. Converts me. Makes me a believer, if I may say. The grin is a mix of playfulness, happiness and innocence all rolled into one tiny being that has the capacity to wrap a grown adult around its little finger.

As I gently massage the baby’s soft underfoot, I realize that babies are really all right and perhaps it is time for me to start a family.

---@@@---

I am Shantanu, and I just wanted to sit in solitude beside the window seat and look out into the clouds, hoping that their sight will take away the melancholy of leaving my family behind. I am moving abroad for higher studies, and there is no saying when I will get to meet my parents and my sister.

I seriously never thought that it would be this hard. Saying goodbye to them has been the most painful moment of my life.

I just wanted to sit in silence and brood for a while, until the melancholy drifted away.

I didn’t expect to be seated beside an infant who promised utter mayhem throughout the flight.

Then I feel ashamed of myself for thinking such awful thoughts and risk a glance at the baby who is looking at me wide-eyed and curious.

His mother is searching for something in her bag and is holding the baby awkwardly on one hand.

“Here, I will hold him so that you can search comfortably.” I hear myself say and my hands, as if they have a mind of their own, stretch towards the baby. The lady looks at me in surprise and then hands over the baby to me.

I make him stand on my thighs and gently rock him. He giggles and starts moving his body up and down, as if gesturing me to do it again. I smile and repeat the motion. The baby giggles yet again delightfully.

Then he brings his palms near my face and gently rubs them on either side.

I close my eyes at the feeling of immense affection that the baby is projecting towards me. My eyes threaten to well up but I take deep breaths to compose myself. I settle the baby against my chest where he snuggles and looks at his mother.

Far too soon for my liking, she takes the baby from my arms after thanking me. I watch her gently rock the baby to sleep. The rocking motion calms my own turmoil and as I gaze outside at the clouds, there is a feeling of peace and bliss.

Really babies are all right. And I will be too. I know.

A Drive And Some Conversations!

 

I am Singh, and I am trying my best to get the surly passenger sitting next to me to start talking.

I have tried just about everything – introducing myself, giving him a little bit of information about my nativity and asking him subtly and not-so-subtly about himself. Apart from monosyllabic answers, the guy has been the same since the last twenty minutes of our drive.

Everything about him seems tensed – his posture, the way he has clasped his bag across his chest, his stubborn jaw-set where at times, I can see a muscle twitch. His hair is graying around his temples, but I cannot assume his age simply on that basis. Premature graying is common now-a-days.

There is only one option left. I do not like it much, but it has always worked without fail.

“Your age must be around 45 – 46, I take it.” I say.

“44”. Comes the surly reply.

“Huh.” I say, adding a little bit of haughtiness in the word. It gets his attention. (Of all the things I have done till now, my arrogant ‘Huh’ gets him to look at me properly. Oh, the irony!)

“What was that?” He asks in a tense tone.

“Nothing. You youngsters have luxurious lives compared to my generation and yet look like your world is coming to an end.” I say with a slight laugh.

He shakes his head and lets out a mirthless laugh. “Here it comes. You people always feel like you guys only did the hard work and we are simply having a party every day, isn’t it?”

I shrug dismissively. That gets him riled even more.

“You have no idea what we go through.” He says, a quiver in his voice. “What I go through every day. I work and work and work only to get a very small amount as bonus, apart from the salary that makes me cry every month. There is the dreaded office-politics that I am subject to every day. There is the boss who takes complete advantage of me and keeps heaping on work after work with no mention of any increment or promotion. I leave at around 7 in the morning, travel in the heavy traffic and reach office after almost two hours, only to hear taunts from my colleagues in another department about how I am the last one to arrive in office. They do not mention that I am also the last one to leave! After all these, I have to come home looking happy and contented so that my family doesn’t catch my negative vibes. Now tell me it was the same for your generation!”

The last sentence comes out as almost a shout.

Several minutes pass in silence. I do not feel compelled to say anything. My purpose has been achieved to an extent. I wanted to give him an outlet to release his tension.

He takes a deep breath. I hand him a bottle of water.

“It feels good to let it all out, doesn’t it?” I ask, smiling at him. He looks at me for a few seconds and resumes drinking water.

“I am 66 years old.” I say. “I don’t really have to work. Driving in a car the whole day and transporting people from one end of the city to another can get taxing after a while. But I do it because I have found a purpose to this job. I make it a point to talk to people and to make them feel better for the little amount of time they spend with me.”

He handles the bottle to me, looking very sheepish and subdued. But I note, with much satisfaction, that he no longer looks tense. There is a deflated air around him, as if he has let out all the feelings and emotions simmering inside him.

“Sometimes, the only way to help people is to get them talking, to give them an outlet for their thoughts.” I say.

He nods but doesn’t say anything.

A few minutes later, we reach his destination.

“Thanks.” He says in a gentle voice while making the payment.

“Remember, there is kindness around and it will always find its way to you.” I tell him. “Today is done. Let it go. Have faith that tomorrow will be better. Sometimes that is the only thing we can do.”

His eyes well up. He shakes hands with me and leaves, wiping his face and marching into the gate of the apartment. I look out at his slightly bent frame. As he goes further inside, he straightens himself, as if trying to project his strength both to himself and to his family. I send out a silent prayer for him and move on, ready for my next passenger.

You-Know-Who Is The G.O.A.T?

“So, we meet again.”

The voice startled Harry Potter. It was a voice that he was familiar with, dreaded and most of all, hated with vengeance.

Tom Marvolo Riddle sat beside Harry with a flourish. His entrances were as dramatic as his exit. He looked around in surprise. “Are we at King’s Cross station?”

“It sure looks like it.” Harry said, not taking his eyes off Tom. He had absolutely no reason to trust that guy. “Why are you here, Tom?”

Tom flinched. “I stopped being Tom long ago. I am Lord…”

“Lord Dead is what you are now. Get to the point. Tell me why are you here?”

Tom shifted in his seat. “I was happier when you all dreaded me.”

Harry guffawed.

“All right.” Tom said looking sheepish. “There is this boy…”

Harry heavily sniggered.

Tom sighed. “Will you act like a grown-up for once and listen to me?”

Harry coughed into his palms to restrain his laughter and nodded.

“Well, this boy named Vedant started reading our tales of glory…”

“You mean to say my tales of glory; your tales are gory. There is a difference.”

“I should have never sought you out.”

Harry smirked. “True that. Seven books and eight movies prove that.”

“Anyways… this boy keeps telling his friends that I am not the greatest villain to have ever existed.”

“You aren’t?? You mean to say there is someone meaner than you?? I highly doubt it.”

Tom gave a relieved nod. “Thanks Harry. I knew I could count on you. This boy – Vedant – he says there are other villains much, much terrifying than me. Take for instance this purple-colored dude named Thanos.”

“Thanos! I know this guy! Isn’t he the one who…”

“…at a snap, relieved the earth of half of its population? Yeah he is the one. Personally I would have converted all wizarding-types to my side and got rid of muggles and… you know my MO.”

“I know, and how!”

“Anyways… why would anyone fear someone who looks like a purple tator! But that is not all. There is this Greek dude named Kronos who is apparently hailed as the Lord Of Time and all… I mean, is there any name as gallant as Lord Voldemort? A name that people dreaded to utter? A name that had a trace linked with it? All you had to do was to utter it, and your entire data (including location) would be sent to my minions. Can this Krono-thingy stand up to this??”

Harry sighed. Am I really supposed to comfort the Dark Lord? How did it come to this??

“And then there is this king called Sauron. He doesn’t even have a physique! Just an eye! How are people supposed to be afraid of someone who is just an eye?? What has the world come to?”

But then you did not have a nose and yet the world was afraid of you… Harry wisely refrained from saying. He could not think of a single piece of advice for Tom. Then an idea struck him.

“I know what you should do! Why not visit this boy once? Just to scare him, that’s all. Don’t go all ‘Avada-Kedavra’ on him. Just the sight of you should be enough. Your nose is still missing, right?” Harry leaned over to have a proper look at Tom who shot him a menacing look.

“Right. You look as terrifying as always.” Harry quickly muttered.

Tom Marvolo Riddle stood up in all his glory. “Thanks Harry. You are right. It is time for the Dark Lord to pay a visit to The Boy Who Isn’t Scared.” He nodded haughtily. “Until we meet again.”

Which would be too soon for me even if we never meet again, Harry thought in relief.

Tom Marvolo Riddle aka Lord Voldemort aka The Dark Lord aka You-Know-Who aka He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named stared at no one as he whispered in his dreadful voice. “I am back, and the whole world better know it.”

---@@@---

Vedant woke up in alarm. He looked around and then visibly relaxed. It was a dream.

It was all a dream!

For few seconds, he could only close his eyes and savor the moment of reality which was so, so better than the nightmare that he had had. He took out his mother’s mobile. There was something he had to do on priority basis.

He opened his chat group of school friends and started typing.

I take it back… Lord Vol.. I mean You-Know-Who is the most dreadful villain of all times. You guys won. I will bring chocolates today.

On The Coldest Night Of The Year

To get an idea about the characters involved in this story, kindly read The Spirit Of Celebration before you read this!

---@@@---

Manav shivered. Of course he would. It was after all the coldest night of the season.

And of course it would be the coldest night of the season. After all, the Spirit Of Cold, Shital was walking alongside him.

"Tell me again what the Superior said when They sent you to Earth." Manav implored as he rubbed his palms to generate some warmth. It was futile. When Shital was around, there would be no warmth. And tonight, she was in all her glory. There was no escaping the chill.

Shital sighed. "They said They want to check whether there is any hope left for the Spirit of Humanity." She looked at Manav apologetically. "I am sorry to bring such a testing time for you."

Manav shrugged and waved off the apology. He had reasons to be concerned. He was after all the Spirit of Humanity. 

That was not all. In the presence of the unbearable chill that Shital was emanating, Manav already felt weak. 

As the evening gradually progressed into night, a cold breeze started blowing. The coldest night of the season had begun. 

---@@@---

Manav and Shital sat on a bench opposite to a park. They saw people passing by, wrapped in cozy sweaters and mufflers. Most of them laughed as they rubbed their palms gleefully. It seemed like they were enjoying the cold weather.

Manav saw Usha and his spirits sank. She was a middle-aged lady who had no home. She was the sweeper of the colony and usually rested at a hollow pit dug outside the park opposite to him. Once she had had a home. When her husband started taking her hard-earned money to buy liquor, she left the house. The street was now her home.

Manav wondered how she would fare. He saw her wrap her saree tightly around herself. That saree would do nothing to protect her from the cold.

When Usha came to the pit, she saw two dogs lying there, curled around themselves.

Manav suddenly felt very weak. He tried to hold himself up, not wanting to give any indication to Shital about his weakness. Both of them watched Usha with bated breath.

Usha sighed and sat in the pit, not minding the dogs. She took out a box from her jute-bag. There were some rotis in the box. She tore off some chunks and offered them to the dogs who started wagging their tails eagerly while finishing off the chunks. Usha herself ate and once her dinner was done, she took out a saree from her bag and draped it over the dogs who had resumed their curled-up positions. She then tightened her own saree around her once again and lay down, curling herself to get some warmth.

Manav felt some of his strength return to him. It seemed humanity hadn’t lost yet.

Even as Manav and Shital watched, a girl dressed in pajamas came out of the building opposite to the park. She had probably seen Usha and the dogs, for she had a pair of blankets in her arms. She gently patted Usha on her shoulder and offered the blankets to her. Usha gratefully accepted the blankets, keeping one for herself and using the other to drape over the dogs. The girl smiled and left. Usha and the dogs went to sleep, now remarkably warmer.

Manav sat up a bit straighter, feeling stronger. And Shital smiled. Some losses were worth it. It was score 2 for humanity v/s score 0 for cold.

---@@@---

Manav and Shital had walked to another part of the town. Manav had to literally drag his feet. He had never been so weak.

This part of the town was secluded, except for the homeless who gathered here in large numbers. Some slept inside parts of a large water pipe that was broken. Others huddled and curled up on the roads, hoping and praying for some warmth from life in general. Shital watched them in silent despair. This was an uncomfortable yet true side of the world that the humans lived in.

Was a little bit of warmth enough to save humanity? Some chunks of food distributed to animals, a pair of warm blankets – would this suffice to give hope to humans? There was so much suffering, poverty and despair on the earth. Who all could be helped and saved? How many would do it? Most importantly, how much help was enough to redeem humanity?

She saw Manav walking with his head bowed. She knew that while the previous acts of kindness had brought his score upto 2, she herself was now at an impossibly high number.

Manav silently prayed to the Superior for a miracle. He loved the earth, he loved all the beings on earth and he wanted lots and lots of hope for them.

The sound of several vehicles approaching made them halt in their tracks. Manav looked around and saw four cars and three bikes park on one side of the road. Several people alighted from the vehicles.

“Utsav!?” Shital remarked in surprise. “What is he doing here?”

As if he had heard her, Utsav looked in the direction of Shital and Manav and waved at them. He said something to his friend and crossed the road.

‘Thought it would be your doing.” He said to Shital.

“The Superior sent me. Why are you here? What sort of celebration is happening on the coldest night of the year?”

Utsav shrugged. “My friend Jigyaas called me over. He and his office colleagues are distributing blankets to the homeless here. I joined in. It is a happy group and being the Spirit of Celebration, I couldn’t not be here. Also, Jigyaas is my favorite human. So, here I am.” He looked at Manav and patted his shoulder comfortingly. “Hang in there, bro. We have got this.”

Shital watched in silence as Manav joined Utsav, Jigyaas and several men and women and started distributing blankets to the homeless people who had started gathering around them, eagerly clasping the blankets as if their very life depended on it.

With every person who was helped, Manav regained his strength. The Spirit of Humanity grew stronger with every hand that offered help to every other outstretched hand. Within minutes, the whole street saw the homeless people wrapping themselves in blankets, not having a home yet but at least having warmth as a protection against the cold.

Utsav walked over to Shital and smiled. “At this very moment, there are several homeless people being helped in one part of the world or other. There is suffering and despair on Earth, but there is enough humanity to balance it out.” He looked around in satisfaction. “That’s why I spend more and more time on the earth.”

“Also because the Superior is partial to you and always lets you have your own way.” Shital smirked.

Utsav shrugged. “May be. I believe this is also the reason that Manav decided to stay back here.” He looked questioningly at Manav.

“Yes. I am here to stay for good.” Manav said simply, feeling grateful to see all the help that had flowed in and helped to redeem himself. “It is kindness and compassion that keeps me strong, and as long as I am strong, there will always be hope for every life on earth.”

Shital looked around and sighed. “It is time for me to leave. Apparently the test is all over and humanity won. I will see you both on the other side.” She nodded to the guys and slowly walked away from the scene.

“Want to join us?” Utsav asked Manav. “I am treating everyone to some hot drinks and snacks.”

“Sure.” Manav said.

The Spirit of Humanity and the Spirit of Celebration walked off, destined to be together, for where there was Humanity, it was always a reason to celebrate.