Feel Alive

Nothing to write. The image, itself, conveys the message so spectacularly. Give it a try. Just put your hand over your heart. I just did it, and feel more alive than ever. Oh, it's so thrilling, feeling all that blood rush through your body!

A Lucky Kind Of Sadness

There is so much of misery in the world. Almost every person goes about life being miserable, and putting the blame on the rest of the world. I’m sure if someone were to search the earth, with a searchlight, for a truly happy person, they’d find none. It is sad, but indomitably true and maybe somewhat wise. Come on, you cannot be happy all the time. Life would lose its meaning, and your jaw would start hurting. :P

But, are we all really miserable? Or do we just find reasons to feel sad? I’d have to say the latter. While many-a-times we may actually find ourselves knee deep in sorrow, we mostly just bring it onto ourselves. Most people go around saying how miserable they are and how they don’t have this and that. The truth be known, they do not even know what misery is. Sure, they are sad, but it is only because they think so.

I am a part of the Youth Red Cross club of my college, which focuses on doing social service. Recently, we visited an orphanage. I was pretty psyched about the trip as I was finally getting to do something worthwhile. When we reached the orphanage, I was overwhelmed. I looked at the smiling faces of the innocent little children, and had this really weird, indescribable feeling as I took in the fact that the hundreds of excited children in front of me were bereft of any family. They did not have a father, no mother, no relative, and nobody who loved them with all their heart. They had nobody to wipe their tears when they fell and scratched their knee. They had nobody to bring them chocolates and ice cream at night. They had nobody to hug them tightly and tell them it was all alright, when they felt afraid at night. They had nobody to run to when the class bully troubled them. They had nobody to make them a meal that had love as an ingredient. They had nobody to caress their hair. They had nobody to show them old photos and tell them how naughty they were as kids.  What kind of a world was this? When I look back at my life till now, I see it as a patchwork of these very things. My life has been shaped by the love of my parents, grandparents, my family. They’ve given me my morals and values, and made me the person I am today. Of course, I have my individuality. But, it is they, who have taught me that I even have individuality. They’ve fussed over me when I said my first word, and when I started to walk. What about these children? Who was there to tell these unfortunate fruits of a dead tree, about the huge reserve of sweet nectar that they held inside them? Did anyone care when they said their first words? Did anyone give a damn when they took their first step? What would their first words have been anyway? I can’t imagine. Yet, I see them run around in the sand, barefoot, and scream and laugh and play. What reason do they have, to be happy? Yet, they are. What reason do we have, to be miserable? Yet, we are.

That was just the first part of the day. Next in line, was a visit to a Home for Special Children. The orphanage visit had been a joyful and fulfilling experience, having made the already merry kids’ day even brighter. I was sure that the second place we were going to wasn’t going to be fun. What I hadn’t expected was that it would be such a humdinger. The establishment was small with various varieties of plants and trees lining the façade. There were mango trees, chikoo trees, pretty flower shrubs, and what not. The air was fresh and though we were in the middle of a city, it really didn’t feel so. The interior, however, was in complete contradiction to the lively, bright, and brisk exterior. The moment we entered the building, our nostrils were flooded with the familiar hospital smell- sickly and sanitary. The building had big rooms and narrow passageways lined with windows allowing sufficient sunlight to stream in. In one room a number of chairs lined the walls. They were occupied by the children of the institution, and one look at them made the smile on my lips disappear. The children sat slumped on the chairs, with their flailing postures and blank eyes; the unfortunate heirs of destiny. A couple of caretakers periodically wiped their drooling mouths and fed them. Some kids who were capable of walking, sat on the floor and fiddled with toys that normal kids of their age wouldn’t even had bothered about. But then, it was heard to place them in a fixed age group. Some just sat restlessly on their thrones, willing themselves to get up, and screaming vague words with frustration upon failing yet again. Suddenly, the children at the orphanage seemed very lucky.

We moved around the house, only to see even more heart-wrenching sights. A caretaker sat on the floor with a baby with a cleft lip and no legs, in her lap, and a small kid born without a right hand and legs, beside her. The kid continuously fidgeted for attention; maybe he thought the kind lady was his mother. The little baby cried intermittently. A girl, not very small, sat cross-legged on the bare floor, immobile and staring blankly at the ground. Her eyes were blank. Maybe she was searching for answers. Is there anybody who could provide her the answers she seeks? A small boy, with thin legs, head tilted in an odd direction, sat on a wheelchair and stared at the wall in front of him. An adolescent girl sat in her brightly coloured cot, legs tucked beneath her, trying her best to move but failing to, groaning inaudibly in pain. What had these innocent children done to deserve a fate like this? Weren’t they God’s children too? How could God bear to see His children suffer like this? Philosophers and God men give several answers. Some say, it is to make us realize how lucky we are. I say, to hell with that. There is already enough misery in this world, we don’t need this! Some say, it is in repentance of their past life sins. Maybe it is. But, if it really is, I have a battle to pick with God for this unfair practice of His. Maybe they did some horrible things in their previous life and they have to be punished. So, I ask God, do it in that life itself. Why do it now, when they do not even remember what they are being punished for?  I, myself, would like to think of this as a manufacturing defect. Maybe God makes mistakes too. Maybe He cries every time He sees these poor souls suffering.

What hope do these children have? It is not that their condition can improve. They’ll die one day and they’ll die young. They won’t have lived their life. They won’t have had their share of happiness. What we really need are places where such children, and people, can live happily and where they can lead their lives with dignity. When we can call the misery that belongs to them, ours, why can’t they have our share of happiness?

Ask yourself, do you really have a reason to be sad? If yes, is it really so bad?

The Value Of a Life

What is the value of life, they ask. Would I rather save one life or ten lives, they ask. I don’t know, I say. Do they, I ask.

Today starts out like any other day. I wake up half an hour after the alarm goes off, go to class, sleep halfway through it, and have breakfast. The rest of the day would pretty much have been ordinary too, had it not been for the impending text message on my cell.

‘Blood needed urgently

Anyone willing to donate?’

I sit in quiet consternation at the mucky black granite table of our essentially south Indian canteen, sipping my mixed fruit juice slowly, deliberating over whether or not to go present myself to the noble cause. I find numerous reasons to put off going. For one, I would have to take the trouble of travelling all the way to the hospital where the patient was admitted. Hello, they needed the blood, not me! And then, I would have to miss some of my classes. To top it all, I wasn’t even sure whether I could sit through the whole ordeal. Yes, sigh, I am afraid of needles. I have slight Trypanophobia. Then, I try to find reasons why I should go. I find only one: it is my duty as a human being. It is my duty as a grandson, son, brother, friend, nephew, uncle. That gives me a little push. I look out the window and see a cloudy sky with intermittent splashes of sunlight. This is rare weather for heatwave city, a.k.a. Vellore, and I think, ‘What better day, than today, to travel to CMC?’ I get off the chair and step outside, but still do not call the sender of the message. Then I remember the promise I had made to myself: to never ever say ‘no’ to any “good” opportunity that presented itself to me.  

And so, I find myself standing at the hospital’s main gate. I call up the patient’s father and he tells me to come to the adjacent gate.  For fifteen whole minutes, there is no sign of him. Though the sky is shady, the humidity is high, and my t-shirt gets drenched with sweat in a matter of a few minutes. Vile thoughts bubble in my head as I stand in a dingy corner near the gate. There I was, missing my classes to save his son’s life, and he leaves me standing out in the heat for so long. How long could it possibly take to reach the gate? I wince at the cruelty of my baseless thoughts and brush them away. I was just donating blood, not doing something extraordinary. I take a gander around the hospital campus. At just eleven in the morning, the hospital is brimming with people. North Indians, South Indians, North-East Indians, and even some goras. They are there as far the eye can see, dominating every nook and cranny of the dull campus. I can safely assume that the number of people in the hospital premises at that instant is greater than the actual population of Vellore. They are different people from different walks of life. They have only one thing in common. Sad eyes illuminated by faint rays of hope. All of a sudden, my heart is filled with a twisted kind of sadness.

Just as I am about to find a place to sit down, I see a genial looking man wave at me. He has sad eyes, but a smile on his face. He hugs me as soon as he comes within hugging distance. He thanks me profusely, for coming,  and calls me a ‘great person’. That somehow manages to make me feel very small. His son’s kidneys had haemorrhaged, he tells me as we make our way to the hospital ward where blood donations are taken care of, and they need blood to carry out surgery the next week. As we are about to enter the room, he steps aside and waves his hands over some candles burning in front of a portrait of Jesus Christ, in the fashion a Hindu does when he takes aarti. Hard times have the power to change peoples’ notions of faith. I could never have imagined a devout Hindu from some small town in Jharkand to bow before any God other than his own.

As we sit in the waiting room, he tells me that he has been there for months now. He has spent lakhs of rupees on his son’s treatment, who is just three years my elder. He had been selected for an extremely well-paid job during campus placements. But, oh, the futility of it all. On the day he is supposed to be sitting for his final exams, he would be lying drugged on the operation table. I find myself silently praying that he be able to sit for his exams, only to realize the effort to be in vain. Sometimes, I just can’t understand life. It showers you with happiness for a moment and then takes it all away, leaving you to writhe in the barrenness of a drought, in deep search of pond of happy memories, which can only be but a mirage. When he apologises, over the phone, for not being able to pay certain wages, my heart almost breaks.

This really gets me wondering. What is the value of a life?  Is it less than a hundred or, say, a thousand lives? Is the pain and grief of this father any lesser than the pain of a hundred other such fathers? Are his indomitable efforts at saving his precious child, any lesser, any less valuable? Life presents such a paradox. What would you do? Would you try to save one life or ten lives, if saving one life was more probable? Does that one life hold no value in front of those other ten lives?

Two Boats

I am not usually one to write poetry, but with this picture, the words flowed naturally. Divine intervention? :P

Like two boats afloat

On the deep waters of dreams

Nigh and remote

Bursting at the seams

Like two boats adrift

Swaying on the rough waves of time

Hanging from a cliff

Waiting for the bell to chime

Like two boats at ease

In the water of contentment

Waddling in peace

Unbothered by the blue tyrant

Like two boats we are

Yes, you and me

Guided by a distant star

In the end we'll find the quay

Suicidal In London

BEEP BEEP

Hugh’s cell phone beeped . He unlocked his mobile to see 1 MESSAGE RECEIVED emblazoned on the bright screen. He clicked on OPEN.

 “Will you help me?” the message pled.

“I am sorry. But, who is this?”

“You don’t know me….”

“What? Then, how do you know me?”

“I don’t know you either.”

“What?! Then why in the world are you messaging me? How do you have my number? ”

“I don’t know. I just typed out any random eleven digits.”

“Are you a mad man? Or lady? Or whatever?”

“I am a nineteen year old male. Do I qualify to be called a man?”

“Yeah! Umm… Weell, technically you are an adult! Wait, why am I wasting my time replying to your stupid messages?”

“I don’t know! You tell me?”

“Are you crazy?”

“Maybe….I think I am. If not, I am definitely turning so! That’s why I need help.”

“So?”

“Can you help me?”

“Hmm, don’t you have any friends, or what?”

“I do.”

“So, go bugger them, you blithering idiot!”

“I don’t want them to know.”

“Know what?”

“That I have reached my weakest point in life, and I can’t handle it.”

“Wait, where are you?”

“On the London Bridge.”

“What are you doing there?”

“Having second thoughts about jumping into the icy water.”

“What! Why?” Hugh could not believe what he read. The situation, into which he had all of a sudden been plunged into, stunned him. Plunge, the very thought of it made him shiver.

“Should I do it?”

“No! Don’t, please!” Hugh typed back furiously, almost punching holes into the keys of his expensive phone. Expensive and classy, the phone reminded him of happier times.

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have a reason to live..! ”

“Why? Girlfriend leave you? Aww, come on! That’s no reason! She probably never loved you at all. You can’t suicide because of a girl! Don’t be a sissy!” Hugh sent the condescending reply, replacing ‘Don’t be a sissy’ with ‘Be strong!’. Couldn’t risk hurting a suicidal person.

“I’ve never had a girlfriend.”

“You’ll find her one day.”

“I don’t believe I will.”

“Why do you say that?!”

“I am mute, my right hand is paralytic, left leg is limp and I’ve lived in an orphanage my entire life.”

Hugh read the message with unbelieving eyes, trying to blink back tears. “I am sorry I didn’t ask your name?” He texted back, hoping to buy as much time as possible while trying to think of something to say to him and absorbing the situation at the same time. He felt guilty for being so rude to him a few minutes ago. The bright screen hurt his eyes.

“Liam…Listen I don’t see any point in this…I am sorry to have wasted your time. Another one of my many misgivings.”

“NO NO NO!!! DON”T! I PROMISE I can help you!” Hugh typed as hastily as was possible with his sweaty trembling hands. He had to save Liam. For his own sake.

Ten minutes passed with no reply. Each passing minute, every tick, every tock of the needle of his watch drilled a hole in Hugh’s heart. His quivering legs gave up and he stumbled to sit down against the nearby railing. Five more minutes crept by and there was still no reply. He tried calling Liam, but nobody picked up. Sitting out on the roof top on a cold November London night he pulled his black leather jacket tighter over his body, but felt suffocated, choking on the chilled air. The pollution let off by the heavy London traffic rose to form a fist around his throat. A strong black fist in the black night. Black with disdain, malice, sorrow. A touch of gray hinted of the rare and perpetual presence of hope, Love and satisfaction. Hugh felt terrible, imagining the worst. He had failed. He couldn't even get his thoughts through to a person in a personal interaction. What kind of a writer was he?

As he tried to find enough strength to get up, a sound coming from a paltry little box filled with technology, made of money, made his heart skip a beat. SKIP.

BEEP BEEP

 Liam had replied. He was still alive! Hugh felt relieved as the lizard making its way through his windpipe lifted its legs and the black fist loosened its grip. The elephantine moth marching on his heart slowed down. SLOW LEFT. RIGHT. LEFT.

“Please convince me…I want to live and be happy too…But people won’t let me! Give me a reason to live…My disabilities keep pulling me down and I seem to be getting nowhere in life.”

“Bollocks! You’ve lived with them so long and I am sure you can still lead a decent life.”  Hugh replied, not fully sure if he believed what he was saying.

“I could if I had money. It was fine until I left the orphanage a year ago after getting a job at a chemical industry in Smith Square. I kept messing up. Spilled chemicals. Couldn’t get work completed on time. On the day I was fired I accidently spilled acid on the boss’s thigh. I was sent to jail for a month. Couldn’t find decent employment for a month after being released. Liived off petty money earned from odd jobs. But I didn’t give up. I never thought of myself as a quitter, but I can’t take this anymore. Life is so unfair. :(”

“Then why this sudden change?  Liam, life’s awesome. Give it a chance. It’s always testing you, it’s never fair, but then who is ever fair? That’s the very beauty of life. ” Hugh felt ashamed and small in front of the person he was dealing with. No, life wasn’t fair to Liam.

“Finally, I got a job at a bakery owned by a kind old lady in Notting Hill. She herself lived alone and treated me like her own son. I had found the mother I never had! I was the happiest person in the world!But my happiness only lasted eight short months. I had everything. A job that I loved, and which wasn’t a job at all. A mother who loved me and protected me. The two best colleagues and friends in the world. But all of a sudden it was all taken away from me. In the blink of the eye! My mother died. Run over by a speeding car. Destiny’s cruel hands snatched her away from me. :’(”

Hugh felt sad, angry at the frailty of human life. He experienced a sadness that ate deep into his heart.  He couldn’t even imagine this happening to him and his beloved mother. The very thought made him shudder.

“Oh God! I am very sorry for your loss. But be happy for her. She’s surely in a better place…”

“That’s not all. After she died the bakery was taken over by a fast food restaurant chain and I was unemployed yet again. Now who will employ a mute cripple with heavy emotional baggage?  Will you?” Hugh thought of his failed publishing business and the two novels written by him that didn’t sell even a hundred copies put together. He imagined nineteen year old Liam, mute and crippled standing on the edge of the London Bridge in this chilly weather waiting to jump into the cruel water. He had to save him. His own life depended on it. “I live in a tiny room in Hackney now; have no family, no life, no job, no talent, and not even an inkling of a future. Why doesn’t God, if he exists, do anything for me? I’ve lived an honest life, but have only suffered endlessly. What reason do I have to live?”

Hugh struggled to find the right words. “God exists and looks after you every second. He cares for you. Believe me Liam, God is more worried about you than you are. But He can’t come down and repair your disability. Maybe what has happened in your life till now was inevitable. He couldn’t help it even though He wanted to. It was because of your Karma. But as you’ve lived a clean life, it’ll improve. God is constantly fighting in Heaven’s court to win the case in your favour. It’ll take time but happiness will find you, believe me. Be open and receptive to it. God always looks out for you, and believe it or not, at any point of time in life you are in the exact position that God wants you to be in. Every passing moment nurtures you for the future. See, if eventually you have to suicide, why do it now? Wait and try out what life has to offer. If you can hit the escape button any time in the future, why leave early? Do what you like, and live like there’s no tomorrow. Tell me do you do what you love doing, regularly?”

“No…”

“Have you ever tried searching for a job that you would love doing?”

“No…”

“Why?”

“They pay less.”

“But they do pay, don’t they? See, you don’t need a high paying job to become successful in life. You can start with a low paying job that you love doing and it’ll transform into a high paying job automatically! Tell me, what do you enjoy doing?”

“Well, I paint well and I love doing it. I also love baking. But these are just hobbies….”

“The most successful people are those who make their hobbies their career.”

“Is it? What do you propose?”

“Well, it’s up to you! First you have to get out of your sulk, and get a job at any bakery. With the money you earn there, you could start making paintings and selling them.  It won’t be easy but if you work hard, you can eventually accumulate enough money to open your own bakery or an art gallery! Think of the possibilities!”

“Blimey! You are right! I'll give it a try!” As he sensed the cheerfulness in this message, the moth on Hugh’s heart slowed down further.

“About the happiness part…”

“Yeah?”

“See, even though life’s been unfair to you, it’s not been completely oppressive. You’ve had your share of happiness too! The time at the bakery was a happy one, wasn’t it? Even though it’s over now aren’t you glad it happened?”

“I do..yes!”

“Look around you, life’s beautiful! I am sure if you take a short stroll, you'lll see at least one sight that gives joy to your heart!”

“You are right! I do! More than one! Okay, I will give life a try. You’ve saved my life! Thank you! Thank you….errr?”

“ Hugh Radcliffe. Remember, welcome life with open arms.”

“I will, but I can welcome it with one arm only! "

"Oh...I didn't mean to say that! It was figurative..."

"I know! I was joking. Thanks a ton, Sir!”

“Haha! Bye and have a nice life!”

“I will! Thanks! Good bye!”

Hugh felt a heavy load lift off his heart. The lizard vanished, the moth sank and the fist evaporated. He breathed a sigh of relief. He felt  happy and satisfied. All at once, all his troubles seemed insignificant. He had just helped save a life. Two lives actually. He fished out a white plastic bottle from his pocket and emptied the sleeping pills it contained onto the clean London street in front of his apartment building. With a smile on his face, he watched contently as passing cars ground the pills to dust.