The Cry of a Woman

"I am afraid. You will have to admit him in the hospital". "It's a case of regular jaundice that occurs among age group 7-10 years, but your son needs a specific medical attention".

I don't remember the reaction of my parents when the doctor mentioned the word hospital. I was perplexed because I found myself to be extremely healthy and was unable to understand the reason for my admission. Despite that, I was excited about the idea of moving away from school and getting admitted into the hospital. Blame it on the age here!

The next day afternoon I found myself in Military hospital of Ramgarh Cantonment. Along with my parents and neighbor aunt, I walked through those old corridors. I noticed a garden with 2 little swings positioned and the thought of swinging excited me. Barring a few people movement here and there, the entire hospital was quiet and that moment again made me question the reason for my admission.

We soon reached a ward room which had around 7 beds. I looked up towards the old roof which accommodated some 5 odd ceiling fans that made a low creaky noise and conveyed their vintage status. It was so quiet all around that I could even hear the slightest whisper in the room. While some beds were empty, the rest were occupied by people who seemed fit and fine. My apprehensions were cleared by late evening, when I realized that the people who looked fit and fine were visitors and they had all gone leaving the actual patients who looked miserable and rightfully bed ridden.

I compared my situation with them and felt really happy. Reason I had my mom with me and she looked like a pillar of strength. However, my happiness was short lived when I learned that she will leave me alone in the hospital and go back home the next day.

Next afternoon as my mother prepared to leave, I cried and ran after her till the garden asking her to stay back. The nurse had to step in and pull me back. I watched my mom go and for a moment I thought that it was the end of the world. I sobbed furiously till the nurse escorted me to my ward. Surprisingly, I found an elderly boy waiting for me near my bed. He was quite tall and had an apple in hand.

" I saw you running towards the garden" Has your mother left?" - He asked

"Yes, she has left"- I replied in a low tone.

Don't worry. We will play together. Do you like apples?- He stretched out his hand to offer me and apple.

I was a little reluctant but the boy's acquaintance compelled me take that apple and the next thing I knew was that I had found a friend at the hospital.

I took the fruit from his hand and started chewing it noisily while the other patients looked as if there is something definitely queer about me.

"I live in the other ward. It's next to the lunch room and very close to the garden"- He explained.

"What disease you have?Why are you here"? I asked him.

He kept mum and it looked as if he didn't want to disclose.

"I will see you again tomorrow. If the nurse finds me missing from my bed, she will scold me"- He scurried.

My next day followed with a series of doctor & nurse visits who conducted assorted checkups.

" When will my mother come?" - I asked the nurse.

"She will come if you take your medicines and food on time"- She replied while examining the thermometer.

"Ok. Time for lunch now. Get up and follow these people who will lead you to the mess room"- She pointed me towards a group of patients who were ready to leave the ward room. It then struck me that I could meet my friend at the lunch room.

I met him in the lunch room. We picked up plates and approached the matron who was serving rotis and a curry. She had worn a white sari with a blue border and had big cat like eyes.

"Meat khaata kya? (Do you eat meat?) she asked me callously.

Her intimidating body language petrified me. I felt as if she'd punish me if I say yes.

"Nahi"- I muttered.

That moment took me back to my 2nd standard science text book which had a lesson on food. The colorful picture of meat and eggs was fresh in my mind. I then turned my plate to the other matron who was serving vegetable curry and she pleased looking at me.

My bonding with the elder boy grew stronger and we enjoyed occasional long walks within the hospital, had fun at the swings, ate lunch and dinner together and yet I was unable to figure out the reason for his admission in the hospital.

One late evening as I was passing through one of the corridors of the hospital, I head a shrill woman cry from a room that located in a corner. I became curious and thought that somebody was getting beaten up for not taking medicines on time or maybe an injection is being given and the pain must be intolerable.

As I neared the room, the groan & moan became louder. I meekly pushed the door to see what's happening inside. I stepped in and tried to look around. There were people in a corner and it looked like a huddle.

"Idhar kya kar raha hai?" chal bhaag yahan se?" (What are you doing here? shoo")- It was a big strong woman who appeared from nowhere and yelled at me. I immediately took my heels. I rushed to my bed and covered myself with the bed-sheet. Clueless about the situation.

Next day, I was delighted to see my mother back and I also had many visitors. One among them was my friend and neighbor Bhupinder Singh who came with his mom and father Col Balwinder Sandhu.

Earlier, I had a spat with Bhupinder when I ridiculed him by calling him a boy with lotus on his head. When it angered him, I added extra agony by saying "shaam ho gaya, ab Kamal khil Jayega". (The lotus will now bloom because its evening.)

He was harmless and a puny Sardar boy who shared with me, the hobby of collecting variety of matchboxes. On afternoons, we boys used to wander around the backyard of various army quarters, to collect matchboxes. The sound/whistle of pressure cooker from homes, conveyed the afternoon lunch being cooked in various homes.

Bhupinder looked very pleased he sat on my bed and flaunted his new collection.

" Yeh dekh Ship" hai tere paas? (Look at this ship matchbox" Do you have it?")
" Aur yeh dekh...Jar, Cheetah Fight, two roses.

His collection made me jealous and I then wanted to get out of the hospital.

While I was being surrounded by visitors and enjoying the attention, I saw my friend from the other ward room standing at the door and waiting for me to join him play. However, having looked at the crowd, he walked away. At that juncture, my mother announced that I will be discharged from the hospital tomorrow.

After the visitors and my parents left, I ran to my friend to tell him the news. He was sitting on his bed a staring at a Hindi comic book in his hand.

" I am leaving tomorrow" - I said

"Oh! That's nice? Has your mother come?- His tone carried a tinge of sadness.

"She will come tomorrow to take me home" By the way, when will you get discharged?- I asked him

"Oh! I really don't know"- He looked dejected.

I decided to leave his ward room and while coming back, I came across that mysterious room again and heard the loud female moan. Afraid of the big woman of that room, I choose to stand out and listen to the cry and wondered why would someone cry so much? All sorts of cries were heard during my 10 minute wait outside the room that night.

Next day morning, my dad and mom came to take me home. While my dad went to the administration section complete my discharge formalities, I dragged my mom towards that mysterious room.

"Maa, this is the room I was telling you about. The doctors inside punish the patients who do not take medicines on time. They give painful injections make the patients cry and groan in pain".- I told her excitedly.

My mother looked up and read the heading of that room. She quietly chuckled.

"Oh yes, they do that to people who do not eat leafy vegetables too"- She warned me.

"And you know what Maa, it's a strange injection they give.- I told her eagerly.

Oh really? what' so strange about that?- She asked me

Well, after sometime, the loud cry of the person will sound as if a little baby is crying"

Jaago Blogger Jaago!

This article doesn't belongs to an incident from my first 25 years life. However......

I debated long, on what the first few words of my experience should be. And then I knew. Though this is not a fairy tale, I will still make it sound like one.

Once upon a time, though not very long ago, there was, in Hyderabad, a province named Hotel Fortune Select Manohar. Like all kingdoms, it had a service provider called UniverCell who was chosen by the cream of 150 Bloggers from Hyderabad, after UniverCell promised them a fun filled event, a social network gathering of the like minded people, an opportunity to share, narrate, boast, flaunt or project their professional and personal interests through blogs. And very soon, a proclamation was rolled out. It contained the details of the meet, agenda etc.

And it happened! On a hot afternoon, all the bloggers assembled in the province. The ministers who organized the event welcomed the Bloggers and the celebrations had begun. A hilarious ChitraPradarshan (Video) was shown to the bloggers! Later, Each one of those 150 bloggers spoke about their blogging interests that included the whys, hows whens wheres etc.

When it was the turn of a guy named Mastbuddhi to speak( Read: ME) he picked up the mic and told the assembly that he was not nervous to speak in a Public Forum like this, because it was a bloggers forum and not a Matrimonial! This evoked laughter amongst the subjects. He also spoke about his blog, which he likes to pep with lots and lots of Nostalgia, that include stories form the good old days of his life, and also some memorable incidents . He has found a passionate way to tell his stories and he calls it Blogging!

Mastbuddhi also happened to meet many interesting people of his own kingdom, some who maintained as many as 50 blogs and others who blog without any purpose. From Linguistics to Filmmakers, from Students to Geeks, from Fashion Designers to Freelancers, and from Sincere Husbands to retired gentlemen, this forum had it all. What caught the attention of Mastbuddhi was that zeal the bloggers carried out throughout the event. Then , there was this ChaturRaja
(Read: Riyaz) who organized Yakshaprashna (quiz) for his subjects. And those Prashnas were kinda too tough for Mastbuddhi who felt he was gradually losing all his Buddhi.

Finally after a series of discussions, debates, acquaintances, photo shoots and murmurs, the bloggers were presented an attractive T shirt that most of them will, undoubtedly, consider it as a souvenir.

As the event slowly marched its way to closure, All the bloggers hopped from one leg to another and screamed-

" We Blog, Therefore we are"!

And they all continued to Blog Happily ever After!!

The Red Letter Day

"I am sorry- No letter for you even today"- said Mr Sampath, raising his shoulders to indicate indifference.

"Ah! Are you sure?" I asked in a submissive tone.

"Yes, I just have one for Mr Shah and this telegram for your neighbor, Major Dubey. That's all!" - He said while parking his bicycle in front of a house.

Sampath, my colony postman, was a man in mid forties. On most of the occasions, I spotted a Tilak on his forehead, and on the days when the Tilak was missing, I found him puffing a cigarette while on duty! The Cigarette, the Tilak, his thick glasses, the bundle of letters and bicycle had formed a very interesting character for me.

"How much time does it take for a letter to come from Bombay?"- I asked in an impatient tone.

Sampath spoke very fast and most of the occasions, I could barely comprehend his speech. And this time, he muttered something, which may have meant an approximate turn around time. He then went into a house to deliver a letter.

"What could have possibly gone wrong"- I pondered

I was disappointed, yet again!

It was also the period when the kids of our colony boasted about "The Maggie Club Membership Card". All we needed to do was collect 5 wrappers of Maggie 2 Minute Noodles and send them to a New Delhi address, within a fortnight you'd receive either an indoor game or a wrist band or a Notepad and the like. And by overdoing it, you'd be finally issued a "Maggie Clubber" an attractive membership card. I still remember the name of the Club chairman- Someone by name Doodle Dee.

I grew jealous with some of my close friends who flaunted their membership cards, and conveyed their sense of pride. Very soon, I outnumbered them by managing to secure 3 cards and some special gifts from Doodle Dee. The day I received my first membership card, I tore the envelope right before Sampath, took out the card, and excitedly explained him about the Maggie Club. He was mighty impressed and said he will buy some pack of Maggie Noodles while going home!

Slowly, the Maggie Club rage met its natural death and it reached a stage when most of us didn't knew what to do with the membership cards! And by then, I had already developed a tremendous interest in something else and began working towards it.

It was the most important phase of my life because, I was beginning to receive letters, that were addressed exclusively to my name". And it conveyed a little sense of supremacy, an indication of immature conceitedness and also a tremendous motivation to do more! This was the chief reason for a Postman to become an important aspect of my life.

"I'd be getting 30 Rupees if I manage to get this done" - I told my mother

"Oh Really! That's very good" But are you sure they will accept"- She asked me while looking around my room.

"So far I have sent 4 letters, I am confident at least one of them will work out"- I said ecstatically.

Weeks rolled into months, but I never received any letter from the expected source.

One evening, while I was playing on my friend's terrace, I heard the neighbor's dog barking downstairs. I looked down and saw Sampath, as usual, struggling to deliver a letter, without damaging himself from the Pomeranian breed dog. He always had a problem with that dog and tried to shoo it away. After he succeeded in his mission, I rushed down to meet him.

"Any letters for me"- I asked, panting hard.

" Yes"- he said while the cigarette was still in his mouth.
" Wow, did you give it at my place"- I said this and was gearing up to run.

"Yes, but its from your dad" and I gave that letter to your mother."- He said this at ease without realizing that he just tore my excitement into bits paper!

I used to write letters to my dad, who used to live in some other part of India because of his routine transfers. The letter to my dad contained academic marks, my drawings, about my school life and also the list of things, which I wanted him to get for me( but very reasonable demands!)

I was disappointed yet again. I assumed that Sampath was lying. I got angry and said this to him. He laughed at my innocence.

"Ok, why don't you go through the bundle" - He offered me.

I eagerly groped into that bundle, and found letters from Reader's Digest Magazine, some inland letters, postcards with Gujarati language on them, some ugly Book posts, letters from companies to its Shareholders etc. I never understood it then. But if I were to speak about that today, those letters gave an insight about the kind of people who resided in my colony!

Dejected, I trotted home wards thinking that I'd never get any response from them. I discussed this with a few of my friends who said its not to easy and gave me some kind of dramatic explanations to prove their point home. All they wanted to convey was that its very tough to get a response.

I was feeling low and disappointed. I had spent money on stamps, I boasted that one day, I'd definitely show everyone what I am capable of, I gave false hopes to my mother by telling her that she'd see me earning some 30-50 odd rupees out of this, Back at school, I also managed to get an appreciation from my English teacher, who openly declared me as a benchmark student! All this pompous celebrations, before getting any kind of reply for my letter.

This guilt was killing me and I knew I'd be a laughing stock among my friends and school, if I don't get any response very soon.

One day I was returning home on my bicycle, I had to pass under the Railway bridge. I spotted Sampath in the opposite side. He was through his duty and was leaving for the day. And both of us were waiting for the moving train to pass-by the bridge.

When I was a kid, I thought the reason why people waited for the train to pass-by on the bridge was that they fear that the train might fall down on them. But my growing years taught me that, its not the train, but something that is heavier and deadlier than the train that'd fall on us if we attempt to cross a Railway bridge with a passing train!!

Sampath on the other side, tried to tell me something which I couldn't hear because of the train noise. After the train left, he pedalled his bicycle and asked me to go home quickly. Before I could shout to ask what the matter was, he was already out of ear shot.

I sensed something jubilant! I reached home and was delighted to finally receive that letter! I smelt it first and carefully opened it. I read the contents of the letter slowly and felt as if my legs were in the air! Finally.... Finally, I got a response after a series of attempts!

I read it again and unable to control the excitement, I ran out to show it to my friends and celebrate the victory which I had lost!

(In October 1992, I received a letter from India Book House- Uncle Pai, the editor of the fortnightly magazine called Tinkle. He rejected - my contribution "Shikari Shambu" the story of a fluke Hunter who always manages to win despite his timid personality. Nevertheless, in his letter, UnclePai encouraged me to continue writing more and more stories so that one day it gets published in Tinkle.

I viewed this experience as a defeat for my Personality, but a Victory for my Development. This story is my tribute to it).


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