‘Listen ma’am, you don’t really understand my situation. I have to rush from this city as soon as possible and you are eating my bloody time’, Raghav was at his anxiety level when he came to know from the inquiry that he has to wait for the next 20 hours to catch the next flight to Delhi. Though the department could help him in escaping from the city as soon ass possible, but they were bound by the rules and regulations of the flight management, which says that only in the case of emergency they can give a stretch. Raghav’s case was not an emergency one for the department, but for him, it was. It was a question of his life and death. He somewhere knew or assumed that by next 4 hours, he has to leave Bangalore otherwise the consequences can take his life (at least for him). He knew his life was in danger, but from whom!?

After a long unsuccessful discussion and requests, he finally decided to catch the bus – which bus? To where? Neither he knows nor does he care. All he was worried about to get out the place as soon as possible. And there he was – an unknown bus to an unknown place but outside Bangalore. His heart beats were rising faster than ever until the driver started the engine. It was 3 AM, the bus was not even packed with passengers and besides it was about to cover the most dangerous highway but Raghav was relaxed.

Everything was normal back in the morning. He woke up with the first hit of the alarm and followed his regular routine; an hour long Puja, toast at breakfast and daily dose by his boss before lunch. But a regular lunch at a regular restaurant which changed everything.

'Hey! The bill!', eating Chinese food is not that tough as much as selecting any particular item of them is. The first day I entered this restaurant, I randomly chose this very fascinating Chinese item which they call Chop suey and I call fried noodles with extra tomato sauces, some ghas-phus and a half boiled omelet at the top. Though Ravi knew that Chop suey is my regular order, but even after that he keeps on bombarding the menu over my face; maybe it's because he wants his regular customer to try something more costly. But I was barely interested in other items. Chop suey was the only food item along with which they also used to serve a cookie at the end; fortune cookie, a Chinese snack invented by an American, which on cracking you'll find a small piece of paper rolled in it, defining your fortune; the best part for me at least.

And finally, the cookie with the bill arrived. I was eager to crack it more than swallowing it. The day was not that good as I always have wished it should be, so yes, I was eager to grab a clue of my coming hours. But cracking the cookie came out to be the worst thing ever happened to me. The paper was actually not defining my complete fortune, but my death.

RUN FOR YOUR LIFE! IT WILL BE YOUR LAST DAY ON EARTH, IF YOU WILL NOT LEAVE THE CITY WITHIN 12 HOURS.

I have cracked more than 300 cookies in that restaurant, but never found anything like this before and that too in bold letters. It was like it wanted me not to ignore it and neither had I wanted to ignore it. Suddenly every single cookie I cracked before started rushing into my mind just to strengthen my thought of following the cookie.

Wear red, you'll find your love - positive

Don't be in touch with someone today, you'll find the peace - positive

.....

........

..........

The scan was supporting the cookie and gradually strengthening the fear of loss of life. I threw a 500 rupee note on the table and rushed from there without the change. I was feeling a void in myself, which was enough to block all the thoughts. I should be back to the office, but I wasn't. All I was feeling was just my heart beats pumping faster than ever. The next moment I realized that I was running... running faster than ever, thrashing the traffic and the people who were enjoying their life without any fear of death... without counting their days on earth. But I! Being aware of my death, I was still numb and running unknowingly where to go and how to save my ass.

My phone was ringing since I left the restaurant, but I didn't care to even check the caller ID. Suddenly every single matter on earth became meaningless to me; family, friends, career and love. It was my life which was important for me at that moment, beneath the fact that this life was not only of mine but it also belongs to many people... people who care for me... people for whom I was everything... for whom I have said million times that I can give my life for them. But all goes in vain with the parallel realization that these are just words to say. You will run for your life, but nobody else will, when it is at risk.

I was out of my breath, but I kept on running. It was fine in the morning, then what went wrong!? Everything was going good until I saw her. I should have taken another path to the office. A glimpse of her and here I was; running for my life. Though I tried to counter her ominous peak immediately the time I saw but it failed. Her ominous glimpse not only let my boss jump over me for getting late and made me sacked but also invited the death to my table. It’s sometimes really crazy to think about such a being, that is covered with black shiny hair and have sharp grey eyes, which looks not less than any beautiful creature on earth but tagged with ominous subjects. But it was! What if nobody had ever found or (if not wrong to say) patched her with ominous creature?! I guess I would have been enjoying my work at my office, thinking about how to spend the next weekend with Romana.

But I was here holding my breath and flowing with the cowishness of the people like a paper boat flowing downstream towards the waterfall.

The streets, vehicles running on it and people walking on it were scaring me to death. I was not responding to any known person calling me from the other side of the road. I was not passing nearby street stalls because it might happen that that hot oil might spill over me, I could slip on the knife which that lady is holding to cut the guavas for her customers, that man could kill me because he got jerked by me in between the cowish, that bus running on the street can get off from there and run over me. 

I wanted to cross the road and took the shortcut to my destination but I was afraid of everything. Since an hour, I was trying to cross the road; when it was not clear and even when it was clear. But my steps were jammed at the signal. Every step I was taking... every move I was making, the only thing flashing over my mind was just that small piece of paper wrapped up in oil saying that I am going to lose myself very soon.

I was insecure with every single matter on earth because somewhere, believe it or not, every single matter on this planet can harm you at any time accidentally or deliberately; be it a human being, be it an animal or be it any subject. Plotting all those fear into my mind, I decided not to take the cab or anything to reach my destination i.e. airport and stayed on the streets towards the airport. But it was impossible to do so, as the only way to the airport was from the other side of the road.

‘Sir, help me in crossing the road. Will you?’, I asked a man standing beside me on the zebra cross with my eyes on the vehicles waiting for the signal to turn into green .My body was totally under control of fear but I knew that standing on the signal or walking towards nowhere can only lead me to lose the time and my life, so the only option left with me was to ask someone’s help in crossing the road whether I wanted to take help or not. Yes! It was not enough to win over my fear and I don’t even wanted to as I was totally convinced that it has conquered me but 15 second tranquility was enough to reach my destination on time.

The man held my hand and started crossing the road over zebra cross. Between all these situations, my eyes were still with the vehicles at the signal and the signal itself. And finally I was there… the other side of the road.

‘Thank you, sir. God bless you’, suddenly the man who helped me there instead of taking thanks, gave the same to me. The other moment I realized that the man who was holding my hand… the man who was all the way with me while crossing the road was actually with a stick and wearing black glasses and he was blind! A blind person helped me but thanked me instead, so does it mean that all the way I was helping him in crossing the road!?

Between all these situations I almost forgot that the time was slipping away from my hand and instead of thinking much over the so called thankful scene, I directly rushed to the airport.

I should have known that the airport authority will not understand my situation. But all was OK now because I was on this bus which was heading towards somewhere outside Bangalore. I was never so much relaxed before. It was a feeling of winning over death and fear. I was looking on that small piece of paper due to which the past 10 hours came out to be the worst hours of my life and smiling on it. A winning smile!

Suddenly a forceful jerk pushed me harder towards the front of the bus where immediately I grabbed a seat to lock myself from falling. I felt the speed of the bus which was increasing with every second with my heart beats. The few counted people inside the bus started falling on each other and shouting. The other moment I realized that the bus came down from the highway towards the ditch. It was the ditch which made the bus go out of control, break free and limitless. I should be in fear… panicking but I wasn’t. I was falling from one seat to other. I could see the glasses cracking up. I could feel the crushing of the bus. I could see the blood coming out of head flowing towards my chin through my nose. But all I was thinking that I ran 12 hours to save my ass and finally when I felt that I won it over the death, I was here… here going downwards with anonymous high speed with the bus. I should be safe as I was finally out of the city and that too within 12 hours! But I wasn’t. I should be in my office but I let a piece of paper to decide my fate… fate which is always unpredictable. I looked on to my right hand which was grabbing the seat and laughed at the holy and astrological rings which I was wearing on it.

Right at there I understood a very truthful thi….

“Hello”

“Bhaiya, Dad’s no more”

“OK, Take care of mom. I’ll be there by tomorrow”

It was 4 a.m. in the morning when my phone was buzzing with the calls from all the relatives I had; some to sympathize me and some to do more or less than that. I woke up with the news from my younger sister, and like yet another day took my day’s first fag and followed the routine; black tea, gym, bath, newspaper, breakfast… and all those stuffs which I do every day. Although, I should be in hurry to take the first flight to India, but I wasn’t feeling the haste. It was the person who used to play with me every time I needed a friend, has died. I should be shocked to death or at least numb for a moment. It was my father who died… the person who is responsible for my breathings, but I wasn’t even reacting. It felt like I’ve waited a lot for the day.

I was on the afternoon’s flight to Delhi when all started recapping; my alcoholic father whom I’ve never seen going at work, though I’ve heard from mother that he used to be the most prestigious person in the Delhi Stock Exchange. But since the day I came to my consciousness, I only saw him in fuddle and anger. I only saw him thwacking my mother and myself. All started recapping; how I did the thing which I shouldn’t have done that night to my father, despite of the fact that he was about to kill my mom. It was yet another night for us of terror and thwacks then why I raised it!? Since that night I neither talked to my father and nor had I made any eye contact with him; neither when I got the scholarship to study in US nor when I got married. I should have contacted him for once at least to make him realize that what he used to say about me was bullshit, that I can never be a moneymaker, but I never did so because he, as a father, never cared to know my well beings. He never cared about what I’ve become or who I was. He always cared about his bottles.

Reckless memories of my father narrowed the 23 hours journey to a minute and brought me back to the place where I never wanted to come; Delhi.

It was a normal environment at the house, not like what it should be in a typical Indian house where someone died just a day before; house of dolor. Few relatives were there which I could recognize from my maternal side but hardly two or four from the other side. They’re taking the sip of tea and blander dashing on the recent government’s decision on price rising, banning beefs and all which don’t relate to the person for whom they’re there. The condition at the house was not surprising to me as the person who died had not done any good to other people. Even if he had, then it must be lesser than the bad ones. And it should be; no matter how much good a person had done to you, a single bad thing can ruin all the good deeds. Neither there was something like my father owned any property so, that his relatives would even able to find a part in it. It was looking like the people at the house were not there to sympathize us, but just to confirm the death. All eyes were on me seeking tears on my eyes like a daily soap drama.

“Oh my son! Poor son! What happened is not good. I am sorry for your loss”, it was my mother’s only sister who once used to damn on our family and my father but was now hugging and consoling me as if she was the only well-wisher. Once according to her, it was my mother’s fault to get married to an alcoholic person and her luck that she got married to an NRI. 

“It’s very kind of you. Now if you’ll leave me then I’ll see mother”, though there was no need to consolidation as I was OK but I wanted to see my mother if she is fine. But she was fine… more than I was, though I could see the dried tears on her lid which was showing that she was done with her mourning.

“How was the flight? Well, let’s get done with the tithis”, mother said while calling the pandit.

I decided to go with the Arya Samaj rituals. It is the century who believes in 320kps speed and so do I. The scene at the ghat was nothing less than like a local government‘s office. A huge number of dead bodies were covered with white cloths with a white flower’s ring bouquets and other rituals stuff lying over the bodies. Every single person was in dolor for their losses, but at the same time in hurry to get done with yet another formality.

“There you go. Our number is 23”, uncle said while handing over a piece of paper written 23 over it.

“23! I didn’t catch it”

“Well it means bhaiya’s body will get inside electric heater once these 22 bodies will get done. Thankfully the caretaker over here is a friend of mine so we get at least 23, otherwise it won’t be get done before 58”, uncle said while pointing towards the other bodies which were lying in the waiting hall with dad’s one too. It was unbelievable that more than 50 people died within two days in Delhi and more, that even after so, the population is increasing day by day instead of decreasing.

“How much time it’ll take”, I asked him so to confirm the exit.

“Well generally a dead body takes about 45 minutes but as Bhaiya was old and his body must contain more alcohol than blood, it won’t take more than 20 minutes”, uncle uttered with his filthy mouth, with a clinch of smile on his face. My dad was his elder brother and once he helped him to open a shop in the native place, so that he could feed his family. But all went in vain with his death that even his own brother is making fun of his void body.

While waiting for dad’s number, I saw those 22 bodies getting burnt and 22 different kinds of relatives of them; some in mourn, some in hurry, some damning the body and some taking last blessings. And then came our turn. It was unexplainable what I felt when dad’s body was getting inside the heater. I wanted to cry because no matter how he was to me or my mother, he was my father but I controlled myself because what he did to us was overweighing everything and for which he was never regretful.

Four days past by and I was done with all the rituals. It was my time to get back to my life which was less voided than this life. I was ready with my luggage to catch the first flight to SF.

“Son, there is something inside the drawer of your father’s study table which your father wanted you to check as his last words”, mom said holding my hand when I was about to get inside the taxi.

“I’ll check it next time. I am getting late”, I resisted seeing what my father left for me. It was harder to believe that he left something for me and if it is, then it can’t be a big thing to check out.

“I know son, your next time will never come. It IS your last visit”, mom knows me more than anyone and she understood that I won’t come back. I went to my father’s room. It was filled with darkness and the hawan’s smoke with folded mattress on the bed and empty wardrobe. Since five years I haven’t entered this room but now I was there to check his stuffs. It was the same table on which once my father used to work on the stocks and then used to drink hard enough to kill his consciousness.

I pulled the drawer and found the same rusted green colored steel box which I used to keep as my money bank. The box in which I used to put a one rupee coin every day before I left home. I loved savings and this gave me my career; a banker. The box was heavier than the time I left it. Those one rupee coins were having different specification in it pointing that in last five years, how many times the government has changed the design of it. There was a note left inside it with the coins.

SON, THIS WAS ONLY THE THING WHICH I COULD DO FOR YOU; FILLING THIS BOX WITH YOUR SMALL DREAMS. I AM PROUD THAT PEOPLE DON’T SAY THAT YOU ARE GONE OVER ME.

I AM SORRY FOR EVERYTHING.

And it rolled down from my eyes.