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!        

A One Day Affair.....

 There was a huge void which was left to be filled in us after the exceptional Rajasthan trip ended last December. And that’s when this unexpected one day affair came up. And while it was not even within a miles radius of the fun we had in Jaipur, it was satisfying and enthralling in more ways than one. Not all girls in our class are allowed for a trip which has a clause which is tantamount to ‘overnight stay’. And the girls who fall under this category are our best friends in college. So it was naturally a joy to be able to spend quality time with all in a group which we are often deprived off. Secondly the trip was not at all mediocre in any terms even though it was meant to be an educational visit. And so, the trip happened on the 30^th of November; on a cold Friday.

We were asked to assemble at the Chatrapati Shivaji Terminus at sharp 6 am in the morning. And before your brain dismisses the previous sentence as a cakewalk let me ask you to try it out yourself before coming to that conclusion. Though I should mention that I was overjoyed by the prospect of having to travel alone to CST at a time when most of the city would be fast asleep under their blankets cursing the unbearable cold. I got up at 3.15 in the morning and spent 10 minutes trying to shut down all the sleep inducers in my biological system. Lazily, I performed all the morning rituals and got ready in the nick of time. I put on my bag packed with a set of clothes and my camera and put my wallet were it belonged and set off like the great Marco Polo on a travel adventure. I checked the time and it was around 4 am. I dropped a message to my friends whom I was supposed to meet at Bandra station. I stepped out of my building gates enthusiastically and I saw a half packed BEST bus go past me. Yeah all the Marco Polo feeling oozed out!

Reaching the bustop I hired an auto-rickshaw to take me to Andheri station. Since it was before 5am in the morning, the driver charged me under the midnight plan and it cost me a bomb to reach my destination. Proceeding towards the booking counter I observed that there were a lot more people than I expected there to be. Even the train I took to Bandra was almost occupied and it was just 4.30 in the morning! Well the say it right… Mumbai – The city that never sleeps!

I gave a call to Mohammed after an earlier failed attempt. He picked up the call fresh from sleep and sounded like a drunkard. He was the one expected to arrive late and I was sure he was going to stand true to our expectations this time too! I reached Bandra and emerged out of the station premises. Paper vendors were busy beginning their day. Loads of newspapers with that ‘just off the machine’ smell arrived in packages and they sorted it out like trained robots. I got myself a copy of my newspaper and in no time Mukul, Mahendra and Mohammed arrived and we started of to CST. We were accompanied by some other of our friends on our short journey. Unain and Amina were coming together and Neha was with Suchandra Ma’am.

All the students surprisingly arrived on time except Vivek who cancelled the trip sighting a headache. Mohammed was the chief ‘ticket obtainer’ and he rushed to the windows atleast thrice to get new tickets for the new arrivals, everytime arousing the attention of the onlookers. All the faculty members where present unlike Rajasthan where Vibha ma’am abstained from coming.

All arrived and the tickets acquired, we embarked on the 6.45 am Karjat local and sat in a peaceful corner confined to our very own group far away from the notoriously noisy First Years. It was a hour and a half long journey and like any other one of its kind, it began with a bang; all making fun of each other and pulling each others legs. Half hour into the journey, Mukul slipped into his pensive moods, Unain immersed herself in her earphones, Mohammed was perhaps thinking of some new poems to write, Amina chatting with Neha; and Mahendra was you know what! Sitting in the corner, I was patiently reading the newspaper (nothing gives me more joy than doing that on a morning!) with the winds blowing along my face.

After what seemed like an eternity, Neral arrived and we all got off the train. It was very cold for 8.30 in the morning. It was perhaps around 18-19^o C and that was not an ordinary Mumbaikar experiences. The Saguna Baug was a good 5km away from the station. The girls were stuffed into a minibus and they set off. The boys got to travel in or on (whatever preposition you want to use!) a tempo completely open furnished with metal benches at the sides. The rest had to stand and it was bad considering the pathetic road conditions. It instantly reminded us of the Tiger safari in Ranthambore!

Saguna baug was perhaps an ordinary piece of land which was converted into useful areas of agriculture, animal husbandry, pisciculture and other such accompanying activities. They made a fortune by showing around people all their work and explaining it to them. After a good breakfast of missal pav we were divided into groups and taken around the area on a study tour. Our guides were your usual village guys; not fluent in English and Hindi but profound in knowledge of what they do. He was able to explain us well even though Vijender sir interrupted him frequently to share his knowledge.  We were shown around white onion fields, rice fields, medicinal plants, plants with historical and geographical significances etc. There were other things of our interest like the vermiculture pits. No one was listening to what the guide had to say. All were interested in sighting those wriggling creatures who we knew were under those pits. The biogas plant was another very interesting venue. When Vijender sir informed us that a city as huge as Hannover got 30% of its fuel expenses from a biogas plant system, I was just amazed! If a city like Hannover could do it, Mumbai could accomplish it too in a very short time! Afterall we have no shortage of faecal matter do we?! After some one hour of walking we reached a spot where we were offered fresh lemonade and it indeed was really tasty and soothing considering the scorching heat.

What followed was some display of dragnet fishing. An artificially created pond was were the fishes and turtles were grown. After all the groups had gathered at the spot, all the guides got into the water and literally dragged the fish net on to the coast. People were cheering at every fish that was jumping up and down valiantly to escape from the nets. The guides caught the still writhing fishes and turtles and went about showing it to the people assembled over there. All were clicking pictures of those poor things. Some morons even asked the guide to hold turtle upside down to which the guide happily obliged. Its one thing when you hunt and kill animals too eat on them and a totally another thing to just shove them around for mere entertainment. This part for me was cheap and sadistic! Our group along with sir moved away from this mess and found solace in the hammock swings which were tied below the serene shades of the huge trees that stood there. Occasionally we could see stallions being rode by what seemed like expert jockeys. Being a Rajput, sir had obviously received training in horse riding and he was discussing the subtle nuances involved in handling an aggressive stallion.

After some time we were asked to change ourselves to get into the river! And that’s exactly what we had come for. The river was our main temptation to get to this place. Even though I was a little tentative initially in getting into the waters because of a soaring headache, I couldn’t handle myself and got ready at the last moment! When we reached the river banks, we saw people were already there enjoying themselves. Unain was busy clicking pictures while Neha and Amina were just wetting their feet. We directly went in without wasting much time. Mukul new swimming among us so he swimmed like he was Michael Phelps and we stayed put in one place for some time. Girls like always were shy getting into the water understandably and that’s when I hear things from a certain girl’s mouth which was outright disgusting. We moved away further into the river and spent about an hour and a half to doing all sorts of things you can do except swimming! There was this water buffalo ride which again fell into the category I mentioned above – cheap and sadistic. Akshay, the image of a macho man on land, stood stiff like a kitten when he entered the water. Mohammed was busy wooing someone who spat venom on his face; the wounds of which he is nursing till now! I was happy in my own way though I wished someone had entered the river with us!

After two hours of quality water time we headed back for lunch which was good though not excellent. We spent the rest of the time playing lawn tennis (not exactly) and then lazying on the hammock swings, gazing at the sky above us and almost falling into deep sleep. It was time to pack our belongings and rush home and I didn’t want to get out of these ultra comfy swings! Lazily, we changed ourselves hurriedly and headed onto the same open tempo waiting for us. We reached Neral station and waited for the train headed to Karjat.

The plan was to occupy the train seats as it would return back to its journey towards CST. Well, the train arrived and all started crowding the doors. And before all could climb, the train left. I looked around and was pretty much surprised when I saw the people who missed out where all form our own group! It’s a headache to travel with girls in a train and its even worse when the girls whom you are travelling with rarely take to trains! Half the time was spent in calming one of them that everything was alright and that we would catch the same train when it returned. And so after much convincing we caught another train. The teachers were obviously scared and were frequently calling us to inquire about the situation. We got seats soon and seated ourselves comfortably. Cramps were setting in as I waited for my station to arrive. Me and Neha got off at Ghatkopar while the rest went on till Dadar. We reached out homes by 8 pm with some great memories. Trust me you can never describe fun and adventure as it happened in writing! Let alone in a paltry blog!

3...2...1...HELIX!!!!!

Well, the last year our then Second Years organized a wonderful annual intercollegiate biotechnology festival – Helix. We the First Years provided the man power required on the day of the event. Me and my friends were even part of the Treasure Hunt event which attracted the biggest crowd. (An intercollegiate event without a treasure hunt is lame.)

Now, today its almost exactly a year since Helix 2011 and we are on the threshold of venturing into Helix 2012. Some where in between this one year, the baton of Helix had been passed onto us unofficially and imaginarily.  Back then, being just mere volunteers, we had no idea what it takes to organize an event as big as Helix with very limited number of students. We never thought our batch had the capability and resilience to pull of such a feat. But as the wise men said, “Cometh the Hour, Cometh the Man”. Well, in this case, it is more women than men! My friends who didn’t even turn an eye accidentally towards Helix last year are the ones who are working as hard as the ploughing farmer, hoping to reap an excellent yield. Some are even holding the whole monopoly of Helix (even the main coordinators!)

Building upto the final days in the countdown, our beloved biotechnology lab resembles nothing less than a Dharavi warehouse. The usually slick and clean lab floors and tables are now messy and untidy. Chart papers from posters, ribbons, box boards for the props, sketch pens, pencils all lie on the floor like dead soldiers after a war. People work and move in a pace unknown to mankind! Almost as if the relative pace inside the laboratory is more than the outside world. Almost feels like Einstein’s theory of relativity can be tossed out of the window any time! Though in these final days I am sitting at home (I have a suspected case of leptospyrosis; by the time you read this I will know my condition) am not having a easy life either.  Since the Mumbai clouds unleashed a catastrophe three days back in the form of unexpected heavy showers,  I injured my leg wading through the waters. Nevertheless the water was no Holy thing and I got a swelling big enough to scare kids. Two days later, I started developing fever symptoms and my doctor advised me to undergo a test for leptospyrosis. As if I wasn’t scared to hear about this thing, my teacher at college told me he had a friend in school who died of this disease!

So I had to work from home and that was the auspicious time my computer crashed. So I had to shuttle between the internet café and home with the injured leg! So no one can say I sat at home and enjoyed while others slogged it out at the lab! Coming back to things at the lab, everything and everyone from different events are racing to finish all the preparations in time! Amina and Unain are the main coordinators as well as the pillar support of the Retroquest (Treasure Hunt). They spend their entire day shouting at the top of their voice explaining the First Years all the work they have to do. Besides they have to attend calls from participants who have their own fair share of doubts. They are also answerable to Sahir Sir (of course all are) regarding queries about the event’s progress. Both Sahir Sir and Vijender Sir make abrupt entries into the lab; sometimes with orders, sometimes with some or the other piece of information. They are the main coordinators of the event among the faculty members and have provided great leadership and support to us students.

Moving further, Mahendra and Mukul are the ones who did and are still doing most of the computer work. They are always busy in these end days; Mahendra with the T-shirts and Mukul with the banners. Besides they are also part of Retroquest so that means they make a mad scramble to get the event ready in time. The Scrab de crypté, which is a unique event and purely our own find is one event which is expected to garner great attention among the participants. It is a combination of Dumb charades and scrabble in the theme of biology. Our initial trials have assured us that this is one game the participants will take away with them when they leave! Creation of props for scrabble is a very hard thing and my team mates Nikhil, Hemani , Farheen and Saylee have worked very hard to accomplish it. Even the First Years did a wonderful job in making beautiful and creative posters.

Mohsin and me are very busy with the proceedings of the quiz competition. Especially since I am working from home, we are having a tough time communicating with each other. People belonging to Zooming Bandra- our photography event; have the least work to do. But even they are super busy with all the work that comes with the ending days! AD-here is another event of which Mohsin is again a part of! He and Neha along with the M.Sc students are preparing an excellent script for the skit and all are excited about that! Mohammed is the common factor in all the events. He is there wherever people need him (I mean shifting their work to him) and is seen roaming about the lab always. People involved in Pipette your Thoughts also have their hands full with all the other work. Besides all these, there is always some or the other work coming your way which you have to do. Things like designing coupons, taking minor printouts, being a mediator between students and teachers etc. are jobs all do at some or the other point of time.

All these hectic works mentioned above happen inside the four walls of the M.sc lab from morning 10 am to evening 5.30 pm between about fifty people. Imagine the chaos! Imagine excitement! Imagine the ecstasy! Imagine the anxiety of all the students and teachers working towards this one common goal – HELIX 2012! Ofcourse such dedication and hardwork never go unrewarded and we shall; God willing reap the benefits on the 8^th of September, 2012. We hope to succeed in providing a happy and fun time combined with great knowledge to all the participants! We hope to provide the participants with moments they can treasure for a long time in the future! We hope to make the participants leave with the intention of coming back the next year! We hope to finish with a successful and all achieving HELIX 2012!
The Countdown Begins!

Because they did it for you....

 It was the third day after my uncle's funeral at my native place in Kerala. All of my uncle's siblings (there were nine of then) were at home and had planned to be there for 10 days or so. There was melancholy everywhere. I remember the last time the whole huge family had gathered together was for the wedding of my uncle's son in the same house. That was about six months ago. But now after half a year we were back again mourning the death of a man who was dear and near to the people of the village. I was sitting outside on the porch with my brother and two other cousins, fiddling with two rabbits caged in the outhouse. They provided momentary and temporary deviation to our grief stricken minds.

I heard the gate open and an old man limped in with great gusto (you don't enter a house in Kerala without knocking at the gates). I wondered who this man could be. I had never seen him before nor did he resemble anyone in the house. So I could not conclude whether he was any distant relative of ours.

He sat in one of the chairs which was laid on the house front and started taking deep breaths. After calming himself down, he looked up at us and started calling out my aunt's name -'Hamida!, Hamida!'

We were obviously dumbstruck. Suddenly an old man comes out of nowhere and starts calling out my aunt with an unpolished, hard-line authority. My aunt came out from the kitchen. I could tell even she was taken aback by this abrupt entry. As she came closer, I noticed her facial expression change drastically and she clutched her face as if in utter disbelief and tears rolled down her cheeks. She stamerringly addressed him as 'Thangam Sir'. I realized then that this old man must have been an old teacher of hers. She signaled me to call out dad from inside. I went in and told him that an old man by the name of Thangam was waiting outside and that I thought he was an old teacher of his. My dad looked at me with a bee-stung face for a few seconds and fastly paced outside to the porch. He normally never emoted much like my aunt but now it was evident that even he too was surprised by this sudden arrival.

He immediately lent his hand to the old man and helped him climb those few steps to the couch at the porch. By this time my aunt had learned to take control over her expressive ways and had regained her composure. One by one, all my aunts and uncles embarked. Even my grandma welcomed him heartily. Here, I got a slight hint that the relationship this man had with my family transcended way beyond a simple teacher-pupil relationship. Perhaps the bonding was with the whole family.

Over the next one hour all of them sat and discussed and remembered the old days bit by bit. Some memories were good and nostalgic and others were grim and tragic. His narration reflected the many moods and times my dad's family underwent during his early days. We, the second generation of the family simply stood their in awe as we calculated the amount of depth that was present in the childhoods of our mothers and fathers!

Like the state of many other Muslim women in our country, even the women in our village were not allowed to pursue higher education. The same would have happened with my aunts if not for the staunch opposition that was raised by Thangam sir with my grandfather. On his advice and guidance, my aunts became the first Muslim women to join the polytechnic college in Amaravilla. 

The interaction continued and moved onto grim topics like poverty and the accompanying tough times. Well, I knew that my dad's family had a fluctuating financial status but what I learned from Thangam Sir's narration just blew my minds out. He narrated the incident from his perspective. I would shorten it and narrate it in second person.

My dad was around 15 at that time when this incident happened. Thangam Sir lived in the house opposite to my dad's house. It was late morning and cooking for the afternoon lunch was about to begin. My first aunt discovered that there was no rice at home and also no money to buy some. So she sent my dad to get it from the nearby ration store at loan like they were buying for quite some time now. Thangam Sir saw my dad move out of the house but never saw him return back. After about an hour, he went into the house and asked for dad. My aunt was in the kitchen and she confirmed Thangam sir's notion. He also observed that the utensils kept on the stove for cooking lunch lay idle for lack of ingredients. He immediately rushed out of the house and walked to the ration store only to find my dad sitting there under a tree with a sullen face. On inquiry he learnt that the shopkeeper had declined to give him rice on loan as they failed to repay the amount of the earlier ones. My dad, immature and at teenage at that time could not find the strength to face his sisters and mother with no rice and had dreaded the possibility of having to see them sad and in a state of self pity!

Thangam Sir finished the narration and everyone where in tears. I saw my dad's eyes go wet too. Though I had a lump in my throat I didn’t cry. Having said that, they cried because they had experienced it and memories were still fresh in their minds.

Thangam Sir looked at us and said, “You people are lucky. You will not experience the poverty and shortage your fathers and mothers experienced. Because they have experienced it for you. God is great. He sees everything and knows everything. And He will take you to high places." And Thangam Sir's statement was true in this case. Now, all of them are financially well off. Atleast none of them suffered from shortage of food, one of the basic needs of life!

'They Have Experienced It For You'... Golden words by a wise man. Though my religious credentials do not allow me to believe that phrase, but still those few words epitomize and signify the fact that life is full of hardships and you have to struggle and have faith in the Almighty so that He helps you to endure those hardships. It rightly projects the truth of life and propagated a ray of hope for all of us! After all they say, "Night is the Darkest before Dawn." Yes it is indeed!

As Thangam Sir walked away I looked at him and thanked him from my heart for making me practically realize such an important lesson in life!

The Heartbreak.....

 I was never like this before and my friends are testimony to that. I was just this normal college going guy who would mind his own business, scum around with his friends, watch Messi flick a goal over Casillas or Sachin screw up the bowlers and retire back to bed after each lazy day. But since the day I saw you, my world had turned upside down and I mean it.

That was a Wednesday when I noticed you among all the other girls. I don’t know, but I think it was the grace with which you filled your feminity or the serenity in your actions that injected a viral and desperate sense of tranquility in my mind. And I myself stand witness to the fact that not a day has gone past since then when I have not thought about you before going to sleep. Don’t think I am ranting like Shahrukh Khan in his usual romantic flicks, but when I close my eyes, the first thing that comes to my mind is your smiling face. And I had tried to get over that feeling initially by using many means but none of them worked. But I must admit, that unknown to me, the uncontrollable teenager in myself who was waiting for the slightest initializations to go astray and wander like a cursed soul, had started to love this amazing occurrence. How blessed is your face! Rosy cheeks, gleaming eyes with intensity and feminine determination, the most warming smile revealing what looks like a set of the worlds most shiny and silvery pearls, your voice is like a masterpiece of eloquently stitched symphonies that would put even the great Beethoven to shame. It gives me the strength to challenge the world’s most potent atheist who disbelieves in the sheer existence of God!

Sometimes my friends believe that I have metamorphosed into a pathological lunatic from a normally quiet and understandable individual. Of course I have revealed to them about your identity since I had the sole belief that this would not go out of bounds. That would surely be an unpardonable breach of confidence on their part.

Are you aware that my grades have started to stoop low and you are the only reason behind it? I come early everyday and stand besides the college gates hoping to meet you and take the walk to the classroom in your companionship. Each day I try to muster the courage needed for that priceless walk to eternity. But sadly my already mediocre confidence diminishes with every passing millisecond. So much so that I feel like a fool standing there expecting your timely arrival. I feel synonymous with the young child who thinks he can gulp up whole of the vast oceanic expanse in a mere tumbler. Sad and dejected I give up my try with a resolve to make it the next day. My experiments in the laboratory frequently go wrong. Thats because my gaze is fixed at your ethereal charm rather than the apparatus. Even though I cuss myself and bring back the concentration, my ever wandering eyes let me down.

I am oblivious to what the teacher preaches in the class as I steal glances to look at you without the knowledge of my friends or for that matter even you. Now since we have started talking to each other, every word that you speak and every smile that you emanate feels specially propagated towards me and only for me. There is elegance in your talk, hypnotism in your smile and an sense of mysticism in your methods. It all made my imbecile mind believe that you reciprocate my feelings the same way I do. Thats the fault of my logic starved brain which believes that a movement in any direction is a sign of progress. How insane!  I have gone so mad for you that I can’t bear to see you talk to any one, even for the most professional reasons. But having said that these are the moments which make realize the hard truth of the misery I am facing. It comes as a slap to my face as I realize that I mean nothing to you, that you probably even don’t have the slightest clue that you have made life a living hell for me. This whole love thing is crumbling up my insides and with great pain I have declared to myself that I want you to pass out of my life just as a mere tree in the long road through the journey of life.
.
.
.
.
.
.

Its been eight months of infatuation trauma for me. I still remember the day when I discovered that you were in a relationship with someone. Whoever he is, I have all the belief that he is the luckiest guy on this planet. That day, enduring great scars to my heart I threw out all thoughts about you into the darkest corner of my mind from where I hoped your memories would never be retrievable. Invariably out of the blues a famous poem by Miguel Otero Silva echoed in my ears.

"I heard her feet walk away from me
 And sensed dusk in my face
 My heart swaying between her and the street,
 I dont know from where I found the strength
 to free myself from her eyes
 to slip from her arms
 I walked, crying through rain and glass
 clouded with grief and tears
 To the loneliness that awaited me."