Sexy Beggar and a Cigarette Incident!

So, as usual, I go to the parking lot, start my bike, dump my bag in the baggage area and drive it away from college. I go all the way around Gemini circle to get to the other side of the road, to my grandma's place. As I drive past Landmark, I see this miraculous looking shirtless (actually he was barely wearing any clothes), super sexy ( to all the lady beggars) guy on the pavement. I slow down my bike, which was making this really annoying whirring noise for some weird reason. I was welcomed by a puff of smoke as I drove closer to him.

Where from?

Cigarette of course.

This is not what I found interesting. This sexy looking guy did not have fingers. He had stubs for fingers.

Wondering how he managed to hold a freaking death-roll in those?

He held the cigarette in between the stubs and he was smoking away to glory. In fact he was so engrossed in the very act that he had forgotten to notice the 100 rupee note that a passer-by had placed on his plate.

My mind somehow went on a thinking spree and I realized something.

The cigarette he was holding in his hands were bigger than that of his fingers.
The cigarette has a larger role in his life than his hands.
The cigarette has more control over his life than his own self.

Somehow, this symbolism made sense to me.

"You do not have hands to work, you do not have fingers to eat, you do not have a freaking job, you do not have three meals a day, and neither do you have the brains to realize that that roll of tobacco will do the job of taking the life out of you, squeezing the breath out of your lungs, turning your lungs to tar."

Actually a lot of people with fingers also don't realize this.

I pity them.

Aishwarya Kumar.

I Will Remember the Hold, I Always Will

Prostrate cancer.

Yes, it is a pain in the ass.

Like, literally.

My family has a history of cancer. My grandmom even calls it "Our Family Property." 

This time it decided to seep into the most gentle, most caring and most selfless person I have ever known.

He is ninety-seven, and till last year, why, even before a few months, he roamed around the city, vising his relatives, his family. He was active beyond words, his enthusiasm contagious. I remember falling on his feet a year and a half ago, just as he left Grandma's house, asking for his blessings.

I don't talk about him much but today, I just have to.

I entered his house, imagining him as he was when I last met him. I wanted to see him smile that big, broad smile of his, wanted to hear his loud barking laugh, wanted to feel his soft hands on mine, wanted to hear his soothing voice as he recalled his past experiences, but all I got to see was a limp looking man, lying on his bed, his eyes closed, breaths coming out in slow, short gasps.

His wife, a very chirpy woman herself, held his hands, trying to wake him. He woke up gently, his eyes still half closed, teeth clenched. He slowly moved to a sitting position, holding his lower back and winced, as pain  shot through his whole body. I could hardly hear him as he mumbled his welcome. After a couple of minutes, he made himself comfortable on a chair, still flinching in pain. 

My stomach coiled and recoiled involuntarily. I looked away as a silent tear dropped down my eyes into my cheek. To hear about his pain is one thing, to experience it first hand is something else totally. I did not want him to see me cry, so I wiped my face clean with the back of my hand and looked back at him, smiling.

He queried a lot about my studies, and about Pooja, which I answered diligently, but my mind was elsewhere. I was agitated, I was angry. At who? I don't really know. 

My mother said," Pray to God, pray for him."

Amma, if there was God, he wouldn't have given him the disease. And if he had, why would I go pray to him when he had the heartlessness to give the gentlest of man, such a terrible disease?

My grandma made conversation with him and his wife, trying to cheer him up.

"The pain is unbearable. I would rather die," he said, looking from me to grandma.

I cried then, I am not ashamed to admit. Cried because I could not understand how such a caring and selfless person could end up suffering so much. Every breath that he took caused him pain, every movement was unbearable.

"Study well. Give your best, become independent," he said, "And don't get married if you don't want to. I am there for you. I will support you."

I did not know how long he would survive before the deadly disease devoured him, but at that moment, I loved him the most, for saying those words, for understanding some part of me that even the closest of people did not. 

As I was telling him about my course, he fell asleep, fatigue taking the better of him. I waited till he woke up, watching him as he slept. His wife had to prod him awake. He woke with a start, looking surprised at having fallen asleep. 

He is withering away in front of my eyes and it is a painful as anything I have ever felt. I did not expect him to live forever, I do not still. But all I wanted was for him to not have to go through so much pain in the last stages of his life. He deserved that much. Actually, he deserved much more.

"Thank you," he whispered, when I stood up to leave.

I shook my head and made him promise not to thank me ever again for anything.

"Hang in there thatha, you will make it. You will devour the disease." I said and without turning back, left the house, not wanting him to see the huge drops of tear that was falling down my face.

I had wanted to take a picture with him. After seeing him sitting that way, clicking a picture seemed like the most trivial thing in the world.

Before I left, he held my hands strong, his grip strong, despite the pain he was going through.

I will remember you touch Thatha, I will remember your words. Always.

Aishwary Kumar. 

Look me straight in the eyes if you dare..

Okay, this is a rant. I have to pour it out because otherwise I will lose it.

One of the worst things to happen is for your bike to stop on the middle of the road, what with the bunch of bikes and cars honking all around you and the drivers giving you death glares for stopping, like I just wanted to turn off my engine and sit on the road and enjoy the traffic and pollution all around me. Hell no. I very much wanted to reach my destination as much as you wanted to, there was no damn petrol in the freaking bike! Why would anybody stop their bike mid-road for any other reason?

So I make the long walk of one kilometer to the nearby petrol station. I am huffing and puffing as I make my way down the road, pushing the hundred kilo monster along with me. With sweat dripping down my face, I look around, wanting to take my mind off the whole "outside-the-gym" gymming that I was indulging myself in. My leg muscles were already screaming in pain from the little stint in the gym the last few days and this was just fuel being added to the blazing fire.

So as I was looking around, I see a guy, looking me up and down, creeping me out instantly. Only guys have the immense talent of making a girl feel uncomfortable. Here I was pushing the damn bike in search of a gas station and there he was, looking at me like I was a toy or an item girl dancing for chikni chameli.

I walk past him, swearing under my breath and make my way further down the road. And for those innocent guys who do not indulge in such lame acts, here is a piece of information. Guys, at least most of them, make this disgusting kissy noise when they check a girl out. It pisses me off to such an extent that one day I am sure I am going to stop my bike and ask him if he wants me to kiss him. I mean, I seriously don't understand the point behind that noise. What do they want? Are they asking us for a kiss or do they think we will get all impressed and go and hook up with them?

At this point, I remember a statement made by Ms.Lakshmi Ramakrishnan, vetaran actor and director in Today's outlook seminar in college. She said,"the only problem with men, at least most of them in India is the fact that they don't look women in the eye." I was just awe struck when she said that because it was ridiculously true.

If you have the gall to make kissie noises next to me or say crap about how I look or what I am wearing, look me in the eye and do it. I bet my ass you wouldn't be able to look past my nose because you know the wrath and fire that will be burning in those pair of eyes.

Anyway coming back to the point, I was not dancing for chikni chameli, nor was I gymming in front of you. I was dragging a freaking bike which I am pretty sure got heavier by the minute past you. You need not come and carry it for me. But the least you could do is not look me up like I am some kind of a stripper.

This is for all those guys out there. Next time you look at a girl, I dare you to look her in the eye and not anywhere else. I dare you..

Aishwarya Kumar.