Sandy - Part I

 Chapter I

Knock at the door at that wee hours sounded like someone banging at my doorstep, I rolled up uncomfortably to move towards the door, power cut at that hour has made the stranger preventing using the calling bell, I shouted I am coming & moved towards the door switching on the emergency lamp, knocker was not a stranger, he is Sandy, childhood pal of mine, as usual he had come up with a new issue. His bloated face, bleeding lips said he had a rough time with some one, I opened the door and showed an approval to come inside. He took to the reclining sofa & signed me to get him water.

I motioned towards the refrigerator; opening it I asked what happened Sandy? picking up the ice cubes to mix him a stiff drink which would be soothing for his sores both mentally & physically,  though i am not a drunkard, I always used to have some alcoholic beverages in my shelf, he refused to take it, but I insisted him this is now the right medicine, he held the glass in both of his hands as if holding a glass bulb, rolling it in his palms, resting his elbows on his thighs, I waited for him to sip the drink, his eyes melting to tears unable to see me, still rolling the glass, I softly said "first gulp it" he had all the drink in one take, I refilled him with another drink, now he sounded energetic,, I know the effects of alcohol, though it is injurious on long term consumption, it has good effects when one feel ill, soothing out his stress like applying balm on a fresh wound.

Sandy is an engineering graduate, having in-depth knowledge in civil construction which is his major he is well known for his experimental innovative ideas which were successfully implemented as low cost buildings, designer buildings, his ability maneuvering with subordinates fetched him praise and fame in the industry, its not exaggeration if we say he played an impeccable role is shaping up the construction industry. He has his age old father mother, father served Indian railways for 34 years and his mother like any other family a plaster for all his sores, governed the family. 

Sandy like any other youth was robust, heaped piles of credentials as qualifications, excelled professionally, his timely behavior is compassion, if he finds anyone on his way to office or his way back home, staggering where to go he will empty his purse and would make arrangements for their night stay at old age home or juvenile hostel or finally a police station. He would call me from some where anytime and ask for help if he found anyone, sometime I would feel why this guy is peeking inside not letting us to be ourselves for a while. But never his compassion made him awry of the situation.

I glanced at him, now he looked composed, he uttered it was Sheeba's mother who hit him badly, one by one things started to unveil unto my vision, I exclaimed, wondered how these women folks are so arrogant, only fault Sandy did was running behind that rude woman's daughter Sheeba, for that the pay back, he was assaulted by her mother.  Time galloped alike fiery stallion, I believed passing months would have healed Sandy physical & emotional pain, six months gone, one hot tired afternoon Sandy evoked my spirits calling me over the phone, he announced he along with his friends are going to propose a girl who works as a helper for masonry in his construction site. This time again I was shocked to hear what he said, I started realizing Sandy is a man of quick turn ups of fluctuating moods, I wanted to confirm his decision as authentic.

Chapter II

I applied on the brakes seeing the green illuminant signal changing to red; it was a bright summer noon, sun burned like a hot big furnace, it was hell to wait till signal changes to green, a girl little at the age of kinder garden student spread out colorful waste cloths in her right hand while holding a bunch in her left, she stood near on my right side looking pleasingly at me, looking at the signal confirming it won’t change for forty seconds I carefully let out a soiled note from my purse for that waste cloth which can be used to wipe my bike. I could see her face lit up besides her tired poor complexion, she left handling the cloth seeking for another. This is very usual sight in the city in the signals, when we wait in excruciating hot sun little girls & their mothers with infants selling little mop sticks, waste cloths, sun screens to the commuters.

I don’t love charity, I believe one should not paid to buy fish instead one should be taught to catch fish quoted by a Chinese premier, more over I get a sick feeling when a person beg for alms to me, sometimes I get irritated like the alms seekers have found my soft corner of my heart, feeling sick, I would bark at them in defense.

Writer's Digest - Part 3

Being a writer is not an occupation I said, the guy in front of me is a friend of mine  reclining on the sofa, eyes half closed, using a tooth pick after the heavy dinner we had, he is not seemingly interested in my reply giving an impression of questioning alone his duty not caring about the reply, being a writer is rendering what we had from this world to the rest, its answering to the question asked to us from our dear and near, its a commitment to the world, its a quest to reach the world through any means otherwise through written, its an obvious discourse, which is eloquent, its an open communication between the render and the reader.

I turned back to my dozed off friend, moved to the balcony staring the dark moonless midnight sky, I let out a sigh, I know a writer's life is sleepless, missing the drive to write, or trying to emancipate the drive to words, unlike other duties its doesn't start with breakfast ending up with dusk  or it doesn't specialized with a particular skill to endeavor, it depends on what we have inside, what we have had grown inside, its a continuous process of being a man, a human, but I don't rule out the fact it can be a profession. 

Morning dawned with a bright sunlight heat piercing the outer skin, I don't feel like I had slept lately as it become my usual practice, I had a cold shower emerging for the new day, had a late breakfast at 11, the friend who accompanied me last night had left for the day having the breakfast earlier, the maid said, I don't have plans for the weekend, I am bored of the places I usually wander, I closed on the laptop not knowing how to continue with the story line I have developed these days, I have an appointment with a woman a descent of tamilnadu who settled in Europe thirty years before along with her white parents who adopted her, I used to chat with her to know about her story, I have assured her I am getting impressed on her story, eventually I would start that project and would reward her when I succeed. 

I don't like to take up my bike, I want a long walk, like to wait for bus, catch it up like a commoner

It was half past noon and she was waiting for me from eleven, I am not a guy of being late, I used to be punctual always, I advise all my known people to be precise the time quoted, I respect others timings, I do like to be respected, I apologized for being late, she worn with sky blue chiffon welcomed me in, sky blue chiffon, her bold mascara with the eyes down inside with the high brows shadowing dark, she was like a evil fairy, the reason for the term evil I use here is she seems to be somewhat a believer of black magic, a weird practitioner... some times  my intuition plays prominent role, I don't know how why I possess such or I don't know all would be so intuitive, few years before I saw an youngster, with a sharp nose a broad forehead, some what intuitively I asked what his profession, he replied back he is a commission agent, its true my intuition I forecast in my mind he may be a person, his sharp nose and broad forehead.

The British Indian female brought me two glasses of fresh juice, extended one to me seating herself with poise,  she started to unfold her story, she was adopted by a British couple, a well known family in the Europe, got married with a British man, it was a love marriage, day by day lack of understanding, impatience, lead to problems, fights, she decided to get divorced, her husband was insecure, he held her legs not to leave him, sobbed like a child, she had to heed to him, years rolled over, married life did not bring happiness, the prolonged stay within the marriage did not do good to both, she decided to kill herself bought sleeping pills through online vendor, she kept the pills, went to attend the phone call, which said her husband was dead in a car accident shortly, she was happy, the death of her husband made her cry and made her happy too. 

She started experiencing infernal state, witnessing strange signs, her dog behaves erratically, peculiar sounds, birds which are unfamiliar to the area visits often, she realizes some one other than her is present with her, but the secretive force does no harm to her, she started to believe it is her dead husband, he walks in the main hall, so her dog behaves erratically, the unfamiliar birds are her dead parents she believed, she started to reach her roots back in India, she meets her soul mate, with his support she search for her roots, will she achieve her desire..?

will be continued....

Writer's Digest - Part 2

Last night I went to midnight mass, spent time with the carols, choirs, rejoicing with the Santa clause for a while returned home, slept till early morning. It was crazy to have a walk along the beach in the early hours that too next day of Christmas. I left my bike in the parking area, strode towards the beach with short pace. I can see one or two people sporadically walking, jogging. It was a strange peace with a cool breeze from the ocean, one would delight over the silence, but it’s disturbing. Nature’s delight over the disasters is amazing; it spreads peace all over the earth showing its pleasant attribute embracing its own creatures not showing the cunning intention to pounce on the unarmed innocents. 

Getting inspired on a theme alone won't be productive, I want to keep my readers in trance, never I can expect my readers to read my work, or never I can force them too, I should give them a treat, the treat which they really love, the food which is delicious, the food which would give them content, the sense which would provide them they are fullfilled, the feel their money is worthy enough and they are not cheated.

The first and the ever stimulation is our life, living charectars, stories behind them, short, long, never ending, primarily without solutions, without remedy and conclusion or the conclusion not meeting up the desired one. A reader would never accept a story without conclusion, he has to be happy with a desired end, or the end should have a solution, a strong plot would always take you to the desired conclusion. 

I spent several years searching for a desired story, story which inspires me, I discussed, chatted with several, whose life's future dangled aloof, I spent hours sitting in the barman chair with whisky, secretly admiring people, wondering their lifes. I walked miles in desolated streets wandering, at midst of traffic lonely vouyering people, stood on apex of hotel buildings watching the whole city with lights, the solitude helped me to go inside as introvert, I felt at ease my life is the only primary stimuli which inspires me lot.

I spread my vision as far I can around me, it’s vast stretch of sand cornered by the mighty ocean, a team of few just started to play shuttle cock on the left, right I can see few unused catamarans fishing nets dried to keep ready for the next mission. I walked towards the right; I yearn to gasp fresh air from the ocean, I love the early morning sea, mostly in early morning sea is calm, but I felt calmer than any early morning I witnessed. I have felt the calmness is extremely danger than a rough sea in a stormy season. The calm sea is like an erupting volcano waiting for the right time to hit.

Now I can see more people coming inside, most of them wearing jogging outfits, walking, jogging, some people were spreading out blankets to do yoga, youngsters drenching their legs in the cold saline. I am a great swimmer, I have swam in most of the rivers, dived, but if you ask me to step my leg in a sea, you can find me run, I was really surprised of these people, see if you ask them they know swimming most of them will negate.

I trace my memory, how & when such a fascination started, the greenish, bubbling when let out freeing from the clutches of heavily built forte structures, seemingly increased my love to get into swift current winning over the stealth gush. Morning till evening whenever and wherever I find gutter on a canal or lake, I surrender to the urge unable to suppress immediately, the greenish pond, transparent fine stream, ocean with endless waves, vast sea like lakes, fishermen with long poles in a raft, fishermen with fins in a kattumaran all excited.

The search for truth, the truth of our lives, truth of our future why we are here, search for destiny and the maturity gained while we pursue our goals stimulates a writer.

will be continued

Mohan

The way to my room was a narrow corridor from the main hall extended towards the kitchen, corridor had a jolly work on one side through out till the room with holes & design, I stayed in the first floor, I would see the terrace which was always shady due to the goose berry tree spreading it’s branches over the terrace, my room had a window which too gave a complete look of the terrace, and huge opening opposite to the window, double size of the window, with an iron grill, I used a thick cotton screen to close the opening partially, my room had double doors one from the corridor and the other with a door, having a sit-out like a small balcony.

I loved my room, since I would see everything completely sitting there, but none can find me watching, I used to sleep there, whenever I need privacy I would steal few hours resting feeling comfortable, it gave me safe secure and privacy. I would hear people chatting on the road, I would see the opposite house, I had rented the first floor of the opposite house too, owner of the house stayed in the ground floor.

I am a person who always like to be in the crowd, with friends or with my family or with my colleagues in the work place, mostly wrangling, commenting, sharing, mentoring, and being assisted, but end of the day I would sneak at least half an hour to be myself, to get inside, as an introvert, being passive, it always gave me a sense I am alive, and I too have needs.

I stretched myself thrusting my legs comfortably, it was half past midnight, silence prevailed everywhere, pin drop silence, air was still, I was not able to sleep, and it was a sleepless night like most of my nights encroached with deep thinking.

I blinked in the dark, it appeared as a black tainted heavy sheath covering my existence, few feeble white spots smeared, I don’t want to stare at the dark black instead I try to link the feeble white smeared spots to relate one to one. My past resembles the dark sheath & the white spots are my feeble memory. It’s like a disappeared past, I accept the dark past, I am not anxious about the forgotten past, nor I try to remember but I feel if I resume it would be of greater interest. I have a self thought; I allow it might have originated from my forgotten past, the self thought explains I have spent my disappeared past in the most inordinate way of existence and the white spots are my flaws which I try to cover up with utmost intense of forgetting, veiling.

When I first saw Mohan he was playing with a Pomeranian dog, taking him for a brief walk, he was reserved, not a talkative or an outspoken but a shy and hesitant person, he was skinny, with a round spectacles. I heard he was studying aeronautical engineering and he discontinued his studies due to the sudden demise of his father a doctor by profession. He was a bachelor, his brother was married and got settled near by, claiming his share of the family property his brother would often start a wrangle with his sister family and with Mohan. The property was unseparated, Mohan’s brother urged for a separation. I would often hear noise of verbal fight from the opposite house from my room.

One evening I was resting in my room as usual, the verbal war started from the opposite house, I could hear voice of Mohan, he was frustrated, he said he would die if nobody likes him there, I wondered why these people were unable to sort out differences, after all this is going to be one life, one living, what is the rest they are going to do ? I assumed people are patience less, they loose hope, they often get tired, not rejuvenating, people are greedy too, Mohan is a good guy, he has fallen prey for the greedy and selfish people. I slipped to tiresome sleep out of day long work.

Next afternoon I returned home little early than the usual time, got into my sweat pants which I used to wear while at home, cool cotton pants, had my face washed, getting the towel from the wardrobe wiping my face, heard the door bell rung, I opened the door, Mohan was there, I was surprised, he said someone asked him to meet me, that I wanted him to talk to me. I was equally surprised I have not told anyone, I was not prepared, I did not know how to react! I said I did not tell anyone, I could see clear indication of disapproval in his face, but what I could do, I am frightened of his family members, all of them were my friends, if in any case they accuse me off misleading Mohan in the ongoing clash for the family property, I would loose my reputation, I did not want to mingle and get hurt, I was firm, I said I did not ask anyone to summon him to meet me.

For the next couple of days mostly I was tired getting home after executing heavy work load, sleeping, rising up early the next morning, and getting out to work, happened to be my routine. But for the Saturday, Sunday weekends I used to get up late little before breakfast. Since it was Saturday I was sleeping till morning 9.30, I started hearing noise from the opposite house, it was Mohan's brother in law, as usual he got boozed in morning itself, I rolled in my couch unbearable to continue my sleep. I knew sleeping further would not do any good to me, I got up, washed my face, got a wrinkled cotton shirt from the wardrobe, wearing, I went down to know what’s happening down in the opposite house.

Mohan’s brother in law was standing in front of the door, tapping, pushing the door which was locked from inside, he was unable to stand, his language unable to understand as he was drunk, I could hear him saying Mohan is inside and have taken a poison, in disbelief I asked what he mean, he said Mohan has consumed poison and is struggling for life, I did know what to do, I kept my eye in the key hole to see what’s going on, yes it was true, Mohan is struggling for life flat on the floor, kicking his legs of the last minute to survive. I was shocked!

Normally in times of emergency and tight corners, I would think for few seconds, that few seconds of realization of reality gave me strength to react to the emergency. I banged the door, it was so stubborn, I ran from a meter ahead banging by my shoulders, no way, I searched for a tool to break open, I remembered we had a long thick iron rod which we use to crush & grind paddy and grains, I took that broke the door open, Mohan was in the last seconds of life, I picked him up with help of his boozed brother in law, someone have summoned a private ambulance, but Mohan was no more, he was dead.

I felt guilt, I leaned on the wall, I could smell the strong odor of poison he consumed, I was tired, I left for home, had a bath, even after, still I perceived the poison odor at my nose, I was tired, this was not physical, I was tired due to guilt, I felt I have done a mistake, when Mohan came to me to talk to me, I should have talked to him, I was disgraced of my own conscience, before my eyes I lost a man, a good man, who had dreams which were hard for him to materialize, I lost the man who was expecting me to redeem him from his unfulfilled longings of life. I was sick, I was bedridden for four months since the demise of Mohan, I recovered, but still Mohan lives in my heart and he would live for ever.

Writer's Digest - Part 1

Its not passion alone, strictly saying it’s a addiction, the book which I was reading last night was spread by my side as an exploited virgin. I don’t remember the contents or the theme of the last night's book; I need to sit down opening up reminding up from where I have started reading. Bell rung to insist the breakfast is ready, I stood up to move to take a bath, hardly I spend four minutes to get showered, hastily I get out of the shower toweling, breakfast was on the table, I hurriedly picked up the spoon.

I glanced at the brown folder on the left edge of the table, leaned across to get it by the left hand, opened it managing to eat with the right hand, its Brad De Haven's "Currency of the future", I had kept my business card where I was reading last night when I had dinner, more often I get bored off on certain books, opening up brightly, brilliantly, provoking our eager to move forward reading, writer delays or denies to maintain the tempo of the theme, getting snatched by the restlessness we would get to the page where writer resumes his enthuse, thinking invariably I boot strapped to go out. 

The shops at the porch layout in main sub way were crowded; I parked my vehicle under a shady Gulmohar tree next to the dark blue Mercedes. Book show room had varied authors on varied subjects. I am voracious but selective; the joy of ogling at the books exceeds the joy of buying and joy of reading. Being voyeuristic on books gives a pleasure of flirting with pretty girls. I would go to the wrapper behind, read the summary of the book and the author, I would go for a copy if interested, I took a copy of Frederick Forsyth's "The Veteran" and moved towards the billing area, I found Paulo's "Eleven Minutes" took that too, I felt a hungry to be fed immediately with a delicious food, contenting my appetite until the next hour of food. 

Reading a book is a trance, it dissolves the nature calls, forgets hunger, if even a blast near me, I assume I would not get toppled off, still captivated in the trance, it happens when I am in trance forgetting hunger, ignoring repeated calls from the kitchen, food is ready!. Printed books have an exclusive power of rendering us the visualization, giving us the picture of the scenario at the author's behest, spreading up the scene with quite subtle nuances where even a visual media lacks in content and in form, more over I believe our brain cells are capable creating visualization, where it can understand the image it created from the first hand information the "Author" rather than understanding seeing a visual media where some third person has created. 

Sharing an information needs involvement, saying a story is a art, picturing needs dedication, not all the authors kept me in trance, not all of them managed to keep me float till the end, few broke the spell tumbling me down the hill, but I swear all of them made me to think of writing, inspired me to write, seed sown, waiting to germinate. Water needed for a seed to germinate, appropriate temperature and a healthy soil rich in minerals. To be a writer one should be a voyeur and exhibitionist, my characters are my friends, relatives, the people who I watch down the street, in city bus, in the metro rail, innumerous characters. 

The first light sparked at about ten when I was asked to write a mail, at ten I was a fiction reader transiting from comics, the artist inside me doing somersault waiting for the ring master to command for an acrobatic session. The nature of a artist is always expecting appreciation, recognition makes an artist complete. Before that I sought to believe I am a writer, a writer by nature, a writer by birth, a born writer, one's destiny is determined at his birth. I started to believe my destiny is to be a writer, my earlier poems supported my dream of being a writer, I started up to reach my destiny.

The first story I wrote is for a competition in a reputed English news paper, its a short story competition, my story went as a long story not confining to the limits of a short story, in fact writing a short story is hard, unless if we are not sure about what we are saying we wont close it upon, and every story should have a end, the end should be of a justified one, in real my experience may not have a happy end, without just or reason, of course all our lives may have this line, I must invent the justice, I mean in the end I have to untie the knot which I have done in the beginning. I kept aside writing for years, keeping the burning sensation, the desire to write, pressure mounting, the drive to write my life, my experience, the characters that revolve along, I kept alive waiting for the right time to strike. 

I longed for the most inspired theme and the drive to make it worthy till the end, I started a short story from my inspired place a coastal French city, its landmarks and monuments drove me from start to finish where I choose to follow my writing instinct and go for the big money, the reward, which would survive me until my goal is finished, my short term story to be published. That story inspired many readers gaining me the title "Writer"

 to be continued...

The Ashram

Dedicated to Rev Father Dr.Santhanasamy, PhD, DHMS

Baang...the blast shook my nerves, partially tearing my ear drums, I got up violently, forcibly coming to life from the deep sleep, my perception intuited it was a explosion, I tried to sharpen my sense to gather what happened, where the sound came, I doubted if it was a night mare, it was all dark, I reached to switch on the lights, if its a blast of my gas cylinder in my kitchen its not safe to switch on the lights, and if there is a short circuit too it would be a disaster, I sneaked inside the kitchen treading in the dark, cylinder is safe, I was curious to know what went wrong, Baang......the next blast visibly threw me away, window panes fell broken in pieces, I felt the building tremble with vibrations...this time I felt strongly the bang is from outside my house but very near, may be in my neighborhood.

People started to wake up at the wee hours, one by one lights getting switched on, the blast is from the LPT station(Low power transmission for television owned by the central government), it was two country made bombs which exploded, one out of three did not explode, no causalities, its just a reminder, signaling the government we are here, never force us to take the hardliner stand is the message, it was a radical group it was said, I did not think so, the journalists, politicians mark as read saying the hardliners as radicals, ethnic group striving for identity and political right if considered as radicals then how they would categorize Hitler & Mussolini, rulers want people to be masses with no respect, dignity, savoring them, whatever policy they impose upon.

By the time everyone woke up witnessing the scene, I went to bed to continue the remaining sleep.

Morning dawned with the chirrups of birds as if nothing happened last night, I could see few police officials still on the spot, I bathed and got ready to take Kaja to Ashram. Kaja my dearest pal has a peculiar but a common disease to get attended by specialist, he suffers from Epilepsy, a neurological disorder caused by temporary block in blood vessels in the brain. Couple of days ago when we were traveling to a nearby location he had a stroke which caused me panic and distress, I swore to get him out of the dreadful disease, I heard Rev Father of the Ashram attends even chronic neurological patients and cure them. 

Father came straight from the church to the main hall which was used as clinic to attend patients, he was in his white robe which hung below his knees, taking his seat he asked the patients to come one by one to him, his way of diagnosis is very strange and even surprised me, patients knelt before him lending their right and left arm resting on the table for his convenience, he carefully studied the pulse with one hand and with other read the beats in the joints of all the fingers, while reading the beats he started saying the ailment, its symptoms and effects of the disease. When our turn came, he held Kaja's palm, read the pulse and the beats in the joints, started telling he suffers from Epilepsy, I frowned, it was amazing, I never thought one can say the disease by holding on the palm, reading the pulse and the beats in the joints of fingers, he suggested a medicine made out of Opium, its a homeopathy medicine, I surprised how a narcotic can be a medicine for Epilepsy, Father assured me with lot of surprise for the days came ahead !!.

I am an atheist, I never believe in God, I respect all religions, I respect peoples faith, I never trouble or intrude in one's faith, provided it does not breach or deny anyone's right or dignity, when patients knelt before him they were blessed by him, Kaja too knelt and was blessed before undergoing diagnosis and observation, practicing and preaching one's religion is a basic right, Kaja is a Mohammedan, Father a Roman catholic, me a atheist, we three made a peculiar combination, we all the three respect each others belief, respect their dignity not intercepting with others individuality. 

Kaja's health began to improve, initially he slept long hours, I assumed it was due to the effect of medicine, then I witnessed significant improvement in his health, it was said the drug should not be kept by the side of fragrance or strong perfumes, homeopathy drugs get neutralized in the presence of strong perfumes, consumption of coffee or tea is strictly restricted, coffee and tea, breaks the effects of the drug consumed. Kaja's health significance did not surprise Father, he seemed to be expecting the change over, for me it was a surprise, after seeing the suffering of Kaja on that night, I never thought it can be so easily cured, my respect for Father grew to the height of getting consent of important decisions I took. 

Father did his doctorate in theology in Rome, he was well with French, Latin & Greek, he had well command over English, a Belgian doctor while visiting Kadinavayal a village in Tamilnadu met Father amazed of his qualities taught him how to read pulse and beats in fingers, Belgian doctor was a Allopathic, later Father did a diploma in Homeopathy. 

Father's accolades and credentials were not welcomed in the diocese, to stay close he has to disprove or should approve the difference prevailed in the setup. He wrote letter to Rome stating his willingness to function independently, his request was granted, he built his own Ashram with a church, a prayer hall, a clinic to attend patients, rooms to stay, he believed service to mankind is service to God. 

Father hail from the nearby village of my native town, being born and brought up from a typical traditional farmer family, his fore fathers converted to Christianity few decades before, remnants of feudal society, effects of castes reigns in diocese, Father too is not an exception, the only difference is at last he is a human, belief in humanity, brotherhood.

Years rolled like months, most of my friends got treated by Father, I too had some nightmarish dreams which spoiled my sleep for years, Father diagnosed me reading my pulse and beats in my fingers, he prophesied like a seer, I got well in a week, even some of the well known physicians got treated by him, they were thankful to him, I have witnessed patients from foreign countries come and stay there for his treatment. 

The only thing which worried us most is finding a person to get trained in the art of pulse and beats reading as a professional heir to Father,  we spoke to him, he was very much agonized of finding a person who fits to his expectation, ideal person should be a doctor by profession, shrewd, patience enough to learn, to be sharp to feel the beats of the fingers, to feel the subtle difference, to understand the nature's five states, water, fire, air, space and earth. 

We were very eager, very curious to find the appropriate person, primarily we aspired Father's art of diagnosis should be transferred to a person for the benefit of society, Father adopted a little boy whom was too little to understand medicine, our search of an ideal person was a passion towards not letting down the traditional diagnosis combined with modern Homeopathy medicine. 

Due to professional needs I relocated to a near by city, for about two years I never met him, I spoke to him over the phone, I sent him a mail expressing how much I miss him, even there I was worrying about getting a disciple to get him trained on the art of diagnosis, we felt the need of a specialist to serve people in his absence. After two years I met him again, that was the last I saw him, as I was packing up to a newer location for my profession, I asked him a portrait from the church, its a real amazing painting of Jesus having a lamb unto his arms, with sheep surrounded, its a good shepherd portrait, an year later, I had a call from my native in the morning, it said Father is no more, I looked at the good shepherd portrait in my living room, tears rolled over my cheeks, we lost a man, a human, who believed service to mankind is service to God, even then we can't pass on the art he owned dedicating his life time for the sake of downtrodden. 

World according to Fred - dedicated to my beloved friend who left the world untimely

He smiled at me, his expression seems to be vague, colorless, like seeing through a water splashed glass, I love his smile, he said something, I did not hear what he say, I felt like I am deaf partially, I tried to express a coordination to his smile acknowledging…someone shook me violently, I was withdrawn from the depth of the partial echoing deep slumber. I am not disturbed !!, this is not the first time I dream, since these four years after the untimely death of Fred, almost two days a month I dream Fred speaking to me, I never felt he was dead, I did not cried either, I don’t understand me ! why I did not cry ? till now I did not feel he left me.

Fred worked for a State Insurance company as a grade 2 officer, he won the job after writing an exam consequently followed by an interview. How I met Fred, how I befriended him and all is a different story, I met him in the street, like falling in love at first sight, I fell in his love at first sight! Our acquaintance grew to a rooted friendship in a couple of weeks, months & years rolled over. 

Fred’s father was a dutiful gentleman, was working with the state government’s employment department, he was born for Irish woman bred with a Tamil guy, they loved while working with the missionary. His mom was a middle school teacher, he got a younger sister, and she was married later to a guy working with a Middle East oil company and got settled over in Middle East. Unlike me Fred didn’t have dreams that traveled to space and earth, he got a job with the Insurance company settled down permanently waiting to get married. He fell in love with a pious religious pretty Hindu girl, she too had a tremendous crush for him.

At that time I didn’t believe in love, its consequence, and if it’s negative I felt I need to safe guard my friend getting into bitter experience, I strongly suggested not to get into any relationship, he was a soft guy, wouldn’t tackle or tolerate any mistakes. But he was an adamant, he persisted to go on with that girl, he proposed her, she too accepted then they two went as free love birds having the winter to bloom fragrant flowers.

Life is not easy to some people unlike most of the rest, and to the people who are good life seems to be impartial in all the ways. When a person settle down in life & the expectation with the married companion does not go well, the whole thing goes down like a roller coaster which is irreparable. Relationship is like a milk when it gets disrupt it goes wasted, decayed milk won’t serve you better, of course love relationship is the same, but you can redeem, retrieve, out of extreme patience and love, love the only mantra which would save your relationship. Fred's mom was a public school teacher, a typical teacher who wants her students to be disciplined, of course a teacher at home, student? her husband, her desire to discipline her husband went on vain.

Fred’s father got to the habit of drinking by the people expecting favors, since he was not into getting bribes, people needed favors only way out was getting him a drunkard, they made him a drunkard, he used to come home almost in a unconscious stage, boozed heavily, he wouldn’t even have food in the nights being drunk heavily. His attitude caused bitterness in family life and that too made him to get to another shoulder of his colleague, a shoulder to bear, an outlet for his frustrations. Sometimes I ponder I might have helped him out getting out of the dreaded habit, such a gentle man he is, neither an arrogant, nor an adamant.

Fred was particularly worried about his father, drinking, having concubine, that's what he referred to his relationship with his colleague, but he never opened up the depth of his dismay, he was a person who took its a flaw to his image, ego, seriously it did harm to his prestige. It was a day time probably it was a forenoon,   Fred called me up,

Fred: I went to her home

Me: Where?

Fred: her home

Me: oh is it ?

Fred: she says they both got married

Me: oh!!

Fred: its disgusting

Me: hmm

I found he has lost his patience, he was caught in a turmoil, he was silent, his silence hurt me lot, I assumed he would get used to, Fred never drunk before, he used to drink beer on occasions, I found he was slipping into the habit of drinking, but still I thought he does it occasionally, I believed his love for Lathika would turn him giving him solace in her shoulders. Years rolled over Fred was caught completely in the clutches of alcohol, always he came drunk when he returned home like his father, I used to drink with him rarely but I heard he would continue drinking after I leave.

Fred's way of expressing emotions is quite different, he was fancying Lathika for months, he met her at home, accused her of loving him as informed by few of his friends, Lathika was slightly taken aback, she did not expect Fred would fire upon her accusing she loves him, she gathered courage, asked him if he really likes her or not, Fred took time to reply her back saying he too love her! Fred gave me a new perception of how to handle difficult situations where emotion is a part of our life.

I never knew his addiction towards alcohol is going to cost his life, he fought with Lathika, arguing, hitting her, it went to the extreme of Lathika cutting her wrist blood vein & been rescued immediately admitting her to hospital, which lead to the end of a relationship.

Fred a kind of man who would always have a answer to questions, which failed him to understand the realities, my counseling or my opinion or my suggestions were dealt with cool answers, where his coolness made me believe he is courageous, his decisions are right or else he wont get caught in tight corners.

End of the affair with Lathika had not done anything good to Fred, despite he drunk even while going to office ending up with temporary suspensions, his acquaintance with people below his esteem earned him bad reputation with his colleagues.

It was cool December evening, one of my friend accused of Fred saying he drinks heavily, I said I have a strong intuition Fred is going to get caught with something serious, which cant be handled to his capacity, next morning I had a call from the hospital, Fred had met with an accident, seriously injured, had undergone a surgery in his skull, still unconscious, not known further!

I have seen characters in coma in films, doctors would ask their beloved to speak to them, I was asked so..

I shouted Fred!! Fred!! no reaction, doctors asked to slap on his chest with a sharp pain, I shouted Fred! slapping on his bear chest, his head fully shaven, his neck pierced with a tube inserted, his dad & mom frozen like statues unable to react speechless.

Months rolled, no reaction from Fred, his broad chest, arms, legs started to twist, shrink, he was not like the same old friend of mine, I started to loose my hope, I ceased visiting him, I cant bear to see him like this anymore, he was declared brain dead!

A weak after a friend of mine came running with a daily news paper! It was Fred's father, he killed himself hanging up from the ceiling, having drunk, due to his son's fate, depressed, not able to see him die before him, he is guilty of his son's situation. I went to his funeral, I did not cry, I did not visit Fred, in a month I heard Fred was no more, in front of my eyes I witnessed a family getting buried, I still don't cry, I don't believe he is dead, he lives, always in my dreams he smiles at me, he speaks coolly like he did always, having answers to questions..