Women's Day....

What a spectacle has this become…I am not a great believer in these "days"..they seem ornamental for me….not much of a purpose seem to be served by them….but nowadays some of the marketing regarding them makes me laugh…

Just consider valentines day and women’s day ..these are the”days” which are marketed the most…ya of course they ought to be …because they are the largest gullible markets waiting to be tapped eternally…..but look at this year’s innovations……channel v has had women’s day celebration having bimbettes and heroines perform “xclusive” dance numbers…I don’t know what kind of liberation are these scantily clad ladies bringing about…only something of the summer kind of liberation…..and MTV proved that they think better of women..they seem to have decided women need eye candy also…and we have hunks all the day long…….all the bollywood heartthrobs baring their muscles for “all the gals in the house” to drool about…..and ofcourse we have all the romeos givin their “distinguished” views about women….so much for women’s day…..and women’s lib…

Now don’t accuse me of not watching the so called “meaningful”channels having debates with “eminent personalities from all walks of life” discussing about women and their role in the society…lot of them talk and more of them listen…and then switch off the tv and go to sleep…that’s whts been happening every year and every time..unless until another “day” comes along…and the circus starts all over again……

life is beautiful: another short story.....

This is next in the line of stories.....after a few days of my first story i wrote this one..this was a reflection of many toughts that were disturbing me.....a lot many ideas which culminated into this short story...my 2nd creation....

Life is Beautiful:....
Life really seemed to be beautiful to me. I was waiting in USA Consulate in Chennai to get my visa processed. Wait, before we go further, let me introduce myself. My name is Amir Riaz. I hail from Visakhapatnam. I had finished my graduation and now I had obtained admission in a reputed university in United States of America for my MBA. All the procedural formalities had been completed. Money was never a problem for me. My father had earned enough for me and few more generations to come. All that remained was the issuing of visa and soon I would be flying to the land of my dreams. I was on the threshold of realizing my dream. A whole new world awaited me.

I was shaken out of my reverie by a shrill cry. I saw a masked man holding a gun to a young boy and ordering others not to move. For a few moments I could not fathom anything. Then I could make out that this was some sort of terrorist attack. This guy was holding the boy at gun point and was moving towards the main entrance. Everybody stood still not able to decide what to do. The security guards were shouting at the guy to drop the gun. They were hesitating to shoot due to concern of safety of the boy and other people. That masked man was moving along with boy towards the door.

As the guy passed me a sudden urge came upon me to do something. A voice inside told me to attack the guy. All the thinking modes in me snapped shut and I did not know what I was doing. I threw myself at the man. He let go a few bullets and they whizzed past me. I don’t know if it was my good luck or providence, but the bullets missed be just by centimeters. Soon that guy and me were rolling on the ground fighting for the gun. Then the sound of gunshots filled the room and our struggle stopped.

Soon I was a hero. All the news papers, TV channels and all sorts of media were feting me. In between the entire melee I had shot the guy. Later investigations had revealed that it was a part of a much planned attack. My action had foiled it and rest of them were shot dead and some of them were captured. A ghastly attack on the consulate had been prevented by my bravery. Many news papers and TV channels interviewed me and featured me prominently. I was invited to chat shows, news panels and all other sort of things. They even recommended my name for bravery awards.

All this celebration lasted for a month or so. Soon the media forgot me and moved on to new stories as usual. All the revelry died down. But one thing refused to die down. It was the feeling that I had a killed a human being. This kept on haunting me. I was the sort of person who abhorred violence. Even the violence depicted in the films used to put me off. So the fact that I had killed someone kept troubling me. I had acted on the spur of the moment. But now the incident kept coming back to haunt me. I had frightening dreams in which that terrorist kept appearing. I lost the peace of my mind. My friends and relatives tried consoling me saying that I had only killed someone who was going to do something evil. But that did not help my cause. I did not think that was any justification for my killing him. I had taken a human life and this feeling kept troubling and torturing me.

This entire hubbub had resulted in my visa being delayed and my trip to USA was postponed by a few months.. I had lost interest in all other things of life. Soon I had grown a beard and I wore a ragged look. My parents were worried about me. I decided I had to do something otherwise all these thoughts would drive me mad. I decided to put these ghosts to rest. I contacted the police department and gathered details about the person I had killed. I had seen his face after the incident in Chennai. He had a pretty innocent face of a teenager. He really was a teenager. He was nineteen years old. His name was Abdur Rehman. He hailed from Hyderabad. He had run away from his house few months back after the riots in Gujarat and had trained with the terrorists before he was sent on this mission. I took his address and started for Hyderabad. I decided not to shave myself so that the beard would help me hide my identity from his people. I took a large amount of money which I intended to give to his people. I did not know if that would help mitigate my feelings but I decided to give it anyway.

I reached Hyderabad and went in search of his house. It was quite a task searching for his house. Wherever I enquired about his address I was greeted with queer looks and suspicion. With great difficulty I managed to locate his house. It was quite a stereotype of a middle class house. When I knocked on the doors a middle aged lady opened the door. When I enquired whether it was Abdur Rehman’s house she gave me look which seemed to me like it had a mixture of anger and vexation. She looked pointedly at me and asked “Are you from the police? How many times will you people bother us? We had told you all that we know. What else do you want from us?” She was on the verge of breaking down. I explained to her that I was not from the police. I told her that I was Rehman’s friend and I had come to give them something he had wanted me to give them. On hearing this, the expression on her face changed to one of happiness and she welcomed me into the house.

The house was not much furnished. Barring a few chairs, there was not much furniture in the house. It was a pretty small house having a couple of rooms. The lady asked me to sit on a chair and she rushed in to fetch water for me. She shouted to someone inside the kitchen to cook lunch for me. She rushed hither and thither and served me some sweets. Then she started enquiring about her son, about what he had done all the days he had been away from home. I managed to make up some stories about him. She showed me his photos taken in his childhood. This guy had a very innocent look on his face. She showed me different medals and awards he had won since his childhood. This fellow had quite excelled in his academics. A very intelligent life had been cut short by me. This realization sent further spasms of pain in to my heart. She spoke lovingly of her son. She told me stories about his school, the way he used to talk, the way he used to sing songs. She said that she had stopped seeing daily soap operas now because her son did not like them and he used to scold them always. She told me that I was his first friend to come searching for him after his death. All others seemed to have thrown him out of their conscience. Only police came to question them about him. Soon she was crying and deploring why she could not stop her son from going the way of violence and to his death. I was unable to speak a word. A mother’s anguish at the loss of her son was too much for me to bear. The fact that I was the reason for that anguish did not make things easier for me. The lady got up and went into the kitchen crying. I sat there transfixed not knowing what to do. A delicate voice shook me out of my dilemma. It called out “Bhaiyya”. I looked at the direction of the voice. A teenaged girl in purdah was standing beside the door. She said “ Bhaiyya ,I am Rehman’s sister. Did he tell anything for me before he went away?” I was at the loss of words. “ Yes, Yes,” I stammered “ He told me to tell you that he loved you very much and he asked you to care of your mother and father after him”. She sighed and said “My brother used to be the most active person in our house. He always used to keep us in splits with his jokes. After he has gone all the happiness in our house is gone. Now only silence reigns in our house.” What she said seemed to be true. A pall of gloom hung about the house.

Then an elderly person walked into the house. He was very simply dressed. A sort of person you would very commonly come across on the road and you would perhaps not throw a second glance at him. “My father” the girl said and went inside the room. I got up and introduced myself to him. He greeted me affectionately. He had a very gentle voice and he spoke very steadily. He told that he worked as a clerk in a government department. He enquired about the purpose of my visit. When I gave him the money he looked at me suspiciously and said “If you are from the organization which made my son a terrorist and want to pay us this money for that you can leave my house right now” There was a firmness in his voice when he said that. I explained to him that I was not from any terrorist organization. I told him that his son had worked in my uncle’s shop before he went away. And my uncle had wanted to help Rehman’s family when he came to know of his fate. I had made up this story a short while ago. But he replied that he took pride in his work and he did not want to accept anyone’s charity. For all I could try I could not convince him to accept the money. By then the lady came and invited me to have lunch.

I had a very sumptuous lunch. It was a very simple serving but it was quite tasty. Their affection overwhelmed me. They treated me as one of their own. I was touched by the sincerity in their voices, the purity in the love they showered on me. When the lunch was over I chatted for a while with Rehman’s father. He spoke of how he had hoped that his son would do great things in life; how he had dreamt that his son would achieve great heights in pursuit of academic excellence. But now his death had put paid to all those hopes. Then it was time for me to leave. I took the blessings of the lady, bade the young girl goodbye and took leave of them. But the Rehman’s father insisted on accompanying me up to the station. We took a taxi and started for the station.

All the way I kept thinking about them. Rehman’s face kept flashing before my eyes. I had destroyed an object of a father’s hope, a mother’s love and a sister’s affection. I had destroyed hopes, dreams, and aspirations of a whole family. I had committed murder, not one but effectively three. My mind was in a state of turmoil. I realized the magnitude of the folly I had committed. I did not know what I could do. When we reached the station we got down and walked into the station. I decided that I had something to do before I left Hyderabad.

I walked up to Rehman’s father and looked into his eyes and told him the whole truth. I told him that I was the one who was killed his son. He looked at me benignly and said that he knew that. He also told me that everyone in his house knew that and it was in fact his wife who had first recognized him. This shocked me. I was dumbfounded at their kindness. I asked him “How could you people be so kind and affectionate to someone who had killed your son, someone who had destroyed your dreams, hopes, and aspirations? How could you forgive me?” The man looked at me with gentle smile and said “Who am I to forgive you? What folly have you committed for us to forgive you? It was not you who had killed my son. My son had died the day he took up the gun. The people who had propagated politics of hate for their selfish ends have killed my son. People who have killed fellow human beings just because they belong to another religion have killed my son. People who take advantage of the anger of downtrodden to fuel their agenda of destruction have killed my son. My son has met the fate of the person who chooses the wrong way. He had to die. You just did your duty. You saved the life of many people by your act of courage. I admire your bravery. I am proud of you, son.” This was the ultimate accolade I could get for my act on that fateful day. All the adulations and bravery awards did not matter to me. This was without parallel.

As I was coming back to Vizag on train, I realized that peace reigned in my mind. I had realized the real essence of beauty of life. My life was really beautiful.