The forgotten

Cochin. February 21, 2011: Ok cool. So you’re on facebook now. Looking through albums, commenting on them, liking status updates, staring at your profile page for minutes together, sometimes hours. You’re just there. Like me. And damn are we lucky or what! Lucky that we have our asses firmly rested on a chair, palm sweating on a mouse, eyes fixed on the screen and our minds wandering aimlessly.

I love my life.

Bhopal. February 18, 2011: The city wakes up late. It’s 8 am, the windows are closed, streets empty, and there’s silence in the air. The night of December 2, 1984 is not one that the people of Bhopal want to wake up to, ever again. Sadly, they’re left with no choice. They sleep with nightmares from that fateful night still haunting them. They close their eyes only to see dark yet vivid images of their loved ones falling dead on the streets. They’re woken up by the sound of their five-month old crying, whose body they found amidst the debris that lay scattered. The poisonous gas that engulfed the city 26 years back continues to do so. In Bhopal, there hasn’t been a dawn since.

My visit to this city has left me feeling uneasy. A sense of restlessness crawls into me every time I sit back and yawn. What I feel, what I see and what I do, seems to go all the way back to what I saw there. The ‘gallis’ of JP nagar made me feel nothing less than despondent. Ask me if it was disbelief, helplessness or disrespect to myself that troubled me more? And I wouldn’t know. One question, however, haunted me throughout. What the hell was I thinking when I cried last night about how sad my life is. When I freaked out on hearing that my salary hadn’t been credited? When I yelled at my mother for not “understanding” me. What the frikkin hell was I thinking? Truth is, I wasn’t even thinking. Coz if I were, I’d have had a zillion reasons to feel good about. And that I realized right there. In Bhopal. When I met the victims of the Gas tragedy.

They were there, in front of my eyes. Mothers who couldn’t stop crying as they spoke about their baby they left behind, when they ran to save their lives. Girls in purdah, with mehendi till their elbows, who peeped from their little huts to catch a glimpse of us - the “shooting waale”. Kids who knew nothing. Who struck a pose in front of my mobile camera to give Shahrukh Khan and Hritik Roshan a run for their money. They stood there with silent questions that hit me right in my face. And as one among the zillion witnesses across the world, I knew that I owed them an answer.

Two decades since, the threat continues to linger. Kids are born with alarming defects. Their brain outside the skull, deformed bones constantly at war with their mind, refusing to give them a reason to stand. Flaking skin that peels off bit by bit as they smile. Eyes that see nothing but darkness. The tragedy screams into deaf ears. And it doesn’t end with what’s now. Pregnant women do not know what to expect. They don’t pray for a boy or a girl. They pray for a fully-formed baby. Nothing more. Nothing less. But they know that everything that’s granted will still leave them weeping in distress.

Where does the voice of the people of Bhopal sink into? Why aren’t they heard? Is anybody even listening?

The water the people of JP Nagar drink, remains contaminated. Fresh water is a need that’s ‘waiting’ to be considered at the court. Wrong drugs are still being administered. Death continues to loiter. And the people of Bhopal still find reasons to be happy.

Is this a tragedy we can afford to forget? Is it nothing but a thing of the past that can be brushed away with a shake of the head or a deep sigh? The Government continues to turn a blind eye to the world’s worst hit tragedy. While no compensation can make up for the memories they’ve lost, and will perhaps never find, it could give them the strength to build a better future. All this, if we make sure that the disaster’s not forgotten.

Bhopal. The heart of India that stopped beating 26 years back.

That day.

One day is all she got to live a dream. And she knew she had to make the most of it. So the first thing she did was, to dig out her conscience and keep it aside, carefully. Coz she knew she couldn’t do without it. But that day, she didn’t need it. And of that, she was sure. Then, she stopped asking questions. Something she’s never been able to do before. She quite beautifully, let her mind go blank. Well, not exactly blank. But sans questions. And that felt good. She just saw what she wished to. She was so much at peace. The doors of her mind opened wide. And she welcomed every beautiful feeling with a smile. She was in love. In love with the feeling of being at peace. In love with the fact that there was no struggle. In love with herself. She smiled. Letting go off all those promises she made to herself, she embraced the moment, the minute, the hour. She made love to the freedom of her mind. So passionately, it brought tears. As they rolled down her cheeks, she felt warmth. The kind that makes you cringe and never unwind. She held tight coz she feared she’d forget. She feared that she’d never want to walk out of the dream. Like the last time. So she treaded slow. Out of every minute, every moment. She closed her eyes, they were half open. They began fading. First the smile, then the love. She could feel her feet on the ground. It was heavy now, inside her heart. She thought she’d never open her eyes. But then she did. And somewhere she felt the smile come back. It was then that she knew that she was out of it. The dream she saw, she had left behind. She turned around and looked at it. From a distance, with a giggle in her heart, she smiled.

My Christmas wish.

This Christmas, I wish to smile more than I usually do. I wish to smile real smiles and not fake ones anymore. And if in case I don’t want to smile at all, at someone or anyone, I wish with all my heart that I don’t try too hard or force myself to. This Christmas, I wish I don’t try and understand every single soul I meet, don’t try to look at things from “their” point of view and step into “their" shoes. This Christmas I wish my anger lasts longer and I learn to hate people for more than half an hour. I wish that I don’t yearn to be good or try to be nice. I wish I learn that not all things around are bright and beautiful and that there are blacks and greys and will always remain. This Christmas, I wish that all those people who deserve a piece of my mind get it as and when they need to. I wish they get to see the bad side of me and regret like never that they met me. I wish I listen not to my head but more to my heart and I do all that it asks me to. This Christmas, I wish I learn to hurt, to ignore and most importantly to swear. I wish to learn not to regret, not think twice or even once after I speak my mind. This Christmas, I wish to be me. And not just somebody who some others want me to be.

Merry Christmas to me.

Signs.

I wish, to walk away.

I wish, I’d never want to look back.

Of all the wrongs and stupid truths

There’s never a reason to hold me back

Yet to feel funnily right

Guilty of love. Happy to be.

There’s never an urge to think otherwise.

Sheepish smiles continue to haunt.

Thoughts remain, they refuse to change.

The pause.

Just when you thought that the rains were over and the bright sunny days were back, you find yourself blanketed by dull grey clouds once again. So dull that you strain to keep yours eyes open. So grey that you stop believing in black or white. No matter how hard you try, all you see is a thick layer of fog all the way ahead. Giving you, not even the slightest hint of what awaits you. You strain harder and your eyes start hurting. And then somewhere, between the moment of grief and the moment of optimism, you step into a dark whirlpool of random images. Thoughts, to be precise. And before you even know, you find yourself tumbling across. From one image to another. The past. The present. The future. And then you find yourself frowning when you see the past. With images so clear, that you almost fail to believe that it happened. Because the past never seemed so vivid when it was the present. Or perhaps because you never thought that it would lead you to the future you’re in now. You try opening your eyes in between in an attempt to step out of it, but something sucks you back in. Deeper down and you almost find yourself falling. This time, you’re tickled, poked and rammed amidst a stampede of questions. You find the answer to one, but soon the next one crops up, you solve that and another boos you from behind. Left, right, centre. Madness. Then there’s a lullaby. A musical that drags you even further down. Here you have some others waiting for you. Guilt. Wrath. Possessiveness. All the bad guys. And they host a party. To celebrate your arrival. They know you’ll stay there for long. Maybe for good. You settle down, in a corner. You give in hoping for the fog to clear, the questions to fade and the bad guys to shrink. And then you feel the curves of your lips widen a bit. You cuddle and breathe out a sigh, as you watch a dream tiptoe from the corner of your eye.