Third Round Feedback - Leo

It has been one very long edition of Indifiction Workshop this time, but the entries haven't made it any easier for the three of us, Radha, Medha and I, to pick winners and in the process, judges for edition 4 of this initiative. In the end, discussion, meets and calls later, each of us decided on our favorite four posts of the workshop, in random order, and based on that, decided the top 3 overall. I also would like to apologize for not being able to give a detailed response to most of the entries as December has not been very good to me, with a couple of accidents and then some personal issues I needed to sort out as well.

Well, I'm not very good at building suspense, so will get straight to the announcement. 

The winners of the edition are Rajrupa Gupta, The Fool and Nabanita Dhar, all of whom had all three of our votes. 

All three of us found Rajrupa's story to be excellent, and gave it a vote with the narration as well as the interweaving of the two POVs. I feel it was a simple story done well, both characters being sketched nicely and not diverting from what I felt the plot would bring about. It needed some proofreading for grammar and typos, but as I read the story in flow, it didn't stand out prominently enough for it to be very major.

The Fool opened the edition with his take, and immediately set the bar high. The standout of his narration perhaps was the technique he used to gel the different POVs. The story had small things play a big part, almost like a secondary dialogue if you would. The sub story to bring out the different aspects to each character was good. The ending perhaps could've been a little longer, but it was a different way to do it, and it worked. 

Nabanita's strength we felt was her character sketching of Sandhya. The start was good, and her narration (except for some typos and punctuation) was also quite nice. I quite liked the story till the ending. I felt the five years later part could've been avoided. It could've been left to the reader's imagination. 

While deciding the winners, the others who came into consideration but just missed out were Diwakar and Rahul. 

Diwakar's was excellent. Well constructed, well narrated, and a nice ending scene as well. I agree with Radha when she says that the story had a good back-story and poetic overtones. It was something I felt while reading too. What I felt held him back was Sandhya's character. The illness is something perhaps that can't resurface when she sees the photo, but that is in essence what I wanted in the plot, the illness to resurface. Also, I think the headings to each part maybe could have been left out.

Rahul's narration and character sketching was flawless, and had a good back story too. It was what I felt when I read it as well. What held it back for me is that I couldn't feel that Sandhya and Deepak were in love with each other, and again the headings also sort of detracted from the feel of the read overall.

If Deepa's post was eligible to win, she'd have a vote, but it wasn't and on retrospect, a secondary character was made more prominent in the narration so that was one thing that detracted. Renu did a grand job on the interlinking of POVs and also bringing out good character sketches and the point in the plot that the two were deeply in love with each other. A little better narration would have possibly got her even a top three I feel. 

Thanks all, and congratulations to the winners.

The White Quilt

Author: Sharmila Kulkarni

Author Introduction -  I am a Mumbai based Prosthodontist .I am in love with words ..I read them, I play with them and sometimes I make humble attempts to sketch them on paper.Who ever writes them,in whichever language, they always make sense to me,they always manage to convey some meaning.What is life without the written word if not read ! I blog at My Mind

The Story:

Sandhya

They are mocking at me ,from the pages of the afternoon tabloid.The young faces of Deepak and his so called girlfriend. It has been almost a month that Deepak was away from home on a road trip ahead of elections.Suddenly my mouth goes dry,eyes straining against their sockets,I try hard to focus on the written words accompanying the story about Deepak... It is his love story splashed all over the papers today. Darkness engulfs me and I feel cornered. Words and letters begin swimming in front of my eyes,like giant black ants eager to meet ugly,grey ,hairy spiders...all very slowly  merging into one huge black spot in the centre .Concentration has left my mind....unnoticed. I should close my eyes and think , think very hard about my next action.It was after all anticipated and  just a matter of time.They tried their best to hide it from me but scandals like these can never be hidden ,at least not from the kind of people who were tirelessly working against me and Deepak. Sometimes I do pity Deepak ...

Deepak, my husband,the debonair young politician had recently forayed into the murky field of politics.Unlike other politicians, he carried a clean image and was projected as a promising future leader by his party. His image  in college was that of  a shy, handsome boy who had a mind of his own .He hardly spoke but when he did, one could not help but listen. His lean strong frame stood tall owing more to the way he carried himself and less to his being six foot high. He had  intense good looks with wheatish complexion and deep set eyes. He was one of those rare breed of handsome boys, who was not aware of his good looks.If he was ,he definitely did not show it and that made him more desirable to girls. We provided a perfect balance to our relationship, his quiet unassuming ways and my extrovert nature. Mere thought of  Deepak  always filled my heart with happiness. Then why was it different this time...I feel a certain kind of panic deep inside..a feeling that something unpleasant was coming my way.

 Deepak had told me about a surprise that he had planned for the our second wedding anniversary and that was all he was ready to reveal before he left for the road trip. The love lorn eyes,the pained look on his face, was it unreal...a figment of her imagination ? Well , it did not seem so ,not at that time.Incidentally,it was the first time,that they were apart from each other for so long. They had been inseparable, from the time of  being the best of friends in college, to  being married now for almost two years. 

Lost in my own private world, I  hear a pounding sound, but am unable to point  out the exact source.Is it my heart beating against my rib-cage ?The sound is incessant ,and gathering momentum now.I open my eyes and trace the sound to my bedroom door, someone is banging on the door! In my need to be left alone in my hour of gloom ,I choose to ignore.I can hear whispers urging me to open up.I know better.Sliding beneath the cover of the soft quilt,I lie in wait for the pounding to stop and it eventually does after a while. Quilts are the best things to have happened to me, particularly this white quilt .Dad got it for me when I was a  little girl and it never left my side since then.I can shut myself from the world whenever I feel the need, even from Deepak. It does not allow any one to enter my space ,light and sound included.It is my world, my secluded space..safe and comforting.This is like a hidden bunker for me ,deep inside the earth. I don't miss anyone,especially mother when I wrap myself in the tender ,warmth of this quilt. Mother!!

Almost as if on cue,the pounding on my door begins once more,softer this time and very familiar in rhythm. It is not possible for her to have come down here ,not now when there was no one around to fetch her from thousands of kilometres away .I hear a soft tender voice calling out to me.My heart leaps in my mouth as I try hard to focus.It is her ! I jump out of my bed in my hurry to meet her.She is my shield and I feel safe now...Suddenly everything around ,inside and out ,is  quiet.Time has come to a stand still. She will set everything right,I am sure .I open the door and fling my arms around her neck.We are clasped together  in a tight embrace for several minutes .I hear all familiar words of endearment and my restless heart and agitated mind are at peace with each other.I realize that her presence can not be a mere coincidence.Strong as she was in her resolve to protect me from all evil, she was ignorant about many worldly wise matters-travel being one of them.Then how did she manage to arrive all alone..who informed her that I needed her at this time?Could it be Deepak ?

I detach myself, from my mother's arms and I soon find my thoughts  drifting towards Deepak. Is it possible that he ,in his need to be with that younger girl,has meticulously planned his exit from my life? I shall not speak, I shall wait for my mother to explain her sudden appearance in my life.Almost for  two long years, I have been away from mother and my maternal  home .I also can not believe that in a few months from now we will be completing two years of married life ,Deepak and I .Two years of being away and the same time spent being married.....one felt like eternity and the other just flew by.

.

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 Deepak

The timing could not have been worse.It is  difficult to concentrate on the most important phase my career.The switch of career ,that seemed so natural and effortless a year back ,is slowly draining me out.I feel constantly being pulled in two opposite directions .Home and politics...choosing one over the other is out of question for me.I am missing Sandhya more than ever at this stage.She ,who has been my pillar of support  from the time we became best friends in college was herself in need of a support system now.I find myself thinking about her constantly while travelling.Good,  I had managed to  arrange for Sandhya's mother to be with her till I was free from elections.At least I am assured of her well being in my absence.The last conversation I had with my mother in law is still etched deep in my mind.

When I made that call to her,I narrated  briefly, my concern for Sandhya's health and my impending road trip ahead of upcoming elections.I voiced another concern of mine,a doubt actually,the seeds of which were sown by my sister in my mind.On my last trip with didi to my constituency, I sent in some donations to an asylum with didi. That is when didi chanced upon a psychiatrist who had treated Sandhya briefly before marriage.  Mother in law asked me whether I was  aware of my wife's condition. I said it looked like depression and that is when for a brief moment there was silence at the other end.Few moments later,in a deep ,emotion filled voice,she told me that her daughter had been under treatment for Schizophrenia since the age of  twenty.She thought I was aware...that Sandhya had confided in me.Well obviously I wasn't aware .I don't know what shocked me more...that I was kept in the dark about her condition or the fact that the revelation  made no difference to me at this stage.She feared that a relapse was under way when I narrated a few recent  instances where her behaviour had  seemed bizarre to me.

 I wanted Sandya's mother  to be with Sandhya because I feared for my wife's safety. Sandhya had left the house once in the dead of the night and the neighbours had escorted her back home at dawn.She could not explain her absence and was quiet afterwards for a couple of days before bouncing back to her normal self. Sandhya had lately been plagued with excessive jealousy when it came to me and our common friends especially women. She picked fights,became cranky,tearful and later withdrew in a shell for days on end.It was becoming increasingly difficult for me to have a normal conversation with anyone of the opposite gender.

Armed with half baked knowledge of the disease,I was not the best person to have dealt with her symptoms.I asked for Sandhya's medical history,groped in the dark for any evidence of her being on medication for all this time that she was with me.I drew a blank.I had to act swiftly,now that I was aware of the disease and its progression. Sandhya was prone to violence ,if the disease was allowed to progress untreated. I sought help from a renowned psychiatrist.I was informed by her mother that Sandhya would rapidly turn suspicious of everyone close to her .She would also refuse medication of any kind .Sandhya was aware deep down , of her condition but would be in a state of denial. Haloperidol liquid mixed in her food / beverages was the only option left. Determined,I latched on to it.I had to be extremely careful and discreet about the whole thing .If caught,I could face losing Sandhya's trust for ever. I had been able to manage pretty well , till it was time for me to leave.

It would be a few days before Sandhya's mom could arrive from Canada. I entrusted the responsibility of administering medication to didi who stayed a floor above till that time.I left with a heavy heart, my mind clouded with uncertainty.I remember the night I left home..Past few days Sandhya slept longer and  like a log, owing to the medication.She lay curled up in bed under her favourite quilt.With her small frame,it was almost as if she was not there inside.Her quilt was always tucked snugly around her and I knew better, than to disturb her in her sleep.From one raised corner of the quilt, an old photograph could be seen. I picked it up to see that it was her favourite candid shot of us ,clicked during one of our college trips.Young and beautiful Sandhya was laughing with abandon and I was looking at her face intently. I had held her for the first time that day. The desire and longing was writ large on my face and Sandhya often teased me about it.I put the photograph in my pocket and  slipped outside . I then sat in the living room waiting for my trusted driver to arrive .I thought of readying her milk in the mean time just in case she got up earlier than usual.

How I wished Sandhya was healthy enough to accompany me on this trip. She weaves magic with her words. My speeches written by her have always been successful in connecting with the masses.The best part was that she did it in minutes,it came straight from her heart .I depended heavily on her instincts and her ability to read people.I felt incomplete without her beside me.

It was  going to be a long winding road ahead ...

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  Sandhya

I knew this was coming. I had only one proof of his relationship with that young girl and he took it away stealthily in the night from under my pillow.

He betrayed me ..How could he forget my years of dedicated friendship and love..Few months of lack of physical intimacy, is all it took for him to bury our wonderful relationship deep into the oblivion.

It hurts, deep inside somewhere,it does...

They told me ,he was up to something.I was naive ,blinded by his love all this while.The girl in the photograph looks familiar,may be a junior in college.They said, Deepak was drawn towards that girl and I ignored.All this while I thought the voices were evil.I thought they conspired against us as a couple.Now I know,they are my friends. They said they were special, as special as I am. I believe them when they say that only I can hear them.I do.It is going to be our little secret from now on.

If it was not for the voices,I would not have walked into the kitchen where Deepak was mixing something in my milk. I witnessed it all myself . I was also able to dodge that other female  who Deepak had entrusted to cook for me.She wanted to give me Vitamins along with food.I quietly took them and later threw them away.

No,I am not even letting mother in, this time.I think she talks to Deepak behind my back.

Deepak came home tonight with a defeated look on his face. 

I smiled to myself and Deepak and mother reacted as if they had seen a ghost.

'I am going to be strong,I will not waste my life ..I will stay alive.. I will not run away..I will smile always...'-I repeated to myself again and yet again .Mother made me repeat after her  while she fed me, gave  calcium tablets along with milk and stroked my hair gently till I fell asleep.I longed for those moments..Times change,people do too.The pain however just wouldn't go away...

************************************************************************

 Deepak

I lost...

I was so preoccupied throughout the road trip and the subsequent elections ,that it showed .I was just not there in my whole being, and it showed.I was not spared.I deserved what I got.

I returned defeated to what once stood ground as my home.She looked at me like one would, at a stranger on the road. She curved her lips but smile eluded her pretty face.

I lost...

I was not there for her when she needed me the most .Her silent cries reached out to me across the skies but I just could not reach out to her in time.

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She had stopped living ,somewhere in between .Life was not the same without Deepak. He was no longer exclusive with his attention .He basked in the glory of mass popularity that he enjoyed as the youngest politician.Then there was this heavy guilt of hiding a slice of her life from his best friend and love.Her shoulders felt heavy and she felt  a sharp stab in her back that hurt .

By the time her mother arrived,Sandhya was hallucinating. She was stuck in the past when she and Deepak were just friends and it was okay to hide a secret or two from friends.She held that old photograph close to her heart.The carefree young girl in the photograph became someone else,one who vied for her husband's love and attention.Fear gripped her in a vice so tight that she felt suffocated.She disconnected ,cut her ties ,her bond with Deepak. She was strong..she would live.With this thought ,she smiled .

Deepak could not bear to see her like this. She had stopped all medication soon after their marriage.Disease crept up slowly  like cancer ,spreading its tentacles He was assured by experts in the field that the disease was not incurable.If Sandhya continued taking medicines lifelong ,she can lead a normal life. 

There was hope at the end of the tunnel and Deepak was ready to hang on to the last bit of hope.She was his life and he was going to claim his life back from life itself. 

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                                                                     A year later...

Deepak and Sandhya were part of a special delegation to East Europe .Sandhya was four months pregnant and  working as the official speech writer for the party.They worked together complimenting each other beautifully.Hallucinations were non existent , though jealousy crept up with its ugly face every now and then. Deepak was learning to live with it. Sandhya  alternated at times between periods of trust and mistrust but she now accepted her condition well and never missed a dose. 

Together ,they had gathered the loose ends ....

The white quilt at home, looked tired  and worn out... 

When the secrets are discovered..

Author: Diwakar Narayan

Author Introduction - A former teacher of English Grammar (though I have started forgetting the basics now) and a great admirer of English Language, I took on blogging to show my skills to the virtual world and nick-named myself as Infected Mind. However, having stepped in, I found that I deserved less than the place of a fish in the ocean. Since then, I have been trying to polish my skills to attain the position of a fish. I have no great job and high education to boast of. Philosophically, a God hater who wants to see how life could be, not believing in Him at all.

The Story:

Sandhya’s story:

Deepak, my husband, was the only soul mate I had in days of abandonment and solitude. In those days, he was not my husband; neither did I expect that I would be married off to him so soon. My dream was such that he would enter my room anytime, hold me up and throw me on the bed. The strong desire to have him squeeze and thrash me always whirled in my mind. Day and night, I wandered in my little nest; locked from outside and looked at his picture I was given. Marriage was a fantasy word to me then, and physical intimacy was needed by every inch of my body.

I remember a morning when my father came to me and said: “Sandhya, I have something to tell you. The priest has advised us to keep you away from this house if your future was to be amended. Your mother has cried the whole night at the very thought of sending you away from us, but we are left with no option but living in your absence for one year.”

On hearing the words of my father, I had created havoc in the house, which I faintly recollect now; and that very evening, I was sent to an old bungalow which was very far from my home so I could spend one year of my life…

...alone!

On the way to my new abode, my father had explained to me that my leaving home was because of some bad forecast that the priest had made about me while inspecting my Janm-Kundli[1]. The only way to bring fortune to my future was to send me away so that the kul-devta[2] could be made happy and his blessings could be obtained.

I had finally given up to the wishes of my father and agreed to be a victim of the great teachings of Hinduism.

When the auspicious day of the completion of the fateful year shone to light, from the bungalow I was taken straight to a wedding hall. I was asked to be silent till vermilion was applied on the blank space parting my hair and I touched the feet of our kul-devta to seek his blessings.

Since the moment I was out of the cage, I had wanted to talk badly. In the lap of my mother, I had wanted to hide my face and cry. But before I could speak a word, my lips was sealed as my father signaled me to remain quiet and made me nod to a promise that I should not open my mouth till he allowed to. The reason of such a demand, he was to explain later.

Immediately after taking the blessings from the kul-devta, I was taken to a palanquin which took me further to my husband’s home. A long journey it was, on the shoulders of four men who carried the palanquin on foot and by the time, I reached my in-laws’, it was already dusk.

Though allowed now, I had not a single chance to speak to anyone while the formalities of receiving a bride were done at my new home. Before long, I found myself inside a heavily decorated room and was advised to keep sitting on the bed with the front of my sari covering my face till my husband arrived. The wait was finally over when I heard the footsteps of someone entering the room and soon I could feel two manly hands taking me in their grip; and then he whispered in my ears, “Sandhya!”

I still sat with my face covered, as advised. When he took the sari off my head to see my face, I instantly recognized him. He was the same person whom I fantasized about while in bed in days of my one-year prison. Before I could say a word, he put his finger on my lips and said, “No! There is no time for us to waste in talking. Just look into my eyes and allow me to praise Almighty for having blessed me with such a beautiful wife”. In no time, I fell in his arms, feeling him all over my body.

At some time that night, I got to know that his name was Deepak. Deepak Sharma.

All the desires I had of the man were fulfilled and I was a content wife within months. As days passed, I started forgetting the nightmares I had of the time I spent alone.

Two years passed quickly. Our second anniversary was due. Deepak had been a wonderful husband since he had first made me his woman. A splendid house, plenty of riches lying in the drawer, a dozen servants to always be on their toes doing the household work and calling me malkin[3] every time they addressed me… what else does a woman need? During the day, I was pampered by all the family members and at night by Deepak.

While the preparations were carried out for our second anniversary, I had an idea to surprise him.

**********

Deepak’s story:

Sometimes, I try to think from the point of view of a common man of the country. What does he think about the political system that we have been slaves of for decades? Does he confide in any political figure or does he abuse them behind their back? In the situation that we are currently in, who are we to blame – the system, the politicians or ourselves? If there is a slightest chance that the system can be improved, someone has to take charge and I have chosen myself for it.

The other day when I visited Ranjit Babu for funds, he refused: “See, Deepak, many who are fighting the elections have approached me for funds, but I have decided to stay out of it this year. The number of wannabe ministers has increased by leaps and bounds this year; and if I am to provide funds to all of them, I will be on roads in no time.”

I knew it was useless to reason with him. So, I came back. Running a campaign is always frowned upon with a view that that the candidates must be spending their black money on it and tricking the voters by providing them aids. But no one can imagine how difficult it is to run a clean campaign with no funds. Had people turned so deaf that they could not hear what I promised to them?

Though, with not much funds, I was happy to see the large number of attendance people registered in my rallies. When I had visited the slums of my constituency, it was so utterly painful to see a young lady crying and narrating what had happened to her one year old child. The canal running in middle of the slums had gulped her baby and before he was discovered, he was already dead.

There are things which need amendments and they are in high numbers. People have been accustomed to getting blank promises and never seeing them fulfilled. But I am sure they would listen to me this time and give me a fair chance to server them for the next five years.

In my personal life, there was something special due. It was my second anniversary. She looked like an angel when I first saw her dressed as a bride, and again I wanted to bring those moments back. A week ago, I had visited a jewelry shop and ordered an expensive necklace for her.

“Are you getting married, sir?” the jeweler had asked when I chose one from the brides’ collection.

I had smiled and answered him: “No, it’s my wedding anniversary.” It seemed that it was hard to believe for him that someone could gift so expensive a necklace on an anniversary. Men are supposed to stop loving their partners after they get married.

I was different.

**********

Sandhya’s story:

On our first marriage anniversary, Deepak had taken me out to some foreign land. With mountains and forest spread all over, it was a romantic and memorable day. The trip came as a surprise, for three days before the due date; he came to me and said: “Let’s pack our bags, we are going out”.

“Now? Where?” I had asked with a sense of astonishment.

He did not answer and stood there for a while and then asked, “Can’t women do a thing without reasoning?” Smiling, he left the room.

Now, it was my turn to surprise him. I prayed to God that he had not already planned something. A couple of days later, I learnt that there were plans for him and some of his subordinates to visit a place and stay there for some days. When I had asked him about it, he answered so: “The country needs me so eagerly that I must overlook my personal needs and wants and spend more time in her service. Yes, I will not be home for a few days.”

Men are pretty irresponsible when it comes to the important days of their lives. Historians know when the world war began and ended, when Hitler was born and killed, but they have little time to remember when they got married and when their child was born. Sensing the same trait in my husband, I asked him: “So, are you not available on our second anniversary?”

“Oh Sandhya! How can I not be? I am there for you whenever need arises.” Such was his reply.

Another thing I dislike among men is their tendency to change the course of thoughts in seconds. Today, they advocate one thing and tomorrow they seem to support something quite opposite the first thing. When you ask them, you are sure to expect the typical answer. “Please not mix these two things dear, my love to the nation and you are incomparable.” Deepak tried to justify when I had counter-questioned him on his changed response from the first time.

Post his departure, I called for the florist and ordered plenty of roses of each color he dealt in, to be delivered in the evening of the anniversary. The plan was to decorate the room exactly as it was on the weeding night and to cover the bed with roses. Deepak was returning late in the evening, so I had enough time for the preparation. The formal cleaning of my bedroom was done by the servants of the house and I had to give it a final touch.

A day before, I started searching for the raata[4] I had worn on the marriage day. When Deepak had undressed me, he had said: “This raata is the first piece of cloth that I have seen on your body. As I take this off you, I wish to keep it with me from now onwards. It has the sweet smell of you that draws me near you. In days where you will not be with me…” I had put my finger on his lips as it was hard for me to listen to what he intended to say, but I could sense what he meant.

I knew the raata was somewhere in his briefcase. He had many of them and it was to take a lot of time to open each of them and search for it, but it was worth it. After half of the total number of briefcases was searched into, I finally got the raata. I was overjoyed and kept looking at it till all the past memories had flashed into my mind.

There came a wide smile on my face and now it was time to keep it aside and put the briefcase back in its place. The moment I took the raata off, I noticed a picture of Deepak with a girl, unknown to me, which had been lying beneath it for not sure how long. My hands started trembling and I could feel some sort of choking around my neck. I stood up violently and threw myself in bed. I was unable to think what to do next. For some time, I lay on the bed senseless and when I regained my senses, I went back to see the picture again.

When I took the picture in my hands, the first thought that came to my mind was to rend it in pieces. Deepak must have had a secret affair with this lady, for the posture was objectionable. But was he capable of doing so, provided he had such a beautiful wife at home and was a man of morals? Was there a chance that he engaged himself with the girl before our marriage took place? Or, was there a chance that someone was blackmailing him? Such were my thoughts that time and many a storm broke in my mind and subsided in that short span of time when I sat there looking at the picture.

I fixed my eyes on the picture for one more time. Something hit my mind all of a sudden. I sensed to have seen the picture somewhere. Maybe the pose, not the girl, for I was sure that the girl was unknown to me. But somehow, the picture was familiar. I stood up and sank in a chair nearby, with the picture held close to my heart. The ceiling drew nearer and nearer and soon, darkness overtook me.

**********

Deepak’s story:

Staying out of my home town was always difficult for me. However, for the campaign I ran, it was necessary to visit the remote localities and address the people there. They are least aware of what is happening in the country and it becomes the responsibility of us politicians to let them know what they are deprived of, how they are tricked into casting their votes in favor of corrupt people. Since the party workers had already arranged for a few rallies in different villages, I agreed to stay there to avoid the trouble of travelling too much.

During one of the rallies, the police had taken into custody a middle-aged woman who was behaving strangely, running here and there among the people who sat to listen to me. She screamed and abused somebody, which I was unaware of, and it was troublesome for the policemen to arrest her as there were no lady constables on duty there.

Upon the completion of our campaign in those areas, I enquired about the lady in a casual chat with the locals. “All her family members were killed by Maoists one night. She survived because she had gone to her parents’ home for some days when this happened. Maalik[5], when she went to the police station to lodge a complaint, she was refused an FIR. Since then, she roams around the village all the time and we try to stay away from her.”

“Why do you stay away from her?”

“If you try to talk to her or console her, she starts abusing and after some time faints. A few months ago, she sat in the temple and did not speak a word for many days.”

I got worried for the lady. At the same time, I was angry at the inspector-in-charge of that area. Since I had no power to use then, I simply called the police station and asked: “Where was the lady taken to after you guys arrested her from my rally?”

“We’ve admitted her to the city hospital, Deepak Babu. The doctor later informed me that they have shifted her to some other hospital and she will be sent home after her treatment was complete.”

I heaved a sigh of relief but could not resist from visiting the lady on my way back home. After further inquiry, it turned out that the lady was shifted to a mental hospital. I left the village in the morning for the city and it was afternoon when I reached the hospital. The doctor was already made aware of my visit and he was there expectant to meet me.

“How is she, doctor?” This was the first question I asked when I met him. The meeting lasted for about half an hour and when I stood up from my chair to leave, the doctor gave me his final assurance, “Don’t worry about her, Deepak Babu. When we can treat a patient like Sandhya Singh and bring her to normality, this is no critical case.”

“Sandhya Singh”?

“Yes, she was under treatment of Dr. Renu Verma and was a very vulnerable case. But now, I have learnt that she has been married for some time and doing pretty fine.”

No words of affirmation came out of my mouth. Having come out of the hospital, I called Dr. Renu Verma and requested her to meet me urgently.

She was my aunt-in-law.

**********

The moment Renu got a call from Deepak; she drove to his house, not far from hers. She was a medical practitioner in the same town Sandhya and Deepak lived.

When she reached his house, he was already in the guest room, waiting for her. Seeing her, he stood up from the sofa and touched her feet. “Remain happy”, she blessed him.

For a couple of minutes, neither of them spoke. He then asked the doctor: “why have you done this to me, aunt? You knew that Sandhya was a patient at the mental hospital and underwent your treatment. In spite of all this, you chose ME to marry her?”

The question was expected, and she knew what to answer. Deepak was aware of half the truth and he must be told the complete story before he could stop feeling angry.

“Look, Deepak, the truth is that your mother and I were mates during our college days. We have decided among ourselves that if after our marriage one had a son and the other a daughter, we would marry them to each other.”

Deepak kept listening with rapt attention.

“Since I had no child after my marriage and you are the only son of your parents, I decided to marry my niece to you. Your mother agreed to it and your father too had no objections. However, when Sandhya turned sixteen, we sometimes noticed her behaving strangely. From the terrace, she used to look at the men on the road or remain locked in her room for hours.”

No question was raised by Deepak. He looked thoughtful.

“After some medical examinations, she was diagnosed of hysteria, a disease in which woman suffer from excessive want of sex. This is normally found in those who are married and remain away from their husbands for a long time. But for a girl, it is quite uncommon.”

“As she neared the age of marriage, we got more and more worried. During my tour to the USA, I had consulted a reputed psychologist and he had advised me to marry her as soon as she was of legitimate age of getting married. But since she was getting out of control, we had to keep her alone for one year and under intense treatment before she was married to you.”

“A patient remains in the state of hysteria only till the time her wants are not fulfilled. Now that she has been married to you for two years and has shown a normal behavior towards everyone, I strongly believe that she is fine now and will not behave in any way objectionable to you. Being a doctor, I can assure you of it.”

Deepak did not seem convinced yet, maybe because it was related to his personal life. If it was not for his own wife, he would have easily understood the situation. He could neither blame Sandhya for it nor himself. He needed time to overcome this and decided to not let Sandhya of what he was going through. Sitting there in a silent state, he decided: “I must show more love for her. I cannot lose her… ever!”

Before leaving, Renu wanted to meet her friend, Deepak’s mother, and her niece Sandhya. After a casual chat between the two friends of college time, Sandhya was sent for.

When Sandhya came to meet her aunt, she broke into tears. Then she said: “My life has been robbed of happiness, aunty. Deepak is no longer mine. He’s gone into someone else and I want to bring him back.”

Renu could not understand why Sandhya spoke so. On further probing, Sandhya told her about her finding the photograph of Deepak with another girl. Renu understood everything.

“Look, my daughter! Deepak is not to blame. Before your marriage, we had tricked him into getting such a picture clicked with one of his friends. We had teased him that he had no ability to court a girl of his age, and then he had brought that picture to us.”

“But when I saw the picture, it came to my mind that I had seen that picture somewhere, or maybe the posture of it. Why is that, aunt?” Sandhya asked.

“Yes, since your marriage with Deepak was already fixed, we had got the picture edited and put your face on it. We wanted to give you a feeling of how your married life was going to be, as the priest had advised us”.

Sandhya remained silent. She now understood that her husband was taintless. Before she left for her bedroom, she decided to not let Deepak of what she was going through: “I must show more love for him. I cannot lose him… ever!”

At night, Sandhya wore the raata and waited for Deepak. Roses were scattered on the bed and the room was filled with the sweet fragrance of them. When Deepak arrived, he got on to the bed and whispered in her ears: “Sandhya…”

She put her finger on his lips and said: “No! There is no time for us to waste in talking. Just look into my eyes and allow me to praise Almighty for having blessed me with such a beautiful husband”.

In no time, they were in each other’s arms, and their bodies felt each other.

**********

1. Janm-Kundli – It is a book of a few pages which have pictures of our solar system and other religious signs to indicate the position of all the stars at the time of birth of a child. On basis of this, the priests tell the future of the person to whom Janm-Kundli belongs.
2. Kul-Devta – It is a term given to a god. It is believed that every family has a god of their own caste/creed and the family must keep the god happy for the sake of its happiness.
3. Malkin – It is a word of respect and is used to address the lady-in-charge of a family.
4. Raata – This term is used for the sari that a woman wears at her wedding night in some cultures. This sari is blood-red in color and after the marriage only used on some specific festivals of Hinduism, like karva-chaoth, etc.
5. Maalik – It is a word of respect and is used to address the man-in-charge of a family.

Bullets and Bad News

Author: Siddesh Kabe. When my idea to become a Mad Scientist, did not quite work out as expected, I decided to turn my attention to second best option... writing humor. I usually get 10-15 ideas for stories every day and I enjoy almost all of them. I usually write about Fantasy, Mythology and Sci-Fiction. I blog at -http://sidoscope.co.in
The Story:


Shameless, toothless and spineless. That sums most of the people I work with, yep it does. I could as well skinny dip naked in a pool of piranhas, that would be easier than what I do now. I am a politician, I can see you cringe on hearing that. Think about it, even a janitor is respected when he tells what job he does, but not me. Tell people you are a politician and they will tell you how you personally ruined their life and their entire families.

How do you expect a person to do a clean job when he is surrounded 24x7 by a bunch of tics who are keen on sucking your blood and your soul. Walking down into the constituency and begging for votes, even that does not make one feel any better. Even a beggar is proud of his job, not me.

So, bottom line, I am a politician. Yep, I am. That means I carry home the murk of entire city, a personal secretary and an ‘advisor,’ whose job is to tell me how to eat and talk, to my lovely wife, Sandhya.

I am not saying that I am perfect, I made my mistakes in my life but the one mistake I did not make was marry Sandhya. Sandhya, loving, silent and a caring wife. She did not mind me bringing home two people with me every night for dinner. She did not my mind my life splashed in the headlines every morning or discussing work at breakfast. You have joined me in a very boring visit to the local community center. In the next few minutes people are going to shower me with requests of what they need. In a country of 1.5 billion people, everyone wishes their problems are solved. Don’t get me wrong, I do want to help these people, I sincerely do. But people really do not know what they want. You ask them to join schools and they will refuse. Seventy people today have offered ‘donation’ for my campaign if I help their ‘community’. How does one run a clean campaign with such attitude?

“Last visit for the day,” the secretary said, “Vishveshwara facility for the mentally challenged. You promised to visit them during the inauguration of their new speciality ward. The director of the facility is Mr...”

He goes on explaining me things I am supposed to know. “Do I have to?” I asked when he is done. Thats honest.

“Absolutely, we need to project you as a candidate who cares about even those who are mentally challenged and cannot vote. Their relatives definitely do vote,” the advisor replied.
And I am supposed to be the one who will take decisions for the people.  
“The facility was built in the year of...” almost robotically my secretary begins his narration. I am working with a bunch of morons. But I guess duty calls. You cannot continue helping people and improving their lives unless you show it on camera that you are helping them.

Its all a prejudged drill, you get out, you fold hands in humbleness. You smile for the camera and for everything that moves. You say good things, you promise you will help them. You listen to their problems and you move on.
I follow the drill, I walk out of the car followed by my toothless secretary, my spineless advisor into the Mental Asylum. Some serious looking people are busy following the code and conduct of the organizers all over the world. The founder of Vishweshwara Facility is holding a large enough bouquet to welcome me. My secretary is talking down the notes of this meeting and whispering the names in my ears as we move on.
He founder shows me their facility that can house 120 patients. He talks in detail about the new ward they are opening in the coming month. He talks about the rise in suicide cases and how people need councillors. He moves over to show the wall of happiness as they call, a wall decorated with their inpatient and success stories. The wall is filled with faces of people that were once admitted in the facility but their treatment is over. The people are back on their feet. There are few who go into withdrawal but the rate is very very less.

There are happy faces, sad faces, confusing faces and familiar faces... wait... familiar faces. I definitely recognize the face. It is younger than today and a little different.
“That is Sandhya,” the founder of the institute explains, “She was one of our first success story. But once discharged her father took her away from the community, we still wonder what has happened to her.”

I know damn well what has happened to her. Her father abruptly married her off to a rich and wannabe chief minister candidate... me. When we met her, I liked her instantly, they told her she had done her college from this community but never mentioned she was admitted. I look at my advisor and he glances back. From his face I know he is thinking the same thing.

This is blatant cheating. I do not mind my wife to be a former mental hospital inmate but they should have come clean during our marriage. If I dump her so close to elections it will be splattered all across the news. If I cannot dump her, I can make her life hell. Yes, I will. Today, whatever my advisor, she will feel my wraight. How dare she and her father hoodwink me? Tomorrow morning, first thing he is going to get a very serious call from me. I storm out of the room without saying a word.

The displeasure has not got unnoticed to my advisor and he pops up behind me trying to calm me down, “Let it go for now,” he advises, “We are very close to elections. We cannot take any harsh steps.”
It is his job, I know, to make sure I win but I cannot.... I cannot mend a city when my own house is in a mess. I simply cannot. I cannot... there was a gun at my place wasn’t it? Yes my fathers old rifle. How easily can I hide a dead body? My wife, a resident at a mental asylum?

His ego was always bigger than himself. When I first saw him, we had just moved from my hometown to this big city. My experiences in my hometown where not so worthy until I met him. I glanced at him from across the room, a close family friend whose father was into politics. He was a nice guy at least better that those parade of computer engineers we visited over the weekend. He spoke genuinely about politics and changing the city. I loved him in an heartbeat.

Our marriage was not perfect, how can it be when his spineless colleagues come to dinner table every night? When every little news in the newspaper scares him? No its not as we say perfect but its not bad either.

I have a comfortable and decent life. Few servants at my Beck and call. O have a walking closet full of latest designer wear. And the famous ruk ruk khan comes to dinner very often. So it's good.

He is a reserved person, keeps to himself. Won't burden me with his politics. He is a good guy. After so many days today I have decided to surprise him. He has a old box that is kept in our store room. It contains his old memories, his days as a party volunteer. I decided to surprise him by planning a big collage of his life. His journey into politics. It will be printed on a big canvas to be hung in our sitting room.

The dusty box has many things, some things buried in the past. Some things kept from the future. Some nasty things, some naked... Wait... Is that a naked picture of him? That's so romantic. There are more, there are... Who is that woman? I don't recollect meeting her. He had physical... Everyone has a past, I can understand but why did he hide it? The gun on the wall is calling me, I need answers. Why hide? Am I overreacting? Yes I am. And pulling that gun down from the wall is also uncalled for. But I will be doing it. How dare he do this to me?
Why the secrecy?

"Why did you hide your past from me?" They both spoke almost at the same time. He had planned on a dramatic entrance by storming in the house only to find her standing with a gun pointed at him.

"My past?" They both spoke at the same time again.

"I had a visit to Vishwakarma mental institute," he spoke.

" Sir today you have just found out that the gun welding wife of yours has a history of mental illness.. Do you really need a good advice now?" The advisor whispered in his boss ears.

She threw the picture of the floor. He glanced at it for a moment. "you both leave," he told his staff, "me and my wife need a moment in silence."

She considered, he was not acting strange, not trying to run away. This was one quality she liked about him.

"I have something to tell you," he said.
"I am holding a gun," she reminded, "talk wisely."

He smiled.

"We don't have bullets in that gun. I purchased few today." He removed two bullets from his pocket.
She glanced at the bullets and asked, "You visited Vishwakarma institute?"

"Yes and I am really proud of you. You have recovered well."

"I owe you an explanation and so do you," she pointed the gun to the picture on the floor.
"Guess we both do," he said, "let's do it tonight, over a private dinner. Just the two of us?"
"We need to do that," she said lowering her gun.
He hugged her. As the body warmed together, he knew everyone has a past, its a matter of second chances. She knew if he gave her a second chance, she will give him to.

Bullets and bad news had entered the house at the same time. As they sat next to each other to talk, they knew, only one thing was needed now. Which one would be used by whom was to be seen.

A Little Too Late

Author: Rahul Biswas

Fledgling author. Pretends he can write. Assumes he regales fans and followers at http://randomrahul.blogspot.in. Still trying to learn the ropes. Eagerness is his only ammunition.

The Story:

Deepak

"Your wife is in her room, Mr. Shastri. She has not been doing well. Keep that in mind and..." The attendant left the sentence unfinished, shot a sympathetic glance at me, and then preceded me in.

"Mrs. Shastri," the nurse said gently, "your husband is here to visit you."

There was no acknowledgment, neither the slightest motion nor the softest syllable, from the figure in the room.

It had been three weeks since I had seen Sandhya and, though I had been expecting some deterioration, her present appearance made a frigid wave run down my back.

She sat huddled on the cot. She had angled her body sideways, facing away from the door. Her shoulders were hunched down, her head lowered; arms entwined in front, the nails on each hand digging into the opposite shoulder. Her body, too, was curled upon itself and her legs drawn up with knees glued together. She was absolutely still.

I went to her and put a hand gently on one shoulder. "Hullo, Sandhya. It's me I. I've been missing you."

She said, low voiced, her face a blank slate, "Yes." She did not move.

I increased the grip on the shoulder. "Can you please turn around to look at me? I have so much to tell you."

The only response was a perceptible stiffness, a tightening of the position in which Sandhya was huddled.

I swallowed hard. Her voice used to be rich and soft, yet strangely compelling, as were her eyes. Fathomless amber. Eyes that seemed able to look into me and through me at the same time. Five years ago they had cut through all pretence and put the cuffs on me in the space of a breath. They were just as striking now. Maybe even more.

"Has she been like this long?" I asked the nurse quietly.

"This whole week." The girl added with a business-like tone, "She feels more comfortable that way, so it's best if you take no notice, just sit down and talk."

I nodded. As I went to the single chair and settled myself, the nurse tiptoed out, closing the door gently.

“So Sandhya, how’ve you been feeling?” I forced a smile and asked.

Sandhya

Voices fleet into my ears. Like wisps of smoke. I think about touching them. But that dull pain in my head starts pounding again. Any effort at focussing, and immediately, there is the pain to admonish me. I let the voices fade away.

I see the man’s lips moving. It’s too distracting. Nothing he says matters, even though we shared something from the past. Unimportant today, probably. But like a stubborn stain, it clings on.

I feel a sound escape involuntarily from my own lips. It sounded like a ‘Yes’. What did I say yes to? I try to remember.

A touch on my shoulder. Slowly pressing deeper.

A question. Followed by another.

The details are too disjointed. A hazy mess. I tune them out.

He comes here now and then. I wish he would stop doing that. His face pops in and out of my memories. I wish that would stop too.

I remember the way he used to look at me. Especially on our reception night. I was draped in in a long, pale green chiffon sari; tiny sequins glittered on the fabric with reflected light. The way his eyes hung on to my body made a slow pallor spread beneath my warmly glowing skin.

But, life's fragile. Good times are brief. Endings are inevitable.

I used to be shy. Chronically. So shy that sometimes in a group I clung tightly to his arm. I remember him whispering. Into my ears. That he loved me because of my shyness. That he was proud of my reliance on him. Only long after, when I continued to be myself, his impatience surfaced. Anger followed.

His accusing eyes haunt me even now. His irate screams still ring in my ears sometimes.

So much for love!

Deepak

“You’re an embarrassment!” I had yelled at her out of sheer disgust. Three years ago.

“No! You’re just blind!!” She had replied between sobs.

“What the....” My voice could barely contain its annoyance.

Truth was- I had been blind. She hailed from a world poles apart from my own. I was the scion of an influential political family. She was the only child of withdrawn folks from a solitary suburban background.

“Your life...your friends...all this...I never asked for any of it.” Her sobs were uncontrollable now. “I hate all that. And no one knows it better than you!”

My active social and domestic life wasn’t something she had bargained for. It was all new and bewildering to Sandhya, at times alarming. Before Sandhya met me, she had had no responsibilities, her social experience was nil. Marriage increased her natural nervousness.

“That’s right!” I spat out my loathing. “Blame me! You’re awfully good at that, aren’t you??!”

With hindsight, I blamed myself. I could, I afterwards believed, have helped Sandhya so easily, could have given advice, eased tensions, offered reassurance. But when it mattered most I never had. I had been too thoughtless, busy, and ambitious.

Instead, I allowed her self-doubts and tensions to grow until...it was just too late.

Sandhya

A picture. It spoke a hundred words of betrayal. His lips. On someone else’s. I couldn’t recognise the woman in the photo. But the photo seemed recent. It slipped out of his appointment book when I was tidying his desk.

Deepak with another woman! I could feel my chest tighten.

Had I failed him so badly that...

That night, I remember myself wearing a revealing negligee. One of his favourites. When he walked into our room, I stood up a little straighter, arching my back, throwing out my chest, already anticipating the warm wetness of his mouth, the feel of his hands on my body. He was taken aback. But just for a moment. He didn't  waste  time,  pushing  me  back  hard against the wall and  kissing  me. 

His hand dipped under my negligee and I moaned against his lips as  he  caressed  my  inner  thigh,  stroking  me  as the bristles stood straight on my nape.  I slid my hands up and down  his  back,  feeling the tightness  of  his  muscles  under  his clothes. 

He  kissed  down  the  side  of  my neck,  hot,  wet  kisses, nibbling my skin, licking me like a mama kitty would clean one of her kittens, his stick  pressed  against  my leg like a hard-on.  My negligee gave him plenty of  bare  skin  to  kiss  and  he  did,  dipping  his  tongue between my breasts, his  murmur  of  approval  ensuring  I will  be  wearing  the  negligee  for  him  again  next day.   My nipples were hard points inside my blouse and he captured one between his lips, sucking it through my shirt.  I moaned softly.

My eyes fell on our reflection cast in the full size mirror in our bedroom. He was on me like an animal, but the face in the mirror wasn’t mine.

It belonged to the woman from the photo.

I sat up from my dream with a jerk. My throat felt parched. My head swam.

Only a couple of months left for our second anniversary. But the distances never felt any greater.

Something snapped inside me. And things were never the same.

Deepak

“So yesterday I went to see Jab Tak Hai Jaan, Sandhya, and it made me sorry we weren't seeing it together," I said to her, hoping desperately for some reaction. Sandhya used to be an ardent fan of Shah Rukh.

"Yes," Sandhya said tonelessly.

She had still not stirred from the huddled position, but evidently was listening, so I continued talking.

"I've been busy at the assembly lately, Sandhya."

Two months before our second anniversary, I was toiling away doggedly to win the polls from my constituency. I wanted to keep things clean. I made promises I really intended to keep. But that was when she started changing.

While Sandhya accepted my absences without objection, she also grew increasingly silent and unsociable. She buried herself in books. Often she looked indefinitely at the walls, as if wanting to bore through them with her gaze. Sometimes, she jolted herself out of her reticence without apparent reason and became animated, rambling incessantly and sometimes incoherently. Those fits and starts of boundless energy always took me by surprise. But then, equally abruptly, the energy would disappear, leaving her despondent and reticent once more. And all the while our love wore thin.

It was during that time, on one of my campaigns, that I found out that Sandhya used to be a patient at the mental home in a locality of my constituency. It was then the truth of her malady become clear. For a while, anguish and concern revived my love. But, by then, things had worsened too much. Far too much.

Perhaps I never did have a chance at saving her. Perhaps no greater love would have helped. But I would never know.

I could never know if I had done my best.

Sandhya

"The people at the assembly are all about power and influence. Using it. Abusing it. Little is being said or done about the public. A sad thing happened yesterday, though. Patelji, our party president, told us he was dying. I called a meeting and…"

He went on. But I had begun to tremble. I could feel my body rocking back and forth. A wail, a half moan, escaped me.

The party! He had committed himself totally to it. Drowning me in neglect. Widening the gulf between us. But there was something more.

Patelji. Deepak’s mentor. He would die soon.

How many years before I died?

Many, perhaps.

I could easily outlive Deepak, could live on like this.

Deepak

Like an animal!

She looked like a beast!

My pity evaporated. Fury shrouded my senses; the angry impatience which had maimed our marriage. "For god's sake, Sandhya, control yourself!"

Her trembling and the moans continued.

I hated her! She wasn't human any more, yet she remained the barrier between me and a full life.

Between me and Monica. My college heart-throb. Daughter of a media baron and my family’s first choice as my fiancée. But Sandhya happened and I got enchanted by her fragile vulnerability. But Monica didn’t give up. Even after my marriage, she tenaciously kept in touch with me. One thing led to another, my dissatisfaction with my wife grew, and very soon, I found myself seeking Monica’s company more and more.

However, with the full-blown public life I led, I couldn’t afford the risk of an extra-marital affair. So I kept a distance, just having a photo of her and myself in my appointment book as a reminder of happier times.

Getting up, I savagely strode to the door to leave.

And then I looked back. At my wife whom once I had loved; at what she had become; at the gulf between us we would never bridge. I paused, and wept.

Wept with compunction, remorse, lament, my momentary anger spent, the hatred washed away.

I returned to the cot and, on my knees before her, begged, "Sandhya, forgive me! Oh, God, forgive me."

I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder, heard the young nurse's voice. "Mr. Shastri, I think you should go now."

I left the room reluctantly and followed the nurse to the doctor’s room.

“Mr. Shastri, I should report to you first that your wife's schizophrenia is worsening,” the doctor announced gravely. “Catatonic type. I’m sure you remember."

"I remember all the discouraging diagnoses, yes," I replied with thinly veiled dejection.

"I wish there was something we could do." The doctor was sympathetic.

“How bad is she right now, exactly?”

"Incurable, I’m afraid.''

"There’s no hope?" I wailed.

“Maybe you should read this, Mr.Shastri.” The doctor brought out a neatly folded paper from his drawer and handed it to Deepak. “It’s by your wife. She wrote it a week back.”

Drawing a sharp breath in was all I could do to keep myself from snatching the letter out of the doctor’s hands. I unfolded the paper with eager hands and read the contents.

“Thanks for bringing me here, Deepak. It feels nice. Like home. Secure. No responsibilities. No need to relate to others. Happiness is relative, for all of us. This feels closest to being happy for me.”

I wasn’t done with the letter before I got interrupted by the doctor’s words.

“She is comfortable here, Mr.Shastri. I hope that’ll make you feel a little better."

I nodded briefly, almost in a trance, and continued reading the note.

“Deepak, I don’t want to be in your way anymore. I know you like someone else. Don’t let me come in between. I don’t know how long I have to live. But it would be too cruel to make you suffer because of my life. So don’t waste your time on stupid things like hope. Or guilt. Life’s too short. Time’s brief. Endings are inevitable. I don’t have anything against you. And you shouldn’t have anything against yourself. I’m at peace. So should you. Good bye!”

A silent tear rolled down my cheek. I looked out of the window of the doctor’s room at the lawn outside. The clinic was a modern building and had luxuriant gardens which were in stark contrast to the bleakness the inmates otherwise experienced. It was a private clinic. It was also horrendously expensive but I wanted Sandhya to have the best of care. It was the very least that I could do.

But it still wasn’t enough. Far from it.

“Can I just see her once more?” I asked.

“Sure!”

***

When Deepak entered her room, Sandhya was still sitting huddled in the same way. Deepak went to her cot and was on his knees again.

“Sandhya, I’m never going to give up on you,” he promised. “I’ll never let my own issues come between us again. I’m going to see you through this. You’re going to be ok. Just talk to me. Say something. Please. I beg you.”

It began with a twitch. The corners of her lips jerked almost imperceptibly. Slowly, the lips melted into a curve and then parted abruptly. Her mouth now gaping open, she started laughing uncontrollably.

Periods of impenetrable silence punctuated by sudden bursts of energy!

“Wh-what is so funny?” He asked taken aback.

“He he. Nothing.” A mischievous gleam twinkled in her eye.

“No. Tell me.” He insisted.

“I-I just remembered a joke.” Her laughter reduced and trickled into a chuckle now.

“What?” He asked incredulously.

She began to speak haltingly. “See, there was this couple in a lunatic asylum... and one night, one night they decide they don't like living in an asylum any more. They decide they're going to escape!”

She paused, appearing to wonder whether she should go on.

“And?” Deepak urged.

“So, like, they get up onto the roof,” she continued after a moment’s thought, “and there, just across this narrow gap, they see the rooftops of the town, stretching away in the moon light... stretching away to freedom.”

Sandhya stopped again and briefly stole a glance at the door through which Deepak had come in. She then looked away, locked her blank gaze on her curled toes and went on.

“Now, the man, he jumps right across with no problem. But the woman, the woman didn't dare make the leap. You see... Deepak, she was afraid of falling. So then, the man has an idea... He says 'Hey! I have my flashlight with me! I'll shine it across the gap between the buildings. You can walk along the beam and join me!'”

She smiled and looked at Deepak in a weird way. He was just too stunned to reply.

“B-but the woman just shakes her head,” she spoke again. “She says... she says ‘What do you think I am? Crazy? You'd turn it off when I was half way across!’”

Sandhya started sniggering. And at the same time, Deepak’s eyes welled up with tears.

Seeing his teary eyes, something stabbed Sandhya’s heart and even before realizing it, she remarked, “A little too late for that, I’m afraid.”