THE PRESENT IS HAPPENING NOW (A short story)

Seated by the dining table, Krishnan is chatting over a cup of coffee. The vapors from the tea cups were shying away for the incoming whiff of coconut chutney. Everyone is happy by the table, friends meeting a long time after… Idlies arrive, chutney arrives, fruit salad arrives, spoons clatter and then more coffee arrives. Laughter, grimaces, gawks and sighs intermittently come and go on their own making waves of life in constant throbs and rhythms.

The World is fine! Ah, how satisfying it is to chat with friends, to be in their company again. The oneness of a feeling comes within you for a seemingly endless phase of life.
The clock on the wall ticks by, the sun slides over the horizon, and darkness slowly creeps into the place. Engines kick start, and the purring sleek cars traverse in the wide compound and leave the big gate with a jolt to merge with the ever flowing traffic that honks and screeches in its endless beats on the roads.

Host Krishnan returns after bidding goodbye to his friends and reoccupies the chair, clasps hands behind his head and gazes vaguely at the roof. The ceiling fan is still in motion. The aluminum foils on table rustle in the wind. The messy smell of leftovers is becoming stronger and trespassing into every nook and corner of the place.

The present is over! It boomed and echoed in his mind. He closed his ears with both hands. Have I heard it? You say the present is over? Why? Let it continue forever.

Loneliness returns with the black night, and Krishnan can now only think of the beautiful moments of the get-together, that now you can say once were there. The chairs around the table are empty. No voices there. He lovingly tries to recreate those impregnated moments once again, again and again. Gone never returns. It was so nice, so entertaining. He sends out a long spasmodic sigh, and in his subconscious mind he thinks of the tricky way God has treated Time. Everything is changing, ever changing…

‘Oh Lord! Let the party go on forever. I beseech You Lord. I beseech You!’ He visualized God before him. God was hiding His Face. Krishnan was asking for the impossible.

God then said. “Hi man! Life is like that. Don't bewail. Don’t sob. Don’t curse. I’m helpless. The present must come under the lid of past. Past inevitably has no lock on it to unlock, so whatever had gone I can’t give you back.”

Krishnan submerged in deeper thoughts. ‘Yes. Yes. This is life. What is permanent is only the journey. We’re born into this eternal journey, we go with it and somewhere we are left behind and the journey still goes on. You can’t stop a just moment and think ,for you are in the endless journey. When you smoke a cigar the cigar has to be over. You can only light up another one. You forget people, events and places that once were so dear to you, the thoughts that slept with you and awakened with you. Some neighbors who you saw while at school, no more existed. And man, your dear family will cease to exist. Everyone will disappear. Your family shall not be repeated. Your lovely wife, your lovely children under the same roof, that you feel so permanent now. Your family will wither away. Trillions of years will pass but this family will not be recreated, permanently goes out of existence. "You won't ask your wife 'how is your foot that we treated at the doctor's?' It’s Maya, time’s loud flow...

Krishnan became suddenly crazy to remember his son’s baby face, who is now in his teens and staying with his mother in her workplace. His son’s facial image began to crystallize before him. His son’s baby face he couldn’t recall. He tried again and again to no avail. A young man appeared instead. Elevated nose, young droopy moustache, beard of piercing hair, spiked hair, broad forehead and big clear eyes shielded by broad droopy fair lids, yet innocence of a child still graced the little man’s face. My son! He has changed.

Next to recall was his wife. He strained to recover her young face that for the first time he saw to make her his young bride. He couldn’t recollect. Instead her saggy face came from somewhere in haste and began to rock in gasps.

“You called me Krishnan. You called me!”

“Oh, no! Gowrie, Its you?”

“Yes. Yes. Its me.”

The middle aged woman with layers of fat around started moving in haste. It is all time’s doing. His train of thoughts snapped…

A voice was trickling there. He tried to listen to it. It came from his inner self…

‘Why you want to remember your son’s baby face? Your wife’s young face? There is no need man. Look there!

Krishnan looked yonder.

‘Yes, yes, my finish point! I can see. I can see!”

Krishnan was talking to himself. ‘I’m past all those who are dear to me. What time finished, you won’t get back. Gone never returns. Sooner or later a mystic silence will hold me over. My footsteps will not be heard anymore, my voice will not be heard anymore...The journey of time still continues...

By: R Muraleedharan Pillai

To love a limping bird (A Short Story)

The afternoon slumber from an overindulged lunch began to sober away. Sekhar was tossed on his seat as the bus negotiated a curve and sped on a heavily trafficked road in Victoria isle. Some old Hindi movie scripts played some plots in his mind. He began identifying himself with the hero of a movie that had run house full for months in the past in present day Mumbai. His chemistry overworked to shed him years off his age, to feel young again, for the exploding romance of the young man again. Romance is a pleasure, it comes off the chest electrifying the body from toes to the head. No one is out of its grasp if the chemistry worked well within. A film becomes popular when essentially theme love is worked out well on the celluloid and hero and heroine did their roles well, personally contributing from their young feel of love and romance, he thought.

May be for this major emotion the producers put their best bet on love themes. The girl and boy get into some brawl as the reels ran half way, they part ways, love still fanned fire in their hearts. The boy returns only to see his lover on a sick bed. The sweat beads of fever sprouting on her forehead sent his heart cringe in bouts of pangs. Today’s kids would laugh at the simplicity of such characters. Silly! Silly! They might remark. Love these days has lost takers in its pristine effervescence, its butterfly wings flapping within the chest wall making one shiver and then huddle into sober consciousness. This lovely emotion has gone into the archives with old timers quitting the scenes on earth. It is now played on a different plateau. The young folks now increasingly run after material objects to give them joy. Blame no one. Every emotion gets a new definition in the wake of newer industrial products marching on the ramp. And the greatest casualty is love. Love gets encroached by the pleasures these products can give.

The cold breeze filtering through the bus windows snapped Sekhar’s current disquieting thoughts. And someone else meanwhile has occupied the seat to his left. The silent old bearded man seemed to have vacated it for quite some time.

“You slept over my shoulder senor.” A soft voice of a young woman said. She was occupying the bearded man’s seat now.

“Sorry ma’am if I were cause of a nuisance to you.”

“Oh, no. I was not gonna disturb your sleep, senor, that was it.” Sandra said.

Sekhar’s real look and gesture returned to his posture from the imaginary hero of romance he was playing during his slumber. He has been living young not so past. A confusing middle age riddle he is now unable to resolve. The society turned cruel to him at this point of hour. The youth pushed him out of their company, and the old was not kind to him for they thought he was trying play young. The present society didn’t approve of his dress code and the way he lived. ‘An unsaid social question had to be answered unsaid’ he thought. He then wore the robes of the old. The folks clapped their hands in pleasure.

His bus was halting where a small crowd thronged. He fully got over his slumber. Just two more stations, he would be right where he wanted to be dropped. That is half an hour. He slid the window glass and looked out. The bus was now running by farmlands. The bus arrived at the station sooner than his expected time. He got down and began to walk along the street. He must visit a monument that is for the day’s plan. It was counseled to him wherever he lunched or dined. So popular it was.

A pebble that ran past, rolled, and stopped before him. His neighbor in the bus now walked close on his right. She was rhythmically dragging her left foot closely over the road. She kicked off the pebble.

“You to the monument, senor?”

“Yeah. Exactly”

He looked at her emotionally at the same level as they were sitting side by side in the bus.

“I too ‘am going about the place. I break at the turn just before the statue, senor.”

She continued before he could say something to her...

“I do come here every day, senor. 24 km by the same bus, we traveled. It all started with a visit to the statue months ago.”

Sandra pulled out from her handbag a half filled plastic bag that kept swinging along as she was walking. And after some quick pacing, she turned to the right of the road and toward a concrete bench by the side surrounded by neglected wild grass.

“Bye senor, I return home from here. Bye.”

She sat on the bench and was looking up at the trees on the other side.

She didn’t notice Sekhar was now standing too close to the bench.

“You don’t mind if I too sit here for a while?”

“Oh, it’s a pleasure, senor. I thought you were hurrying. Don’t mind”

Sekhar grinned at her and said.

“The monument seems less important to me now. Tell me what is the significance of this place, then? I’m eager to know that first. I’ll be sorry if it marks my ill manner.”

“Nothing ill about it, senor. And I must say my lover awaits me here. Every day this time.”

“Your lover?!”

“Yes. Yes. My lover” she giggled as she opened the plastic bag and brought out a handful of shapely pieces. They appeared quite edible.

There was a sudden flutter in the canopy of a tree. A bird landed on the road and it limped its way up to her. It jerked expectantly its bill high at her. Sandra started throwing the dough one by one onto the ground. The bird limped and picked up every piece. The bird was a cripple with no toes on one leg. Like an uncut pencil it moved on the ground. As soon as the bird winged and disappeared into the dense canopy Sandra got up.

“I must catch a bus there back home, senor. Bye.”

Sandra was quickly pacing away. Sekhar’s heart banged at his chest wall. He watched her reaching the bus station. She sat on the concrete bench there awaiting a bus. She was the lonely one, waiting there. Sekhar was watching her without batting an eyelid. What was happening to him he can’t say, yet he was losing someone from his life Sekhar was feeling. She didn’t look back once.

Wind threw him to his side as a non-honking bus streaked past and stopped at the station. She climbed the foot board and disappeared. The bus was soon out of his sight.

Sekhar resumed his walk to the monument. His inspiration to go and watch the monument was slowly dying down. Sandra was a stranger to him hours back. But his heart was missing its beats for her. He tried to shake her out of his mind, but the thought about her was only getting louder. A sense of tenderness was fluttering within his chest wall. You Shekar you are in love! He seemed hearing from a thousand lips around. Love! Love! He closed his ears with both palms, looked down and walked ahead. His eyes were wetting.

The large statue of the celebrity, its head touching the sky, was slowly revealing before him. It was being crowded from all sides. As he left the huge inner boundary wall towards the statue his mind was still crying for Sandra. He squatted on a patch of groomed grass away from the statue and set his eyes at it. The statue meant nothing to him now, the people there meant nothing to him now, a pall of Sandra was casting on him.

Ha, we meet only to part. Always. His chest heaved. In buses, trains, flights and cafes we meet people and become intensely friendly for a while. It is akin to a firework that burnt brilliantly for a while. Then the place becomes sooty with empty hollow shells littering around the place.

‘Sandra travelled every day 24 km one way to feed the limping bird. She loves her limping bird…’ Sekhar thought.

By: R MuraliDharanPillai