Certain things ought to be impulsive in life. Certain journeys ought to be taken impulsively. Certain phone calls should be made at an instant from the heart. Certain words ought to be said impulsively. Certain moments ought to be lived impulsively. Otherwise friend, where is the fun!! Huh!!
The journey
-----------
Many a times I have regretted certain decisions I have made in life. In fact I think my love life has been a comedy of errors. I have always been a ‘One-woman’ man...every 2 years since I was 21. I have had a spate of breakups. Well, sometimes she wasn’t good enough and most of the times I wasn’t. Every time it happened, it took me a while to recuperate. Some girls showed promise; some just flirted away to glory while I got carried away, while some just wanted to move on because they got bored. Well I warned them. And yet after every breakup, the one relationship I can never forget was when I was in school. Well, trust me, it was the purest of them all. Now it gets more mushier.
I cannot forget those feelings. We hardly spoke and yet we did. We chatted on the phone and yet could never muster courage to have a 5 minutes conversation face-to-face. Shyness I guess. They were conversations of loud heartbeats and mumbling voices. Tara was her name. I was in my 11th. We were studying in State school inside the Tata Campus in Jamshedpur. She lived there. Her father was a professor there. My father was a central govt. employee then and we were on the run always. I cannot forget the last day in the school. We were moving away to Trivandrum, my hometown. I managed to tell her that I liked her a lot. She did too. The smile on her face, I cannot forget. Well she promised to write and so did I.
We moved and she wrote. I never did. I got engrossed in my life. I never wrote back and then she faded away from my memories. A guy who was just learning to shave had learnt it was time to move on. I called her on her birthday and told her it would be my last call.
After a long time again, Jamshedpur summons. A client meet and a hidden desire. I decided to give Tara a call. I had known her number all these years and yet I could never call. I called her. The phone rang twice.
‘Hello’, said a faintly familiar voice
‘Tara, its me. Vinay. How are you?’
A long pause and an eerie silence. It was as if she was waiting for my call all these years.
‘Hi Vinay. How have you been?’
‘Good. I am working in Calcutta with TCS. What about you?’
‘Well. I am working in the state school. I teach English’
I was excited to hear that. But I did not know what to say.
‘Thats great’.
‘So how come, a call after years?’
‘Well I am sorry for not calling. In fact, I am sorry for many things. I was coming to Jamshedpur this weekend, so i thought I could meet you.
‘Hmm. Well let me see. I have some plans but I can surely take some time out. Give me a call before you leave’.
Memories Galore
----------------
She was waiting for me near the cafe coffee day near the Tata foundation hospital. She looked stunning and had changed a lot. Her hair and she was so skinny then.
A warm handshake and we were off chatting. I knew though at some point I had to tell her why I wanted to meet her.
‘Tara, I had your number all these years. I somehow could not muster courage to call you. I had broken your heart and you liked me so much. You kept it going whereas I just gave up. I have been in many relationships and today I am single and yet I have this tingling pain which keeps resurfacing. The pain of breaking your heart. I am here to say sorry for everything. We were kids and yet that something between us was the most beautiful I have ever felt. I am sorry.’
Wow!! That was right out of bollywood. She looked at me and smiled. I just hoped that she would not laugh it was because it was kiddish in a way.
‘I forgive you’, she said. ‘I say that because I was hurt and that too for many years and I got over it. But hey!! No hard feelings any more. Honestly, I was looking for a guy with moustache. I never expected you’, she said laughing out loud.
‘You have changed too, you look beautiful. You single??’ ,I asked pinching myself hard after that. What an idiot I was. Somehow hoping though that she would be.
‘Well, I am engaged. My marriage is slated to happen next month’, she said.
I was a little taken aback. I was a little disappointed too. I wasn’t expecting it.
‘Oh! thats great. Congratulations!!!’
‘Thanks’.
‘Should I show you around the school? Interested?’, she asked.
‘Yep’.
We took a long walk. Somehow we pretty easily discussed the places where we had sat and spoken. The basketball court where I would deliberately sit close, to where she would sit with her friend, to eat. The bus stop, where I would always say bye to her before leaving for home. The arts class, where I would sing aloud so that she could hear and smile. The Labs where I tried my best to team up with her but never got a chance.
I remember the roads where one fine day I managed to walk back with her on a rainy day. I missed it all. The innocence.
Well, it was time to leave and I said goodbye knowing well that I would never meet her again. The heart did feel heavy for a while. I had done what I had come to do. Somehow though, I felt a lot more lonelier than ever. Probably it was a mix of Tara and the nostalgia of school days.
I sat for a while at the bus stop after she left. I looked around. The sun was setting and the smell of the Ashoka trees rose. Something had not changed. I smiled and realised that it was good that I had come here.
Certain things ought to be impulsive in life. Certain journeys ought to be taken impulsively. Certain phone calls should be made at an instant from the heart. Certain words ought to be said impulsively. Certain moments ought to be lived impulsively. Otherwise friend, where is the fun!! Huh!!
V.V.Vikram
Monday, November 23, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
The Hangman from Tibbar
Dedicated to all the extraordinary and weird professions in the world.
The Hangman From Tibbar
---------------------------------------
I walk back home everyday. Over the years I have taken a liking to the narrow muddy road that takes me back home. In fact, given a choice I would just walk the rest of my life. Just me and the road to ourselves. The condition of the roads in Gurdaspur has improved over the years. Yet, this road has remained the same over years. Covered with trees, the walk on this one during monsoons is a sheer delight for a loner like me. By the way, my name is Chander Singh and I work as the Hangman in Gurdaspur Jail.
FLASHBACK
---------
As a 3 year old, I remember my father taking me to the Jail at times. He worked there. I was intrigued and thrilled whenever I went there. A massive structure, the Jail gave me an eerie feeling. I would immediately dream of dark dungeons, princes, swords and the villains of course. I always wanted to go in but my dad never took me in. I would sit with the two scary Guards outside. I always wondered what my dad did in the jail. My dad was a six footer. He had a typical villainous look that would scare the hell out of kids during nights when he got back home. With a large dark mole on his cheek, he was a monster. I pitied the convicts.
As a youngster I remember, noone would come to my house. Moms would warn their kids not to play with me. The colony never acknowledged our presence. It was as if I was living in a dead society bustling with people. My father was a quiet person. He would come back home, call for my mother to lay out the food. He would eat, kiss me goodnight on the forehead and promptly sleep.
I had no friends. None at all. In fact, after a while in my life I realised that I had stopped yearning for them. I got used to things this way I guess. It was a normal day and I got back from school when I saw a huge crowd gathered in front of my house. I saw the all the ladies sitting together and weeping. There was a murmur amongst the men standing to one side. As I went in, I saw the corpses of my father and mother. Both covered in a white cloth, the one my mom used to lay the food upon. I did not cry. I was shocked and lost. I was told that the house had been robbed and that the robbers killed both my parents. It was the first time in years that I had spoken so much. People came upto me and consoled me. Some I knew but most I did not.
After a month or so, I was paid a visit by the Jailer of Gurdaspur. He offered me the post of my dad and said I could join whenever I was interested.
THE JAIL AND HOME
-----------------
It was not as scary as I thought it would be. Of course, I was just a kid then. But the eeriness was still there. The walls were built of Huge dark stones which added to the spookiness. As I entered the jailer's room, I saw a couple of convicts being handcuffed and taken away. They looked at me as if they were ready to commit another crime.
"So Chander, ready to step into your father's shoes?"
"Honestly sir, I want to thank you from my heart first but also I shall confess that I have no idea what my father did in the jail. What did he do?"
"Ahem. Well, let me put it bluntly. Your father was a hangman. He helped executing convicts. He put them to death."
For a moment, my world turned upside down. I was shocked, aghast and disturbed. So many things came to my mind. My father's behaviour which I now undertood. His reluctance and apprehensions.
"You okay son?", asked the jailer.
"Sir, I think I shall return and let you know"
The walk back home on the muddy path was a mammoth task. With so much running through my mind, I cared the least for the puddles that had formed. By the time, I reached home I had soiled my pants. I just sat in a corner and wondered what to do.
'JALLAD'
--------
It had been three years since I had been a hangman. I had killed many with these very hands. They wept, they pleaded even though they were guilty and yet I had no choice but to do what I had to. I had become insane. I had the license to kill they said and laughed, the guards in the jail. Every journey back home was a journey of guilt. The pangs of conscience were unbearable. Noone would talk to me in the colony. Things had come back to square one, the day I had said yes to the jailer. Kids called me the boogey-man. Some called me 'Jallad' and some called me the 'Ruthless Murderer of Tibbar'. Tibbar was the place where the jail was located. Girls shyed away from me. But I did not stop, I kept killing them.
'The Terrorist of Kupwara'
-------------------------
Tibbar was on the border of India and Pakistan and many convicts brought to the Gurdaspur Jail were captured terrorists. Many notorios and many not so notorious. They were beaten everyday. Some were beaten to death. As a hangman, I know for a fact that all the executions I have done have not been legal.Some are killed and reported to media as died due to stress. Some are beaten to death and then hanged and later the bodies thrown back into their cells. They are the suicide cases by the way.
A young terrorist was beaten the same way. A young boy forced into becoming a terrorist. He was beaten to death almost. He did not reveal any information about his terrorist ring because he actually did not know anything. He would cry at nights and the wailing would be heard across cells. One fine day, I was summoned by the jailer. He told me that they had planned the execution of the Kupwara terrorist and it would happen at 12.30 am midnight. I never questioned him. At 9.30 pm I went this cell. I heard a brawl. They had stripped him naked and were battering him with a fat stick. He was bleeding and I knew would soon collapse.
After finishing their merciless assault, the guards left, leaving the almost-dying terrorist. I helped him take a bath and helped him change his clothes. I whispered into his years about the midnight plan. He stated weeping with whatever energy he had. He held my feet and shouted that he was innocent. For once I found my heart melting and I think I my eyes did become wet for a second.
At around 12.15, he came into the courtyard with the jailer and two cards. I covered his head with the black hood. He was crying and shouting loud that he wanted to see his mom and younger sister one last time. It was then for a second that I realized that I was the Satan from hell without doubt. I pulled the lever and down he went.
Nemesis
-------
Thats my story. Nothing much at all. I am an ordinary man in an extraordinary profession. By the way, only yesterday I got to know that I am suffering from Tuberculosis and I am in my last stages of life. Its been 20 years as a hangman. I have killed many and now its come around for me. My jail mates tell me that no hangman has died a normal death. I went to the jailer yesterday and told him that I had a wish. I told him that I wanted to be hanged as well. He smiled and said that all Hangmen of Tibbar had asked for the same till date. He said it was guilt.
V.V.Vikram
The Hangman From Tibbar
---------------------------------------
I walk back home everyday. Over the years I have taken a liking to the narrow muddy road that takes me back home. In fact, given a choice I would just walk the rest of my life. Just me and the road to ourselves. The condition of the roads in Gurdaspur has improved over the years. Yet, this road has remained the same over years. Covered with trees, the walk on this one during monsoons is a sheer delight for a loner like me. By the way, my name is Chander Singh and I work as the Hangman in Gurdaspur Jail.
FLASHBACK
---------
As a 3 year old, I remember my father taking me to the Jail at times. He worked there. I was intrigued and thrilled whenever I went there. A massive structure, the Jail gave me an eerie feeling. I would immediately dream of dark dungeons, princes, swords and the villains of course. I always wanted to go in but my dad never took me in. I would sit with the two scary Guards outside. I always wondered what my dad did in the jail. My dad was a six footer. He had a typical villainous look that would scare the hell out of kids during nights when he got back home. With a large dark mole on his cheek, he was a monster. I pitied the convicts.
As a youngster I remember, noone would come to my house. Moms would warn their kids not to play with me. The colony never acknowledged our presence. It was as if I was living in a dead society bustling with people. My father was a quiet person. He would come back home, call for my mother to lay out the food. He would eat, kiss me goodnight on the forehead and promptly sleep.
I had no friends. None at all. In fact, after a while in my life I realised that I had stopped yearning for them. I got used to things this way I guess. It was a normal day and I got back from school when I saw a huge crowd gathered in front of my house. I saw the all the ladies sitting together and weeping. There was a murmur amongst the men standing to one side. As I went in, I saw the corpses of my father and mother. Both covered in a white cloth, the one my mom used to lay the food upon. I did not cry. I was shocked and lost. I was told that the house had been robbed and that the robbers killed both my parents. It was the first time in years that I had spoken so much. People came upto me and consoled me. Some I knew but most I did not.
After a month or so, I was paid a visit by the Jailer of Gurdaspur. He offered me the post of my dad and said I could join whenever I was interested.
THE JAIL AND HOME
-----------------
It was not as scary as I thought it would be. Of course, I was just a kid then. But the eeriness was still there. The walls were built of Huge dark stones which added to the spookiness. As I entered the jailer's room, I saw a couple of convicts being handcuffed and taken away. They looked at me as if they were ready to commit another crime.
"So Chander, ready to step into your father's shoes?"
"Honestly sir, I want to thank you from my heart first but also I shall confess that I have no idea what my father did in the jail. What did he do?"
"Ahem. Well, let me put it bluntly. Your father was a hangman. He helped executing convicts. He put them to death."
For a moment, my world turned upside down. I was shocked, aghast and disturbed. So many things came to my mind. My father's behaviour which I now undertood. His reluctance and apprehensions.
"You okay son?", asked the jailer.
"Sir, I think I shall return and let you know"
The walk back home on the muddy path was a mammoth task. With so much running through my mind, I cared the least for the puddles that had formed. By the time, I reached home I had soiled my pants. I just sat in a corner and wondered what to do.
'JALLAD'
--------
It had been three years since I had been a hangman. I had killed many with these very hands. They wept, they pleaded even though they were guilty and yet I had no choice but to do what I had to. I had become insane. I had the license to kill they said and laughed, the guards in the jail. Every journey back home was a journey of guilt. The pangs of conscience were unbearable. Noone would talk to me in the colony. Things had come back to square one, the day I had said yes to the jailer. Kids called me the boogey-man. Some called me 'Jallad' and some called me the 'Ruthless Murderer of Tibbar'. Tibbar was the place where the jail was located. Girls shyed away from me. But I did not stop, I kept killing them.
'The Terrorist of Kupwara'
-------------------------
Tibbar was on the border of India and Pakistan and many convicts brought to the Gurdaspur Jail were captured terrorists. Many notorios and many not so notorious. They were beaten everyday. Some were beaten to death. As a hangman, I know for a fact that all the executions I have done have not been legal.Some are killed and reported to media as died due to stress. Some are beaten to death and then hanged and later the bodies thrown back into their cells. They are the suicide cases by the way.
A young terrorist was beaten the same way. A young boy forced into becoming a terrorist. He was beaten to death almost. He did not reveal any information about his terrorist ring because he actually did not know anything. He would cry at nights and the wailing would be heard across cells. One fine day, I was summoned by the jailer. He told me that they had planned the execution of the Kupwara terrorist and it would happen at 12.30 am midnight. I never questioned him. At 9.30 pm I went this cell. I heard a brawl. They had stripped him naked and were battering him with a fat stick. He was bleeding and I knew would soon collapse.
After finishing their merciless assault, the guards left, leaving the almost-dying terrorist. I helped him take a bath and helped him change his clothes. I whispered into his years about the midnight plan. He stated weeping with whatever energy he had. He held my feet and shouted that he was innocent. For once I found my heart melting and I think I my eyes did become wet for a second.
At around 12.15, he came into the courtyard with the jailer and two cards. I covered his head with the black hood. He was crying and shouting loud that he wanted to see his mom and younger sister one last time. It was then for a second that I realized that I was the Satan from hell without doubt. I pulled the lever and down he went.
Nemesis
-------
Thats my story. Nothing much at all. I am an ordinary man in an extraordinary profession. By the way, only yesterday I got to know that I am suffering from Tuberculosis and I am in my last stages of life. Its been 20 years as a hangman. I have killed many and now its come around for me. My jail mates tell me that no hangman has died a normal death. I went to the jailer yesterday and told him that I had a wish. I told him that I wanted to be hanged as well. He smiled and said that all Hangmen of Tibbar had asked for the same till date. He said it was guilt.
V.V.Vikram
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