Thought Detonation #26 - The last post

Hey folks. This is my last post on this blog. This blog was result of an experiment (which has been successful *smiles*) and like everything that has done it's job, even this has to retire.

I am feeling a little uneasy while typing this. I had left it dormant for last one year, yet today when I say good-bye to it, its not easy for me...

I would like to end the story on something I wrote today..

Goodbye people. Thankyou for all the love you gave me...:)

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Thought Detonation #25 - Gadgets and Personality

Another contest organized by Indiblogger (www.Indiblogger.in) and Dell (http://bitly.com/inspiron) and another post from Thought Detonation as well. Now this contest is called “Change is easy”. Why? Because Dell just came up with a lappy that can beat chameleons when it comes to changing colour and wanted to market it. That simple. Now the contest is to describe how your gadgets reflect your personality. However I will have to eliminate a few flaws and make a few assumptions to let you all know the point. So bear all this silently. You can play loud music if you want, but I am not hearing any of that. So it’s better to stay silent, isn’t it?

08 July 2011, 22:15 hrs, In Delhi Metro Yellow Line, Somewhere between New Delhi and Chandni Chowk -

I stood like I was hung to the grab rails as I waited for Kasmere Gate to arrive early. All seats were occupied and I was the only person standing in the coach. This is the story of my life in fact. I hung on the grab rails, thinking what could I possibly write for the Gadget competition. I had read long ago on web, a few weeks earlier in TOI that your gadgets reflect your personality and also decide what kind of sauce you prefer and what kind of partner you find tasty. Well I guess it must have been sauce-tasty and partner-prefer but this mistake make sense a lot better. All this is blah-blah shit actually. Why don’t they say that my sauce & girls determine the kind of gadgets I use? Anyways, I hung on the grab rails and was thinking what could I possibly write for the Gadget competition. It was getting late, 22:20 that time and I was a hell lot sleep deprived. Moreover the delayed results of my last contest entry were actually pissing me off a bit. We are Indians and we love working that way. We just love it. Anyways, I still had to write something for the contest. I did not write it till now because I am an Indian, I just love working this way. I am not going to win anyway, especially when like a 100 vets and seasoned bloggers have already given the best shot and many of them have cute DPs. Damn!! Even my facebook profile doesn’t have a DP. Still, I really need something original and out of the box to write about. I just can’t write normal stuff like ‘my Iphone – my love’ or ‘my HP – my bitch’.

While I thought the most rotten things, I was constantly bugged by beeps and trashing sounds. I just hate beeps. It reminds me of my alarm and detonable dynamites. Well, actually both are similar. I tilted my body a bit forward to look what this girl was doing on her laptop. She was a short thin girl. In a black tank top and black skirt. It actually took me some time to differentiate between the two. It’s like a sandwich you see – white skin, black cloth and white skin. She had a Lenovo Ideapad Y series. Now that’s cool. It’s a really interesting thing to have. I leaned a little bit more to see what on the Earth was she doing that made this cute machine beep every five seconds. As I grabbed the view of her screen I was startled and words came out of my mouth –“What the….” She was playing Tetris!! Wow…You have got a lenovo Y series in your lap and you play Tetris!! Why don’t you try finding nemo now?

*Beep* *Beep* *Beep* *Trrrrraaaaaasssssshhhhhh*

She lost again. I had been hearing similar sounds since past half an hour which means she was a pathetic player. A five year old kid would have played better on his first time.

*Nokia tune*

She took pulled out her purse and kept it on her laptop’s keypad. She didn’t care pausing the game. I guess, the game would last a little longer if she wasn’t on the control. She took out random things from her purse and put them in her lap. In some deep dark corner of the universe, possibly in the stomach of ogdru jahad, she found her mobile phone.

*Nokia tune*

It was a message. She was in no hurry to read it. She neatly packed her stuff again and zipped her purse. She put her purse around her arm again and then sat blank for a few seconds. This commotion was too much for her brain to take. She came to her senses in like 4 seconds and took the mobile phone in her hands. Sony Xperia X10. “Oh my god!!” I just couldn’t stop myself. I was about to faint.

What is my cutie pie doing right now? (: (:

Oh wow. I am just loving this. This made my day, or night, however you call it. She typed this thing below on her Xperia and sent it to a guy called Maddy.

Cutie pie is playing tetris on lappy.....
Lappy is cutu....I love purple colour....:) :) :-*

What can I say? Lenovo Y series…Tetris…Xperia X 10…Nokia tune…

This girl downloaded Nokia tune from internet to make it her message ringtone. That too on an Xperia X 10!!

I wanted to hit her hard. I was so agitated to snatch that lappy from her and give it to that guy. (I ‘ll let you know who that guy was, in like 5 minutes.)

Ohh...gr8...Tetris huh? I was wondering if you want to play with something else that sounds similar ;) ;)

Well, it was none of my business to read anything after that. However dumb she is, she had a right to privacy.

So this is what we have people – Lenovo Y series & Tetris and Xperia X10 & sexting.

PS : 1) Please don’t disgrace technology. I feel miserable for each molecule of silicon in that lappy. Please buy technology only if you know how to work with it.

2) In some cases, gadgets can be misleading while determining personality.

***Just a little earlier than the above incident***

08 July 2011, 21:55 hrs, In Delhi Metro Voilet Line, Somewhere near Central Secretariat -

I was sitting in Metro Train and it was late night. I just wished I made it to my home before 11 o’clock. I really don’t want to wake my parents up from sleep. I anxiously looked at my wrist watch. There was so much to do the next day. I was making things-to-do list in my mind that I would print on paper when I reach home. I also needed to sleep for seven hours or else I would not be able to work the next day. Moreover I had to write a blog post as well. So it means I must be totally in control. I don’t even have a topic by now. No plot, no theme. All has to be done at once. I don’t wish to write fiction again. I want a real story for this.

“What do you mean you can’t make the header?”

I overheard my fellow passenger speaking on phone. This statement was made with higher amplitude than rest of the conversation. It, kind of, itch my ears. I hate it when I am disturbed while thinking.

“How can I do it? The company provides me with this netbook and…”

“No I can’t Mr. Nitish, I can’t run Photoshop on this netbook. It has a Celeron processor. Photoshop will not work fine on this. It will be very slow. I can only do the coding job…That’s it”

After a few more yes and OKs he hung up and banged his netbook top with his palm. I could feel seismic waves propagate as I sat just next to him.

He had to restart his machine again.

“Bloody provide me a pencil & paper next time and ask me to predict rocket trajectories.”

Even his curses were geek. I looked at his screen. He was doing some HTML business. He was a web designer I guess. He was making something like a forum, a journalism website maybe. He had a netbook from a company I do not recognize by name. More importantly, an Intel Celeron sticker stuck on it. The geekish dude kept on cursing his company for the brilliant stuff it provided to its engineers.

“As if I am a Computer clerk rather than a computer engineer. Akshara was such a nice company. I don’t know why I came to webtechs.”

I don’t know both the companies to be frank. Was he talking of Infosys and Microsoft? I really do not know!! This guy was in such a desperate need of a better resource. I could see it on his face. He wore a NIT t-shirt, which means he was from a good college and had a good degree. His speed was actually quite respectable. He finished his job and was looking at his previews. I wished I could gift him some high end Lappy. It did make him happier than having sex with a girl. You need to trust me on that. How about a macbook? Nothing turns on a geek like a macbook. A slightest smell of mac and they are turned on like a dog on morning walk.

*Nokia tune*

Boss calling....

“Yes sir the work is done.”

“Absolutely Sir…I’ll do it by tomorrow morning…Yes sir…Yes Sir…I’ll do the graphics as well…Sure Sir…Thank you sir..”

His boss hung up and simultaneously he uttered – “You mom was a common bit*h Mr. Boss”

He stuffed his phone inside his pocket. Nokia 1100. It’s a brilliant phone I tell you. Two languages – English and Hindi, plus a torch light, plus 140 character SMS support, 500 phonebook memory, 20 last calls history and 200 SMS memory.

My stop had arrived and I got down at Central Secretariat to change for my next metro.

PS : 1) Please provide technology to those who need it like their next breath.

2) In some more cases, gadgets can be misleading while determining personality.

Moral of the story –

Your gadgets reflect you personality only when –

1)      You are not dumb.

2)      You are not a geek working on company issued netbooks.

My personality matches a few of most-raunchiest things ever created. Like Y2K, a personal PARAM PADMA to play CS, Mc Laren F1, F-22 raptor flight simulator, EKM class subs and a million other most-raunchiest things. K

*shrugs*

All a writer’s heart wishes is readers. If you find this work interesting then do share it liberally within your network.

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Thought Detonation #24 – A ‘Flight’ with Colours

I came through a blogging contest called “Take flight with colours” which was organized by Indiblogger (www.Indiblogger.in) and HP (http://www.hp.com/in/laserjet). It asks us to think of something black and white which we would love to see in colour. Good thing is, it never said it must be limited to just one thing. How could a flight be restricted anyway? *Smile* A flight must have no restrictions; of time, space, meaning and vision. So I just sat down thinking and came up with this weird list. These are things I would love more if coloured.

I wish these white-washed walls of my cottage were a bit colourful, probably like wings of a butterfly. I love when the shades change when they flap them. I wish the blue ink my pen spills was a bit colourful, probably like G-Force visualization. I love the way it randomizes itself. I wish the cold pale water in my glass was a bit more colourful, probably like a young lady’s painted lips. Who would not love water droplets on colorful lips which change colour every day? I wish my wooden door was a bit more colourful, probably like an art gallery. I am tired of brown paint on brown wood. I wish a break-up was a bit colourful, probably like a first yes. How can you forget the feeling when whole world gets mute and only thing you hear is her voice …“Yes”. I wish my heart was a bit more colourful, probably like the feelings it holds. Feelings holding a million colours don’t quite fit in a pale heart. I wish the seas and oceans I see from a beach were a bit more colourful, probably like the youth I behold while I stand looking at it. Colours would defiantly add to the music and the hush only sounds of waves can create. Not to forget the thrill of watching it on a full moon night. I wish my purani jeans was a bit more colourful, probably like a hug from the old mate who gifted me that. If only I could spill all my colourful memories with pals on my jeans, I wouldn’t have wished this. Who can forget old mates, the selfless concern and love that they can create? I wish these skies were a bit more colourful, probably like syllables of urdu. I wonder how the world would look if all sounds change to colours. Could we actually ‘see’ what we utter? I wish the air around was a bit colourful. So a child’s innocence could be answered – “bhaiya, agar hawa hoti hai to dikthi kyu nahi?” I wish this city crowd was a bit more colourful, probably like their ‘clothes’. I wish pain was a bit colourful, probably like an artist’s colour pane. I wish music was a bit more colourful. So I could let my eyes ‘watch’ the “eargasms” created by dead sounds. I wish the uniforms of soldiers in a march-past were a bit more colourful, probably like belly dancing. It would have been such a treat to watch instead of enjoying potato chips. I wish the gun’s lead was a bit more colourful. I wish the hospital’s bed was more colourful, probably like a bed of flowers. Yet the only colour we see on hospital sheets is red. I wish if blood was a bit more colorful, probably like the first kiss. That is the only time when your ‘eyes are closed’, yet you see colours flared. Rest time it is all temporary darkness, if not for ever. I wish if dessert sands were a bit more colourful. I wish if the dry rain drops were a bit more colourful, probably like a fat wedding in Punjab. I wish the white plastic chairs lined outside a mortuary were a bit more colourful, probably like first love. When colours spill out and there are no mourning and no wet eyes. I wish the white mint in my pocket was a bit more colourful, probably like fireworks. I lose my freshness the moment I see pale mints. I wish silence between dead couples was a bit more colourful, probably like late night vodka they shared earlier. I wish shaking legs in anxiousness before interview was a bit more colourful, probably like tapping them on dance floor after being promoted. What can match the party you through when your salary is increased? I wish my daily routines were a bit more colourful, probably like pizzas on a weekend. I wish the dentist-in-white-coat was a bit more colourful, probably like a nurse-in-white-skirt. Now this white thing is so damn colourful. I wish fractured bones were a bit more colourful, probably like the touch of velvet, or maybe like a love letter. I wish ‘middle-noon sun’ was a bit more colourful, probably like ‘an early sunrise’. I wish the black tinted glass of my car was a bit more colourful, probably like dark chocolate. I wish my ‘colour-blind’ eyes were a bit more colourful, probably like an old women’s gossip. I wish my life was a bit more colourful, probably like picture post cards. Everything seems so perfect when still and colourful. I wish my blog was a bit more colourful, probably like long-dusty-bound-free-roads, but it is not…

PS : 1) The only thing I actually wish is if this monotonous world was a bit more colourful. Everything else is just a corollary.

2) And I did love to see Sri 420 (movie) in colour. Precisely, the song “mera joota hai japani...”

3) Each line has a double plank. Think about it…

All a writer’s heart wishes is readers. If you find this work interesting then do share it liberally within your network.

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Thought Detonation #23 – Devotion

It has been nearly five years since Ryan’s last visit to a temple, or any other religious place. Today he found out why it was so, and why he never missed god in his life.

Dear diary,

I was sitting in a bus, DTC’s red AC bus to be precise. As usual I was busy with my thoughts. (When you manage a blog this serious, with no one else’s help, because you think they might interfere with what you actually wanted to say, you keep thinking all the time). Anyways, I was sitting in the DTC’s red AC bus. It was a cool morning and the tinted glass windows made it a treat to look at the skies above, a light brown colour sky with light yellow colour clouds. It seemed perfect like an edited photo, with perfect hue saturation. The bus, though a ‘new bus’ - like we call it, was now rickety. It doesn’t actually matter what you gift the people in metro cities. They just personalize it in their own ways. DTC had procured high end busses for Delhi roads, but Delhi roads are quickly turning them to blue-lines again. They were dented badly, thanks to the ex-blue-line drivers who now drove 60 lakhs of Indian tax-payers, apart from being government funded, with utmost devotion to god, sticking posters of lord Sai and Krishna all over their dashboard and non-authorized advertisements at other places. The conductor had drawn an arrow to point at his seat and had scribbled ‘Candacter Seet’ (Conductor’s seat) with a nail polish. So brilliant – a posh looking red TATA Marcopolo with red nail polish graffiti – so wow! Anyways I was in DTC’s red AC bus just sitting idle, thinking to kill my time. I feel so broken now-a-days that I don’t even care checking out girls. I barely open my eyes full; neither do I shut them completely while I sleep. So I guess I always stay in a ‘half sleepy’ mode. I have grown a little beard and I plan not to shave again in my whole life.

“Do you mind getting up?” a soft voice asked me from behind. I came to my senses, strained my eyes to open wide, managed to keep my equilibrium and turned around.
“Can you please get up? This is a ladies-seat.”
“You mean it is a seat reserved for ladies, right?” I got up with some difficulty and made way so she could move in. Maybe I should start eating from today. I was turning weak and I felt dizzy when I got up suddenly. I almost felt like I was blacking out. I had to move my feet a couple of times to keep balance.
“Bloody Drunkards” the cutie yelled and rested her bums on the seat. I smiled at her in pity.

So there I was – in DTC’s red AC bus, now standing because some trendy chick got me dislocated within 30 seconds and the bus was passing by a temple. The way my hottie prayed, I knew she was a Hindu. She joined both her hands and put them in front of her while she murmured some things. I liked to see her lips move. Not because she was a hottie, but because she was ‘my hottie’ now. I knew I was going to write about her stupidity tonight. It somehow made me constantly look at her and smile foolishly a couple of times whenever she looked me in eyes. I was making her quiet uncomfortable as she pulled her bag and half-hugged it, so I couldn’t stare at her ‘assets’. She looked at me again; she knew that I knew why she had done that. Now this was too much for me. I didn’t even look there once. It wasn’t my intention in the first place.

“Are you alright?” I startled her. She was too scared I guess. Tall brown guy, unshaved, heavy eyelids, shabby hair, dizzy and dead slow at his actions, and I am so good at scaring chicks – wow!
“Excuse me!!” She hugged her bag tighter.
“I asked if you are alright.”
“And what makes you presume I am not?”
“You think I am drunk?”

She kept silent and kept drifting in her seat to get away from me. I rested my hands on her arm-rest. I blew air on her face. Apart from my bad breath she couldn’t smell liquor. Well how could she? I hadn’t had a sip in ages.

“So you think I am drunk?”
“No. Not now. I thought…You couldn’t stand straight and you look…” she paused.
“I look like filth?” I smiled again, this time close to her face, “Guess what? Even my girlfriend is mad at me.”

So till now the scene is such – I am in this DTC’s red AC bus, I have a girlfriend and I am fluent in English. Though my hottie was stupid, but she wasn’t stupid enough to still think of me as a drunkard.

“Actually I am diagnosed to be suffering from chronic dengue. Some air-headed mosquito decided to new pinch me an early morning. Now I have some serious drop in my blood platelet levels. They say it has no cure except popping paracetamols and resting. So they will be admitting me today. I threw up every time I ate in last 4 days and I can’t sleep now-a-days due to this high fever”, I put my hand in front of her which she touched and was shocked.
“You are hot!!” She couldn’t control my temperatures I guess and shouted this loud enough to let the whole bus hear it. Many heads turned towards us with a look – ‘if he is hot then I gunned down Osama’.

“I am so sorry. You should have told me to let you sit. I am so stupid at times.” You see she admitted. Didn’t I tell you my hottie was stupid? She was about to get up to let me sit.
“AIIMS” (read-aims) the conductor shouted.
“Perfect timing baby. I am off here.” I just smiled at her, more important, she smiled back.
“I am really sorry for this. I had no clue or else I would have let you sit.”
“My girlfriend would love to meet you. I did write about you tonight if they let me use a laptop. You are not only stupid but blind.”

She was startled by my sudden unappealing choice of words but tried to smile half heartedly.
“Next time you grab your ladies-seat make sure the guy is not a drunkard. He could load you with enough curses to compensate for your 100 hand-joints.”

She understood what I was referring to. Joining hands in front of a temple is just not enough if you piss off someone who was as sick as me. I was bugging the lady a lot I guess. Moreover she was hot. Hot girls, generally, aren’t supposed to be bugged by guys.
“You know you are pretty, but like this DTC’s red AC bus; Marcopolo outside but blueline inside. It doesn’t matter however pretty you are in these metro cities, the city personalizes you to be cocky. Such is the similar analogy between chicks in busses.”
“I said I was sorry. Please don’t be angry.” She made a face which pulled out mother Teresa out of me.
“It’s cool. I am not angry at all. You are too much of a chick to make me angry.”

I got her smiling again and blushing. We had reached our stop and the automatic doors opened. I raised myself from leaning onto her and started to walk towards the door.

“Hey. Stop. Can I have a number, email id maybe?”
“Not too soon dear.” and I kept moving. She had risen from her seat and walked behind me. I got down from the bus but she didn’t. Of course it was my stop, not hers’.
“Hey. Wait. I don’t even know your name. Listen.”

The automatic doors shut and I winked at her. She stood near the gate and kept looking at me till the bus went out of my sight.

So there I was – Outside AIIMS ready to get admitted, in style.

PS : 1) I wonder how people in the bus might have thought her to be mad. She felt and ugly-sick guy hot and ran behind him to get his number. I totally love this thing about girls.

2) This is precisely the reason why I never visit religious places. I don’t deserve to be there. If I look inside, I am even more stupid that my hottie. Whenever I visited a temple (though it was a long time ago) I felt ashamed. I had abandoned my friends when they needed me most. I had compromised with my life to please a few people. I had done wrong to those less fortunate than me. I know I was not clean enough to be at a religious place. When I stood in front of god with my eyes closed, it made me feel ashamed. I didn’t want to replay all my bad memories in which my inability to act right had hurt people around me. It was painful and scary. I could have stood beside them if it were some other time. Everyone needed me at times when I was broke myself. I was too busy sorting out my own life when they needed me for support. How could I support them then? I had no way but to pretend, to be even more stupid than my hottie in bus today. She didn’t even know that she was offending. But I knew I was wronging the people I cared for, yet I did it for a few personal benefits. It’s all fucked up. It’s all messed. I guess its remorse. It does not matter how insightful you are, or how true are you to yourself, or how good hearted you are; this world just personalizes you to be betrayer. Such is a funny similar analogy between buses, chicks and life. All are bitches.

All a writer’s heart wishes is readers. If you find this work interesting then do share it liberally within your network.

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Thought Detonation #22 – Hospital ‘Breakthrough’

It was a damn hot afternoon while Rohan and I waited for Ankita and Sakshi besides the subway. The worst part was we were in Rohan’s car - An all-angle-dented-Grey Santro.
“Dude you car sucks big time! I feel like peeing on its top to cool it down.”
“Why don’t you just stay shut up? It’s 48 degrees outside. How the fu*k do you expect the AC to work? We have just started, not even 10 minutes yet!”
“Well I hate your car. That’s it. It sucks really huge. Last time you blew up a tyre at Milakpur. I m glad I am still alive. I bet the patients in this hospital enjoy better cooling than us”, I said as I pointed to the five storey hospital building on the opposite side of the road.

Rohan raised an eyebrow. “You think you want to check out?” He smiled at me as he said this. I knew what he meant. We had lots of time to kill as we were waiting for girls and parking was not a problem as we were stuck in traffic. Traffic in Delhi moves with a speed of inches per hour. So it wasn’t any trouble. Rohan pulled over to the pavement and navigated through the pedestrians to park the car in the park beside. (Yes you can do that in my city.)

We got down and walked across the road. Traffic on both sides – like a zebra laid on road wherever you want. You can cross roads blindfold because you know no car would move. It’s just the reflected sunlight and heat that radiates off the car bonnets that almost dehydrates your face while you walk eight lanes. But we did it. As we were done crossing we realized that we actually stood near the subway.
“Dumb*ss, Why didn’t you tell me we had a subway built here?”
“Well even you were eyed enough to see it, weren’t you? Don’t give me reasons to make you donate your eyes at this hospital today.”
“You how stupid was this? It was like peeing a public urinal to aim at the phenyl balls.”
“Oh so you have done that as well?”
“Come-on everyone does that.”

So there we were – at the main entrance of hospital. It was a modern building covered all with glass.
“You know why they put glass on the building?”
“Umm…So you can comb your hair looking at it?” Rohan pulled out a comb from his pocket and started doing his hair.
“Hmm…No. Because they want to save the cost of plastering the outer wall.”
“Oh is it so? My bad.” Rohan made a face and slid back the comb in his pocket.

We went in and passed through the reception area unnoticed. As soon as we were in corridors we knew that we had gate-crashed the hospital successfully. We ran across the subsequent doors maneuvering between doctors, nurses, patients and assistants.
“Can you please let me run behind you?”
“And why so?”
“I feel like Rose running away from Jack this way. That way I would feel Jack chasing Rose.”
“Such a sucker!”

We arrived at the surgical ward. A place full of broken/cut-open/torn/stitched/mutilated people. One old folk turned towards us while in his bed and said, “Looking for someone?”
“Oh no! We are just hanging around”, I confused the oldie.

There was another middle-aged dude in his bed. “Son, can you please set the time and date in my phone? I just gave my phone to someone for making a call and he fiddled with the settings.”

“Nah its cool dude”, I took the phone and set date and time.
“Check out his memory. This guy looks a pimp”, prompted Rohan.
“You see that plastic bag hanging over there?”
“Yeah. What’s that used for? What’s that yellow fluid in there?”
“He pees in it.”
“What!! In a plactic bag?”
“Yup. Can you guess why?”
“Probably his shaft doesn’t work”
“Yup. So I am not wasting my time searching his memory.”

I returned the dude his phone with a wink. “Auntyji must be having a tough time with you”, clarified Rohan. We left him mesmerized and pondering over what we just said and moved out of the room. A little further in the gallery we came across a huge glass door. In fact, there were three successive glass doors one after the other and then there was a glass window. We peeped in through glass doors covering eyes with hands to avoid our own reflections in it and get a look of what was inside. A curtain was drawn on the glass window, so all we could see was a couple of shoes removed in front of us and many green colored apron kind of things, more of a convocation dress than an apron to be precise.
“Should we go in?” asked Rohan.
“Have you gone nuts? You know why there are successive glass doors here?”
“Nah. It’s like a lab of some sci-fi movie.”
“Dude all these consecutive sections are to sterilize any possible microbes on the visitors. I guess cancer patients are kept in this ward. They have nearly zero immunity. At times a simple fever can kill them. You see not even shoes are allowed inside and you need to change to these green clothes before entering”, I said as I pointed to the changing room on out left.
“That’s so sad. How do you know about it?”
“Read it somewhere, maybe online I guess.”

We were in midst of our knowledge exchange when a middle-aged dark man came out of the room. He was coming towards us. Initially we thought of just moving away but we didn’t. He came close to us and just the glass door was between him and us.
“Why are you here?”
“We are looking for our relative. Even he is admitted in this ward”, he didn’t look like the hospital staff so we could lie anything.
“Only my daughter lives in this ward. She is four years old. She is suffering from blood cancer since last two years. It was treated once but now it has reappeared. Doctors will be transplanting bone marrow from my elder daughter into her. So we are hoping she will survive”, he told us everything in one go. He wasn’t complaining or angry with us because we lied to him, or because we were sticking around. Probably he was too preoccupied to be angry with us. Rohan and I were feeling a bit uncomfortable. His mellow sadness flowed from his eyes to ours through the glass door.
“Can we see her, uncle?”
*pause*
“Sure beta. Just stay here while I ask Rajini to open the curtains”, he said to us and moved back inside.
I could see him telling his wife to slide the curtains so that we could see her daughter. She slid the curtains. A little girl in yellow dress was standing in her bed. She was jumping on it as she watched cartoons. Uncle moved to us again and said, “Only her mother is allowed to be with her. Even I can go just till the last door. They don’t allow me to enter the room.” She was still jumping and her mom pointed us to her. She turned to us and started waving her hand. She was saying something but we could not hear her. Her dad smiled back and waved. Rohan and I were perplexed and stood still as if we were frozen.
“How old is her elder sister?”
“She is thirteen. Doctors will be taking some bone marrow from her body.”

I actually never asked him the latter part; it just showed me how disturbed he was. But he never showed. He smiled fully and looked normal. Rohan and I were in sweat. The air conditioner was so perfect there, unlike in Rohan’s car - The all-angle-dented-Grey Santro, but still we were feeling restless and choked. The girl had blood cancer, was in captivity and would probably die. Reoccurred cancer is rarely treated perfectly again. Yet she was happy and nothing was stopping her from jumping in her bed. She was happy and she could show world that she was.

“Please give me way”, said uncle as he moved out of the glass door we were standing next to. He was carrying a toy set which had replicas of a doctor’s instrument.
“They didn’t allow her toys also. Now I am going to the sterilization facility to treat them. They will allow then.”

This was too much for us. It’s so sarcastic. She wanted to play with those toys. She would probably die in front of a doctor!
I couldn’t take it anymore. Rohan shook a bit as he suppressed his sob. We saw uncle move away from us and we looked at the girl for one last time.
“Let us get out of here.”

We went back to our car. This time we used the subway of course. We saw Ankita and Sakshi standing there.
“Where the fu*k have you both been?”
“Sakshi just get in and no f-words for next 20 minutes.”

We all got in the car and drove away.

PS : I hope that girl survives. I did love to see her grow older and never be in hospital again.

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