Tag: reality

Chapter Six: Teacher Coaxer

When Praveena entered late to class, her Science teacher had already begun. Seeing her at the door, Ms Marrie smiled and gestured her to enter. She said nothing.

Praveena took her seat feeling miserable. She knew Ms Marrie wouldn’t ask her anything. Marrie knew how much the higher staff hated rule breakers, but wasn’t one of them. She often declared that it’s alright to break the rules once a while.

Marrie continued explaining heat conductors with a flourish. Praveena couldn’t concentrate. Science was not one of her favourite subjects, but she liked Ms Marrie, and tried hard to score more in her subject.

Today though, her mind drifted. ‘Could Ms Marrie be like Andrew? Does she really love teaching, or is she convincing herself of it everyday, like Andrew said?’ Praveena was so immersed in her own thoughts that she didn’t realize the bell that rang to signal the end of class. She startled when everyone stood up to thank Ms Marrie.

Ms Marrie came up to her and said in a quite voice, “I want to talk to you. Follow me.” It was neither a question nor a suggestion. It was an order, but she made it sound like a request. That was Ms Marrie’s speciality; she knew how to talk to a person.

Praveena didn’t think what they would discuss, instead, she followed Marrie out of the class as if possessed. Just then Andrew approached them, book in his hand. It was not his class.

Ms Marrie spoke to him as Praveena watched. His old flourish was back. He looked as if nothing made him happier than teaching his favourite subject. Praveena was confused. He had been so upset and broken the previous day, yet now, here he stood pretending like that never happened. Though she did notice he refused to make eye contact with her. It annoyed her. Why did he still pretend? If he didn’t like the job, he could have at least left to do whatever he wanted, he didn’t have to worry about anyone or anything. Then why was he still voluntarily miserable?

Praveena couldn’t make out a probable answer. She only knew Andrew had wasted his life away. And she pitied him.

“Come on,” called Ms Marrie as she walked towards her room. Her blue sari swung in the breeze, mildly caressing Praveena’s arm. As the sari made contact with her arm, Praveena thought of her mother, and how she doesn’t dress up anymore. She felt her eyes searing and wiped them in a hurry.

Ms Marrie stopped in front of a door, opened it, and entered. Praveena followed.

Ms Marrie’s room was smaller than Andrew’s, but more familiar. The table was strewn with books of various sizes and there were four or five paper cups stacked with tea bags inside them. Praveena smiled. Ms Marrie was an avid tea-drinker, she realized, like herself. The walls were all plain except for a single poster of a man she didn’t recognise.

“Sit down.” Ms Marrie said, shuffling the books on her table. Praveena caught a few titles, The Last Lecture, Persuasion, Tuesdays with Morrie, Wind in the Willows, a couple of Agatha Christie books, and a few more she had never heard of. “Sorry for the mess,” she apologized, taking her chair.

Once she was settled facing Praveena, she asked, “So, how are you?”

“Huh?” That was unexpected.

“How are you?” Ms Marrie repeated more slowly.

“Fine” said Praveena, defiant and a little louder than was necessary.

“No you’re not.” It was just another statement, but Marrie’s was so sure that it surprised Praveena.

“Something is bothering you.” she paused for a reaction, and sure enough, Praveena’s eyes tensed. “You want to talk about it?” she continued.

“I — er — I was just worried about being late…” Praveena trailed off. She couldn’t hold Ms Marrie’s gaze and dropped her eyes to her hands which she twisted on her lap.

“You know,” Ms Marrie smiled, “you make it so obvious when you’re lying.” She sounded amused. She had caught a lot of students telling lies, but Praveena was the easiest by far.

Praveena remained silent.

Ms Marrie leaned over on her elbows, peering into Parvenu’s downcast eyes. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to talk to me about it,” Praveena’s eyes met hers. “but something tells me you need to get it out of your chest. I’ll only tell you that you can trust me. I’ll be a good listener. If you don’t trust me, you can leave. I’ll hold nothing against you.” Ms Marrie’s voice was calm, she hadn’t raised it at all. Yet she had made her point clear. She hadn’t threatened Praveena, or demanded her to talk. She spoke like a friend might — earnest.

Praveena didn’t move. She had her doubts. She was scared to talk to Ms Marrie. Why did Marrie want her to talk about her thoughts? ‘What if she thinks I’m a fool? What if she misunderstands me? Would she tell Ma and Pa that I am a lunatic? What if? What if —?’

Praveena stood up without saying a word, turned around and walked out of the room. As she closed the door behind her, she heard Ms Marrie sigh.

Chapter Five: Reality Check

Praveena wept.

She had thought high of ambitions and passion. She had a goal in life: to help people in any way she could. She had drawn her inspirations from the various superheroes who had lined up to do good. In all those years of her feverish fandom, she had not thought for one moment that she would not achieve her motives. Now, though, she had doubts. She had always looked up to the people around her for encouragement. People who walk their daily lives with a bigger and ultimate goal in mind.

All her ideals had just came crashing down. She didn’t know why Mr Andrew’s story upset her so much.

‘Andrew is just one man, there are countless others who realize their dreams’, her inner voice tried to comfort her.

‘But,’ – came the second, more sensible voice – ‘if a single person is so easily deprived of his passion, what hope do the others have?’

The first voice fell silent. But only just. It soon replied, ‘there is hope, you idiot. Realizing their dreams is in their own hands. If Andrew flopped his passion, then it was his fault. There’s nothing you can do about it.’

‘Someone didn’t want Andrew to be an archeologist. That was so cruel of them, right? I mean, what kind of society is this? People telling us we are not worth it? It’s insane; unfair.’

‘Life is unfair, you fool. Stop bugging me and get some shut eye. Let’s talk about this in the AM.’

As the voices faded away into silence, Praveena sat on her now clean bed, confusion gnawing at her brain. Both her inner voices had had a point, but they were so contradictory that it made her dizzy. Like there were two different people in her head. Is this a symptom of craziness? She didn’t know.

She lay back on the bed, her arms stretched out. The ceiling fan was spinning, but her head was spinning faster. Jumbled thoughts swirled like mist, drawing a blurred image.

“Shut up.” She advised her head. It didn’t listen. She gave up, turned over and shut her eyes tight. Hours later, she still forced sleep.

Praveena didn’t wake up the next morning. She was late. Her mother came in to check in on her, and seeing her asleep, left without waking her.

It was her father who woke her at quarter to eight. She hadn’t locked the door, and after a curt nod, Kamal strode in to the room in a flourish. He sat on the edge of the bed.

“Praveena?” he called softly. She didn’t move. After a few tensed calls, she stirred. Kamal breathed a sigh of relief.

She opened a crack of her eyes and seeing him, sat bold upright.

Kamal startled, not expecting her sudden movement.

“Pa!” exclaimed quite loud and breathless. “Oh,” she sighed, “you scared me.” She smiled mildly scratching her head. Crossing her legs on the bed, she waited a minute or two for her heart beat to return to normal. When it did, she asked, “What’s up, Pa?”

“Aren’t you going to school? It’s seven forty-five already.”

Praveena looked at the clock, and put her hands on her head. She was so late. The bats will be all over her. ‘Damn,’ she swore to herself.

“I’ll get ready, Pa” she stood up “could you drop me today?”

“OK.” And with that, he left, closing the door behind him softly.

Praveena stood in the centre of the room with hands on her hips. She mentally prepared herself for the explanation.

Sighing deeply, she turned around to get ready for another day at school. When she came down for breakfast, her mother’s smiling face greeted her. “Couldn’t sleep last night?”

Praveena’s look of admiration affirmed Geetha’s suspicions.

Twenty minutes later, she stood at the school gate, waving her father goodbye.

‘School life is a life of stealth,’ she mused walking towards the assembly hall.

 

Chapter Four | Chapter Six

Chapter Three: Trying Times

November 25, 2001.

Praveena lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling fan. It rotated at maximum speed, and she was tried to make out the wings; it was her favourite past time. Whenever she felt sad, happy — or anything at all — she would lock herself inside her room and stare at the fan. It tired her eyes and helped her fall asleep. She needed a lot of that too; her workload was mounting higher than ever before.

It was just another stressful Thursday; she had been told to write a two-page essay on “Life in Renaissance.” She didn’t understand the point of studying the causes and effects of something that was already gone. What’s the use? She could only wonder.

Shaking her head in disbelief, she imagined, for a moment, asking the same question of her History teacher. She would have regretted her existence by now. Boy, that old hag had a way of insulting anyone who had anything against the word “ istory.” He would peer down at students with his magnified eyes and start tutoring about the greatness of history and the value historical research. A widower, Mr Andrew lived in his huge ancestral property. No one sees him in the neighbourhood except when he leaves for work and when he returns. He never went out during the weekends, and visitors were an unlikely possibility. It was always a source of great entertainment for the kids at school to wonder and spin stories about what he did all alone, all day shut up in that house. They knew more than half of the building was unoccupied. They would imagine and share stories of ghosts and vampires, considering and reconsidering the chances of Mr Andrew being a vampire.

People said Andrew had quite a semblance to Edward Cullen — except the complexion of course — and the age. Mr Andrew certainly looked his age, which would be around fifty five.

Come to think of it, Praveena couldn’t recall why Andrew was said to be similar to Edward at all. She saw hardly any similarity. Mr Andrew was thin, yes, and could have been a handsome youth, but he did absolutely hate being out in the sun.

And unlike the twilight vampire, Mr Andrew had a large pile of untidy grey hair, an oversized and badly tucked in belly, and an uncanny interest in peanuts. That would surely rule him out as a vampire, Praveena thought. Though she would have loved to give into the idea.

The fan was still spinning, and now so was Praveena’s head. The next moment, she was fast asleep. Her room was a mess, and Praveena’s surroundings expressed her mind. The area of her bed in which she wasn’t sleeping was laden with clothes both washed and otherwise, giving no room for her pillow which now had collected dust under the bed. Her usually well-swept room was covered in a kind of a pungent stench that she had become accustomed to.

She hadn’t let the maid in to clean her room the previous week. She wanted to do it herself, but she was overcome with too much workload that she barely slept nowadays. She didn’t know what kept her awake all night, but she knew that it wasn’t going to end soon. She knew that she had to wait with open arms for sleep to embrace her.

It did now, and she slept. And then she slept a little more.

Praveena woke up the next morning and felt like a new person. She had slept well, and it showed in her eyes. She washed, got dressed in record time and went to meet her mother in the kitchen.

Her mother was there, setting up a humble breakfast with the little strength she could muster.

“Good morning, Ma!” she said, and smiled as wide as she could. Her mother turned to her and smiled; a smile that she gave only Praveena, a loving smile that only Praveena could interpret. It was the same smile that she had given Praveena every day of her life, whether or not her daughter noticed it.

“Morning, dear” Geetha replied. “how about an early breakfast, huh?” Even as she placed the round dish on the polished table, Praveena noticed that her mother had lost her pace. Her eyes had begun to sink in, and she had tied a scarf on her balding head. She knew that her mother’s pancreatic cancer had weakened her a lot, but she had hardly noticed.

“Maybe a little later, Ma. Where’s Pa?” Praveena sat down and gestured her mother to do the same. She pulled out a chair which Geetha took, stumbling a little.

“Out, on his usual walk.” smiled Geetha, “You seem to have slept well last night,” she observed without wavering in her smile. Praveena nodded. “good. You need to get a lot of sleep at this age. Never deny your body the rest it deserves.”

That struck Praveena. Drawing her courage, she spoke, for the first time about her mother’s condition, “What about you, Ma? You need the rest too. Why do you still strain yourself so much?” She could feel her eyes searing and fought back a tear. “You’ve already done your duty” she added as an afterthought.

Geetha smiled. It was a simple smile, there was no pathos or self pity in that smile. It was a tolerant smile that one gives while explaining to an unbelieving toddler that one plus one makes two. “It’s not about duty; it was never my duty to raise you. It was out of love. If I am spending my little time for you, it means that I care about you, and your dad. It has noting to with duty.” She shook her head gently explaining to her little daughter that, despite having such a short time with her, she loved her more than anything. Geetha wheezed and took a deep breath, tired.

Praveena no longer felt happy.

Chapter Two | Chapter Four

Chapter Two: Early Days – As told in the Diary

November 1, 1996
Diary,

Praveena turned eight yesterday, and I am so proud of her. She’s grown into such a darling — my darling. I love her more than I can ever tell her in words. There’s just one thing that bugs me though: she watches too much of cartoons. I know, and it’s not like there’s a problem with that or anything, but isn’t it unhealthy to sit in front of the television for such long hours? I don’t want her to fall prey to obesity or, worse still, spectacles. It’s such a bad thing that you can’t see things without spectacles, it’s like being dependent on something. I know because that’s my life. I should tell her that; she should take care of herself a bit more.

Geetha tells me that I worry too much about Praveena. But how can I not worry? She’s my daughter. But Geetha’s right too, maybe I should allow Praveena to figure things out for herself.

You know Diary, Praveena and Geetha — they are so much like each other. Sometimes, her confidence and her conviction surprises me. She wants to be a superhero. Ha! Imagine that! It’s a childhood fantasy, I know. But she doesn’t, and what’s more, she says she’s figured it all out. She tells me, even though she has no superpowers like Superman or Spiderman, she could change the world by just doing the right thing. “Like Batman,” she says.

I was stupefied. She’s eight! And she speaks like she’s much older. I couldn’t believe it. Again, Geetha advised me to just listen and nod on. “She’s just a child, Kamal” she keeps telling me, and I’ve decided to listen to her.

After all, mother knows best. Right?

Goodnight.

November 3, 1996
Dear Diary,

I heard some distressing news last night. A kid, some nine or ten year old, got so immersed in Spiderman, and believing he could jump from one building to another, jumped from a building.

Goodness, I didn’t know how to react when I heard this. I was so worried as if the kid was my own; how his parents would have felt! They would have cursed themselves for allowing their kid anywhere near that franchise. They would have thought that it was no harm – who would? Just like I feel about Praveena and her obsession with Batman. Oh, what do I do now? I thought it was okay, but now after this news, I’m worried. Should I restrict Praveena?

I’m too confused.

Goodnight.

November 12, 1996
Dear Diary,

I am so relieved. I spoke to Praveena about the kid who jumped off the building, and I ended up wondering why I hadn’t spoken to her sooner.

I was wondering how to begin when she started the matter herself. It seems she had noticed my “bad mood”, as she called it.

There I was, staring at her Batman dolls while she watched TV. All of a sudden, she exclaimed, “Don’t worry Pa, I am not stupid enough to jump off a building.”

I was startled. How did she know what I had been thinking? She went on, “I know superheroes don’t exist in the real world. When I said I wanted to be a superhero, I meant, I want to help people. That’s all.”

You can imagine the rush of love that swept over me. I stood up and hugged her. I couldn’t tell describe to her the relief that ran through my veins. I slept well that night, and a few nights later. That’s why I couldn’t tell you about it earlier. *Yawn*

Goodnight.

October 31, 2001
Dear Diary,

It’s Praveena’s birthday! She’s now thirteen; a teenager. Wow, how soon time flies! I didn’t even realize the years passing. It seems only like yesterday that I had shaved my beard for the first time since college. And so soon, Praveena’s a teenager!

As always, Geetha and I baked a small coffee cake – her favourite. She didn’t want to invite any of her friends this time, so it was just the three of us.

Geetha tried calling her parents — just to tell them that Praveena was growing faster than we’d like — but they didn’t respond, as usual. And I stopped calling my folks two years ago — there’s just no use.

Anyway, Praveena got herself a nice dress for her birthday. You know the drill; she gets her own birthday present – happening for the third year this time. She’s such an independent kid, you know, that’s the way she does it. Sometimes it terrifies me, but — no questions asked, Geetha’s rule.

Besides the dress, she bought Nelson Mandela’s autobiography (I know! Only thirteen!) and a Batman comic. I don’t know what joy she gets from reading the comics, but she does it everyday. Anyway, I stopped worrying a long time ago. I’m just happy.

Goodnight.

November 25, 2001
Dear Diary,

Today, I went shopping with Praveena. That’s when I realized, she’s so unlike other kids her age. She seems to hate being around people. She doesn’t behave like others, and I’m starting to wonder if she needs help.

She’s so short tempered nowadays. She even shouted at Geetha yesterday. It’s surprising. She’s never behaved like this before. She locks herself in her room and either sleeps all day or busies herself with homework.

I know that she has mountains of homework — and I do plan to talk to her teacher about it — but even when she’s not doing homework, she’s scribbling something or the other in her diary. You know sometimes I wonder whether she got that from me and whether it’s a good thing at all. I mean, she never tells us what she feels — isn’t that a bad sign?

She seems such a mystery to me. I can’t understand what she’s thinking, and she isn’t helping me to help her either.

Geetha’s health, on the other hand, is is steadily deteriorating. On our last checkup, doctors narrowed her health to another eight to ten months. She’s active and on her feet, busy with the house work, but I can see the cancer getting to her. Her hair’s no more and her eyes look more tired than I have ever seen them. Each time I see her, I feel like weeping. She smiles at me in the same way she did every other time, but I can sense the weakly concealed pain.

I can’t tell her — or anyone, for that matter — but, it makes me so sad that we only had so few years together. It pains me so much to have to see her leave me and Praveena all alone. She has always been such a great support, and going into the future without her would be like stepping into the unknown oblivion. But I’ll have to do it. For Praveena.

That’s it for today.
Goodnight.

Chapter One | Chapter Three

Chapter One: A New Welcome

It was a dark night, no moon and not a single street light shone as far as the eye could see. But that was the least of Kamal’s worries. He wasn’t outdoors enjoying the gentle July breeze that swept through the streets; instead, he stood under fading tube lights, distraught between shooing flies away from his face and staring at the door waiting for it to open.

They had told him to wait. He couldn’t, not anymore; he had waited for an hour already, and his patience was running out, fast. It was as if an invisible force stretched him from both sides, trying to discern how long before he’d snap.

He had waited, along with his wife, for ten long months. Now he understood what they meant, that time would creep when you expect something — or someone. It was torture.

He tried leaning on the decaying walls. He sat, but couldn’t for long. He began pacing to and fro the narrow windowless corridor. He couldn’t think straight; his mind was garbled with emotions he couldn’t explain — even to himself. It was his first experience; he was excited, filled with enthusiasm. But he was also worried, his wife needed him — now — more than ever. But here he stood instead, waiting with bated breath and an uncontrollable urge to break down the door.

For months leading to this day, he had assailed his friends and colleagues with questions about their experiences. He had dedicated more attention to their words than he had ever done during his Economics classes back in college. However, no matter how much he had been tutored to stay calm and relax, it was nothing — nothing compared to what he now faced.

The nurses all laughed at his restlessness; the sight wasn’t new for them. Day after day they would watch, as expecting fathers stole longing glances at the closed door.

Each moment seemed an age, and Kamal was growing desperate. He looked around the corridor. It had a surprising sense go gloom, for a labour ward. The lights above his head flickered. In the farthest corner, he saw another agitated young father clinging on to the door knob, expecting news of his child. Turning to his own door, Kamal noticed the paintings on the walls. There were babies. Three babies huddled together in one picture while in another, a baby peeked from behind a fluffy white pillow. Kamal’s lips parted in a tiny smile, and before he knew it, his smile had reached his eyes; he couldn’t wait. He pressed his ear to the door in eager anticipation, hoping to hear the doctor’s footsteps coming towards him. But there was no sound.

Why wasn’t there any sound? He thought back to all the movies he had seen, where relatives waiting outside would celebrate as soon as they heard the baby’s cries and the mother’s wails from within.

What was going on?

A nurse decided to explain; “It’s a sound-proof door, Mr Kamal!”

And a minute later, the mahogany door swung open and out strode the doctor, with two nurses at his heels. The doctor grinned at him through his grey-lined mustache, “Congratulations, Mr. Kamal. You are now the father of a beautiful girl.” The effect was instantaneous — Kamal’s face split into a huge smile and tears escaped though his eye lids. His legs almost gave away, and he clutched the lined chairs just in time to balance himself. For a few seconds, he stood speechless. He opened his mouth but couldn’t form words. Clearing his throat, he tried again gesturing towards the inside of the room.

The doctor threw his head back and laughed. A high-pitched belly laugh, “Yes, you can go and see them.”

Kamal managed a weak “Thank you”, before dragging his weak legs into the room. There on the bed lay his pretty wife, her eyes closed in a peaceful slumber. He saw beads of sweat on her forehead, and next to her, was the cot. He stood at the door, watching his wife. She had suffered in his absence, but he was going to change it. He swore to himself never to leave her side again.

Walking over to the cot, he peeped in slowly, for fear of waking his baby. But she wasn’t asleep; she looked up at her father, smiling and cackling. It awoke his wife. Stirring, she sat up and smiled at him; the same smile that had made him a hopeless lover.

He lifted his girl in tender arms and, trying to be gentle, planted a kiss on her cheek. She began crying immediately. With a baffled look, he handed his baby to his wife. Once settled in her mother’s arms, the baby stopped crying. Smiling at his confusion, his wife mused, “Your beard.”

“I’ll shave it.” He waved a hand, “First thing tomorrow.” He was dazed; his daughter had succeeded where his parents and relatives had failed. For the first time in his life, he agreed to give up his beard. He would give his daughter everything, she would grow up the happiest girl in the world.

“I love you,” He declared to his daughter and she smiled in return. Smiled as if she understood every syllable her father uttered.

Chapter Two