Polar Opposites?

Prologue

I held them one in each hand. Excited and nervous and scared all at the same time. Excited because I wasn't sure if someone would've actually tried it before and nervous and scared because I probably was breaking a law. A law not written or declared explicitly, but, a law defined by the society, a law which we unobjectionably obey. If somebody came to know I did it, I'd most certainly become a social outcast, not supported by either of the two. I'm still in the confines of my room, this won't get out. I'm good at keeping secrets, I reminded myself, I can absorb one more. I looked at left hand and thought, this is smaller, will it be repelled and thrown back further by the one I held in the other hand? Is the smaller one always the weaker one? I was then reminded of our very own little master, Sachin Tendulkar. He was small, but capable of giving nightmares to the most fiercely built (bowlers) in the world. Which meant, if the one in my left hand was capable enough, its smaller structure won't be a factor. About to start, my heart started thumping. Was I breaking a divine protocol? I had seen in the news and it sure looked like I was just about to do something that's not nature, that's not meant to be. Why else would human life be put in danger for a thing that looked so trivial to me? With so much circulating in the news, why did I feel the matter was trivial? There must be something wrong with me, no?

All set now, I willed myself to begin. Not sure why, but, I even said a prayer. I apologized to both if this was about to offend either one of them or even both. Taking in and letting out a heavy breath, slowly but surely, maybe against social protocol, maybe against a divine norm, I went for it. . . . . .

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An idle mind is not a devil's workshop, it’s a creative genius' sanctuary. Or so I tell myself after a long weekend of idling around in my house watching multiple TV series in my boxer shorts. One such fine weekend, I had this sudden surge of curiosity to do a social experiment, the boundaries of which would be confined to my room. I'll give you a small background on how I zeroed in on planning to making such an absurd attempt.

Since I've started reading (wasn't that long ago), I've learned that books can be such great company. That you don't need to step out of the house to travel. That it's more refreshing reading a good book over a weekend than sleepovers and wasting a complete day trying to get that "proper sleep" the following day. Yes I'm boring and unapologetically proud of it. I've also started to believe that each and every book teaches you something. Even if it's a crappy book, it teaches you to advice people to not waste their time on it. Noting the fact that they teach and we learn, I started with the possibly irrational experiment. Who cares if it's not sensible? The one thing I love about the four walls, the floor and the ceiling of my room. They don't judge me!

I was blankly staring at my bookshelf and not sure when my senses started tingling and when I started thinking again, but when I realized, I was staring at the cover of the book I had recently read. I saw Lord Ram's strong musculature, his back arched and his strong hands with a bow and arrow pointing towards Ravan's Pushpak Vimaan. The Scion of Ikshvaku. I instantly got up and took out the copy of The Quran from my cupboard. How and why I have a copy of The Quran, is not a question I like to entertain. . . The questions wouldn't be thrown like stones if I had Bhagvad Geeta instead of The Quran, which, to me, is worth sighs than answers.

One with the Mighty Hindu god who guided us to the perfect way of living, the Ram Rajya, and the other with the guiding principles of the Muslim fraternity. The disciples of both not necessarily seeing eye to eye, at times hurting each other in the name of honoring their respective teachers. If the disciples don't stand each other, would their Gurus tolerate staying in close proximity to one other? After all, whatever we learn is from books like these. Our actions must be influenced by these scriptures, no?

What if I bring these two books close? Would they repel each other? Maybe there'll be sparks shooting out before they repel? My mind went to the final duel between Harry Potter and Voldermort. Their wands always repelling one another. But that was because they had the same core, like same poles of the magnet repelling each other. In anticipation of some fireworks, I took the two books in different hands when it dawned on me if I was breaking a social, maybe a religious protocol. Will I be punished? Will a god-like creature appear in front of me and give me a curse that my generations will inherit? I must admit, the weight of heavy religious burden that I've been bestowed upon by the my past generations was getting to me.

I stood in the room, the silence aggravating the thrill of the scene, with The Quran in my left hand and The Scion of Ikshvaku in my right, my arms stretched on either sides. Gathering courage to defy the social norms, expecting, hoping against hope to see some fireworks and smoke, I started to bring them close. Progressing in slow motion, I observed in rapt attention like the audience waiting for the magician to unveil the climax of his trick.

My arms closing in now, my half engineering mind going through all permutations and combinations. The Quran is smaller in size (like the Muslim population in our blessed country #sarcasm), will that make it repel easily and be overpowered?  Will my arms burn and turn to ashes? How will I explain what happened to my arms to everyone? Will it hurt? If I have no arms, how will I work? Will this be how both the gods punish me for breaking "the rules"? Idle mind at full throttle. The two books not about two feet away, I expected some repelling force forcing both my hands in the directions opposite to where they were progressing from, but, nothing came. I waited, continuing the gradual motion. About one feet away now. I would've expected smoke by now, but, nothing. Maybe it'll explode suddenly on touch, I wondered, encouraging myself. Six inches to go and still nothing. I won't lie, but I was starting to get disappointed, like a scientist who expected too much, but, wasn't seeing the results he'd worked so hard for. Three inches, nothing. Two, One, nothing. The books finally touched and as soon as they did, I looked up, expecting to see red streaks of light or some form of magic, still nothing.

Disappointment followed the five overly anticipated minutes of unreal expectations. I tried in vain again, stretching my arms and bring the two books close again twice or thrice, pretty quickly now, avoiding the drama, hoping that probably the gods didn't notice the sin the first time. Nothing happened. Accepting the fact, I returned the books to the bookshelf, this time placing both of them together and then switching the lights off and burying myself in sheets.

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Epilogue

It's been a week since I placed the two visually (apparently) polar opposite books on the shelves and there's still nothing worth noting. They're sitting peacefully where I placed them a week back. Neither of them has tried to move from its place or push the other. God hasn't given me a sign to part them so I let them be in their happy place. They spend so much time together that I won't be surprised if they talk to each other when I'm not around and bitch about what an idiot I was for trying the experiment. If they do discuss, I'm sure they share a healthy laugh. As long as they don't bother me, I'm fine with whatever keeps them happy.

>>>> THE END <<<<

Just another day .... Chapter #3

It was after 7 PM in the evening when Vivan returned home, all drenched in sweat. He had scored 27 and taken 1 catch and was hence was happy. He saw his father’s bag on the dining table and knew he had returned. The door of the room was half open and Vivan sneaked at the side of the door. This was a little game Vivan and his dad played. One of them would sneak to the side of the door and scare the other when they came out of the door. So he stood there without making any sound and waited for his dad to come out. He could hear his parents talking.

“How about we take Vivan to someplace nice in the summer vacations? I’m sure this will be a change for him and he’ll enjoy!” he heard his mother telling his dad. His heart leapt with joy but he strained his ear to hear his father’s reply.

“What? You know we can’t afford it, right? The EMIs are coming up and just because we’ve not been keeping up with the deadline for the last three months, we’ll have to pay additional interest. How can we shell out money for a trip?”

Vivan didn’t understand any of the technical terms, but, his father’s tone told him that it couldn’t happen. Then there was silence. He dropped the idea of scaring his father and quietly went into his room and opened his books again. Not really bothering to study. Fifteen minutes later, his dad entered the room and asked him, “When did you return, Champ? We didn’t hear you come back.”

“It’s been ten-fifteen minutes, I guess.”

“Alright. Your mom tells me you’re having trouble with some questions. Shall we look at them?”

“Yes. I’ll get the books”. He went over to his bag and returned with a couple of books and pointed at the questions he wanted help with.

“Let’s see, what have we got here?” His father replied while looking at the questions.

They spent about twenty minutes completing his homework and by that time, it was time for dinner.

Vivan and his father sat down at the dining table while his mother arranged the plates and dishes at the table and began serving. Vivan was altogether silent again. They ate in silence. When they were about to finish, Vivan’s father looked at him and Vivan had all his attention on his plate. He could see that his kid was a little lost. He then said out loud, “I feel like having something sweet after dinner today” and then looked at his better half for a response.

“Don’t look at me. I’m way too tired to stand in the kitchen for another 30 minutes. I’m just going to change and sleep now and let the maid take care of washing the dishes in the morning.” She retorted.

“So, if you’re that tired, you wouldn’t come with me and Vivan for an ice cream, would you?

“You both are going out for an ice cream?” she said

“We are?” asked a surprised Vivan.

“Oh yes we are, Champ. And honey, you are invited, but, seeing how tired you are, I guess me an Vivan will have to eat your share.” Said his father in a mocking tone. Vivan giggled.

“Well, nobody but me is even touching my share.” She got up, piled up all the dishes and carried them to the kitchen. Vivan looked at his father who was staring at his mobile screen.

“Dad, can I have a fudge?” Vivan tried his luck because fudge was a dessert only for special occasions.

“Well, sure Champ, whatever you like” replied the father still looking at his mobile. “Grab the car keys for me please”. Vivan, full of joy at the thought of having a fudge, leapt from his chair and fetched the car keys and handed them to his father. “Let’s go”, he said hoping both Vivan and his mother listened to it. They got into the car and went off. Vivan was as cheerful as ever while having his fudge. His father looked at his mother and smiled at her. He read her lips when she mumbled “thank you” and smiled back at him.

 

 

THE END.

Just another day .... Chapter #2

While returning back from the school, he was least interested in what was being said or done around him. He was silent. The thought of going out for a vacation was not in his mind now, but he was rather unsettled. When he got down from the bus at his stop, he saw his mother waiting for him with that ever-so vibrant smile which was almost contagious to Vivan, but not today. He seemed lost. His mother noticed that and tried to divert his attention by asking him how the day was and he replied to that in a subdued manner, simply saying, “It was okay”. Walking side by side, Vivan kept kicking a stone on his way and his mother kept telling him about what she was planning to make for dinner and that his father would come a little early today. Nothing seemed to interest him at the time.

 

When they reached home, his mother asked Vivan to go change and freshen up while she prepared him lunch. He obeyed like always and when lunch was served, he sat down eating, but not entirely interested in the food. He was not thinking about the conversation in the school anymore, but, the balance of the day was messed with. Like all mothers understand without their kids speaking a lot, Vivan’s mother also understood that something was troubling him, but she didn’t want to nag him. He was a simple boy like most at this young age and his expressions were a mirror to his thoughts. She tried to deviate his attention again and asked, “So, how was Mathematics today? Did you have your notebook corrected?”

“It was good”, he replied. “I got a star for the homework”, this time with a little more emotion.

“That’s pretty good, isn’t it?” she said with an elated smile.

“It is and mom, nobody else got it among my friends. Just me” he said with a proud smile, almost forgetting that he was even upset. The lunch now tasted better somehow.

“So what else did you do in school?” she asked.

“Well, nothing special. Oh! Rishi and his family are going to Goa in the summer vacations. Tanmay has already been there and he was telling us there is a pool in the hotel. Pranav hasn’t been to Goa but he has been to a beach and he’s scared of the waves. He’s always scared of everything.” He kept stuffing his food while talking. She instantly guessed what might have tripped Vivan’s mood.

“Vivan, complete your homework before you go playing”, said his mother when they finished lunch.

“Yes, ma’am”, he yelled from the other room.

The reply reassured his mother that her kid’s mood was back to normal now. Realizing how simple kids are, the fickle nature of their transparent heart, brought a faint smile to her face.

 

Vivan spent about thirty minutes completing the little homework that he had and then, shutting his books ran off to his mother and found her in the kitchen arranging dishes.

“Mom, I’ve completed most of it”, he told her while sitting on the kitchen shelf. “There a couple of questions that I don’t understand, so I’ll ask dad to help me out”.

“Why can’t I help you out?” she replied

“Because it’s Algebra” he said plainly.

“So?” she said not looking at him, still arranging the dishes.

“So, the last time you taught me Mathematics, we were stuck on one question for 30 minutes” he reminded her.

“You don’t say, smarty pants, it was a tough one”, she said with a wry smile. “Now get off the shelf and go play, but, dad will be home in a couple of hours so you get back before him. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am”.

 

He jumped off the shelf, ran to his room to grab his bat and ran out of the door, yelling while shutting the door behind him. “I’m going”.

......... To Be Continued

Just another day .... Chapter #1

The class was quiet and Vivan was sitting resting his elbows on the desk, half yawning. He never liked the Hindi period. It was all right there and ever so obvious. That’s what we’ve been learning from the time we started speaking, he kept telling himself. Sure there are some odd words which are hard to pronounce, let alone learning their meanings, but, a class VI student knows enough of the language to use simpler words instead which explain the text just fine. The fact that this was the first period on this day of school didn’t help either. The only consoling thought being that the period that followed was Mathematics. He loved numbers. The way numbers and variables worked together and how different operations brought out something else was nothing short of magic to him. The Mathematics period was his dose of caffeine. He wasn’t the brightest or the sharpest or the fastest in Mathematics, but, he liked it nonetheless.

 

The bell finally struck after what felt like a lifetime and the Mathematics teacher stepped in. For the next 40 minutes, Vivan was wide awake and attentive like he was watching a magician go about his routine tricks. He took notes, and tried to grasp everything that was being taught. When the bell finally struck again, indicating the end of the period, he was smiling. Satisfied with what he had learned.

 

The class was noisier again. The hustle of bags and books was because it was the lunch break. He took out his lunch and went over to his group of friends, Tanmay, Rishi and Pranav. The boxes were opened and spread across the table and the chit-chat started. Rishi told the group that his father was planning to take their family out for a trip to Goa in the summer vacations. Tanmay had already been there and told him all about the hotel and how there was a pool in which he played for the entire day splashing water at his younger sister and how they enjoyed on the beach and the boat ride and what all his father bought him. Pranav pitched in and told his tale of when they visited Andamans and played on the beach and about the huge waves that appeared like they’d swallow you and about the endless expanse of water to which Tanmay nodded his head vigorously in agreement because his mouth was stuffed with food. “I was standing at the corner of the world. Water was all that it was in front of me”, added Pranav. Vivan was silent throughout the conversation. He didn’t go out very often. He felt uncomfortable at such conversations. Whenever someone was narrating something like this, he’d try and force a smile so as to suggest he agrees because he had nothing to comment. He had somehow become better at forcing a smile in the middle of such conversations because nobody seemed to notice that he was having trouble sitting through it. He’d chose the Hindi period over such conversations any time, because it at least didn’t require him to fake a smile and he could yawn in peace. He was in a similar situation when his friends discussed where they’d gone for dinners on the weekend and the new video game that their fathers had gifted them. Their boxes were empty in the first 10 minutes, but, the break lasted for 20, which meant he had to sit through for 10 extra minutes just nodding absent mindedly. The bell finally rang and he was relieved to return to his seat, but he had trouble gathering his thoughts now.

 

He too wanted to see those gigantic waves that Pranav was so scared of. Pranav was silly, he thought. He wouldn’t be afraid, but may enjoy it. He wanted to go there, but he couldn’t ask his parents to take him. That break apparently left the rest of the day rather unpleasant for Vivan.

 

……………To Be Continued

In The Midst of Carnage .... Chapter #4

The voices became louder now and Akram slumped back behind the wall, now crying. Only tears rolled down his eyes, but no voice dare come out of his mouth. He heard some war-cries as the flock passed by him. He saw some swords pass by until one hung back. Standing just beside him was a daunting figure with a shinning blade in his hand. Akram's vision was so blurred by his own tears and the rain that he couldn't even see the figure clearly. He could only make out the movement of the blade by its shine. Akram was looking in the direction of his son, his eyes red - almost bloodshot, unperturbed by death standing four inches away from him. The blade rose up with a swoosh.

The figure, as soon as he raised his sword noticed the eyes of the man standing right in front of him. The man didn't beg for mercy, he didn't plead to be spared. He didn't fall to his knees or fold his hands. Yes, he was crying, but that wasn't out of the fear of being butchered into pieces because he knew what that looked like. He followed his prey's gaze and what he saw almost ripped his heart out. He saw a child sitting with his eyes closed, unaware of the devastation that he was (probably) sleeping in the middle of. Even with all the hatred inside him, he couldn't bring himself to bring his sword down on the man. He turned around and joined the flock, leaving the man and child to their fate.

When all was silent again, Akran ran. He held Wahab and ran in the house. He hugged him, kissed him and hugged him again. All the composure that he had kept in front of his son over the years, melted. He cried. He cried for the first time in front of Wahab.

Wahab saw a sight that he had never seen before. Abu was crying. He said, "Abu, please don't cry. I'm sorry, I promise I won't open my eyes again until you or the Sun wake me up."

Words couldn't do justice to what Akram felt at the moment so he just kissed that pretty little thing on the forehead and hugged him tightly.

THE END

In The Midst of Carnage .... Chapter #3

Akram stepped out of the house slowly, hiding the knife behind his back - he didn't want to attract unnecessary attention. He was sweating profusely, his heart was still thumping inside his chest cavity so much so, that it almost ached. He looked around to find any trace of danger. He slowly moved forward. He now searched desperately for that small piece of iron in the dark. The intense rain made the situation only worse. Akram wanted nothing more at this moment to just pick up the damned piece, run inside the house and bolt it tight and then run into Wahab's room and plug the hole to stop the seepage.

The street had small houses lined one after the other on either side of a narrow pathway. The regular days would see the pathway lined with stalls and stall owners shouting at the top of their voices. Not today. It was deathly silent today - almost fearful.

He could hardly see a thing with the heavy rain blocking his line of sight. He strained harder. He was about to quit and turn back when he saw it. It was lying on the other side of the road. He checked again on either side of the pathway to ensure nobody was coming and ran to the other side. As soon as he picked it up, he thought he heard voices. He hid behind a wall and stuck his head out to check. He saw a group of at least fifty warmongers walking in his direction. He turned in and closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened his eyes, he looked on the other side of the narrow street and to his shock, found Wahab walking towards him. In an instant, he felt his life drain out of him. He was so stunned by the sight that he didn't even notice the knife slip from his hand.

Wahab strained his eyes and saw his Abbu standing on the other side and he shouted, "Abbu". He was about to run towards him when he heard Akram yell at him to stay there.

"Wahab! No! Stop!", Akram shouted frantically.

Wahab stopped. He stared at his father with a blank expression. Akram was now talking to Wahab in signs. He put a finger on his lips to signal Wahab to be quiet. Wahab obeyed. Akram had to calm down Wahab so that he didn't do anything out of fear, so he did the only thing he could think of that he thought would calm Wahab's nerves. He looked straight in to Wahab's eyes and smiled.

That had always worked and it worked again. Akram's smile worked like a spell on Wahab. Wahab stood steady and now saw his Abbu swaying his arm from one side to another, signaling him to hid behind the wall. He obeyed.

Akram felt helpless. He had, over the years, did the best that he could to keep his son away from the hatred that had enveloped them over the years. He wanted Wahab to know love and love only. And even in the midst of such brutal carnage, he wouldn't give up. More than anything, he didn't want Wahab to see his father being slaughtered by a bunch of heartless butchers. He gestured Wahab to sit down and as always, he obeyed. He then made a fist of his right palm and he did it again. The second time in less than half an hour.

Wahab was sitting while resting his back on the wall behind him when he saw Abu do it again and such was the command that a father's command held over the son, that he saw nothing else but his father's palm smooth over his face. He knew what that meant and he couldn't even think of disobeying him for the second time in one day. He obeyed once again. He sat there, drenched in rain with his eyes closed.

Akram noticed Wahab's eyes close but he didn't know if he should feel lucky to have a son like Wahab or to be terrified that this could be the last time he was seeing him. He kept staring, in despair, at the best thing that had ever happened to him.

........ To be Continued

In The Midst of Carnage .... Chapter #2

Wahab had fallen asleep almost instantaneously. Although, he did hear the door close after his father had left. He was never afraid of the dark, like his father. He wanted to be exactly like his father. He often heard his classmates talk about somebody who could fly and who punched the bad guys in the face. Somebody they called Superman. He had never seen superman's picture though. Whenever he wanted to satisfy his imagination for superman's face, his father was the first and the closest match he could find.
 
Wahab had always been a little older than his age and physical stature suggested. He could keep his dishes in the kitchen after he had finished his meal, he could pick up his toys and dump them in his cupboard after he was done playing with them and he could, although a little clumsily, change his clothes if Akram gave him the clothes that he had to get into - Akram would (almost) always tidy a little here and there later. What Wahab couldn't do though, was disappoint his father. He lived and breathed in awe of his father. He idolized him in the same way his classmates idolized Superman.
                                    

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It was almost pitch dark and Wahab was now walking slowly on a narrow patch of sand and was surrounded by long and dense trees on both sides. The moonlight was the only light guiding him on the sandy path, but even that was being filtered by the dense branches before it reached him. He called out the first person he could remember.
 
"Abu!", he called out. "Abu, are you there?"
 
No reply. The forest was dead silent. He saw a blurred outline of a face on the trunk of a tree. "Abu, is that you?" he called out again. No reply again. He walked in the direction of the tree. It was just his third step when he heard a deafening road behind him. As soon as he turned, he saw razor sharp claws about to slash him across his face. The claw was less than an inch away when Wahab's eyes opened with a flash. He was panting with fear. But, such was the magnitude of respect that he held for his father that it only took him a moment to realize that he wasn't supposed to open his eyes. He was afraid to lie down again, no doubt, but he had to apologize to Abbu before he could ask him to sleep with him tonight.

He slipped out of the sheets and opened the door of his room. He called for his father, "Abbu?". He looked around a little before he noticed some light slipping in from the outside from a slit in the main door. He had to rub his eyes to notice that the main door of the house was open. He walked towards the door.

...... To be Continued

In The Midst of Carnage .... Chapter #1

The night was dark and it had started raining heavily when Akram heard the warcries in the distance. They were faint, but prominent. He turned around and looked for Wahab, his 4 year old son. He could see that he was occupied, making a castle of cards. The warcries became louder. He could hear the sound of steel hitting steel. All he could imagine was that it was the sound of swords hitting iron poles. He knew they were close and that they were furious, monsterous and merciless. His heart started pounding wildly just as Wahab came and stood near him and pulled his father's kurta. Akram looked down.

Wahab asked, "Abbu, what's that sound?".

Mustering all the courage that he could and managing a faint smile, Akram replied, "Just some naughty kids who ate too much sweets and are not able to sleep."

"That's bad! Teacher will probably make chickens out them when they yawn in the class and then they'll know."

Akram couldn't help but smile. This time without a conscious effort. He bent down, patted Wahab on the cheeks lightly and said, "How about you getting into bed now or do you want to join them tomorrow?" He lifted him. "Let's tuck you in", he said taking him to the bed. While pulling the sheet over him, Akram asked Wahab just like every night, "Now what do the best kids do when Abbu goes out of the room?".

Wahab replied in a well rehearsed, matter-of-fact tone, "Not open the eyes for anyone but the sun or Abbu."

This was a routine.

"That's like my boy", Akram said as he kissed Wahab on the forehead. Then he brought his right hand in a fist near the right side of his face and made a magician-like gesture moving his palm slowly across his face. That was their sign. A sign that Wahab knew was meant for him to close his eyes and sleep. "Be strong, my boy", he whispered more to himself than to Wahab, "May allah keep you safe". His gaze now shifted to right cornor of the room from where the water was seeping in from the floor through a small hole. The hole had always been there and was usually plugged with an iron block and a piece of cloth wrapped on one of its end. The same plug was missing and hence allowing the water to trickle in steadily. The rain, he knew, wouldn't stop till morning and the floor of the room would be flooded by then. Most of all, he didn't want Wahab to sleep in the common area of the house because the shouts would frighten him. He remebered Wahab had been playing with that plug outside the house when Akram was preparing dinner. But going out of the house was not possible. The roads had become a slaughter house with those butchers going mad and slaughtering anything and everything they could lay their eyes on. But the sounds had gone faint again. Maybe they had passed.

He closed the door behind him after walking out of Wahab's room. He rested his forehead on the door and leaned on it, helplessly. His heartbeat was running in overdrive. He went to the kitchen and looked for a knife, found it and held it as tightly as his quivering hand could permit, headed towards the door of the house and opened the door slowly while peeping through it. When he saw that the road was clear, he stepped slowly out of the house and started looking for the plug.

....... To Be Continued