Love

He scratched his head .

“That movie ? But you have read the book haven’t you ? ”

“Yeah, I have . Twice ,but I still want to watch the movie ! It’s okay if you don’t want to come .” She said and looked down . He knew she wanted to watch the movie badly . At the same time , she didn’t want to go alone . He understood her really well. 

Besides , it was not safe for her to go alone . this was a small town , and english movies with hindi dubbing were watched by very few. Just a fistful of enthusiasts. 

In the movie hall, he was happy he came along . Just to see her clap , smile and shout at the characters in the movie . Even if the movie itself didn’t seem to make any sense for him . He hated magic shows since his childhood , and these guys were waving wands and doing lots of magic .

He made a mental note to read all the seven books , even if he found them gibberish .Just so that he could hold night-long conversations with her , on the various characters , events in the stories ,she loved so much . 

Years later , he would acquire the CDs of all the movies , so he could stay up and watch them with her , or just watch her , watching them.

Blood orange

In retrospect , everything that morning was queer.

Down to the colour of the sky . A smear of fiery crimson against the usual azure . The sun tried its best to emerge , fought against an army of angry black clouds and was injured . The sky bore testimony to its injuries .

"Paah ! Balderdash ! " Sun bend her head and whispered to herself "Focus ! focus " . She had missed the bus and was sprinting to the school . She had begun running , the moment she saw it trundle away , "without her ".  Not an easy task with a "two ton load of wisdom " , as her  mother would put it , thudding on her back .

Gesturing or shouting didn't seem to help , as the back benchers on the school bus were the footballers, her sworn enemies . Not only did they show her the finger , one of them was actually making a video with his smartphone , as she ran . She noticed the chap. Samar ! Must report him to ma'am , for illegal possession of the phone , get his phone confiscated . It was this stubborn sticking to rules that made her , a prefect , and a natural enemy of the footballers , the  congenitally lawless lot.

He stood by the roadside , selling oranges. As all fruit vendors do . Possibly crying out his wares . She doesn't remember . She remembered seeing him earlier too , but never paid attention . That day , she stopped . Why ?

Two reasons . The school was in plain sight , there were ten minutes to the first bell . The footballers were alighting . She wanted to give them wide berth , and the oranges looked tempting.

In fact , they looked like the sun , bruised , red , glistening . Sun , or Sunita , shook her head . The vendor , quickly grabbed one and sliced it . It squirted red juice . Horrified , she looked at him . The vendor looked different , almost radiant ,smiling . "Blood oranges , baby ! Here , take it !"  He squeezed one of the bleeding halves and the red juice landed plonk , on her shirt front .

"Oops sorry!" He offered a grimy dusting cloth , rubbing with which made matters worse . The vendor was still holding out the cut halves towards her .

"Seriously , he wants me to buy the cut orange ?" Sunita thought absently. She also remembered reading about blood oranges being native to the mediterranean.

She shrugged , paid for one orange , and thrusting it into her bag, slouched away . Today was just not her day.

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First person to notice the stain was , of course , Samar . Smirking , he brought his head close to hers , as they stood in the prefects' line , at assembly, whispering confidentially . "You've burst your heart , running so hard, Sun ". he smirked .

"What?"

"You're bleeding from your heart " He dramatically placed his hand on his chest and swayed .

"Silence " PT sir thundered . The prayers were on .

Sunita looked down . Horrors , the juice stain had spread , and it actually looked like blood . She touched it . Sticky , thick . Goodness, it even smelt of blood . Must rush to the washroom , immediately after the National Anthem .

Next two minutes were the longest two minutes . Warm , sticky red fluid , started trickling down , and actually dripped onto her shoes .

"Blast ! Omigod ! What was this ?"No one else seemed to have noticed , thankfully .

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The more she rubbed , the larger the stain spread . She had taken off her shirt and was rubbing it vigorously , then she noticed her reflection . It was actually pumping out of her , in spurts .

 But she felt no pain , only a queer calm , and an urgent need to hunt for a clean shirt .

 Giving up on all efforts , She took off her shirt , camisole and bundled it up carefully , before dumping it into the dustbin . She remembered seeing a grimy shirt , full of plaster stains , which the janitor didi hung in the broom closet . That would mean sprinting two metres across the corridor, clad in nothing but her bra . That too had started oozing blood ." Yech!"

She peeked out , no one in the corridor. Taking her chance , Sun sprinted and yanking the door open , closed herself in .


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Two minutes later , She knew all will be in classrooms . She slowly emerged . The bleeding had stopped and now she smelt of stale oranges . The trick was to sprint back home , find a new shirt , wear it and come back before the first period is over.

Then she could explain everything to the class teacher , Mr. Roy , who would probably not believe a single word . Sunita sighed . A completely strange turn of events .

The school seemed strangely silent. Padding softly , to her classroom , Sunita was surprised to find her classroom empty. The clouds had moved in , and the day was grey . A cold wind blew from open windows. One panel banged noisily . Sunita sighed. No one had bothered to close the window. It was all upto her , the prefect.

Still wondering as to where all had gone , She climbed onto the last bench and tried to shut the window, when a large newspaper cutting on the notice board across the corridor , caught her eye.


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 It described in great vivid details how a schoolgirl , sprinting to school, behind the school bus was seen being stabbed in the heart several times by an orange seller .

It took her a moment to realise , she was reading about the morning's incident . It went on to describe Samar's observation , in his own words and described the video clipping he made .

"This is ridiculous !" Thought Sunita . " How come ?" Stupidly , she felt through the fabric of her shirt. There were no stab marks , nothing . She pinched herself . It felt real .

So where were the people , students , classes ? How come she is the only one in the school.

She ran to the gate , where the watchman was sitting . Relieved at seeing one person , in the deserted school , she breathlessly placed a hand on his shoulder and asked -"Bhaiya , where have the others gone ?"

Still staring at the ground he replied ,"they have gone at the poor girls' funeral ,what are you doing here ?"

He looked up , there was a massive thunderclap , and Sunita , was dimly aware of staring at the face of the orange seller .


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Next thing , Sunita finds herself staring at the orange vendor at the school gates .

The bus has finished offloading the footballers , and no , she is in no mood to buy an orange , so thank you. She was also relieved to note that these were tropical oranges , yellow-orange in colour . Her uniform shirt is unstained white .

Thank God ! Bright sunshine pouring from the heavens and all was well with the world .

She enters the classroom , dumps her bag and joins Samar on the prefect's queue.

"Late comer " He sneers and Sunita actually smiles back . Nonplussed , he frowns .


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There is one teeny weeny problem though. Janitor didi has suddenly discovered some blood stained  clothing in the dustbin of the girls' bathroom , and that her own old grey shirt which was covered with plaster bits is missing.




                                                   

Bread and butter

Once upon a time , bread and butter , was , well , you know , bread and butter. It was commonplace , accepted and expected to be present at every breakfast table .

 Like a genial matron , ruling over her home and hearth.

 Fattening , lovable , unassuming , lip-smackingly  delicious .

Then came science and it rang the death knell for this simple and  hearty  fare .

Loaded with "sinful calories and  free radical fats " , it turned into a villain overnight . Like a politician having crossed over to the wrong side of political correctness. After having sat on the fence for too long , and beguiled us , public , with delectable debates , of the "cholesterol " variety , it finally jumped , and scooted over into the darkness of the 'deadly carb' land .

The worst part is , we weren't aware for long . So long as our metabolism kept sweeping the 'evidence ' under the carpet. Once metabolism waned , and took to sitting on a broken charpoy , outside our body systems , like a retired soldier ; the calories piled up . Visibly . Like unswept garbage . Love handles, double chin, wobbly arms !!

Some of us developed deadly diseases . The joints creaked and gave way , under all that load . The arteries clogged up , and heart huffed and puffed , lurching and creaking dangerously , like an overloaded Punbus.

Ominous signs .

Like rising floodwaters . Important to stay lightweight and afloat .

But then , as they say , to err is human . Human err, errors recur.

Emotional eaters like me , are known to slather fridge -cold bread with hastily sliced slabs of butter , in the deathly silence of midnight , only to be snatched by ever vigilant vigilante daughters , who take large bites of your fare , and hiss sibilant warnings in your ear- "Sshame on you Mama!" Making away with your booty , in the dark.

There is another  emotional eater in the family , who throws caution (read  dietary plans ) out of the window , every time , North Korea shoots its mouth or a missile . Chomping on a thick slab , he retorts " We are all going to die anyway" . One doesn't have the heart to point out that North Korea lies hundreds of  thousands of kilometres away.

The best of times

The old couple sat on the porch . The plastic chairs were finely dusted with the early morning spray of rain. The leaves of the potted plants dripped steadily with weighted pearls of moisture .

The air was crisp , rain washed . Both held a cup each . His morning herbal tea , her coffee sans sugar . Both sat and took a simultaneous sip . The resultant sigh was also simultaneous .

He started to talk , about something , somewhere , in the distant past . She tried listening , then she gave up . He continued talking , his voice a comfortable , familiar sound in the background . She looked at him , with a faraway smile . Somewhere on the horizon , the sun broke out from behind the cloud cover . A dazzling rainbow flooded the vista . It was magical . With his thick glasses , he missed the light effect by the providence . 

“It was the best of the times , wasn’t it ? ” He rounded off his reminiscing . 

She smiled . Almost grabbed him by his chin and turned his face to the glorious sky , and asked “What about now ? Eh?”

But she just smiled and held his hand , the free hand .