'One' to 'Many' to 'One'!

It was already 9:15 PM of the November chilling evening, which is quite late for ‘Pawan Chaat’ the street golgappa shop to continue by its standard and so it was obviously the last round of masala in the bowl. This wrap up time ensured that there was not much of a rush with very few customers. This allowed us to enjoy it to the fullest without much of hassle. “It is Rs 130 for two plates of ‘Tamatar chaat’ and 4 plates of ‘Golgappas’ Sir”, Pawan’s daughter announced the bill while taking away the plates.

I had never experienced pickpocketing before. I used to lecture Juhi and others, for how one can be so careless to be a victim of pick pocketing. For a moment, I was more worried for my self-constructed pride being mocked, than, for losing out of valuables in the wallet. Soon I came to my senses and was quick to realize the loss and started panicking. I was worried of the probable misuse of the debit cards and the possible hassle I might face restoring my DL, but then the calculative me ensured, it is just about few calls and a bit of follow ups, not so painful. So it’s not that bad after all.

It is as bad as it can be. It has that hundred rupee note too, in the inner section of the wallet; I just cannot afford to lose it. It is not just a 100 rupee bill but is literally priceless to me!

There is nothing called last minute packing for me; it is literally packing in the last minute which I was doing on that evening of 26th May 2006. I was preparing to  travel to Trivendram for my first job. Gudiya and Gautam (my siblings) were helping me in packing. Papa, as his usual self, was continuously inquiring about my ticket, joining letter, money, other essential items I should have. In all this inquiry his voice was touching higher decibel than usual and there was some restlessness. I could see through his surly facial expression, the flood of emotions he was struggling with. Being the tough man he had been for all of us, he could not afford to get any of these emotions slip through and be expressed. It was his moment to see his child start his career and now recognized as an independently able person. Mummy was busy in the kitchen to ensure I had my favorite ‘Puri & Sabzi’ for the journey.

Her eyes were wet and I knew for sure that it was just not the onions or the kitchen smoke, but I too, was responsible for those pearls rolling over her aged wrinkles. I am not sure what it was, which made me special for Mummy. Apart from me being the first child, probably it was my introvert nature and the fact that I was mostly at the receiving end of my father’s disciplined and little hostile attitude for my studies, which made my mother extra attentive to my emotional needs. Whatever it was, but I know, for sure, it was a moment of emptiness swallowing up my Mother. It was time to go; my entire luggage was put in the car. Gudiya whispered to me, “Mummy is calling you, she is in the Pooja room”. I entered the room to see Mummy was searching something in her almiraah. Here it was, her tiny purse. I could see a hundred rupee note along with few of tens and few coins. She took out the biggest denomination in hundred rupee note and put in my shirt’s pocket and then slid her palm from my head to my face without speaking a word. Mummy looked at me while I was settling this sum in my wallet.

My mummy, unlike other ladies did not have any financial control or say of home affairs by then. Not that my father was some sort of anti feminist but just that he was a typical man coming out of rural background and felt immensely responsible for everything. He tried to do everything himself. He could not trust anyone and would rather try to do everything by himself. Anyway, with that kind of background, Mummy wouldn’t have much cash with her. Our family has been of very little expressions through words. We use many other means but not the exact words “I love you”. When her palm passed through my cheeks, I could hear her loud and clear, saying “I love you so much my son, my Gopal”.

One rickshawalah pointed towards a boy walking briskly, passing by Sankatmochan ‘T’ point. The dead in me, suddenly sensed life looking at that boy whom I assumed had my 100 rupee note. I just took off for him in a flash. The boy was still walking. I had covered close to 50 meters in almost no time. While I was appreciating my fitness to sprint like this, I realized that the boy turned back and having seen me approaching, he started running for his life. He looked like some 14-15 years old with a lean physique and almost same height as of mine. He was very agile, the swiftness with which he switched the path, from usual Durgakund road to the lane beside Maanas temple was admirable. It was late by then, so there was hardly any traffic, which helped me to not lose him. I anticipated him taking a right turn into the narrow Banakati Hanuman temple lane after the downhill. By the time I could enter the lane I had lost sight of the boy. It was dark and the scheduled winter power cut made it as dark as a black-hole. In that darkness I could only see some reflection of moonlight through the wet floor outside the temple. I mumbled “Jai Bajarang bali” and it helped me win over the fear of that darkness. I was now chasing not the boy but the trampling sound which was very clear in that pin drop silent night. My eyes just flashed through the slum at the end of the lane. Loosing that hundred rupee note was just not an option. Mummy’s anxious eyes were still staring at me….with love.

While I was entirely soaked in, with endearment of my mother for me, my limbs were doing their duty. It was one hell of a chase, visually it could easily qualify for a climax chase of an action movie. The ancient lanes of Banaras were adding that extra layer of enigma a delight to any filmmaker. But the chase was not interesting just because of the visual effects but because of what was going on with me. My eyes constantly followed the boy and my legs complemented, but my mind was almost completely engrossed in thought beyond this chase. I could clearly sense the lack of cohesiveness in my thoughts and what I was perceiving. 

I made a desperate dive to cover the last 5 feet to grab him by his collar and almost succeeded. My left claw slipped through his shoulder and could not translate into a grip. In this moment of close encounter, I happened to get a glimpse of the left side face and it was enough to joggle me. The half sleeve sweater he was wearing was another thing which arrested my attention. The moment is so visually clear in my mind when Mummy had completed knitting my most favorite sweater and asked me to try it. ‘Who is this boy’ the thought had started consuming me. We already had run little over a kilometer which surely tested my stamina and I am sure his too. The next turn he took was swift but was deadly too, he bumped into the the corner of the stone platform of the corner side temple.

Would I die of this pain? I had not experienced any significant accident so far in my life, so I was not sure about the seriousness of this blow but it was easily the extremest pain I had ever felt and this was making me nervous. But I recovered fast and realized that I would continue to be alive. I got up, cleaned up my favorite blue sweater, checked my bicycle which I had just bumped into the roadside stone structure. My thought stream was disrupted by a loud shrill shout from behind. I turned around to realize that a person was very aggressively approaching me.

My elation for survival was shortened and I was scared as never before. I had to quickly decide if I should remain there to face him, or should I run away from there. I was quick in my deliberation and concluded that I should run. I was merely an eighth standard schoolboy and could not dare to match this person who looked 30 something and quite fit. I had hardly started and immediately realized that I was not going to continue for very long, as my pace was hugely affected by the injury I just had. My eyes scanned through the surroundings and spotted a structure adjacent to the first shop in the next lane which I thought could be my savior. I rushed into it from the back hoped man chasing me would fail to see me. I never felt so frightened and desperate. I was too restless to spend a moment to think about my wrongdoing. Even though, I could not remember a thing, I was somehow convinced of my guilt. I did not know of what but it was definitely something which would diminish my stature in front of my parents.

I and my cousin Vivek met our classmate Praveen in the Ramlila carnival of Sadar market. Praveen spotted a hawker who was selling nuts but at that moment was serving nature’s call on the side of the road. The naughty boy he was, Praveen was pressing us to exploit the opportunity to steal some nuts.   We were kids then and we all loved nuts. Despite of all the moral trainings, the kid in us won and we liked the idea. We mapped our escape route for all the three of us and in a flash were on the operation ‘Nuts’. After we grabbed our share from the trolley, Praveen ran into the narrow market street, Vivek ran into the nearby Hanuman temple and I tried to hide into the Ramlila audiences. We had underestimated the hawker’s swiftness, he was quick to zip up and set out to catch us. I was unlucky to remain his target throughout his chase. I was not prepared to even imagine what would happen if I get caught. I promised Hanumanji, I would never do anything like this henceforth, will always follow what my mother had taught me. It should never reach to the knowledge of my parents. I would not be able to face them. I turned back to check the status only to realize, all is over. I was caught and had surrendered thereafter. I do not quite remember what he did to me. I just do not remember.

I am through weirdest feeling, nothing is making sense to me. The confusion is only increasing my heart beat to another level.

The chase ended and I succeeded to corner him on the terrace. He was yet to show his face but somehow in all the anxiety, I had that strange feeling that I know him. He turned back, hell, I know this face. This is me few years back. “Oh, I am in dream” I concluded. But why was I chasing myself? In that moment I was experiencing multiple reasons, why I was chasing or being chased. I was after my hundred rupee note or was chasing the bus to appear for a school exam, and many other reasons to chase. I was being chased for stealing the nuts or was running away from the situation where my parents would catch my lie about the ten rupee which I used to buy my cricket ball.

I was clueless of what next. It was like, I did not have the further script. It was indeed an incredible feeling to experience being in multiple identities, feelings, and geographies simultaneously. I had enough deja vu moments and too much of paradoxes to resolve. I am desperately waiting or should I say, trying to get over with this dream. Yes, of course it is a dream as it clearly defies all the logics. I am feeling suffocated while trying to wake up to realize the real self but failing to do so. It is like someone forced to stay in water and has started to wiggle for a breath. After sometime you tend to surrender and crave for the quick death, the truth.

The riddle is resolved about my identities. First one is the chaser who has purpose in life to run after. He believes in goodness and has aspirations. Second is the fugitive of himself, he is educated about the worldly good and bad, is conscious about his social stature, is busy in adjusting and readjusting his actions to keep pace with the world. He is fearful of the worldly expectations. The last one is the dreamer, the watcher who is confused with all the contradictions, paradoxes. But he is always trying to reach the truth, the absolute one to reconcile between the former two.

Dream is a creation of mind but what triggers it? Why it is so abstract? May be we have been exposed only to a certain type of visual realities, so much so that we fail to comprehend the other realities and we pile them in the bracket of mysticism, mythology etc. Anyways, about the dream. I think it might be the depiction of our unexpressed emotions and fantasies in a random choice of script by the mind. Mythologies are so similar, they say the truth but in the form of a certain story in a certain language.

How interesting it could get, I am analyzing my dream while being in the dream. Now I have no other way to get out of all this anxiety and restlessness, but to destroy the identities. I jumped off the terrace. The occasional thought that it is just a dream is not helping me from the thought of meeting death. Why am I scared, it is just a dream. Probably that is the difference between knowing the truth and experiencing the truth!

It is the final hundred feet between me and my death and by now I have surrendered myself. Did it happen? Probably yes, as I am unable to feel myself. Probably no, as I am still listening to myself. Whatever it be, I am feeling so light as never before, I am feeling my presence everywhere, I am not carrying an enormous load of emotions, responsibilities and expectations. I am free. Have I merged into ‘The one’?