I refuse.

I refuse to believe that one significant event from an interwoven unending sequence of events can be responsible for ‘You’. That the gravity of one moment is so profound that it can account for all the complex emotions of your heart and pragmatic reasoning of your mind.

24 Hours. 1, 440 minutes. Or 86,400 seconds multiplied with your years of existence is proportionally too wide a time range for ‘one event’ to change ‘You.’

You mature when that friend you tagged as your ‘best friend’ since high-school isn’t even aware of your existence when she moves to a different town to pursue her academics. You mature a little more when you realise that the yardstick of determining a friendship is not directly proportional to the frequency of their calls or messages but by a person’s ability to hold onto to you through your chaotic storms. And when you stumble upon the realisation that ‘people change’ and no matter how scared you are of being replaced or how hard you try to hold onto them, you eventually have to let go, acknowledge the person they have become and instead hold tighter  onto the memories you both made.

You grow strong when someone close dies. When one day they have a significant part to play in your life, and the next day they abruptly disappear into oblivion. You stare blankly at their lifeless body waiting for that familiar smile or touch their cold body desperately in search of the comforting warmth. When you force your mind to reminiscence every memory of that person, but time being the commanding master, you are left with only faded remembrance, you grow a little stronger.

You change when the person you love doesn’t love you back. You learn not to despise a person because they didn’t comply with your emotions or curse them to misery because the turn of events didn’t go in your favour. You instead learn to respect other’s sentiments, treat them well and move on knowing that the right person will find you eventually.

You become a better friend when instead of being critical and disapproving of your friend because she puffs a cigarette or drinks a bottle of Whiskey, you acknowledge the fact that every person has a different set of convictions and just because her’s are not in conformity with your’s is no reason for you to strain the friendship.

You become a little selfless when you give that extra scoop of ice-cream to your younger brother when he looks at you with his innocent eyes after finishing his own or when you decide to make the bed for the night glancing your mother’s tired face.

 You change when being honest in a deceptive world doesn’t fetch you anything. Where masquerade is the fashion and manipulation the law, your truth has little space to breathe. You either hold onto the person you choose to be strengthening your convictions an inch or choose to be one among those several imposters surviving in an unfair world.

You grow wise when instead of cheating in an exam to get full marks, you let that one or two marks slip by because you realise there is more to life than just ‘marks’, and giving up your integrity for an extra mark which will be lost to oblivion in the years to come would be a foolish thing to do.

You become a better person when you are there for someone who ill-treated you or wronged you in ways unknown in the past; when you continue holding onto the goodness in you when people around you stab it with all their might.

You learn to respect yourself when you set boundaries for how you want others to treat you. When you raise your voice at a lewd remark made at you under the garb of a joke or when you refuse to settle for anything that is less worthy of you, even when there are thousand eyes rolling at you.

All these little or big moments of your life, however you choose to remember them, together spin a bundle of experience which mould both your heart and mind to its present being.

I believe your heart is either sewed together by the strong jovial ribbons of strength, endurance and maturity or by the meek tangled threads of despair, struggle and hollowness; both of which is a cumulative outcome of the series of events you stumbled upon.

I believe that there exists a genesis to the person you have become, good or ugly and that one distinct particular event cannot be the only atom of your existence.

I refuse to define you by ‘one moment’ amidst 86,400 other multiplied interwoven moments.

Srijata Majumdar

2013-18

Because Even Sunrise Can Be Heard

 It was early dawn. The Sun was still behind the blanket of clouds. I woke up. Wore my shoes, pulled up my jacket and jogged out of my door. While jogging, I came by the hill side. Slowly the day was leaping into the sky.

Some 20 feet beyond, I saw someone searching for something on the ground. I went closer. There was a blind man bent low on the ground searching for something. He was looking for his walking stick. It lay some 5 feet apart from the man. I asked the man what was he doing there. He answered,” It’s been almost twenty years since I last saw sunrise from my eyes. Today morning, I’ve come here to arise these faded memories of those days now gone by. Then, I used to watch the rising sun from my eyes, but now I feel it, I hear it, I sense it.” He closed his eyes and a glimmering smile came over his calm face. I wondered what brought that smile on his face. At that moment, he said,” I can hear the chirping birds. I can feel the golden sunrise, the calmness of the hill side, the dew glitter on the fresh leaves and the cold breeze blow over me.”

 Then he insisted that I close my eyes and then imagine the world. I closed my eyes, made myself peaceful at heart and mind and let my colours of imagination fly. Then I realized that what the blind man said was true. That moment was ‘all’ and that was ‘enough’. That moment’s impact was profound. What I realized was that with open eyes, we rarely wait to see what we are missing. We just keep going with the moving machines. What we all need to do is stop for a moment, WAIT and UNDERSTAND. When I closed my eyes, I could feel the sun rays break the cloud cover and shine bright on my face. I could hear the dawn’s music. The frozen water drops from the leaves. The leaves of the trees whispering among themselves. I could imagine the blue blooming into a flower and the pupa turning into a butterfly. I could feel a new ray of hope rising. When I opened my eyes, nature was in its utmost form. The sky above was lit in bright colours of golden, orange and dawn-rose. As the day begun, the shadows of the night melted and the colours of the waking earth returned. There were beauties that pierced like a sword or melted like snow. That ‘one moment’ was the one which I can single out from an interwoven mesh of memories and cherish even today. That very moment made me forgot the daily hum-drum of life. It laid a great emphasis on my interpretation of how beautiful and soothing our life can be.

A new day had begun. A new hope had risen. New goals had been set and new paths laid and the new opportunities awaited. All one need to do is to realize what one is missing. Therefore, for those who want to achieve greater heights, Sunrise can even be heard and impossibilities be achieved.

Rudrakhsi Joshi

2014-19

That Moment Was All

Muflisi ki khalish ka

Iqrar hi kya hai

Rehbar ki sohbat

Chashm-e-bahar hi kya hai

Tamannao ke qile to

Aqsar toot jate hain

Fir supurd-e-khaak me

Khuld-e-nisaar hi kya hai!

A stale foggy winter morning.

Coolness has something to do with it. It makes you breathe stale air and feel fresh. Exactly!There's something to that foggy morning. It's stale. It's fresh - your perspective. Fog and smog bring down the visibility to almost zero. Your next step, might be another good one to lead yourself to where you want to be ; or you might step into an unattended open manhole , you drown while no one's there to help ;just one step in fog. And then what do you do? You try seeing things. Things tend to become clear. You realize. You assume. Your experience helps, and you keep moving on.

A foggy winter morning it is. At times, they call it life too.

Back then, it was a winter morning too. I was a 13 year old kid, dreading to wake up early (well, for tempting winter mornings, 8.00 am was early for me). Sunday, it was. As a kid, I feared Sundays (savoring them is obviously implicit, though). It was because my father had an off that day. This meant that I had to wake up ‘early’ and help my parents with the daily chores. My mom affectionately allowed me to embrace my laziness but my father found it to be his utmost priority to make his ‘now-a-teenager’ son realize, that life isn’t all about lying on your bed.

But that day was different. It was a Sunday morning and I didn’t feel like lying on my cot for long. There was something special about it. My father had promised me to buy me a new bicycle. In life, it’s good to have some gifts. Some surprises. Some rewards. The dilapidated drum of aging life keeps on rejuvenating by little charms.

The eager and impatient kid that I was, it was difficult for me to swallow the breakfast as I feared that my father would again be occupied with some work and will forget about the cycle (irrespective of the fact that I had already reminded him of the bicycle thrice since morning.)

And then, with my hair all oiled and neatly combed (just like my dad ever wanted his son to look all the more sophisticated) , I headed with my father to the cycle shop. There wasn’t much to be taken care of at the shop, since it was my father’s friend’s shop and much to my surprise, my father had already told him about the bicycle, and he had chosen one for me.

A beautiful amalgamation of yellow and blue – a Foster’s bicycle it was. I liked it. A comfortable leather seat. Chrome colored shiny rim. Sporty look. That’s all I wanted. That’s all it was. I was happy.

My uncle asked us to sit till the worker fixed the cycle parts for us to take it home. My father and uncle giggled over tea, while I munched the biscuits and noticed how the workers, their hands blackened with grease, the blackness seeping down their skin, their eyes, their soul , worked hard amidst the blackness of their lives to cater happiness to some fortunate ones like me.

The dilapidated drum of my mind struck again.

A hoarse voice broke my chain of thoughts. My inquisitive eyes searched for the owner of the voice. The owner of the voice was a young lad, of my age, I guess. He had come there to bring some tea for the workers of the cycle shop who had taken a break to freshen by a cup of tea. A winter morning, it was.

Chotu, he was called. There is something about this word – Chotu. No matter who you are. Ram. Ramesh. Asif. Xyzq. Anyone. If you’re a child labourer , you’re no more than a Chotu. Then this word isn’t used for a person, but a commodity. Someone, or something rather, which can be used, the way you want. To sell tea. Make Pakodas. Polish Boots. Anything.

Chotu, such small a name, such vast a legacy.

I read his eyes. His eyes mapped every nook and corner of my bicycle which stood proudly in a corner and waited for its new owner to ride it. He kept his canister of tea on the ground, leaned over the wall and gazed at the bicycle. There was this temptation, this urge in him to touch it. To ride it. To taste what it feels like to sit on something as luxurious as an expensive bicycle. Yes, a bicycle, can be a luxury for some.

Life, in itself, is an irony.

I don’t know what provoked me but I stood up and went up to him. I asked him if he wanted to ride it.

His eyes, much mature of his age, spoke a lot. Amazed. Shocked. Tempted. His eyes spoke for him. He didn’t utter a word. He just blinked with innocence.

I turned back and asked my father if I could take the bicycle for a round to see if the seat was adjusted in accordance to the comfort of my height. He agreed.

I took the bicycle with me. I held the handle and carried it with me. I didn’t sit on it I asked Chotu to follow me. Once we crossed the bicycle shop and were in the next lane, I asked him to ride it. This time he spoke.

He denied riding it and started walking back. His feet. His body gesture. His eyes. They wanted to embrace it. But his mouth denied it. Reluctance was obvious.

It isn’t about wanting something. At times, there is this subtle, invisible wall, which might not obstruct us, but in deed commands our mind to obviate the need to have it.

I reaffirmed that no one would say anything to him. He can ride it for a round at least. I stood there as he touched it. Much to my amazement, it wasn’t just a bicycle for him. It was something precious. Some worth craving for. A luxury in its ownself.

And when he came back from the round, he got down shook hands with me. The moist imprints of his warm hands had a lot to say. It was not just his hands which were moist. His eyes too. He thanked me. I asked him about how it felt when he rode it. His reply touched me. Moved me.

He said that it wasn’t the first time that he rode a bicycle. He had done that before too. To bring sugar and tea leaves for the shop owner where he worked. But it was different. The time when he rode his owner’s bicycle, he was a servant back then, sent on a ‘voyage’ to bring everything his master wanted. But today, the ride was different. It wasn’t heavy with the sugar bags, tea leaves or anything which signified subordination. Those 120 seconds of this day were his.

He felt light. His talks made me feel heavy. By then, we reached the shop, he thanked me once again, picked up the tea canister and left.

I was not the first one to ride my new bicycle. Chotu rode it first. And I was happy about it. I knew it was pure now. Pious for me to ride it. I think that was the moment which made me realize how much we, as humans, have been missing on what we have, in this urge of wanting something better. There are so many people, wanting to live the life we’re living today, while we the supposedly fortunate ones are busy cursing and cribbing for more.

At the end of the story, I’m just reminded of this couplet by Nida Fazli Sa’ab :

“Zindagi wo kehte hain

Jaadu ka khilauna hai

Jo mil Jaye to mitti hai

Jo kho jaye to Sona hai”

(Life, they say, is like a magical toy.

It’s nothing, when you have it

It’s everything , once you lose it)

Jayant Bharadwaj

2014-19

That Moment Was All; That Moment was Enough

That' moment changed everything

It was when  self- respect and ego came between them . The argument which they had on  Saturday night ruined everything.  She said  she owned the credit of the work, because he did nothing . She rebuked him , he was hurt , hard and deep within. Nothing could crush their hearts and rip their souls apart.

That's all when it changed, that's all when all of it transposed and made them upset and cry . It was when their one year old friendship fell apart.They were the friends who were now strangers with memories.  The glances of the past surrounded her, their friendship was comparable to nothing. They were strong together, the moment she fell, he used to held her hand and pick her up. Today,  when she falls , she cannot find his arms which would pick her up. The moment she used to  become sad, he used to pamper her and tell her that all would be fine like before though that was the lie nobody would ever believe , but it was him who was talking. His words always comforted her. Today she misses those words , because 'that' moment changed it , which transposed it all and made them upset and cry.

No one knew how they became friends, how just a talk on a lecture made them buddies! Those late night talks and casual flirting , she  misses all of them. He was hurt , the clouds of doubts were all above him . It had hit his convictions hard this time , nothing could make him as sad as this.  He still couldn't believe that she was the reason of his sadness , the one who used to be the Venus and lightened up his world , when he used to feel horrible and ugly.  To her the world seemed worse than Chad would be for its natives. They did not talk for a month . She knew what she went through , she was feeling sheepish at what she did . The fit of anger and the words spoken in 'that' one moment had broken their friendship  , the moment when all of it happened she wanted it to get  detached from her life . She wanted that when she would walk on the memory lane , that very moment doesn't exist. She wanted their time back . 'That' moment snatched away the only thing she had conviction in,  which was her friendship with him . The voice ridiculing him was reverberating right in his head and never made him forget what she did to him , because 'that' moment changed it , transposed it all and made them upset and cry.

Those food treats he used to give and shared his happiness with her. Today , he shares his happiness with his new friends . The last day of the college when he used to give her a chocolate bar and a warm farewell hug that could make her day. Today she misses those chocolates and those arms which used to give her happiness. The times when they used to run around the college and beat each other hard . She misses those slaps and beatings . She misses it all. The times when he used to have her part of the scoldings  and used to cushion her like no one else could, Today she doesn't have him beside her to tolerate the chiding  because 'that' moment changed it , which transposed it all and made them upset and cry.

The times when they used to gossip and rebuke the world together and felt that they were the only lordly people sustaining on the planet. Today, she doesn't have him beside her to feel high-handed. 
They invented the "I am going craazy" dance and danced like maniacs . Today, he is not there with whom she could match their dance steps . The times when he used to pay for all her expenditures and bug her that did not pay him back when she used to . Today , he doesn't annoy her but his very absence is very annoying because  'that' moment changed it , which transposed it all and made them upset and cry.

Life taught her something and left her to decide , she grabbed her glasses and purse and went upto him . Today they are back together. She knows she has lost him , but he still tells her he would be there by her till her death bed but this couldn't make her feel her the same . His words , couldn't comfort her this time. Because 'that' moment changed everything . For them it was all over . Her friendship was the 'interwoven mesh' of such happy moments , which had now turned to mere acquaintance. But as they say "Friendship is a delicate glass, once broken it can be fixed but there will always be cracks", probably she is living with the cracks now. He is changed, they do spend their time together but she still feels the vacuum and is waiting for the day that he would hold her hands again and they actually might go back in their happy times.

Prachi Nirwan

Batch 2013-18