Hyderabad Files.......

We pleaded with our teachers the whole of our second year begging them to take us to an excursion out of Mumbai. But our requests were turned down like we were asking them to burn down the college. But this year, maybe because it was our last year in college and maybe because we were a ‘good batch’ as the teachers always put it, a five day industrial visit was planned to the city of Hyderabad. It was planned just a month in advance by taking our suggestions and Chetan sir was the appointed in-charge of the whole thing (he did not like that one bit). Even though this was the last outing our class has had together, three of them couldn’t attend it, one of them being our friend Unain. We truly missed her and her presence could have made our trip even merrier. And perhaps more than me, she wanted this blog to be written so in a way this is for her. So here it goes. A simple description of our trip. Given the gravity of the tour, I would take a little liberty and make it a little longer than usual. Hope you all find the patience to see the end!

DAY ONE: - Excitement galore! I got up early in the morning as usual and packed my bags. I prefer to travel light and that reflected in the weight of my baggage. The train was departing at 12.45 pm from CST and we were asked to assemble there an hour before time. I caught an auto rickshaw to Andheri station and picked up Neha on the way. A minor accident and screwed up train timings caused us to reach CST only by 12.30 and this especially made me a target of ridicule for Hafsa because I had always poked fun at her for being late.

Anyways all arrived and we boarded the train and it set off at the prescribed time. The initial two and a half hours were spent getting everyone together as much as possible. Some passengers were offered seats two or three rows away while some were sent packing to another compartment. Lunch was fun with Sahir sir inaugurating it by gorging on Chetan sir’s tiffin. By the time he returned what left was just the smell of good food which was once upon a time present in his box. Some of us also removed our lunch boxes and started a kind of mixed food festival with dishes ranging from butter chicken and chicken gravy to fried rice and tamarind rice to methi ki rotis and scrambled eggs. After lunch all the students assembled near one row away from the teachers as if they were smuggling alcohol into Saudi Arabia and started imitating them. Every one from the faculty to the students were imitated. It was a laugh riot. And when the students finished, Sahir sir imitated some of the students with near perfect accuracy. It was then time for the regular Antakshari and Sahir sir showed that he was a walking, talking jukebox of old songs who could utter it in a matter of seconds. All this while playing cards with me and Vivek! The fare moved on to dumb-sherads and here again Sahir sir single handedly turned the tide with his selection of movies. The boys nailed it anyway averaging at 30 seconds while the girls took atleast two minutes for each movie. The noise was getting louder and louder until an imposing lady police officer asked us to shut it. Everybody immediately started with dinner and the same procedure followed as it happened in lunch. The problem was everybody got food for atleast five people so ultimately a lot of food was wasted. After fooling around for some more time, we prepared for sleep and the first to sleep was Mohsin followed by me. People like Mukul, Mahendra and Mohammad never really planned to sleep and were disturbing people who were trying to. Some like Manali with Mohammad were applying tooth paste on the faces of people who were asleep. Mohsin like the Joker in The Dark Knight rubbed it all over his face and continued sleeping. But they left me alone because they have this false image that I am grumpy and cannot tolerate fun…….

DAY TWO: - My eyes opened at 5 am in the morning and I found Mukul, Mahendra and Mohammad stark awake like owls on a starry night. I got out and brushed my teeth and freshened up. Hyderabad was supposed to arrive at 6 in the morning and it was almost 5.30 now. Chetan sir (who apparently had motion sickness and could never sleep on a train) was covered from head to toe in his blanket and was fast asleep. Sahir sir was sleeping adjacent to him. All of them were woken up and I particularly had a tough time waking up Mohsin ‘Ultimate Sleeper’ Sheikh.

Nevertheless Hyderabad arrived and all of us got down. It was a lot cooler than Mumbai; around 22 oC. We walked to the bus and thankfully it was a lot better than what we had in Jaipur. Our hotel, One Continent Atria in Abids was just ten minutes away. If the hotel at Jaipur was great this one Hyderabad was just awesome. Swanky modern architecture with graciously furnished wooden interiors and huge green sofas adorned the lobby. Four people were supposed to share one room and we had five – Myself, Mukul, Mohammad, Mahendra and Nikhil. We were asked to assemble at the breakfast buffet by 8 am and we knew we were never going to make it. We however reached there by 8.30 and the breakfast was simple yet delicious. Bread, cheese, butter, omelets, idlis, vadas, sambar, chutney, fruit salad, fruit juices, milk shakes etc constituted the huge and rich buffet. We boarded our bus and set off to our first location; the CCMB – Center for Cell and Molecular Biology in Habsiguda. It was founded in 1977 under the CSIR and got its own separate land in 1987 which was inaugurated by the then Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi.

The compound was adored with a wok of art by the late M.F Hussein and so were the interiors with paintings by various other artists. Inside we met a middle aged man who was supposedly an instructor who trained new recruits. We were seated in a mini amphitheatre kind of a with a projector screen waiting to start a short movie of about fifteen minutes. The instructor sang a lullaby for half an hour so during which all of us including our teachers dosed off like newborn toddlers. Me and Nikhil had to keep our eyes open forcefully because the man was looking just at us during the whole session. Trust me; it was hilarious trying to maintain a ‘don’t-worry-we are-listening-to-every-damn-thing-you-are-saying’ face! He then took us first to an electron microscope and showed us an actual focused nucleus of a bacterial cell under it. Over the next few hours we just roamed from one building block to another seeing different rooms and different machines. All of them essentially looked like big boxes- blue or white; some as expensive as three and a half crores. After some time we shot off to ICRISAT – International Crop Research Institute for Semi Arid Tropics which was another hour of journey from CCMB. The guide we met at ICRISAT was just opposite to the guide we had in CCMB. Murli M Sharma, atleast 70 years old and tonnes and tonnes of experience. Charismatic speaker, inspiring narrator, acute philosophical views; he was a personality who had to be met to be believed. I just sat listening to him during the whole 30 minutes tour of the ICRISAT farm area. I am sorry for some of my friends who made fun of him and again some who had the audacity to sleep callously in front of him and snore! They missed the whole thing. With ICRISAT our official industrial visit was over and what remained were two and a half days of fun.

So we headed of to our final location of the day – The Snow World. We reached there by 6.00 in the evening and got dressed in the snow attire which they provided us. People were very excited leading upto the entry time which was 6.30 pm. When the gates opened people rushed in like the Greek army in the movie 300. But two minutes inside and people developed complications in breathing and felt chest heaviness. So it all turned out to be the volcanic mountain that never erupted. But nevertheless we had a lot of fun. I had a soaring headache before entering snow world and it vanished the moment I got in. Most of us took the slide twice and thrice but avoided it later as carrying the slide up was a demanding task at such high pressures. Chetan sir was targeted by one and all and he got so laid off that he left the arena huffing and puffing well before time! The time was up and we left for the hotel. A hot shower bath neutralized everything and we felt fresh and we headed for dinner on the fourth floor of the hotel. The dinner was laid out as a buffet and it was great though the chicken was ordinary. Returning back to the room I borrowed the prayer mat from Amina and spent my time praying all the times of namaaz I missed during the last two days, while others left me to peace and enjoyed it out at the corridors. Occasionally I would hear howls and cries and I would wonder whether I am in the company of humans!...

DAY THREE: - Though I slept late I woke up for the Fajr prayers and also woke up Amina through the intercom because she had wanted to be. When I woke up Mohammad, he mumbled something in Gujarati and apparently slept in the bathroom for half an hour. Mukul was shutting of his alarm again and again and was going back to sleep. So in a way we were late for breakfast today too and Hafsa poked fun at us again (I suspect she ever took a bath!). After having the same breakfast as the previous day we set off for the Nehru Zoological Park which was almost at the borders of the city.

Now the Nehru zoo is something which will make the Mumbaikars believe that their beloved Jijamata Udyan is some kind of a practical joke. The zoo was home to a host of wild beasts - the majestic tigers, the handsome lions, the swift cheetahs, the unparallelly vicious leopards and jaguars, the agile jungle cats and the tiny fishing cats, the buffoons, the chimpanzees and almost all of the primate family, the huge rhinoceroses and the sloppy hippos, the cute but dangerous bears, the wolves, the jackals, the hyenas and other volatile pack hunters, the healthy Asian elephants, the towering giraffes, the charmingly bulky nilgais and the ever impressive birds – I can just go on and on. Compare that with a week, aging, frail, arthritis infected lioness of the Jijamata Udyan and you have the results! Most of us (even quiet and reserved people like Zainab) borrowed a cycle on rent and zoomed around the huge area like it was Tour de France! Ask me and I will tell you I felt like Alberto Contador! I and Hafsa even got lost in the huge park and it took us twenty minutes of cycling to get out. It was pure fun!

After the zoo we headed back to the city, straight to Charminar. When we reached there I heard the muezzin give the call for the Zohar prayers and turned to see that I was standing in front of the humungous Mecca masjid. Not one to miss out on the occasion, I along with Mohsin attended the jama’at prayers. The masjid inside was pure Persian architectural grandeur. The ceilings were as high as a normal three story building with fans and glittering zoomers hanging down. By the time we finished our prayers, others had already visited the Charminar. So I am not capable of commenting on it here. The plan initially was to allow some time for shopping. But the day was marked by pro-Telangana activists enforcing a bandh all over Hyderabad and it was better and safe to reach the hotel as fast as possible. But ofcourse girls have a taste for the theatrical and practicality is not something embedded into their genetic composition. Many of them went to the extent of cursing the teachers and the poor tour guide. At the hotel, after having lunch we had a three hour hiatus period till 6 pm. We spent our time loitering around the corridors and making prank calls to other rooms. We were supposed to go for a cruise ship ride at the Hussein Sagar Lake and visit the Buddha statue there but again, the pro Telangana protests played spoilsport.

Instead we went shopping to the famous Karachi Bakery which was a twenty minute walk away from the hotel. All of us bought fruit biscuits and some other delicacies which were hot sellers. We returned back to the hotel and had our dinner which was the sumptuous Hyderabadi Dum Biryani. All the girls forgot their weight issues and gorged on the food as if they had been hungry for days on end. We went back to our rooms. Fun like the last night was not possible because someone (you know who) was determined not to let people loiter around in the corridor and wanted them to just go to sleep. And I am particularly thankful to Amina; she knows what for! Rocky V was on TV so we boys watched it till 2 am and then went to sleep. Nothing is as gripping as the Rocky series!......

DAY FOUR: - I missed the Fajr prayer because I slept late. I hated myself for that. The first one to get up was Vivek who moved out to the next room after taking a bath. The rest of us woke up at 7.15 which was extremely late by everyday standards. It was a race against time because we had to check out of the hotel today and were asked to assemble at 8 am for breakfast with all our bags and parcels packed. Anyways we made it by 8.45 and had our breakfast one last time. We bid adieu to the wonderful hotel and loaded our bags into the bus. Neha’s photo fetish caused her to forget her Karachi Bakery sweets at the hotel parking lot but realized it only later in the day. The bus moved out of the town towards the Ramoji Film city which would be our last visit in Hyderabad and we would be there for the whole day. For the uninitiated, the Ramoji Film city is the biggest film city in the world and holds the Guinness world record for the same. It is spread over 1,666 acres and houses 67 film studious and consists of various sets like airports, airplanes, railway stations, whole colonies, landscapes resembling European and other foreign countries, gardens etc.

 At first we had a bus ride to actually enter the film city which was fifteen minutes away. There we first moved into an enclosure which contained fun activities like slides, the rain dance, the scare house (which was laughable) and the skating rink to name a few. Even though I had never tried skating before, I put on the skating shoes and went for it. Though all I did was fall, fall and fall, Hafsa, Sahir sir and Vivek zoomed around me like professionals. Mukul who always thought himself to be a master in all sports was perhaps as good as me! After that all moved on to the rain dance which I conveniently boycotted. So did many others like me. But ultimately all of them had to get wet because the clouds opened up to five minutes of heavy rain. There were other attractions like the stunt show which I must say was commendable given the amount of effort they put into it. Some of the actions could prove fatal if gone wrong but it didn’t and it never did. Ofcourse there were people who called it stupid and over the top but people never stop ranting so you let them be. There was this mini world tour which was a novel experience. It was a sort of puppet show meant to showcase different places all over the world. I particularly loved Bangkok, Paris and Oklahoma because of the keen observation they put into make these sets.

There were many other shows to be experienced and lived but there was this time crunch so we moved on to lunch at the Chanakya restaurant within the film city. It was good and we finished off with some ice cream. We all moved straight for the bus tour of the film city. The guide spoke when the bus passed each important place and mentioned the importance of the spot in terms of its use and would mention some famous Hindi and Telugu movies shot there. The pseudo railway station and the airport were highlights; you could hardly differentiate the real from the reel! The bus halted near a huge square building. It was the studio used as sets for Indian mythological dramas like the Ramayana and Mahabharata. It was mainly made of King’s courtroom with his council of ministers sitting about and a background voice playing a small chunk of an episode in repeated loops. Though everything in there was made of just plaster of paris, it all felt and looked real. So real that you would feel yourself transported to that world of the kings and the masses. Almost like you have gate crashed into some all important meeting going on between King Dashrath and his men!

After that we were allowed to tour the various gardens that were so mesmerizingly charmful. First up was the Deviyani garden with five huge statues of a naked Deviyani in various dancing positions. You can call it art to satisfy your questioning mind. For me it is just the tradition of pure objectification of women that the world is ever willing to follow. The other gardens like the Sanctuary and the Japanese gardens were also exceptionally good and made a good photo op for the girls. The final spot was the replica of the Ajanta & Ellora caves. Though I have never been to the real caves, looking at the replica made me feel I have visited them. It was that beautiful! The rains bellowed and we returned back were we started. Though most of them went for the rides in their spare time, my upset stomach (very upset with the biryanis!) caused me to have a peaceful time sipping hot tea with the Chetan sir and Sahir sir. And giving me company were Mohammad, Saylee and Vivek all there for their own reasons.

So all of it ends here. We went straight to the Hyderabad railway station. After waiting in the waiting room next to the filthy toilets for an hour, we boarded our trains. Nobody minded adjusting their seats because all were tired and wanted to go to sleep. The dinner was from our hotel and it was great; something like a farewell gift from Hyderabad. The people there were extremely friendly and cordial. It is not an exaggeration and I and Amina witnessed that at many instances. Sahir sir, who was always the epitome of the serious, no nonsense individual turned out to be the showtopper! Archana Ma’m showed an aspect of her personality which we never knew existed. And Chetan sir. He was mimicked so much, he had a hard time herding the girls at every location like a shepherd, he was taken down and targeted everywhere by students (remember snow world!), in short the water had gone above the nose for him. When asked about the part he enjoyed most during the trip he simply replied, ‘The part when we return back to Mumbai.’

But nevertheless we had a lot of fun and this was something we would treasure for the rest of our lives. Those merry times we had with our friends. The train halted at Dadar station and we all got down and went our separate ways with alluring memories that would linger in our minds for days…..

The Beauty Within.......

Rafique sat at the corner of the bus avoiding public eye hushed up in that one man seat. It was five thirty in the morning and the bus was ferrying passengers from Kamanpur to Chokdi. Rafique preferred these early morning rides to the town even though he had to report to his workplace at nine; where he worked as a tailor in a small shop where they repaired bags. The morning bus travels always allured him. The cool breeze, the aroma of dawn when the early strips of light meets the earth, the foggy atmosphere, the lush greenery, the pothole ridden roads; all of these gave him an immense sense of peace and tranquility. Some thing which he never found in his twenty four years of life on earth.

Rafique’s life to be summarized in one phrase was just silent suffering. He was born to a poor peasant couple in his native town of Kamanpur. Rafique was born with shockingly absurd features; almost as if he was among the most disliked people of God. He had an unusually huge head which seemed as if it would burst at the temples. The broad forehead ended with two bulging but drooping eyes almost ready to fall off at the sockets. It was worse when he developed his teeth. If his milk teeth were distorted, his permanent teeth became a symbol of ridicule for his classmates at school. His hair grew in patches and fell of before they covered his head. His shoulders always sagged; like they were tired of carrying his head and his hands were thin and bony with veins jutting out like fingerprints. All in all, Rafique was ugly; very, very ugly. If Prophet Yusuf was blessed with half the beauty on earth then Rafique was cursed with half its ugliness.  

His father -if he ever wanted to call him that- was a downright drunkard who spent more money on women and liquor than on the welfare of his family. When he saw his son for the first time he blatantly accused his wife for sleeping with the man next door and threatened to kill Rafique. His mother on the other hand defended her little boy like a lioness defending her cub. To her, Rafique was her son and nothing mattered more. She didn’t care what the world thought about her son. She loved him and that was that. When Rafique was four, his father’s dead body was found floating at the community pond nearby. Postmortem reports revealed he was heavily drunk.

At school Rafique always sat alone; not by choice but by force. Later on it became an act of preference. He didn’t wait for his classmates to distance themselves from him. He would choose a corner and sit there. Throughout his school life, he never made any friends, not even acquaintances. Hell; he hadn’t even talked to half the class when he passed out. His mother –his only comforter- died when he was 15 of a degenerative lung disease. From that day on, it was a struggle for dignity and survival. He didn’t want to study further. He saw no possible benefit in that. All he saw was disgust and contempt in he faces of people he met. Some even showed pity and he hated that. He never understood why he was to be seen as a monster when all he had was a different physical structure. Why was he treated like an outcast, like a leper? Why couldn’t he be accepted as he was; without those shrugs of difference, looks of fright and sympathy? But these were questions Rafique never found answers to. There were times when just the sight of a dangling rope or the kitchen knife at his home gave him heavy suicidal thoughts. But his faith in God never wavered and he fought through these tough times every time they confronted him. He had nightmares of people chasing him down the street with sticks and stones. He would wake up with panting breath and then not sleep for the rest of the night. From his heart he knew that people are not that bad and no one hated him. But his appearance made him such a weak man mentally that he couldn’t take it any more. He saw volumes and volumes of darkness everywhere he turned.   

 After doing all kinds of odd jobs, he landed up as a tailor repairing spurned and torn bags in Chokdi. This job didn’t require him to face people and it made him happy. He was happy he didn’t have to walk around trying to hide his face from people he met. He would come by the early morning bus, when it was still dark and sit on that single seat at the far end of the bus. No interactions. No reproaches.

Rafique was woken up from his usual self retrospecting thought processes when he heard sounds of screeching followed by a booming crash sound. A crimson colored SUV zoomed past them into oblivion.The bus got to a stop. He craned his neck outside. In the still lingering darkness he could make out a figure; a woman, probably a young girl, crouched along the divider in an awkward position with fresh maroon colored blood just beginning to spread out onto the road. A bicycle was lying besides. Someone had just knocked the solitary cyclist and sped away.  It was dark and they were almost in the middle of the forest. The nearest hospital was four kilometers back along the route they had come from. Helping the victim meant taking a detour and heading back were they came from. And no one wanted the headache of getting stuck in law loops trying to save accident victims. Being a rural area, the police often were uncooperative and intimidating. The driver had learned to turn a blind eye to such incidents a long time ago.  The bus started moving forward. Rafique couldn’t believe what was happening.

“Hey! She needs help! She is bleeding!” he screamed at the driver.

The driver turned around and after the milliseconds of frown he gave at seeing Rafique’s face, he said, “This is common here! You know what happens if you try to save them.”

“But she will die..”  he tried to explain. He was shocked to see such coldness from these people. There was no one to support him. All sat there like lifeless bodies staring back at him with indifferent eyes.  

“Go ahead. Help her. Get off and leave us.” The driver said. The conductor shrugged as if to show that his loyalties lied with the driver. Rafique couldn’t make sense of what was happening. He obviously couldn’t leave the girl behind. She was someone’s daughter, someone’s sister. He jumped out of the bus. She was there, bleeding profusely. Rafique knew that the nearest hospital was an hour of walking and he didn’t expect any vehicles at this hour. Bu it was nearer if he took to the forest.

He picked her up and lay her over his shoulders and ran through the forests. It had rained the night before and the land was marshy. His shirt was red with blood but he could still feel her breathe. He was a frail man and this was proving to be a physically draining act. Within fifteen minutes of pacing he could feel heavy cramps in his legs which urged him to stop. But he knew that if he stopped he won’t be able to walk again. He prayed to God to grant him the strength to move on. Then the rains arrived.

Half an hour later it was still raining and Rafique could see the end of the forest and the main road. His heart was pounding like a grinding machine. His heavy head ached. His bony hands were filled with blood. But he still went on. He reached the hospital in another five minutes. Attendants came rushing to him and took away the girl. His eyes blurred. All he could see was a group of people taking her away. Someone shook his shoulder to ask something and he collapsed.

Rafique was discharged two days later. He made inquiries and found out that the girl was safe. He thanked God for His help and left the hospital contended. It was back to schedule as usual for Rafique.

A month later when he returned home he saw the girl waiting outside his shanty with her father. She was young. Maybe twelve years of age.

“You are a tough man to find! What did you think? You can save my daughter’s life and we will never know who it was?” the girl’s father asked smiling.

 He was shocked and surprised at the same time. He didn’t know whether he was happy to see her or would he have liked that she would not have known how her savior looked like.

His first instinct was to hide his face consciously as much as he could. The girl saw this. She moved closer to him. She moved his hands away from his face and touched his cheek. Rafique was taken aback by this behavior. Nobody wanted to take a second look at him let alone touch him.

“You know? They said all sorts of things when we came searching for you. But you know what? They were wrong. All of them. You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen!” saying so she moved closer and hugged him tightly. “ Thank you! Nobody helped me when I lay there dying. Those were the ugly people. God gave you a wonderful heart and that makes you beautiful!”  She was crying now.

Tears flowed down Rafique’s eyes. Two and a half decades of pain and suffering all washed away by this one act of benevolence and love from this little girl. And that was enough. He will never hate his life again. This unprejudiced gesture from an innocent child was enough for him to keep his spirits alive till the end of his life! He closed his eyes and thanked God for the lesson He had given him. He was now ready to take on the world.

The story of Yusuf Jamal....

Yusuf Jamal was a man of character. A religiously upright man, idealistic to the core, a doting husband, a loving father, a caring son, a gem of a friend, a worthy neighbor and many more qualities you have to behold to believe. His life and career had seen both sides of the extreme in a very short span. He remembered the first day he came to Mumbai with his childhood friend Umar at the tender age of nineteen overwhelmed by family responsibilities his terminally ailing father had thrust upon him. He had marveled at the sheer chaos and charisma the city radiated. Mumbai, the city of dreams – he had heard. To the people in his village, Mumbai was a heavenly abode far away into the horizon where people went and came back as the affluent. Mumbai has space for everyone, Mohan bhai a beneficiary of Mumbai had said. Given all the problems his family faced and realizing how gravely they depended on the sole male member in the family for bread, Yusuf had decided to give Mumbai a shot.

His first day in Mumbai had seen Umar running towards him with a job offer as an attendant in a shop which sold illegally smuggled artifacts like watches, wallets, bracelets, gold ornaments etc. He was delighted at first at this great piece of news. But his conscience and religious upbringing took over his mind and convinced beyond all doubt: this is morally wrong. Such were his ideals and such were the ways in which he followed them! He was determined that his family back n his village won’t live of an improper source of income. Over the week he was lucky to come in contact with a lone man setting up a tailoring shop in one of the many by-lanes in Mumbai. His boss was his teacher and mentor in a skill which would later shape his career.

In due course of time; with the Grace of God, as he always said, he set foot firmly in Mumbai. With great difficulty and perseverance he married off his three sisters. Even though the ceremonies were not pompous he had taken care in finding worthy husbands for them. After some years he got married to a woman of his native whom he brought to Mumbai along with him. They had three children, two of them girls and a handsome young boy. But Yusuf’s family didn’t stop here. He had too big a heart and too great a conscience to overlook his nephews and nieces and their requirements. He had taken all care of every aspect of their lives right from their studies to big medical expenses. But Yusuf was not a man of immense wealth. His fortunes declined with every act of kindness he bestowed not only on his relatives but also on his neighbors and friends.

He was kind often to the point of getting exploited by people eager to dent an honest mind. But Yusuf didn’t mind. He was always happy to give. His wife would ask him whether he cared for his own children who were now growing up fast. ‘I have helped a lot of people in my life. There would always be someone who would bail me out when I am in need.’ he would say.

Well times don’t remain merciful to anyone for a long period of time. His first daughter’s marriage was fixed with a handsome young man he had forged a business deal with. All preparations were underway and he wanted his girl to remember her wedding as the most memorable day in her life!

A month before the wedding, Yusuf found himself sitting at the porch of his sister’s villa at an upscale household in Bangalore. His small-scale cloth unit at Masjid Bunder was gutted down in the fire that engulfed the market a week ago. Yusuf’s whole world had come crashing down. He assisted the workers in his shop with finance as temporary sustenance till his unit limped back to life. All of this rendered him virtually penniless and with his daughter’s wedding close on the heels, he had decided to approach his now wealthy sister.

‘Ofcourse she would help me!’ Yusuf had beamed at his wife while setting of from his home. He did not think of it as asking for a favour in return of all the favours he had done her over the years. He was simply done in with the thought that his sister would only be happy to help him for the cause of her niece. He had sat there for quite some time when his brother-in-law and his sister emerged from the house. He stood up expecting warmth and pleasure. Instead what welcomed him was cold indifference. He told them all about the misery he had faced in the past week and how he hoped they would assist him with his daughter’s marriage.

‘I would have surely liked to help you but you must understand. I don’t have that kind of money you see.’ was the simple answer he got. Saying this, they both sped away in their Mercedes C-class. Yusuf stood there at the porch numb and dumbfounded at the turn of the events. He couldn’t imagine they were the same people he knew more than half a decade ago. He staggered out of the house in shock, his jaw clenched on the verge of crying. He was not sad about his daughter’s fate. He was sad at his sister’s snub. Cold apathy. That’s the word to describe it. Distraught, he started his walk back home wondering what he would tell his wife and daughter. Things had been the unexpected. But he had no qualms. God had given him this fate and he was no one to question His decision.

An hour later the phone at Yusuf’s house rang. His daughter attended the call.

‘Yusuf Jamal’s house? I am calling from the Dean Jose Hospital in Bangalore. Mr. Yusuf is no more. He apparently suffered a serious stroke and was declared dead before he got to the hospital. May I know who it is that I speak with?’. He heard no reply. The only thing he heard were cries and shrieks of disbelief of a whole family.

A Walk Down The Memory Lane.....

‘Why so moody Altaf? What happened? You girlfriend dumped you?’ I looked up and saw Anwar uncle grinning at me asking me the same question others had been asking the whole day. He was that one person to whom you could confide in your worst fears and your most well kept secrets.

‘No!’, I managed a weak smile ‘Actually yesterday was our school farewell and though I am not depressed I am a bit off colour, you know… friends and teachers and stuff…’

Sensing my predicament, he quickly added, ‘Oh farewell huh? Not the best part of your life I agree.  A bittersweet moment for all. But you take it as it comes son, nothing you can do!.’ He sighed under his breath.

I had expected words of encouragement, words carrying happiness through them cheering me up, but these sounded inclined towards a condolence. And thats the last thing I want to hear. I have to admit that I was quite a bit unbalanced of my mind at the realization that school is finally over – once and for all. No more of my friends ‘fighting’ over my south Indian tiffin, no more teachers asking us to kneel down or stand up on the benches as punishment, no more fights over trifle matters, no more scurrying up and down the school corridors, no more hanging out with friends after school.. no more of anything! The very fact that I spent almost my whole childhood at school and the friends there grew up with me was disheartening. It moved my heart to have to forget all those things.

Anwar uncle probably could read my mind. He put his hand around my shoulder, ‘Come. Lets take a walk. May be things will brighten up.’ He smiled affably.

Walking along the road on a cool February evening was quite a pleasure indeed. But my inherent gloominess inhibited and deprived me of enjoying it. I was appearing to be quite mentally weak. Maybe I shouldn’t be sad at all. I am certainly not the only child in the world to have to face the end of school.

‘You know Salam? Has your dad ever told you about him?’ He asked almost inquisitively. Salam? Salam who? I racked my brain to retrieve any memory of a man of this name. Perhaps there was one. My dad mentioned it now and then.

‘I have heard about him I guess. Dad keeps mentioning about him. But I just can’t get through.’

‘Yeah. He lived next door to our ancestral home in Kerala. Your father had a fight with him because he beat me up at school.’ I looked up surprised. He never told me that. ‘Well the fight is a matter of later discussion. What I am saying is that this Salam and I became the best buddies in school. We used to get rounded up together for anything and everything that happened in school. We ate, fought, studied, laughed and cried together.’

Ha! I knew where this conversation was going! ‘And one day inevitably school ended. But it was 1981 not 2009. We didn’t have a simple phone at home at that time let alone your social networking sites and mobile numbers. As you can guess the drift was unavoidable and it was a complete lockdown when his father a police officer was transferred to Mysore. I was shattered obviously you can imagine. Though I didn’t cry or shut myself at home I was nevertheless sad and reserved for quite some time.’

“You didn’t even have a contact number! It must have been so frustrating!’ I exclaimed.

‘Yes it was but I got over it. I made new friends and then moved to Mumbai for my studies and everything about Salam took backstage in my mind. But I never forgot him’ I nodded indicating him to continue. ’23 years. Can you imagine the vastness of that elapsed time? I never thought I could meet him again until I got the shock or surprise of my life – whatever you want it to call it. At your sister Saniya’s wedding some years back.’ His face broadened into a smile as he spoke. ‘Whats more? He had come to the wedding from the groom’s side. Just pure coincidence. The will of God! That day was the best of my life. We sat and discussed about good old times and what not. I cant express what ever emotions that surged through me. He was as stunned as me. It was….was just Priceless!’

I was dwelling into the narration I just heard. It just blew up my mind. Here was one man who hadn’t seen or heard about his best friend for 23 long years! I was not even that many years old! I still not am! And yet he could manage and move on. And then there is me; standing at the complete opposite side of the spectrum. Even with ample technology and connectivity at my disposal I was sulking like a five year old. Truly I have been blinded. It surely didn’t make my burden any lighter but it gave me the strength to carry it! I looked at my uncle and he instinctively smiled at me. He knew he had delivered again and I wanted to thank him. But I didn’t. I never did. Thanking him would be undermining our relationship.

I looked skywards. I thanked the One above for things like Friendship, Love, Nostalgia….

Priceless Relationships…Priceless Emotions!