Law of Jiluk: 3

Prologue

My eyes are still on the stillness of the sea far beyond the surfs. I am standing barefoot on the mound of sand which stretches at a distance away from the sea. The Sun’s heat is beaten by the tranquility of nature. The sea waves are getting to the height of full moon tides even before the sun has gone down. The sea breeze swirls my hair as though it is making an attempt to caress me. My blue shirt flutters as the wind breaks in. It seems as if the hallowing winds of the shore are in sync with the profound thoughts running in my mind. I am gazing at the lonely seagull which is flying across the huge beacon of setting sun. I always feel at peace with myself whenever I stand at the shore and gaze at the vast oceanic plate. May be it reminds me time and again that I am just a spec in this infinite cosmic dust, so it’s okay to feel insignificant about my existence- the not so good ‘feel’ which I am striving to overcome since Dec 31, 2003 otherwise.

After college, we decided no matter whatever happens, we will meet up once in a year. But after the first time, we broke the pact and decided it’s going to be twice in a year.

The waves raise gathering water with snowy lather. They always try to touch the farthest line on the shore conveying to me I should not give up, no matter how ever many times it takes, but for the rest, it’s just a natural phenomenon. In doing so they form consecutive arcs to re-feel the taste of their little triumphs. This makes the life of tiny creatures with the pincers on the shore very difficult. Every time the wave advances, they bury themselves in the mud and come out only when there is no danger. It’s fun watching the survival instincts of the crabs. It seems as if they are playing hide and seek. The waves after crossing their own boundary returns sliding back into the sea for the next tryout, leaving behind their kissing impression on the surface.

The world is nearing the end of yet another day. The Sun has loomed the western horizon to explore the other side of the world. Billions of living things like the planktons designated to bloom, the leaves designed to stretch out and humans destined to get up and go, on the other side, might be waiting for the rise of the huge beacon of the world. The burning desires dusk on one side and dawn on the other. It signals the birds to return to their nests after concluding a day. The birds with social nature proclaim the arrival of night with their chirps and call all the others to return too. Together they form different migratory patterns in the clear sky which shine in the presence of the evening sun. At one end of the coastline where solid rocks prevail, seagulls are flapping and gliding in shallow heights whereas at the other end the fishermen set their boats for a big catch. There is a cargo ship at a distance where ocean seems calm and lifeless. The blazing rays of the setting sun flash on my face and force me to look around.

Kids are busy building castles on the beach. Little brothers as usual drive their cute sisters crazy. If it is a foreign beach I might have caught a glimpse of a few bikini babes but it’s our own Indian wali beach and luckily, no one tries this bikini stunt here and creates an awkward situation. The place, where I am standing, is strewn with plenty of shells all over. They are of various shapes and different sizes on the deep gray sand. They lay here whole, half open, equally divided, partly broken, brilliantly designed, brightly coloured with the sea colours of brown, red, orange, grey and black, unsure of how to return to the sea. Some are plain, full white. Some are silvery. Some are tiny, big; large, it appears as if a shell museum has been spread on the shore. I start identifying them as mollusk, bi valves, sea dollars, sand dollars, pink couch, horse couch, cockles, etc. I am fascinated enough to want to pick them, running here and there, to and fro like a teenager but immediately dismiss the idea because I am not a teenager anymore. The biggest problem of growing up is growing up itself! They are spawned in plenty for the survival of only few, nature’s brilliance to paten the genera to long last its existence and to balance the eco system. The beige sea sand also has another story to tell. The shore conceals itself with infinite footsteps. Tiny steps of children, swift steps of boys and girls, dreamy steps of lovers, thoughtful steps of man and woman and steady steps of old people and of course steps of wounded souls like me. It might have surfaced steps of great leaders, revolutionaries, philosophers, painters, writers, artists, musicians, and many other great people who live with their uniqueness. It dwells in the pride of marveling those few steps out of the million footsteps. Who knows, it also might have hidden many steps of despair, sorrow, fear, defeat, hate, depression... But, all those hidden steps are blown away by the wind of time. Only the steps of love, friendship, compassion, support, affection, encouragement, courage, exhort, slog, lain there, beam at me. As the sun sets in the west, the horizon slowly transforms from bright orange to crimson at the point where the unbounded sky and mighty ocean meets, turning the firmament from pale blue to dull grey throughout its existence.

The waves form and deform on the rise and fall respectively, to welcome the forthcoming night. Suddenly the air adds moisture, turning the mood of the world, elusive in general and mine, euphoric to be precise. The wind starts chasing everything on its way. The sea breeze rearranges the small heaps of sand every moment forming tiny little dunes; it’s a perfect time for someone to contemplate deep into one’s soul. Gradually, the daylight around me is sucked into the invisibility and darkness starts pervading the surroundings, similar to my state of oblivion within. On the spur of the moment, my present vanishes and my past shows itself in front of me. Every little thing matters, every little thing smiles, every little thing soothes, every little thing comforts, every little thing enthralls, every little thing exhorts, every little thing mounts up hope, though all the heavy things still lurk inside. As the waves come tossing I am tossed away in my own wave of qualm. Memories from some of the deepest hidden chapters of my heart, slowly but steadily, like wisps, start to fuse out. The sound of mild waves brings out few early thoughts.

Those were the days of magic, every minute, and every second…

First Time in the History of Books…

For the lost, broke and the defeated who are unmoved like the shield in the hand of the last man breathing, in what could be one final stand the world has never seen before. They are not the twigs that float along with the flow, but the rocks that shape its course, invisible yet invincible. The noble souls live in the past, as an evidence for their existence in the present. They don’t simply accept what life has to offer; in return they offer life something which can’t be denied. When life gives them lemons they make pickle and taste it with curd rice; simple! The brave who are honest to themselves and never budge to the worldly ways. Those, who treat the lows of the life as equal as its counterpart and confront the truth rather than running away from it, for them, time is just an irrational idea which can’t destroy their liking for someone or make them forgetful, as it does to the rest of the world. Love to them is not a passing cloud rather the unbounded sky… and feelings are not temporary for it is an eternal energy which can never be destroyed but only manifest itself into different forms with the passage of time. The one of their kinds who actually prefer reminiscing than dreaming. It is often not the anticipation of tomorrow, but the pain of yesterday which keeps them alive. When letting go was a solitary choice, they didn’t make it, instead held their possession so tightly that it didn’t slip away. In the course they might have got hurt, but they are happy they held on to what they loved the most.

They are perfectly okay to feel vulnerable, rather than pretending to be strong. Having said that, there are always two kinds of people, the ones who keep turning the pages of a book looking for a better chapter and the ones who reread the prologue like there is no tomorrow and are least bothered about what’s there in the next page. The former may or may not find the chapter they are looking for, but the latter have already found their favourite chapter. More often it’s these weirdoes who go on to do something which defies time. They are ever ready to move mountains for those who wouldn’t even move a rock for them and history is evident of this. They don’t get over things easily because they deem nothing gets over, ever…that’s why they don’t believe in adieus, because goodbyes are only for the fools. They are not the butterflies which stop at every flower on their way, but the blossom itself that waits for the return of the spring. Against the popular notion, they never live the moment because they know very well, that the genuine happiness is not found at the moment, instead, it is usually always found at the least expected time, in a least expected situation, while thinking about the past, perhaps years later… and that’s when a ‘moment’ is created in the true sense.

They are not these ‘I don’t care’ types, who always figure out a reason otherwise to move on swiftly, every time when something didn’t happen as expected, and definitely not the ‘big mouths’ who can’t move on in silence and be without bragging about it for some petty likes and comments. They don’t keep some Dutch uncle’s words as their DP or update it as status and advocate the same to deceive the world and themselves especially. At the same time they don’t lament for what they can’t change either, because they know nothing lasts forever except the memories and all they can do is to cherish those till the last breath. They might not believe in this universal concept of convincing oneself, which has been shoved down the throat from one generation to another, but it’s because of them the world moves forward; after all they are the ones who don’t quit when something goes wrong, instead they hold on to their beliefs and make the idea work in some way or the other. If life has to go on any way, there would have been no inventions or discoveries or Law of Jiluk. This generalized idea of ‘there is substitute for everything’ doesn’t work with them… after all you can’t replace your mother, can you?

One last thought, if we have to dance to the tunes of uncertainty, circumstances and the existing cliché of the world, what’s the fun of being a human? If you are scratching your head wondering what I am trying to tell you, don’t wince further. I hereby welcome you to Law of Jiluk for the third and the final time. Everything changes, the moon, season, tide, moth, flower, earth, but the mankind has a choice… go ahead, get started; let the unconventional dawn on to your conventional prejudice.

December 31, 2003 – Morning

I looked at the greeting card in my hand and could not believe what had led me to this … I was a guy who used to think of gifting and all such practices to be the stupidest habits invented in the world and giving a surprise to someone as the next most stupid thing possible!

It was mid-winter. In the Nilgiris, it meant dew drops turning into icicles and people gaining extra weights due to the different layers of woolen clothing that buried one from top to bottom. I stood in my favorite place, the extended enclave which formed the balcony of our house. I wiped the moisture present on the glass window like a windscreen wiper to see the world outside. It seemed as if the world had become the extension of sky. It was some minutes past 6, but the street lights didn’t go off yet. I reckoned it was due to the catastrophic climate that made visibility impossible in the locality. The temperature had dropped to less than zero in the Blue Mountains after so many years or that’s what I had read in the newspaper two days ago. I expected the sun to show itself, but it didn’t meet my expectation. It appeared as if Surya, the Sun God, was seduced and abandoned by the Saranyu, the Goddess of clouds. The previous night had been longer when compared to any other night in winter, in general, but for some reason I had not been able to make the best use of it. I had been uncharacteristically anxious throughout the night. I had literally tried all the means to stay away from our world but sleep was totally out of the way. Shuttering my eyelids, I tossed from side to side beneath my quilt only to realize it was just a gimmick every time. In a desperate attempt to get some doze I held the pillow like a girl who clasps her teddy which she has lately received as a birthday gift from her heroic dad, very tightly while she sleeps, but it had simply not been enough. The night had passed without any dream or a nightmare for that matter.

There was this feeling of standing in the starting block of a hundred meter dash, or the moment of catching hold of a top edged skier. In spite of so much of motivation from Subin the previous day, before and after buying the card, I was really feeling tense. May be I was afraid. I didn’t know whether the newly manifested nervousness was due to the excitement of winning, or fear of losing something very precious in my life.

It was the last day of 2003. The world was getting ready to welcome the New Year, in fact in many places like Australia and Christmas Islands; it would have already set its foot. But here I was standing in our gallery wishing for the year to never end as it was my final chance to express my long unexpressed feelings to her.

Poor Subin. He might have also felt the same hitch that I was feeling now, a year ago. I pitied my friend.

It had been during one of those days when I was reinventing myself in love, whereas Subin was withering petal by petal like the flower struck in a slow-motion whirlwind, he had proposed to Shabana for the first time. His love’s uncertainty and growing insecurities had made him weak at his knees. Besides, everybody in the class had felt there was no end to the game of alter egos played by both the love birds. We had decided to end the game by setting him up with Shabana after one fine morning, when we just couldn’t believe what our eyes saw.

It had been an unlikely morning because we four had arrived to the class before anyone was seen in the entire school campus. Once in a blue moon we did prove to be a bolt to one who had observed us as a third person. I reckoned Shabana might have also felt the same after seeing us so early on that wintery morning. Though I couldn’t remember, what had been our topic of discussion, we would definitely not have been engaged in a constructive conversation of any kind. After seeing her, Subin’s bolti bandh ho gayi or one could also say uske tote ud gaye. Shabana had covered herself like an Eskimo. She took off all her woolen outfits one by one, which made our friend focus only her. Once she was devoid of her overcoat, sweater, scarf, gloves and muffler, she came to our desk straight away. To everybody’s surprise she rubbed her hands and placed them on Subin’s face. Blood from different parts of his body diverted its flow to his face. The dark complexioned face of that lucky bastard had turned into beetrootish red.

It’s very chilly outside right? she had said. We hadn’t understood why, when it was cold outside, she had to do this act inside.

He had exhaled white fumes as he placed his hands on top of hers and said, yessssssssssssssssss!

It seemed that scar face had been yearning for this moment for a long time. To our concern she was also not ready to take her hands off that ugly face. During the entire scene the duo had forgotten that there were three other poor souls who were present there other than their own dumb souls. The melodrama had come to an end only when the tears of happiness rolled down his face. It was then we three had jointly made our mind, before our Princi sets up an enquiry and screws us in front of our parents for the only reason of being his best friends, we will do the setting between both of them.

Finally the most important day in Subin’s life had arrived. The plan was very simple… we had to bring the couple together, so that Subin could do the rest. But it had not been as easy as it seemed. Our plan A had flopped by default, whereas plan B and plan C had extremely remote scopes of execution.

It was one of those days when nothing happens according to your wish and every goddamn thing seems to be against you. Actually the bad omen has already set its sight when the first thing one gets to see on the board is, the no of present is equal to the total strength and no of absentees is nil. The next thing, no one wants to see is