It was usually hot and humid that day when I was returning home from visit to the leasing office of my new apartment. Me and my 'would-be-roomies' signed all the documents and I left the place. I was walking down the road to the nearest railway station, Reliant Park. With a huge stadium looming in the background this station was awfully small for the home of the Reliant Astrodome.

I looked at the station thinking of "DADAR" and "V.T"; man they are huge.. and have a life. In that instant I was missing being pushed around by the 'we don't have time to wait' crowd.

So, I was walking towards the station when suddenly this miniature, make-belief, and almost-like-a-toy train came honking its almost-like-a-toy horns. 'Shit' I am going to miss my train. So I start running, not thinking of the road I had to cross like my breath depends on it.

I could sense someone following me. Ambling across the road, steps irregular, careless and heavy. With those steps I heard a low clamoring of metal against metal. Scared a little, I gathered speed and walked speedily towards the train. ‘My stalker’ and possibly a ‘mugger’ increased his pace too.

I reached the station a second late and the train had already left. “Crap”. I sat down on the nearby bench looking at my watch frantically, as if the trains are controlled by my watch.

“We tried… hey man, we tried; put-it-there”, said my heavily drunk ‘stalker’ pointing his closed fist towards me. I lifted my arm, with the same gesture and our fists met.

From the touch I felt that one punch in my face and I would be done for a long time. I looked up there was a wide grin across and I could see his sparingly populated black and whites. The man was in his early late forty’s or early fifty’s; well built and burly; carrying a heavy army rucksack. His right eye though, reminded me of Mad-eye Moody, the grumpy old D.A.D.A teacher from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It remained disturbingly fixed on one object for a long time.

“These trains, sure do trick me a lotta times”, he said with a heavy southern accent.

“Yeah”, I said, still little apprehensive.

“Hey, what’s ya name? You run fast man.”

I answered.

“Damn, you from Pakistan?”

“No. India” I was beginning to get a little comfortable with his presence.

“Damn, India. Beautiful country dude”. This guy was total “talli” and from what I could make out, was about to fall any moment.

“Yeah I been there ‘eh. Lotsa cows. Lotsa ‘em. ‘am Ray by the way.”

I smiled at him.

“Dude ya’r cool man; put-it-there”. And again we punched each other’s fists.

“Ye’eh. I just stepped out for a beer. Hell that thing’s shit. You know Saumitra, what beer leads to ?”

I shrugged, “more beer?!”.

“Dude, how do’ya know tha’? Cool; put-it-there. Ya’r cool man. I like ya. Beer leads to more beer”..

He laughed loud. Beer leads to more beer. Heck I knew it. I have my share of booze.

“Cool man..” his voice trailed into the air.

I could see the train arriving from far away. Hush… I rushed to tap my card. ‘Pass’ for my fellow Mumbai pravasi.

“I ain’t got no balance on this one here. Heck, I might not even tap this damn thing. And if ‘am caught I’ll show ‘em the finger”. And he showed me the universal gesture of numerous emotions… We both laughed.

We got into an empty, single ‘bullet like looking bogie’ train and settled down.

“I ‘ave three kids, one as old as you. ‘Ah ma wife kicked me outta the damn house. She caught me with ‘ma girlfriend”

This moved me a little. Here was a man, drowned in alcohol and laughing about his split with his wife ‘coz infidelity. Hmmmmmm… ‘don’t judge him Saumitra. Everybody has a story, you know’

“ Ya know, the usual American story,” yes, the usual American story.

Ah, a classic tale of love;

A man sees a woman of his dreams, falls in love instantly. She falls for him a little while later and they both live happily ever-after.

Only, the ‘ever-after’ ends ‘soon after’ the man falls in love with another woman in his post marriage dreams.

“I paid for ‘em for last thirty years, while I was in the Marines. See this eye?” he pointed to his  swiveling  optic contraption.

“Took a bullet in Naam”

He was talking!! but I had nothing to say anyway.

 “Tell me something, Saumitra. Why are India and Pakistan… always ‘at it’??”

This question had to be dealt with tactfully. I am representing my country here.

After giving a crap answer I ended saying “just ’deal with it’ ”

My off-balance friend was impressed, “wow man. Deal with it.”

Silence fell as we heard the announcement in the train for next station. Neither was getting down.

“Hey, you know if the library’s open now? I gotta go and write to my wife. Thirty years……”

There he goes again.

“… gotta tell her, deal with it. Ya know, someday whenever you’re with your friends, just tell ‘em, that you met one good American today. It’s a dying breed, but I think I am one of ‘em”

“Hey, you a student?”…

Nod…

“Ya need money? ‘Coz I got money man. You ever need money, come to me. I ain’t like this all the time, ya know. Someday I would get my Maseratti, pick ya up from ya place and we’ll go hangin’ out, have some cold beer, get drunk and get some chicks and get back home.”

He was fifty, from my guess; and he was talking to me as if I were his age. Or he was mine. I remembered a line from the Rocky series- ‘Only in America.’

“Hey, I got a bottle of whiskey in my bag right now. What say, you and I go get drunk and get some nice ass American girls and……………..”

I laughed my heart out and politely declined all his offers. What a fool!!

“Hey let’s do it. C’mon don’t be shy. I’ll teach you tricks for getting nice hot chicks.”

I smiled. And yet again declined. But this was getting tempting by the minute. This guy was cool.

“Yeah, I understand, ya wouldn’t wanna go out with a drunk-ass guy like me.”

No. The problem wasn’t his drinking. You wouldn’t understand anyway, Ray. For a moment there, I cursed everything about me. Where had I lost myself? I was a free bird like Ray. And now I feel I am just like anybody else who is walking on the street. Ray was an alcoholic and had cheated on his wife. But I could ignore those things for he was doing what he wanted.

That day, a drunk told me to reclaim my life. Some days back an old friend told me the same.

Ray got off at the next station after we hugged. We never saw eachother after that and it’s been four months since. But Ray touched me or may be even pierced through my thoughts.

This one’s for you Ray, I am telling everyone…

‘I met Ray, I met a good American’.

I woke up yesterday and was having my normal cup of tea when a friend in Mumbai pinged me;

H: did you see the news ??
me: no, y ??
H: there were blasts and gunfire in mumbai..
me: what ????? again ???????

And the chat session went dead. As I came to my friends and asked them to find the links to some news channels. They were prompt as always and we were soon nailed to our laptops.

"Serial blasts break out in South Mumbai, along with indiscriminate gun fire from terrorists" read one channel; "Mumbai under fire again" said another.. but one that caught attention was "Legendary Taj hotel caught fire after several bombs went off in the Old Heritage Wing"

What the hell is happening ?? No... What the FUCK is happening ?? When is this going to end ??

By night there were reports that one of the terrorists was caught and two others were gunned down. Gunned down ?? Gunned down ?? Thats an easy way to die. They should have been tortured till the point that they would beg for death.

The police have lost three of their best men; Hemant Karkare, Ashok Kamte and Vijay Salaskar, among other who died in the line of duty. Hundreds have already lost their lives and several hundreds are injured and fighting for life. What the FUCK is happening ?

The P.M says his heart is with those who lost their loved ones. The opposition is busy pointing fingers at the failure of the govt. They have "visited" the injured. The CM is shocked. Aren't the cries and shouts of the dying enough.

The army is fighting in tow with the elite NSG and Naval Commandos.

But what about the common man ? Where is he lost ?? Why is he still asleep. Aren't the gun shots enough to wake you up ? When is your stupor going to end ? Muffled voices of "this is wrong" are heard everywhere, why can't we just stand up and shout for our rights and safety ? A handful of crazy and motivated fanatics held an entire nation to gun-point. Why is the revolutionary in us still sleeping ?

Wake up, please wake up. This is not the time to show to the world that we can get the next morning and forget what has happened and head to our offices. This is not the time to think of Mumbai as just a financial capital of India. Its time. Its time to show that Mumbai or any other Indian city or even a small piece of Indian earth is ours', and we will fight to the end.

Wake up. Please wake up....

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He had been carrying this load for long. Long enough that he thought it had been there since the day he was born. And it was, all he did was add to it. Every day added its own load on his back. His every action, his every thought, his very existence were adding to it and yet he did not realize that it was troubling him. 'Mind games', he would tell himself. 'I am not troubled by anything'. But he was. 'I can get through this storm', but he couldn't. He was wading his way through the blizzards of life and yet he was at the same place he was yesterday, and the day before, and the day before. He was walking alright, but the storm never seemed to settle. 

Standing in front of a mirror, he looks at his reflection. His dark skin had turned pale, except for around the eyes. All the sleepless nights and binge drinking sessions showed he was not so O.K after all. He stood there, staring at what looked like a spitting image of the most ragged piece of work by a man who calls himself an artiste. Naked, he looks at his own reflection. Nothing. The smile that adorned his face is gone. His sister said once his eyes were different. How they kept roaming around. They have lost their shine as well. There is nothing in them anymore. He sighs and yells,

"Ma*****od"... "Bh****od", hurling those abuses at the reflection he was now used to see everyday. And suddenly he smiles.

Wearing his clothes, he gets ready to hit the bed. But stops and looks at the neatly made sheets. He sits next to the pillow and runs his hand over her head... wipes the last drops of water that was left by the wash and makes sure she is tucked in the sheet nicely. He kisses her forehead and a tear slips his eye. It falls... unobstructed on the white pillow case. He walks over to the window and steadies himself. And as he looks over his shoulder, he sees what really is. She is not there. She never was.

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We all have a box that we keep so close to us. A box of memoirs and memories. Of that which was and that which is. The first greeting that read, "I love you sooooooo much", or the last that said,"I would be incomplete without you." Those letters someone wrote, the poems which were your bible, the earing that fell off while she swirled around in your arms, the hair that was stuck in your watch while ran your hand through her hair.......

His box is now empty. He emptied it. And threw away the box. Long ago. When he realized the letters written were mere pages, poems were just lines, that earing was just a piece of metal, not for you, but the person whom you carried in your arms. When he realized that the promises that were made to him were just words, and nothing more.

"They were true at that time", she had said. How shallow people get, he thought. 'At that time'. Weren't you the one who said we will be together till the end of time? Ohh, it was true at that TIME.

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Yet, he stands now at his window, looking at her sleeping so peacefully. She was never there, she might never be. But he saw her there. He knew she was there. And so he sat by the bed, looking at her. A mere white sheet, one would say. And he laughed at the thought.

He knew she was somewhere close. And he was happy with that thought. In his mind he knew someone was cursing him for what he had done, and he smiled every time he felt the curses. For every curse meant for him had a prayer in it for her. And next night, he gets ready for some more.. as he stands in front of the mirror and he yells,

"Ma*****od"... "Bh****od", and he smiles.