Sharad - a memoir - Part 1

All good things have to end, but this ended with a thud! He knew life would never be the same again. A cliché? Think again! Everything that has become a cliché was at some point of time an effective way of putting things in the right perspective. Sharad knew how well times had gone by. Sharad knew something for a fact – I want to be the best! And he was the best! He excelled in everything he did. The attribute that gave him this strength was the fact that fears and failure never perturbed him. If one is not afraid of failure, there is no way one can lose. Success is relative – another cliché – and it always comes in a heap. Why do we say success is short-lived? It almost always comes in a big chunk and stays for a while. We mess up with it and don’t make the correct use of it. It comes in a heap and seems to last for a short while. It is so good so long as it lasts that duration of its existence measures up to nothing.

~*~

Trees swished by from his sight as train gathered speed. Early morning breeze of spring wafted through the open window of his aisle berth. Mango groves were a treat to watch, most of the trees laden with raw mangoes hanging precariously by the thin stems.

Thoughts went back to his school days and the villages he had visited with his friends -- their native. The morning breakfast would comprise of beaten rice with mango pulp – it tasted yummy. Everything had to have a dash of mango to it, otherwise summer would seem incomplete. Scorching heat and parched land were not the best for games, but what care do people have for these elements when holidays are meant to be spent in games and fun. They would run around the ‘khet’ and ‘maidan’, swim in the ‘pokhars’, climb up mango trees, run up the small hill to get a view of the village from atop. Every activity had energy, and who knows how energy drains.

~*~

“Sharad, we will meet tomorrow at Sarovar,” said Geeta and disconnected the line. She was curt, and probably tired. Sharad was not helping matters by keeping quiet and almost to himself in the last few weeks.

“One strong coffee and one masala dosa,” Sharad placed the order

“Why Sharad, what is bothering you?”

“Nothing Geeta, I am perfectly alright. Only that amma is not keeping very well these days, so I feel a little low. You know that she is all I have.”

“I know, but that certainly isn’t the only reason for your aloofness. I met auntie yesterday and she seemed OK to me. She said she was feeling good.”

“Geeta, is there always a dark end to every life? Or is it that only a few get to experience it.” It was more a statement than a question from Sharad. He seemed to know the answer.

“Sharad, don’t be so pensive and depressing. Share your pain, if there is any. I can’t stand this desolate look and incomprehensible query.”

“In time I will tell you Geeta. I know it hurts you today, but rest assured, it will make you smile tomorrow at the thought of it all.”

“…”

“I will tell you everything once I understand it more clearly. It is only you with whom I can share this.”

“It makes me curious Sharad. Is it something serious? Is there something that we need to know urgently?”

“No Geeta, don’t regret the lack of knowledge today, for tomorrow you would fervently hope it were false.”

“…”

“And I would explain every detail with clarity to you. Let us go to Nagasri; I need to pick up a couple of books. I got PF credited to my account. It has been ages since I indulged in shopping.”

Geeta smiled. Sharad smiled. And they walked through Richmond Circle and hailed an auto for Jayanagar.

~*~

Regret is central to happiness. Much to his own dismay, Sharad had felt a calm prevail over him after all the anxiety in the beginning. Many questions propped up and no answers came by. Life had suddenly become energetic and listless simultaneously. It is funny how time imposes restrictions while sailing by at its own speed. It always does funny things to us humans.

Train had stopped at Khandwa station and his thoughts halted for a while in the mayhem of the station with “garam chai” and “samosa”. He alighted to buy cigarettes. They were banned by the authorities but available at higher cost. He picked up half packet of Wills Navy Cut and went back to his seat. He always felt odd smoking in a public place, so he went up near the door and waited for the train to start.

The orange fire somehow made him feel odd. He thought about his mother’s struggle all her life to provide for him. Standing near the door, he looked down and saw the stones and track move at a disconcerting speed. What if he lost his grip and fell on the rail, he thought blankly. He always wondered how a train always reached a destination despite trudging along terrains that looked so far from civilisation. Some of the stretches, as the one right now, did not look inhabited. Yet, a stray goat would suddenly appear or an odd frame of human looking dispassionately at the train.

He tried to keep away these queer thoughts and concentrated on the task at hand. He had to reach Delhi and meet Mr.Luthra for the job that would give him enough space of his own. And money to live a decent life. And Delhi was a good place to buy books – both Hindi and English. These thoughts made him relax. He stubbed the cigarette and went back to his seat.

He suddenly woke up. Stationary train always woke him up. This was something about trains that he disliked -- the habit of stopping in the middle of nowhere. It was past 2 in the morning, darkness at this hour is always disconcerting. Looking out the window he saw nothingness, a very quiet silence marked the whole area. People slowly woke up and started discussing the same issues about trains being late, train making up lost time later in the night et al. Someone said there was an accident ahead, and the train will have to take a detour. This frightened him; because interview was in the afternoon the next day and he could not afford to be late for the same.

~*~