Continued from yesterday-BETRAYAL part 5

‘Hey there’, she said as normally as possible, as he put his left foot forward in the attempt to jump.

Damon’s smiled froze as did his foot. He frowned as he put his feet back together and turned around to face her. ‘What are you doing here?’, he snapped. ‘Don’t come closer! Don’t! Or I’ll jump.’

‘Oh.’

Damon stared at that girl, wearing jeans and shirt in a party of gowns and dresses. ‘What are you doing here?’, he asked again, surprised at her monosyllabic reaction.

‘I needed some fresh air. Downstairs is too full of complicated conversations of what who said to whom and why. I mean, there’s the dance and all, but I don’t have anyone to talk to, and I was bo...’

‘Just go away.’ said Damon, shaking his head.

‘I can’t.’

‘You have to.’

‘No I don’t.’

‘What do you want?’

‘For you to come off that ledge.’ Alice stepped closer as she said this, uncertainly, as she feared he would really lose it and jump.

Meanwhile, this unexpected turn of events had put Damon in a state of bewilderment. He had forgotten about his threat, but as she came within inches of touching him, he suddenly turned away again.

‘Why do want to save me? You do not know me. It’s better that I leave.’

‘How do I leave, knowing that I am talking to you for the first and last time?’

‘Forget you ever spoke with me. Just go, Alice.’

‘Do I look stupid, Damon? Maybe I do look stupid, but I am not. I don’t want to act hero or something, but the CCTVs have recorded my presence here as well as yours and I am not going to the gaols in charges that I persuaded you to jump off a terrace.’

Alice knew no better excuse right then for stopping him from taking that step. She knew she sounded retarded but she also knew that there was no way she would allow Damon in taking that one step.

‘Are you mad? You are worried about CCTVs while I’m trying to jump?’ Having never encountered such a situation, Damon’s bewilderment kept growing at this girl. Earlier, when he had tried to end his life, others had scolded, sympathised and even held long counselling sessions with him, so that he would never have such thoughts again. All such attempts had failed miserably. This girl, however, had something about her, a strange pull, which Damon wanted to surrender to. He wanted to come off the ledge after a long, long time.

 But he was fighting this urge. It had taken him a lot of pains to come to this point of time. He wanted to jump, but he couldn’t.

‘It’s you who said that I did not care if you take that jump or not. So better be the option where I care for my skin than yours.’ Alice broke his reverie. ‘Come on now, you don’t want to take that fall. God, you’ll be flatter than a pancake down there.’ She said peering down the edge.

Damon could just stare at her. Sandwiched in the middle of an internal war to decide whether to join her on the terrace, or join his brother upstairs, he chose the former. And for this decision, he couldn't believe himself.

Continued from yesterday- BETRAYAL part 4.

The wind carried the soft music from the ongoing party on the 12^th floor of the 13 storey Belzoni House, as he stood on the edge of the terrace in his party suit. Damon looked down at the traffic beneath him. He did feel bad about his parents, but his pain had become unbearable. The broken heart of his pierced his days and nights and he knew, no one would be able to glue them back together. ‘What do you know about falling in love?’, her last message read. Never a day went by, never a moment passed, when he did not blame himself for hurting her. He had begged her to forgive him. He had cried, did everything possible, but she just did not come anywhere near accepting him back. He hadn’t told a word about this to anyone, not even to his best friends, who were currently enjoying the birthday party of a friend downstairs.

The wind blew harder as he stepped closer to the edge. He wanted to die more than anything now. He missed his brother badly, but he knew, not for long now. He smiled through his tears and lifted one foot towards the fall, oblivious that a certain someone had their eye on him.  That someone, specifically a girl, had now moved silently towards Damon, unaware of the storm that raged within him, threatening to devour him anytime now. Her eyes bored into his back as she stood there deciding what to say to prevent this boy from jumping.

To be continued. 

Continued from yesterday- BETRAYAL part 3

“..When you truly love someone, the liver pays the price after it's all over...” a drawling voice hiccoughed. Damon drank another portion of whiskey as the setting sun dimmed the drawing room where the two boys were sitting. “I louf er mahn...”, the drunken voice of Stanley continued. “ I know.”, Damon whispered, a heartbroken, hopeless whisper. He reminisced the days when his evenings would expire in her company, when she would hold his hand whilst walking the streets, when evenings did not mean whiskey with another heartbroken friend. This friend, however had another not-an-happy-ending-love story, and Damon had confided some facts about his tragic heart break to Stanley, but not all. Damon knew, he would never confide in anyone. This however, was not to hold true in the near future, but Damon knew so little then. 

“Go home Stan. It’s already dark.”

“I louf er so mush.”

Damon had to stumble over to Stanley to shake him awake to the real world. “Go home. It’s been 3 hours since the game ended and mom must be on her way back. Go. I’ll see you at the party.”

Stumbling and murmuring deliriously, Stanley made his way back home, as Damon piled the empty bottles of liquor in the locality dustbin. He had made up his mind, and nothing, or no one for that matter, was going to stop him tonight.

Continued from yesterday- BETRAYAL part 2

5 YEARS LATER

“Ma’am may I come in?” Damon came in panting in the class. The teacher, having the privilege given by the virtue of her position, considered of not letting him enter for being late by 7 whole minutes, but then decided otherwise, it would be a waste of time. “Sit here. In front of Alice.”, she pointed at the threadbare carpet. Glad for being able to avoid the punishment, Damon hurried to his seat. The Psychology class had already started and the students’ heads were bowed down as they scribbled their notes. Damon, being a late comer, had to take a couple more minutes for taking out the required notebook and start writing. 

He looked up as the teacher went for a tea break; the students’ had their fingers sprinting over several pages before this short freedom was earned. Damon looked up and saw that his own group of friends were sitting a long way at the back. He knew this Alice girl, but only her name. He looked at her. She was a very chubby girl with a medium length brownish black hair. She wore geeky specs and had left her hair down and it framed her face softly. A smile completed her countenance as she spoke quietly to a guy sitting beside her. Damon had seen her in school but they had never had any conversation though they had quite a number of mutual friends.

Alice looked up and saw Damon looking at her. She smiled at him. Damon, not returning that smile, quickly looked away, because the black hair, the chubby dimples and that brilliant smile made the memories of a lost person rush back into his mind.

Few moments passed before he looked up again. She’s not her- he said to himself. He saw the look of bewilderment in her eyes as he looked at her again. This time though, he managed a quick smile. But she raised her eyebrows in uncertainty. But that was the end of it because the teacher, with a sly smile had come to torture their fingers again.

To be continued. 

A FIRST TIMER'S STORY- BETRAYAL

PROLOGUE

Three friends walked down a lane that evening; one talking, one smoking, and the other hearing the words spoken, and unspoken by them both. Three very unusual lives had intertwined. But in their hearts they knew, that this friendship, would last, if not forever, then for a very long time at least...

ONE BOY’S STORY

‘Go away’, said a distant voice from behind the closed door. The servant carried the dinner back to the kitchen as he had done for the past 2 days. The air hung heavy with grief as the lights of that house went out that night.

Paper cuttings, showing a building on fire, lay strewn on his bed. Silent tears fell, as his eyes distantly stared at the smiling photographs of the brother who would never smile again, would never laugh again. The boy stared at the small note, written in his brother’s hand on his 13^th birthday present.

                                    ‘Keep smiling! Happy Birthday Damon!!

                                                I’ll always love you.’

The 23^rd day of March had taken away from him his most precious belonging, his best friend, his partner in everything he did, his elder brother. He hardly knew the time, let alone the day, and least the month. There was no one now, to fill that hole, that empty void in his heart, which was killing him. He had no sense of anyone else; relatives or friends. Now that his world had been turned upside down, he felt that nothing really mattered anymore. Sympathies and phone calls, words of solace and people urging him to fight the situation, nothing worked. He hadn’t eaten in 44 hours and yet he felt he would never bring himself to eat anything again.

The phone rang for the 9^th time that night. He ignored the ringing until it died down. He had to find his mother. She had lost a beloved son. Also, he had heard, when a common grief is shared, it’s easier for the tears to flow. He picked himself up and walked down to his parent’s room. Empty. He hadn’t even hoped of finding her here, so he slowly walked down towards his brother’s room. One glance at the poster stuck door, he found his heart turn to lead. Uncontrolled tears rolled down his cheeks as he slowly took steps towards that room. With trembling hands he opened the door. It was dark inside, but he heard her silently sobbing. He turned the lights on to find his mother sitting on the floor, with her head over the bed stand, red eyed and devastated.

It was this sight, which urged his to mask his unhappiness behind the veil of a smile.

‘Ma’, Damon tried to say. But his voice was nowhere to be heard. He dragged his legs towards her and slid down to the floor beside her. If she did notice, she did not show it. ‘Ma’, Damon tried to say again. But the overwhelming agony was such, that before a word could be spoken; he broke down severely on his mother’s lap. But even the agonising howl of crying, of a mother and brother, couldn't bring back the lost son and brother.

To be continued.

Pen and my moment of glory.

‘The pen is mightier than the sword.’

We have come across this proverb numerous times. As young kids, we were unable to comprehend its symbolic meaning, as we were more concerned about the literary meaning of the words. As time kept passing and we began gathering experience, we steadily began realising that we are more in benefit when we can express our viewpoints clearly and substantially, than forcing the same upon the directed people.

Having said that, I would wholly like to add the fact that, the pen plays a very important and irreplaceable role in all our lives. Signatures, autographs, note making, designing, writing, doodling, and so on, are possible because of that 14cm instrument in our hands. Deeply moving thoughts, speeches, books, cookbooks, poems, essays, songs, plays, stories, prescriptions, letters(not E-mails), questions, answers, textbooks, experiments, and a whole load of other writable things are ‘penned’ down. Even today’s MS Word cannot replace the magic created by a pen (I solemnly do not think that anyone has heard something like, ‘I’ve MS Worded the teachers notes...’). The scientific world has proven (no idea how, although), that staring into space, deeply in thought of a particular subject with a pen in the mouth, ends up in fruitful results (again, no one really stares into space with a computer or a mobile phone it he mouth). So, it’s absolutely a wonderful notion, how pens build up a thought, and then helps us to put it, ostensibly, into words of our own.

Similarly, the pen has been playing an immensely significant role in my life (until now, that is). But I’m not just talking about my academic sphere of writing exams and making notes and completing home works and other bluntly boring things. I’m talking about how it has been helping me in expressing my thoughts and winning the appreciation of the people reading my words. To give such incomprehensible happiness whilst reading, has been vividly experienced by my own self, and, as happiness is greatly amplified when shared, I write my thoughts to the happiness of the humankind.

So, as for the moment of glory, where the pen has been my saviour, goes in the following lines.

It was two weeks before my 14th birthday. We had been informed by our English teacher about an essay competition, to be written for the promotion of CHILDLINE, an organisation working against child abuse and related vices. I promptly gave up my name along with a few other students. On the next day, we were informed about our choice of topics and I was presumably quite happy with my topic. Even then, I had a general sense of appreciation for writing and that emotion had been instigated by the notion that I’ll be writing for a good cause. I went back to my home and decided not to inform my mother about the competition and give her a surprise after finishing up my essay. I wanted to begin with it straight away, but my table calendar said that I had 11 more days to go before submission. That is when laziness kicked in and the unforeseen tragedy happened.

Like all other 13 year olds, I, too had those pretty little ’13 year old’ problems to worry about. Therefore, the assignment was pushed to the furthest corner of my thoughtful little brain, away from the priority list that dangled in my mind, then and now. In short, I had forgotten about my essay, completely. I lived and breathed in complete oblivion until the date of submission arrived. Then too, my fretful little brain did not remind me of my unfinished work. Then, as the teacher began calling out certain names, and the owners of those names got out of their seat and kept a bunch of 3-4 stapled A4 sized papers on the corner of the teacher’s desk, the full realisation of my incomplete work hit me. My jaw refused to come off the floor as I stared at those papers, shocked at my forgetful nature. My name got a call. That was the time of embarrassment. Of course, I said that I had left it at home. Of course, I promised to submit it the next working day. Of course, the teacher refused to believe me. Of course, she scolded me. Of course, I made a complete fool of myself. And, of course, I got penalised for my ignorance.

My teacher said, “You still can submit your essay. But now, you are given only an hour to finish your work. You will be writing it alone in the main hall, with only your clipboard and your pen. Have I made myself clear?”. I nodded, and as the class got over, followed her to the hall and reached inside my bag for the clipboard and pen. As my rotten luck would have it, I found that I had misplaced my stationery box along with my pens and other things. I had no other choice but borrow a pen from one of my friends. Unfortunately, all my friends and classmates had gone to the field and I got a stern look from my teacher as I took a step towards the play area.

I asked the lab personnel if I might use a computer for writing and a printer for printing out my essay. He informed me that the printer was out of bounds for students until a written application had been provided for. I had a sinking feeling, as I had complete faith in the fact that I was not getting an application from my teacher, as she wasn’t exactly pleased with me. Moreover, it was a HOME WORK, and home works aren’t exactly to be done in the school. Now, I was in a complete fix.

Incidentally, it was the 25th day of February, that is, my birth day. Now, as far as wishes were concerned, all my classmates had wished me beforehand. Now, as I sat in the empty hall, wondering how to put the flow of words on paper, I heard the hall door being opened. I, instinctively thought that it was my English teacher, but as I turned, I found my best friend standing there and smiling at me, with a small gift wrapped box in her hand. I, pleasantly surprised, walked towards her as she stretched out her hands in embrace. “Happy Birthday, girl!”  she exclaimed, “See what I got for you.” I opened the wrappings and stared at her gift in my hand...

I got a position in the top 15 contestants all over India for my essay. And now, the whole school knows who I am. But, this wouldn’t have been possible without many a great things that happened on the 25th day of February, 2011. It was the gift of my best friend that gave me this recognition. It was the contents of that small box that helped me submit my essay on time. It was metal and ink that helped me convert all those frazzled ideas into words. It wasn’t just a pen, then again, it was only a pen.

I still have that particular pen with me. Whenever I look at it, I am reminded how foolishly I got into a terrible mess, how beautifully, I got rescued by my friend, and how faithfully, a pen worked my way towards the completion of the task at hand.

 

Doubts.

"I am in love mom."

Dalias bowed her head as she said these words. The night was cold and there was an annoying silence in the way her mother kept quiet after hearing this. They walked past the closed shops and dark alleys. 

"I am sorry mom." Dalias knew how her mother had been cheated by love. How love had taken away her smile. How love had crumpled her and left her broken and empty. Yet her daughter had dared to love. 

Malini was a strong woman. She had faced many raging storms to see the sunlight again. Her greatest strength had been her daughter. But now the daughter had fallen into the pit where in every thing seemed perfect initially, but which snatched away the very reason for your living later. Malini was a strong woman. But she doubted whether Dalias was strong enough. 

Malini had had a failed marriage and to make matters worse, she had profoundly loved her man, and still does. "Why do people cheat?" Malini would often wonder to herself. He had loved her once. He had so beautifully convinced her to marry him. Not just her, even her family adored his flamboyant nature and his air of perfection. But four years into their marriage, all the affection somehow wore off, like a statue kept in a desert, which got buried in the sand with time. Dalias was a year and a half old when Malini saw those roses in his drunken hands with the note that smoldered their relationship with the spiteful beauty of carving alphabets saying, "Can't wait for tomorrow to happen. I love your everything. Be mine. Signed-Evy"

No, he hadn't apologized. He said she bored him. That he needed more than just three meals and some sweet talk to please himself. He said he loved Evy. "But I love you." A tearful Malini had countered. "But I don't."

He filed a divorce with her soon after. He had said he didn't want to bear the responsibility of the kid. So Malini left the city, because her entire life had been brutally uprooted and thrown in the fire of loneliness to burn. 

So when Dalias, now aged 16, spoke of young love, Malini didn't know if she was strong enough to handle the menacing pain of a heartbreak. 

Dalias knew she had made a mistake by telling her mother about the new emotion that she was experiencing. Bereft of love herself, Malini had taken every pain to give Dalias everything she ever desired. But doubts about love remained. 

'Then be in love, sweetheart.' 

Malini smiled, as they walked on together.