in lieu of this, reading other post its better as i am yet to finish.

I
Crowded with students, parents, couples affectionately holding hands, friends, parters some from the same work site and elderly citizens sitting across the balcony, the Springs theatre ran a good lucrative afternoon show. Pop corns, tickets, empty bottles, and plastic cups littered on the floor and one hardly could see each other's face. It was dark.The adjacent wall attached to rumbling fans reverberated with the bass of sound which flowed impalpably like the wind.Yet he comforted himself, sitting alone at the very corner like a solitary seal abandoned from family. It was dark, and except for his faint shadowy figure, one barely noticed his presence. And thats was that he wanted. It was the middle, in fact the climax of the scene when he sipped down his coke can, rose up from his seat looked around and walked for the exit. He didn't care if it was the end or the climax and hadn't even construed the theme of the movie. Unlike the others who alertly watched the movie, some who were on their first date holding hands, some with their friends celebrating their graduation and others who were just there attending this Saturday's afternoon movie like routine duty to attend, he paid to get rids of his thoughts, yet his head still vacillated with thoughts all the time, throughout the movie, that drowned him in his own hallucination, often referred to like living hell. Treading pass a couple, a group of stentorian college freshmen, he gleamed at the illuminated green lights that read 'EXIT' and paced off. Beyond the doors of the theatre embellished in red carpets and fabulous posters, laid the real world, that he dreaded to face for in theatre, there existed an ostensible world flourishing with fabulous looking Hollywood actors where the story happily ended.
Blinded for a moment with sheen of the mid afternoon blazing sun, his pupils gradually dilated and his eyebrows lessened in stretch. And yet as he walked towards the door in his executive suit, his face marked with a peculiar melancholy wrinkle, his eyes teemed with frustration and inside him, he bore a burning ball of fire, that he could only extinguish by drowning himself in screams and dried up tears.
His car lay across the street yet he kept on walking on the pavements, he didn't have a direction to follow, he didn't ponder of which path to walk on, but he kept on walking, walking everywhere his legs could carry him like a lost wearied traveler in the desert awaiting his death and alike vultures hovering over him, questions, myriads of questions for which he didn't have an answer, beleaguered him as he walked on. Inside, he was getting eaten up and felt like helpless dog, still alive and breathing, and enervated to an extent that he didn't even had the vigor to move and mourn, while maggots foraged through the sanguine wound, and all he would do was twitch a little, while laying under a bridge waiting to die. Yet the sun brightly shined and the air bloomed with the fragrance of flowering buds. The breeze merrily danced to the tunes of the birds and while the world beyond the theatre was as beautiful as portrayed on the screens, with people laughing and singing around, it was a hell for him as he was burned from inside. He swarmed across men cheerly calling their wives on cell phones, a group of dancers merrily celebrating and welcoming the summer festival, a flock of elderly retired faces eagerly enjoying the sun, jubilant couples holding hands, and cheerful mothers sitting across the street watching them kids play around the fountain. And then as he trended across the street burdening himself with horrifying thoughts vacillating through his head, he abruptly halted, glared back, looked around the merry crowd, gazed at his own reflection in the translucent glass on his right, and grimed for an ideal solution to end this hell he pondered, laid across the gas station, across the street. And the next the moment he ran.
"Hey! have you gone mad ?." screamed the driver moments after the tires shrieked halting the white hummer. The stentorian stereo played the metal music while the crowd clamored in shock. He had just ran across the traffic and now dodged through the crowd that stood aside in shock, panting and running like a mad man on lose. For all he cared now was to run across the street, pass through the petrol station, take a right there and get to the bridge. Yes, thats what all he cared.
He paid no heed to the traffic, jumped across on red lights,and ran as fast as he legs could pace. His heart started beating, and harder it pounded the the faster as he scurried.His throat started to dry and his heart convulsively pounded faster, harder and harder. He raced across the gas station and passed through the traffic as sweat pearled around his eyebrows and all his cared was to get to the bridge.
" Th.. theee bridggee " he reiterated to himself. His tie flagged around his back, his shirt damped with sweat and his hair blew apart through the wind. The tires shrieked and the crowded clamored, yet all he heard was the pounding of his heart, like hoofs clanking against the lull of the silence that reverberated through his ears. The bridge was a block ahead, by the time the lights turned red, he suddenly he stood there, elevated more than a 100 meters, while the breeze blew through his trembling legs. His legs were shriveled as convulsively as his short breathes, and as he slowed, the cars roared passed him, the wind shattered on his face, and raising his trembling hands, he clenched the bars with his sweaty fingers, and before hauling himself down, he took a deep breathe and gazed down. The lull of silence reverberating through his ears were now replaced by the clashing of the stream against the cluttered boulders yet as his hands convulsively trembled, and he knew what wanted to do. He dimmed his eyes, raised his legs, stepped over the railing clanged on to the rail and inhaled a deep breathe and the next moment he was gone. A woman in a Grey Volvo suddenly drilled a shrill through air resulting in a abrupt halt in the traffic. "Mother he jumped from the bridge" screamed the 12 year old girl strapped to her seat belts behind the back of a black Land Rover. A group of college students flung from their cars and ran towards the bridge. Some petrified just held back in their cars, others shocked at what they witnessed just stood outside their cars with a horrified look, while few had the police on the way with the ambulance. "Is he dead " some one behind the small crowd hesitantly inquired for which no one answered. Jumping from a bridge elated more than hundred meters, below which laid pebbles, boulders, and a stream flowing through, only a miracle could have worked. And while he laid down there, sanguinely covered in blood, his hands and legs twitched a little, his head smacked on a boulder and a stream of blood pooled around his face, a constant indistinct murmuring took above the bridge. Parents had their hands on their little ones eyes, and horrified at what they witnessed, many just slowly walked towards the bridge, gasped and prayed. The red siren soon beeped through the traffic and it didn't take very long to realize for the cops to direct a chopper for "the spot where the accident took place". The crowd anxiously was told to settle down and continue on to move as few resistantly declared that it was not an accident. Those mothers, son, daughters, friends who witnessed the jump drove for their homes, and the talk of the evening at their dining table and in the KFCs were what they witnessed earlier that day. The chopper hovered around the spot and as soon as he lay across on a stretcher doctors checked for his pulses and heart beat and did everything to resuscitate him back, yet his heart, that moments ago pounded like the hoofs of horse, had calmed in a sea of silence and he was no more.
In the evening news highlight, he was identified as Mr. James Morgan, son of Andrea Morgan .And this story would have ended here with this way with late Mr. James Morgan, if he hadn't met Justin at the bridge.
Scrolling back to the part when James stood clung to the railings of the bridge. Yes, there he stood. He dimmed his eyes, raised his legs, stepped over the railing clanged on to the rail and inhaled a deep breathe and the next moment something splashed and ripples merged out in the stream.
"Hey, how cold do you think the water would be?" a voiced raised up from behind him on his left. While his hands still clung on the rail, he glanced to his left. Just few steps away, a man leaned his gnarled hands on the rail, puffed out a whirl of smoke that palpably glided through the breeze, and dropped in a second stone.
"You know, I think its freezing cold coming down the mountains." he murmured drawing in another an puff. A bag dropped his shoulders, he shirt loosely hanged, his Grey pants was soiled at the bottom, his snickers had worn out the Nike plate, yet he spoke with no diffidence. And as he step further towards him, he inquisitively spoke again "Are you planning to jump?"
"It.. it.. its non of your business" James stammered looking at him while he still clung on to the rail with his trembling hands.
"Ya, but may be you should jump off from there" he pointed his fingers towards a big rock. "From here, you will crack open your skull, fracture your bones and while the ambulance gets here, you will just be stranded off mourning in pain covered in blood. And its no fun watching someone morn. You know how helpless it feels" he carelessly said stepping one step closer. "Ma.. ma..may be you should listen and leave me alone." James hesitantly spoke while tightening his grip on the rail. The thought of bleeding, hitting the boulders, fracturing his arm and legs sent a slight shrivel down his spines. He didn't want to live, yet he wanted was a quick death.
"Ya, but I am telling you, I don't have a cell phone that I carry. So it make take longer before the ambulance gets down there to relieve you from your agony." he replied puffing out another whirl of smoke.
A part of James was hesitant, yet he started speculating laying on rocks drench in blood mourning in pain, incapable of raising his voice and washed away by the stream before the ambulance showed up as the man said. The wind howled and the man kept dropping pebbles down the stream. The picture he portrayed in James head slowly dominated the ball of burning fire and just before he loosened his grip to turn back, "So are you going to jump down from the boulders " the stranger spoke as he cleared his throat. James utterly ignored him. "Well I could join you" the stranger continued puffing up his another smoke, while he churned the rest on the ground.James drew his legs back behind the rail. The sun shined above his head, the cars ubiquitously zoomed through, and a pair of crows settled next on his right. Neither did he know where to go, nor did he want to. He stepped aside and walked back towards the town. With every step, his heart weighed in his grief, and his breathe shriveled. His breathing though had calmed, and he sweat had gradually dried albeit his head still harbored intimidating thoughts, and questions he didn't have an answer . Transversing a few steps, he instinctively turned back, yet the man was gone, while the residue of his cigarette laid plastered on the ground. James walked on.
James Morgan, I repeat, James Morgan CEO of NPS, a multimillionaire telecom sector that had been receding its shares it held since two years ago now lived on 913 East Burlington . A year ago, his wife divorced him after three years withstanding an unsuccessful marriage, and two weeks ago, his company declared itself into a state of absolute bankruptcy. He still had a decent bank account, yet that wasn't what irked him. What corroded him from inside was his failure in life. Failure was the word that he had intimidated the most, failure. A Stanford graduate holding an MBA from Harvard, James had never tasted the brackishness of life. Growing up in an urbane family, his Dad was a prominent lawyer and his mother who had earned a revered position as the chief anesthesiologist in the state hospital, his family albeit not of noble stature,yet they were referred as one. Regarded as a prodigy in school and college, he trumped and excelled in very aspect. His room was embellished and inundated with medals and degrees he has achieved. He was his teacher's pet and his friends fancied his company. Others bestowed him as their role model and his professors applauded him for his dexterity. A kid who had never tasted failure, yet now stood at the very brink of his career, despised by his wife, deserted by his well wishers, and as his self esteem shrank, he witnessed his family fall apart,his company crumble, and the smile that once gleamed on his face, now not even left a trace on him. He was no longer the James Morgan he had once envisaged, for in his own eyes he was nothing but a looser.
James dragged his legs away from the bridge. Soon he was back in the crowd. The mid afternoon sun still dazzled through the skyscrapers, the cars zoomed across the streets and while people swarmed passed him, at the very end of the street next to the grey parking lot, Andy stood next to James prized Ford.
"I waited here for 45 minutes but I knew you would come back for the car even though you left your house keys in the office."Andy raised his voice while looking at his wrist watch.
He tilted his toppled glasses with his index figure and walked towards James. His black suit ostensibly looked similar to James yet it wasn't as wrinkled and blue checked tie flowed straight down from his collar instead of hanging behind on the back. His ebony hair was well combed and his face gleamed in the sun while he pursed his lips.
"Oh ya, Thanks Andy. I....I I...I was.. I was just going to get coffee and come back."James spoke while he stretched his hands to get the keys from Andy.
"Where is coffee then?" Andy inquired. James didn't have an answer. He hesitantly met Andy's eyes, took the keys from him and moved across to his car. "Well give me a ride back if you are going home." Andy continued while getting in. Andy lived with his wife, Anshu and his two kids on 712 North tower.
"Never mind. But ya, I was going to ask you if you could join us for dinner tonight." Andy spoke while strapping up his car seats.
"I would like but I wanted to spend some time alone this tonight. So ya" James passively spoke starting his car engine.
"Well James, the thing is me and Anshu are...ahh.., well Anshu just got a job offer and we moving back to New Orleans. So was wondering if you could catch up for dinner today. We were planning to move out this Thursday".Andy paused while James turned pale. An ineffable pain aroused in him which Andy himself vicariously suffered while he spoke. Since Nancy left James a year ago, Andy and his family of two kids were the ones James could talk. James and Andy went to the same grad school and while his parents now resided in Washington whom he occasionally visited during the Easter and Christmas holidays, Andy was more than a brother to James.
"I know I should have told you before,but you see, Anshu got notified a week ago and I thought I will tell you and ah well it.. it all happened all so fast."Andy ruefully spoke.
James didn't utter a word. His mouth had parched and he felt as if he was being stabbed, right in his chest. First it was his wife, then the company and now it was his brother like friend whom he shared everything. James gripped the steer, nailed his foot on the accelerator, and took off on the road.
They raced through the same bridge where James stood moments ago, clinging to the rail and reaching out to plunge down. James gleamed through his window as they passed by the spot where the stranger stood and started pondering who must he be. On the red he braked, and took off on the green. All the way, neither of them broke the spell of silence that creped up and they comported as if neither of them existed.
Andy dropped off on 712 tower. "So, I shall have you for tonight?" strapping himself lose, Andy asked
James had his hands on his steer wheels while nodded. Relieved in a way from the lull of silence that gagged him all the way. Andy smiled, closed the door, and watch James as he drove off. "7.30, be here at time!" Andy screamed and watch James take off, untill his car took the next right turn on Lafayette." James, James" Andy exclaimed with a sighed.

II
Amidst few who were retired officers and parents who strolled around this hour in the evening, James sat there all alone, on the wooden bench in Amherst Park. He took refuge under a mapple trees in park that harbored the birds and squirrels. This side of the park where he sat, it was quite, yet beautiful. As the breeze wafted by, the leaves quivered and the trees humbly bowed down their branches. The birds chirped, some brandishing their iridescent pupillage while other who narrated each other about their adventurous journey they took during the winter. James placidly sat there listening to the different life forms. The green lake that stretched across the rear end of the park slept still apart from the ripples that the ducklings formed. A small group of them inquisitively paddled around and around while the the two older ducks waded around scrutinizing every move James made. Dark necked, grey feathers with green strips, as if God mistakenly painted them green for the grass, they were James favorite animals as he grew up. On his left, three squirrels took shelter under the bench he sat. They sniffed around, foraging anything from crumples of cookies to left over from a picnic party and cautiously moved around dragging their bushy tails. The cricket wasn't far away too as James could hear him playing his fiddle. May be James thought, he is calling out for his beloved or may be he is lost,deserted by the rest and desperate just like him. Across this side of the park, it was reticently quiet, yet air bloomed with freshness and life. Besides for him, everything was the same, nothing has changed since his childhood.
"Can I share the bench with you ?"a voice called out suddenly for James. James knew that voice. He knew it well and where he had heard it. It bore the smell faint odor of cigarette that lingered in the air when James clung on the rails of the bridge. The same stranger stood behind him, still in his soiled Grey pants, the bag dropping from his shoulders, he blue shirt loosely hanged and he held a lit cigarette between his index and middle finger.
"Well we meet again." the stranger spoke sitting next to James. James didn't even get time to say no when the stranger continued on. A bum, James thought. "I am Justin Cook. But I go by Justin." The stranger sanguinely spoke stretching his hands out to James. "James, James Mor..ah...I go by James" James hesitated refraining from his surname while they shook hands. Justin's hands were rugged and gnarled. It felt more like palpating a coarse leather jacket. Justin gave it a tight shook and continued. "Where do u live? I come here every evening but I haven't seen you around here."
It was actually James first time in three years that he stepped in this park.The last time he was here was with Nancy, he remember like the smell of the fresh paint. It on their first date, arms over each other and walking past the lake. Coming back to the Lake actually triggered his old memories to flush. And that's why he stopped coming.
" I live close by" James murmured floating back into his old memories. His memories of his exuberant childhood, his jubilant school and college life, and his cherished moments from his love life were an intrinsic integral embedded within him, which was once his present and now his distant past.
"Well James, you did you want to jump from the bridge ?Do you mind if I possibly ask?" Justin spoke while taking another puff. A pint of smile stretched over his face.
"Yes I do " James replied with vexation.His eyes gleam at Mac with disdain while murmuring to him self "What a pest". Mac sat quite for a moment and then yet again spoke. But this time, a little slowly "Are you James, uhmm James Morgan". At this point, James had it. In the past, he gratifyingly declared him self as James Morgan. In school and college, it was a ubiquitous name people revered. But now it was the name he despised the most. "For God sake can you leave me alone !" James screamed. His infuriated tone reverberated through the park. The squirrels hastily took off for the nearest trees while the birds that placidly nestled in the trees abandoned it shelter. Even the crowd at the distance gazed where Mac and James sat. A little startled Mac swallowed down his saliva and slowly spoke. "Sorry, I didn't mean to infuriate you, James. I was just curious." In retaliation to James acrimonious tone, he bore a sympathetic one. "Yes, and please, please leave me, leave me alone."James replied without even looking at him. Mac was by then on his foot. He still held the cigarette in his hands and within the next moments , his foot steps, faded away against the green lush grass. Soon it was all quite again, James sat alone, yet the birds had flown away, the ducks were gone and the squirrels stayed back in the trees. It was all quite again.
It was past 7.30 when Andy called. James answered his call, and his infuriated tone was replace by a placid one. "I will be there in five minutes" James spoke as he stood up from the bench and reluctantly drove towards Andy.
At ten past 8 Andy, James and his wife Anshu finally sat down at the dinner table. At the corner sat Rahul, their three year old son. Andy and Anshu's were both ethnically Indians as parents migrated from India. Andy was born in Dheradun, a small town nestled in valley. His real name was Anand Yashpal. Yet in school, he ostensibly presented himself as Andy.Only during the exams and debates, students would glare at him enigamatically when teachers would call out his cognomen. Andy also spoke with a faint accentuated english. Anshu was born and brought up in the U.S. She met Andy during her first year in grad school when Anshu taught Economics in Michigan. Having only been to India four times, yet her parents rooted her with Indian tradition and culture.While she was at home she would always wear a scintillating Sari.
The dinner table was inundated with different Indian dishes and kitchen permeated with was aroma of the dishes.
"Have some more chicken and rice."Anshu breached the spell of silence that momentarily crept up after they sat down to eat. Since the first thanks giving break when James visited Andy;s home, James acquired a savory for Indian dishes. His favorite was 'Chicken Tandoori', marinated and roasted chickens. And off course he would call it "tenduri" in his American accent. Yet when it came down to eating, he would far beat any other Indian. But this evening, he ate even less that Rahul who was drooling and brandishing a chicken leg in his hands.
"That enough Anshu"James replied holding back Anshu who scoop the second bowl of rice in his plate. Although he hid his remorse, pain and frustration with his life with presenting an ostensible sanguine look, yet all three of them ominously knew what was going on in his head.
And yet again they ate in silence while the forks and knives clanked.
James was taking his second bite on the his tiendoori when Anshu spoke out to him. "James, me and Andy were going to visit our grandparents in India next month. And India is really beautiful during the summer." She spoke and paused when Andy diffidently interrupted. James looked at his while he held the of the tandoori between his teeth. Andy continued " So we were wondering if you would, like to come with us. You could stay with your family who would merrily welcome you."Andy finished saying when Anshu continued hastily "Its a really beautiful place. People are extremly friendly, and it isn't as dirty as it is portrayed here. The last time I went was when Rahul turning a year. You should definitely come with us". Anshu paused and the silence creped back in. It was just like a soccer commentary, only on one side of the team. James wiped and mouth and got ready to speak when Anshu broke in the next moment. "So its a yes. Good, see, I told you Anshu, James would never deny it." she jubilantly clanked her fork on her plate and stood on." Alright, I just call Chacha ji and tell him to book three flights from New Jersey" and she flung back her chair and got hold of the phone. James who even didn't say a word or beckoned a nod, completely appalled by Anju reaction suddenly passively called out "Anshu, Anshu, Listen to me" But Anshu infallibly wasn't listening as she hastily spoke on the phone in hindi and kept on. Andy drawing a stern smile" James, it OK. She will manage to get us all tickets. you don;t have to worry" . James went on "Anshu, Anshu, listen to me" yet neither Andy nor Anshu were paying any heed to James. And then he abruptly raised his voice and screamed "For christ sake Anshu listen to me !" Suddenly, there was a pin drop silence, and the next moment, Rahul starting wailing. .Andy walking towards Rahul " shhh, beta, its Ok, its Ok," Anshu gasped and paused while her Uncle spoke on in Hindi on the phone.
Non of them spoke as James placed his fork down on the table and left the house without a word. Rahul kept on wailing.
. The iridescent discotic lights flashed across the floor and reverberated with the blaring Jazz music behind him. His car lay parked outside the bar while James sat on a bar stool, his back curved onto the table, hie sanguine eyes half shut like a dichotomous leaf, his head held propped up with his rickety arm and his other arm held an glass of Martini.
Its was just a hour after he started drinking, by now this was his fifth shot, yet he was literally ruined. The bar attender poured him another drink when he stumbled, stood up and waded his away across the table.
"that makes 27 dollars 75 cents" she cried out making sure his ear drums heard it against the impalpable music flowing through. "27 dollars 75 cents," he murmured, and went on repeating 27 dollars 75 cents .
"Sir, you need to pay 27 dollars 75 cents" she cried out another time.
This time he gleamed at her, twitched a smile and drew out his wallet. "27 dollars 75 cents" he murmured, taking out a 20 dollar bill and handed it to her. "SIR , 27 dollars 75 cents" she cried out again with a frustrating tone. James meticulously snapped out another green bill from his wallet and handed over to her. The left over change, she placed it back in his hands . Stoned and drunk like fish, he went murmuring, 27 dollars 75 cents..27 dollars 75 cents, as he walked out from the bar and headed on for his car. Right on road, he stumbled a little and suddenly fell down . Yet arm stretched out grabbing him firmly ."Wow...wow, are you doing OK" a faint voice called out to James and while saliva drooled from mouth he says" Mr James Morgan, CEO NPS NPS," His last words lacked consistency and sobbingly, these words drained into silence.
Back in the his room, the sun shined right on his face yet he was utterly bothered to move. The curtains were wide opened and James like log laid on his bed, his tie still knotted, his shoes, all over the place as the clock hand rested on 11. On the right to his bed, aligned with a picture of him and his parents during his graduation from Harvard, laid a note that read "Mr. James Morgan Stanford Law,..........." It was 1.30 in the mid afternoon when James slowly dilated his slumberous eyes, his head felt like a rock and he astonishingly looked around, and wondered about the other night. Only thing he recalled, was getting to the bar, and 27 dollars 75 cents. "Ah, my head" he mourned while he moved his arms to get up. His looked into the mirror laying next to his bed to himself in the worst state he had ever been. His hair was glued up while his breath stank of foul alcohol. Across the table under a bunch of keys laid a note for him. He sluggishly stretched his hands, reached out the note and fumblingly read with a short yawn "Mr. James Morgan, Stanford Law, MBA from Harvard. CEO of NPS. Those were the very last words I heard before you directed me your address. I found you on the street right outside the bar. Justin Cook"
III
James sat on the same bench watching the ducks quack as they vigorously paddled across the lake. The afternoon rain have cooled down the weather, yet the ground was damp and every where around him, debris of maple leaves lay clustered. In his hand, he held the same note that laid on the table, and waited to catch a glimp of Justin. Hours past since he sat on th damp bench. The hour hand went on from 3 till5 . Yet, still no sign or presence of Justin. At around 5.30, he walked off. All the time James pondered Justin and his abrupt change in his behaviour while he was at Andy's place. Inside, he did repent upon actually screaming at Anshu and leaving the place. He constantly fiddled with his cell, read Andy's name but didn't dare to call. Ashamed was he, yet he missed his brother.
Two blocks south of the park, sandwiched between the Apple store and City Bank, a Chinese family ran a lucrative Restaurant business, under the name of Shanghai Chopsticks. James often resorted for it ever since Nancy left him. Shanghai Chopsticks was one of the most popular restaurants down town given for its savory dishes at a decent price. The waiters there were extremely servile which sometimes did turn out to be a little too much. They served you with both hands, spoke as gently as possible and bowed down everytime elating their customers from American proletarians to almost the same locus that of Emperors in the Ming Dynasty. And whether it rained or snowed, the restaurant was open seven days a week from 10 in the morning till 9 in evening ." Welcome to Shaghai Chopsticks" a diminutive little Chinese girl, with sparking small eyes, a little sharp little lips, standing at the door cried out while she bowed down with a huge smile carved around her face. James had been seeing this girl at the door for a couple of times. Inside, a faint Orienta string music played which seldom also played well known American country music. The wall were embellished with pictures of Shanghai gorgeous night views, Chinese rustic paintings and the main attraction of the restaurant was the orange Dragon with green tail which hanged loose from the ceiling. The restaurant was also commonly referred as dragon hut because of its presence. Plus, kids fancied the dragon and the lions outside the restaurant more than the food.

James sat down at the right side where the dragon's tail faced and ordered a Kung Pao Chicken and Shrimp along with a glass of red wine. His fancy for Chinese cuisines ranked equally high as his delight for Tenduri and other savory Indian dishes. Around him, the vociferous evening crowd clamored. Kids ran around the tables, their faces smeared with sauce whilst their parents cuisined on their dishes. Waiters precociously walked past them with a craved smile around their faces, while the men who sat across the far end in the corner clanked their chopstickes and started singing a birthday song. James solitarily sat next to the window. His glass of red wine shortly arrived followed by his his Kungpao Chicken and Shrimp. It wasn't untill twenty minutes before the waiteress in the pink top brought him his bill along with the fortune cookie. Just then Andy called on his cell. He held it in his hands and hesitated to press the talk key. The ringing ceased but rang again. This time James answered and the next moment Andy hastily spoke "Hey James, James, terribly sorry about last night. Anshu and I both felt we acted rather crude and stupid." In his faint Indian accent, he spoke so fast that James didn't catch half of it, yet picked up his lines and replied with remorse. "No Andy, I am ashamed off how preposterously I behaved." After all he pondered, they want me to go so that I get a break from my life.His heart heaved yet was relieved to have finally spoken to them. Anshu grabbed the phone after Andy and reiterated exactly what Andy said. In the end, it was Rahul's turn. He took the phone, comfortly placed it on his ears and in his puerile voice he spoke " James, are you coming with us to India." His voice glided through James ears and left him being choked. How could I say no, he pondered. Andy and Anshu's attentively awaited for James to say "yes" to their ingenious plan of using Rahul. A moment after James reluctantly reminded quiet, "James are you there". Little Rahul inquisitively asked on being bekoned by Anshu to ask again. James wetted his lips, and as he sighed and spoke "yes Rahul I am coming with you"and that was it. Rahul was the bait that fished James to India. Andy exubulantly snatched the phone from little startled Rahul while Anshu cheeringly lifted Rahul up in the air. "James don't worry about the tickets as we have already got three of them through Anshu's Chacha Ji."Andy exclaimed. "Ya, I knew that" James said to himself whilst glancing at the paper he found in the fortune cookie which read "You need a break to start over". After all he knew that it was Andy and Anshu's plan yet he thought, may be I do need a break.

IV

To be continued

In the small town of Mussorie, nestled in the deciduous pines, where the langurs lithely swung and ruled, where cows passed unharnessed the streets and where peanut butter was its pride production, a group four teenagers, fatigued and sweaty, gaspingly scurried through the thick forests of Gharwal. While the blanket of darkness spread with the noctural silence reverberating through the forest, the crickets started played their fiddles, the slimy monsoon snails crawled into their shells, the winds howled, and while the sun sank, they ran with they bags strapped on their drooping shoulders. Earlier that afternoon when they were hastily loading their bags with towels, soaps, their lunch boxes stuffed with tingmo( Tibetan bun), Allu Khasa(spiced potatos) which they brought from Amdo Resturant next to the school's Office, non of them considered bringing a bottle of water with them. Now panting and sweat dripping between his eyes, Gachoe regrettingly gleamed at his other three friends who bore the same rueful looks while they kept hastily running, rumbling pebbles that would roll and roll down the hill. When the clock hand strikes at 7, which was in less than half an hour, they did rather be back in their hostelss and homes then be blinded and struck in the forest by twilights.
Tsering who walked briskly faster than the rest because his athletic abilities on crossing the creek suddenly roared in his top pitched and cried " Ho ho !! Just 10 more minutes and that it! ." His eyes sparkled with gratification and delight on seeing the distant gompa(buddhist monastery) around the winding corner of the hill. Nagwang who stood couple of steps behind him spranged ahead and phewed as a sign of relief. Following him, Tashi scrambled some rocks down the hill, and seeing the monastery, delinquently sat down like a log and groaned '' it took just 40 minutes to get to Kempty Fall, but the walk back felt like it too ages." And while the crimson sunlight dimmed behind the hills, they kept hastening they steps, at moments they would run, slow down, gaze up horizon, and run again. Around 6.50, they rampantly passed by the Gompa and few minutes later they triumphantly sailed back in the school gate. It was quieter than usual when they stepped in. The sun has already set though it was still luminous enough to see. Chemi inquisitively looked around the basket ground while usually at this hour on Sunday's would be filled with thumping of basket balls, boys from Herni concentrating on their marbles in the dust, while the girls holding a bottle of water in their hands would diffidently pass around the corner leaving the gates and walking in lines up to the girls hostels. But today, there prevailed a lull of silence when then clanked open the gates.
"Where is everybody?" Tsering slothfully inquired. All four of them mutely looked at each other. "May be there is an emergency meeting that you guys are missing."Nawang hesitantly said while fiddling with the side strap of his fake Jansport bag." Tashi and Nawang were day scholars and unlike Tsering and Chemi who were borders, they resided near the school compound with their parents. "Well I better hurry back before my dad gets worried." Tashi anxiously interrupted while looking at Nawang who stood at the gate ready to go. A little brown stray dog with flopped ears and a distinct white path around his neck whimmed, and walked towards the boys convulsively waggling its tail. The boys utterly ignored its presence. During the breeding season commencing for March till August, stray puppies would ubiquitously roam around the school compound although more than half during the first wave itself would be taken away by the municipality officers. This brown blotched one must have got through. "All right, well see you tomorrow then, and ya, Chemi I have my towel in your bag" Nawang said while stretching his hands out to reach Chemi's bag. "Oh ya, Tashi, if you manage, can you come during the study session tomorrow as I haven't finished copying the notes from Miss Renu's class" Chemi interrupted handing Nawang his wet towel."Sure, that fine"Tashi replied. Once that, the boys parted off. Chemi and Tsering belonged to Thumi house and lived in together with another 48 students. They slept next to each other with bunkers adjacent to the foul smelling damp wall and also shared the same bathroom slippers. Actually, in CST Mussorie's hostel, there wasn't something like a personal shoe or slipper in the hostel. Every fine day Tsering would take off his slippers entering the prayer hall. Later when once the prayers are finished, students hastily would flush out from the hall and in the rush they would randomly wear any slipper or shoe their eyes fell on. Once there, they would take it off on the corridor of the house dressing themselves in uniform and boots. Later in evening, someone unanimously would put on the slippers during leisure time untill the evening prayer where he take off the slippers outside the prayer hall, and yet again someone who would carry on his kitchen duty serving tea puts on that slipper and so this intrinsic cycle would go on from Thumi to Desi, to Choygyal house , sometimes even the girls hostel, and once in a while occasionally the owner would find it. Albeit Tashi and Nagwang got to wear their slippers untill they wore it out or lost it. Tashi lived couple of blocks off the school. His parents taught in the same school and lived in the school staff quaters. Nagwang's mother was in Nepal while his Dad served in the Indian Army. So he lived along with his sister across the street. His dad occasionally visited for month or else but Nawang despised him for a drunk. Last summer, he was hospitalized for a week,after being laying in the drain for hours untill the local milkman found him. He visits his mother during the winter and summer holidays and although their parents weren't, divorced yet they lived separately while Nawang and his sister lived in Mussoorie for their studies.In school, teachers labeled them mischievous brats, yet Mrs. Thapa, their science teacher surprisingly adored them. Nagwang, Tashi Tsering and Chemi studied together and were friends since their childhood. Tashi entered in fifth grade while Nawang failed in 6th grade to join them. Passionated about football Tsering and Nawang where were strong athletics yet were academically, only capable of Bs and Cs. Chemi on the other hand was a born mathamatician and excelled in Physics and Tashi was a diligent student who always had his homework on time.
The next day in the class, their yesterday's trip and was the talk of the day. A small grouped cluttered around two benches where Nawang and Tashi sat."The water was freezing cold yet we plunged in. Tashi tell them how cold it was" Nagwang bekoned Tashi with a nod. "It was fun though. We swam around and ya, you know we even discovered a small water fall on the other side of the stream." and Tashi kept elaborating how they dived in from the rocky cleve. "When did you guys get back ?"interrupted Tsamchoe with her head placed on the desk and attentively listening. " Ya, it was really dark and we were wearied too. Tashi almost gave up when we reached the humped loop around the village." Nagwang responded while Tashi vicariously started thinking of that. At the loop, Tashi obliviously scurried back to the stream to get his wrist watch. The other three hilariously laughed as after moments he exasperatingly returned back to tell that.his watch laid at the bottom of his bag. The stentorian bell rang the next moment ceasing their conversation as others drifted back to their seats. Chemi was still expeditiously racing through with his pen copying down the notes from the other day. His silkily hair partitioned from the side incessantly fell in front of his eyes while he hastily copied. "You need to copy that faster before Miss Renu gets in the class." Tashi said inspecting Chemi's scraggly writings. "five....five....just 5 more lines"Chemi stutters without looking at Tashi and further perfunctorily paces. Nyima relieves herself from a simmering giggle which Chemi hardly even notices. Dorjee across the bench next to Nyima gazes at her slumberously, and yawns. Dorjee was covertly known as the piggy of the class as he spent more time sleeping the the class than studying. "Renu madam, Renu madam's coming" whispers Dolma to the class sitting right next to the door. Like in all other classes, she and her deskmate were like female gazelles bekon's or a predator by flickering her tails. As Chemi scribbles, Mrs Renu enters and the class stands and melancholily sings out "good mooorningggg madamm..." 'Good morning class, sit down" responds Mrs Renu in her strong embedded indian accent. This was the routine greeting every teacher received,which altered from morning with afternoon after the lunch break.Like all Indian female teachers Mrs. Renu was urbanely dressed in a orange Sari and carried a scintillating purse with her. Her hair silkily flowed behind her back and as she sat down her chair, her falcon eyes falls on Chime. Yet she overlooks and goes on taking the attendance. Most refer students by the numbers assigned to them although Mr Aggarwal out english lecturer , senses it demeaning the students and calls us by our names. "Roll no one, two, three she goes on untill 12. She calls again "roll number 12" No one answers and the suddenly" Chemi shrikes "Yes Mam!" She sterns at him through her faint tinted glass, sighs with dismay, and goes on. Chime hasn't been paying attention busy copying the notes and scrubs his head ,a sign of a very typical CSTian. The school has its own eccentric behavioral signs flourishing in the well established student body. If someone felt shy or embrassed, like getting castigated or standing front of the crowd, ignore whether it was a boy or a girl in CST navy blue, red and blacked stripped tie, they would infallibly shy, drooping their head and start convulsively rubbing. Its isn't an intense scratching or scrubbing that would take place, more like feeling the scalpel by placing your hands on your head. Some used only a hand, while others rub with both.This was perceived as a feeling guiltiness, shyness or what ever occasion it fit in and it aided Chemi this time. Nawang sigh with relief while the rolling counting went on. By time Chemi had proudly finished copying the notes utterly neglecting Mrs. Renu's fastidious nature when it came to handwritings. The morning first period with Mrs. Renu lecturing on 1857 first war of Indian independence and didactically making the class repeat the significant dates and names to be remembered. Through her lectures, Dorjee constantly dozed,Pelmo got lost in her own reveries and while Tashi keenly took notes on her lectures Tsering and Nawang sat next to each other, and pretentiously nodded everytime Mrs. Renu looked at them. Commencing a Monday class with a prosaic lecture wasn't very refreshing start.
Classes went on like that. The day summer session was divided into seven periods as they called them.School commenced at 9 am and each class was 35 minutes. Four in the morning with a short recess ten minutes recess in between while the afternoon session went three classes.
After Mrs Renu left, Mr.Wangchen enter the class. He wore a translucent yellor shirt, a grey pant, and an ostensible looking Dr. Martin shoe. Mr. Wangchen had his sister in the U.S whose often during New Year endowed him with gifts and clothes. His entrance was much more relaxed. The tense atmosphere with the air filled with silence was now much unrestrained and incessant chattering arose amongst the girl's three row after he sat down on his chair. "Agh. you girls, can you be quite while I go through your home work?" he moaned while placing he black chalk box and his bag on the table. For the next few moments the chatterring ceased yet soon intesified with girls from the third row merging in. It was more like a small mutimedia company agglomerating into a bigger company. His class commenced by reviewing the Buddist ten merits and demerits and by having each of the one clamorously read. When it was Tsering's turn, he paused, stuttered and read a word and again stuttered every two words he read untill Mr Wangchen unable to bear it call him to stop. "I did better than last week though" Tsering whispered to Jamphel while sitting down, moving unsteadily while his hands were still on his head. Jamphel in contrast composed songs in Tibetan. He had a dulcet voice, and his written and reading comprehension was remarkable as sweet as his tone. That was the reason why Tsering sat with Jamphel during the Tibetan class. The class session ended with Science period as the last few minutes neared, Dorjee now anxiously waited to go from the class. "Uuff, what isn't the bell ringing? Its already time to go out." he murmured to himself and continuously kept tapping his figures. "Hey stop that man. You always do that at the end of class" whispered Tsewang who looked with disdain at him. Mrs. Thapa had just made the conclusion of how the acid lead battery worked when the bell rang. All of the sudden, the silence that prevailed in the class was disrupted with chairs creaking, slamming of desk and indistinct prattling. "All right. Well we stop here today here.But answer the questions on page 162, and don't forget to summit your lab assignments tomorrow" Mrs Thapa declared raising her voice. "Yes Madaaamm" echoed in the class the next moment like a band of conscripted army replying back to their captain in a war zone. Instead of vociferous bombs explosions and rapid gun firing here it was a different war zone of students scurrying from classes like prisoners on escape. Uhmm sighed Mrs. Thapa while the class emptied in minutes after the ring.
"Hey Tashi, bring you bat and your tennis ball. I shall wait for you at the ground with Dhundup, losel,Nagwang and Chemi. Come fast, unlike last week when come call you." Dorjee loudly screamed from a distance while Tashi carried his huge bag teemed with books.
"Where are going to play ? I may be a little late though and can't promise. If mom's not at home I will surely see you at the ground. Or else if you want to get the ball and the bat, you can come up to my house."Tashi replied while halting from Tsering. "Look at him man. During the class, that bloke sleeps like a log and right after class, he seems as if fire is running through" Tsering quietly whispered while Tashi let out a faint giggle. The school suddenly overflowed with blue uniforms every where while students ran in all different directions.
"Tashi ! Tashi !" came a call amid the students. Tsering elongated his arms and pointed towards the school office. It was Tashi's mother, Mrs. Choden. She taught history while teaching english nursery lines was here passion. " I am having extra class. So buy milk from lala Suraj,and don' forget this time." She said walking walking towards the school office. "OK" replied Tashi waving his hands. "See me at the ground. I will bring both my ball and my bat and be in the ground is less than a minute"Tashi said preparing to run up to his house. "Alright. Be there on time though"
Tashi's house was exalted on a small platform, situated on the way upto Herni Hill, where the girl hostel was postioned. It was a fine run up the hill and Tashi habituated himself with a short cut through the road. Primarily, it was used a a sliding zone during the winter. For Tashi, it served a shot cut as he darted up on the path.
Tsering and Chemi hastily switched into their casual clothes."Aghhh, who took my red tennis shoes? "Screamed Dhundup. Some one from the other room complained his friend has soiled his coat, the Tsering left, stood two boys from second grade querulously blaming each other for the missing marbles. And while Dorjee meticulously combed his hair, Nawang arrived in the hostel. " Hey I decided not to back home. My sister is having her extra class, so I can play" he excitedly said while his face changed on entering the room. The windows were wide open yet still, the fetid odor of shoes had penetrated the whole room. Seeing the gradual change in his fissure, Tsering and Chemi incessantly laughed and went on with their conversations as they were inured to it.
Once Tashi got to the play ground, Tsering sprang forward to grab the bat. Tsering wore a blue T shirt imprinted, I love NY. His hair was well gelled and his face gleamed in the sun. Nawang enthusiastically came forward. He still wore his uniform and a a streak of blue line razed up on his immaculate Tshirt. Earlier during the class, khando recklessly inked that streak of blue line while vehemently shaking her ink pen during Tibetan period. Khando had the sweetest smile any one had. Nawang just acted as if it was nothing as she timidly said sorry. Back in the playground, Dorjee had already gathered his team and while Tsering enthusiastically practiced bowling, Chemi was making his own team. "All right, I have my team ready. Who bats first?" Dorjee brandishing his arms moved forward to Nagwang with his team. "Well ask Tsering or Tashi. Tashi who our team?" inquired Nagwang. Tsering approching Chemi said to him."Chemi are we done?" "Alright, Tashi, Dhundup, I , Tsering, Losel,Palden and andNagwang. "Chemi declared with the list in his hands.
The match started off with Nawang's team batting first. The wirl of dust that rose every couple of minutes utterly bothered while they zealously carried on. The local milkman stopped to cheer the teams and a small like crowd had gathered on the side of the play ground. On Tsering's team, Nagwang and Palden scored the highest. Everytime they scored, they would shout in triumph.The game went on but by the time other other team got to bat, it was already 530. One last shot and the bell rang."Agh, comon comon, throw the ball." groaned Lhamo. 5.30pm was prayer time. Sluggishly, the players walked away from the playground. Tsering ran towards Tashi and said if he needed help carrying the ball and the bat back."Na, I am fine. Oh, do you know when will the school cricket tournament start?" Tashi asked while removing the wooden wickets . "Uhm, I actually need to ask our P.T instructor. But I will have you in my team for sure. Well, I will see you tomorrow in the class. We can talk more about it then" Tsering said. Nawang was still in the ground when Tashi was leaving. Earlier, it was only the blue streaked ink. but now it was almost impalpably covered in dust and dirt. "Man, Acha(sister) is going shout at me. It the first day of the week and I already soiled my shirt." He complained while wafting off a fly.They parted off at the water tank. Nawang scurried back to his house pondering if his sister was already back. It was five o'clock when Tashi got back home. With his glasses toppled on his nose, his dad sat outside reading the newspaper, his second wife. Thats what Mrs Choden called it. Besides that obituary and the sports section, he zealously read every page . "Where were you till now?"His dad inquired still looking at the newspaper. "Just down the playground with classmates."Tashi replied placing down the bat under his box full of books, and heading on for shower. "Oh did you bring the milk?"Mrs. Choden comes forward from the kitchen and while his face turns sour for it was the third time he forgot it again.
to be continued......

622 Terrace

Biking towards 622 Terrace Road wasn't as gratifying as coming down from there, with unrestrained brakes,the breeze blowing against your chest whooshing down the slope, the fragrance of the fresh leaves lingering in the air, and untill you reach Uintah, all you do is just spread your arms, free the clutches, take a deep breath and fantasize stretching your wings, swooping down the hill. At times did I envisage myself as DiCaprio at the brink of Titanic holding hands with Kate and letting myself fly. Aside from being in the ocean in a historical ship along with a girl, I guess it nearly the same vicarious intensity that runs down my vein every time I bike down down from Terrace. You will empathize this ineffable exuberant moment if only you savored that ride.
The first day, Steven drove me up there. We passed Uintah mooring with ubiquitous cars zooming with stentorian loud stereos playing hard core metal. Steve didn't say anything, but his visage infallibly denoted disappointment. At the red we braked, waited untill it flash green and then took off. The steep side of the road however wasn't what what he had earlier enthusiastically at the breakfast table mentioned as of coming down the the slope. I grimed at him while the he altered his car's gear going up inclined at around 40 degrees. I topped my class in geometry. So you can trust my Pythagoras estimation on that. Yet that was what I loathed. Every time I panted, tongue sticking out, diligently paddling albeit I could feel a stinging gnawing in my calf, and while geared cars would whoosh by me, music deeming from there stereos, I would continue paddling untill I get to 622 Terrace.
Her name was Mary. While coming from a post World War II plebeian Italian family from Sicily who migrated to the States, she didn't have an Italian first name. Italian names had always entralled me. My Last summer Euro trip commenced in Stockholm yet, my favorite destination was Rome and Florence. Names there bore royal touch. Well she didn't have a name that close to being royal.But she did have a faint Sicilian look, which was enough to raise my eyebrows the first time we met. Summer in C.Springs was hot and sultry. It wasn't as muggy it would get during the pre-moonsoon seasons in Delhi, yet an alternation from -12 during winter to a gradual 90 F was a pretty expedient reason for having the coolers and fan turned during the durial heat. Plus, the house was situated right on a hill top. Thats why Patricia perspired like a fountain. Patricia would arrive early in the morning while Alma and Mary were be in their nocturnal dreams lands. I was told she made breakfast for Mary but Alma had to do it on her own. I wonder why that was but that was non of my concern. Patricia responded to by Pat. Pat always wore that mottled T shirt with the back side imprinted 'Rainbow', a parochial group that celebratesd the rainbow festival for the gays and lesbians. That why I never asked Pat if she was married or had kids . Ya, she did carry a picture of a guy in her wallet, which my eyes fell when she was drawing out the check for me, and that guy didn't resemble anything like her although he was also wearing the same T shirt she proudly wore. So ya, that thought always lingered with me. Pat had deep brown eyes, long eyes lashes, a protuberant nose which she claimed to have got for her dad, olive skinned with wrinkles around her eyes and a tall elegant body. And she always indistinctively murmured something while she combed Mary. Elma on the other hand had a ruddy look ,she was hefty,stout and to an extend had a very amazonian feature. She wasn;t as tall as me or Pat and often in her short pants exposing her stout calfs, she posed as my favorite Tinkle character, Shikari Shumbu. Unlike how she dressed up, she has a strong predilection for dresses and make up, and was a dilettante when it came for paintings. Her room was embellished with copious paintings most of which she has brought while a few slightly distorted pastoral canvas which she exultantly, clearing her throat present as being her and her guests would sanguinely react 'Wao, goodness me, its awesome. Not even a faint difference in your and Arcopelo's pastorial scene.' and then they would go on with their laudatory comments , commenting on this and that kind of stroke and colors although half of them haven't ever held a paint brush.
Next to her room was the sitting room. The sitting room was commodiously well designed and furnished with a few rugged Kasmiri carpets, flamboyant cushions, an inundated bookshelf, a small table lamp, a Iranian carved table, embroidered curtains, a little fish tank with a solitary gold fish, an old television set, ostensibly dating back to early 90s and an obsolete gramophone besides couple a two or three picture frames laying on the table. During the evening, the spectacular view the of iridescent lights of northern side of the town in the sheen sun set against the mountains could easily be seen through the transparently wide window. Mary's slept in the adjacent room on the right side of the corner and transversing a few steps away to the left from there, is the kitchen merging in the anterior side of the house. Well I got to see Mary only for 5 minutes every two days. Every two days, I biked up on Mesa road, cross Uintah, waited untill the signal turned green, and then bike on terrace. Once i got to 622 Terrace, i would take a right turn and on my arrival, I would be greeted by Angel's affectionate barking, vigorously waving her tail and move around and around the trying to get out from the wired fence where she spends half here day in kettle. The door's usually remained opened, yet at times I had to ring the bell that sounds like a chrip if its locked. Pat would be there with Mary and she would greet me in her unusual high tone .Mary would sitting in wheel chair, sipping down her apple cherry juice while would Pat incessantly keep talking to her.
Mary turned 93 two months ago. I wasn't present there for here grand 93th birthday, yet I called Alma telling her to wish Mary for me. Alma must have passed my felicitations but I wonder if Mary ever heard that. Her birthday picture still hangs on the ceiling while flowers that she received from her beloved ones still lays in the flower vase, parched withered and crumbly. Mary occasionally responded to Pat's talking by murmuring. I rarely got to see that but every time she did, Pat would exuberantly be talking about it to Alma the whole day. Every morning when i got there, I would move up to her, bent down and rub her hands as a gesture. On days when she was more alert, she stiflingly moved her head, narrowing eyes, and would grim at me . I used to take that for a hi. Pat got her off the bed every morning and while she gently wiped her face with a moist cloth, she would often snort at times and then seemly close her eyes. Once she delicately finished dressing her in a thin translucent gown like a mother, she would comb her sparingly thin hair with a comb clustered with more hair than on her head, and all the time, she would keep talking to her. This one sided conversation ranged from how gorgeous she looked during her birthday to Pat's house hold affairs. Mary's bed was positioned facing the adjacent wall across which Angel slothfully lies. For a dog who was barely 6 months, kept inside the garden, left alone instead of running around, fetching sticks and balls was indeed more of a drudgery than anything. She whined, growled and seldom barked and all she wanted was a little attention.
I used to get in the house every alternate morning at 1130 am, and my job was to lift Mary from the wheel chair and put her back in bed. Pat could effortlessly get her out from the bed tilting her from right to left, but getting her back in the bed was a hassle. I was told that once Alma endeavored it all my herself, but consequently , she landed up snapping the urinary catheter, dropping Mary on the floor and twisting her angle. So since then, I have been employed to get all the way till terrace, lift Mary from the wheel chair and put her in her bed and that was all I did. Only for five minutes, I would be with Mary, lifting her from the wheel chair and putting her in her bed before I bid farewell. Even though we didn't spend much time, yet our bond grew strong, strong enough that I actually fancied biking up there. Mary never spoke to me, yet her eyes conversed splendidly well. At times when i blared "Buon giorno" her eyes radiated and and she would purse her lips in acknowledgment that she heard me speaking Italian. If I held my hand out, she would hold them, give it a tight squeeze and then gently nod. Couple or times, i had held her hands. The first time I met her, she held it tight, digged her fingers in my palms, and then momentarily later loosened it with a shake. She had a strong grip.
Mary looked beautiful and graceful in her pictures when she was young. She looked elegant yet was a heck of Sicilian in a black and white picture riding a horse, with cow boy hats and boots. Drawing out her fingers, she would place out which one was her in every single photo I gleamed. Once or twice I had to fed her while Pat was away. Surprisingly, Mary had a ravenous appetite. I would starte off with banana pudding, then quench her with apple juice, followed by a bowl of oranges and a glass of milk. At times she would burp and her eyes would timidly splash with embarrassment. We did communicate, yet it was through our eyes not lips. Her eyes, wrinkled and drawn out, glittered even at that age. Her hair completely grey, and combed dazzled in the sun, and while I lifted her from the chair she would grab my collar, and gradually loosen her grip as I placed her down on the bed. Once that, she would look at me, quiver a little and then passively stretch her stiffened arms and gently lay on the bed.Her blue eyes which Alma inherited, itself had a lot to share. Each glance could convey a thousand of words to share our bond deepened through glances not words.
But yesterday,when I biked up to 622 terrace to put Mary in her bed, Alma palely met me at the door and told me that Mary peacefully laid in her bed since last evening.

Behind Sardar's Statue.

That day we kept on running and both of us dared not even to break the spell of silence untill we reached home. It was dark, much darker than usual. The air smelled fresh and every time I inhaled in hard, my nostrils quivered. At point, we would hasten up untill our panting grew so hard that we could even hear each other's heart beat. With clenched fist, pearls of sweat around our foreheads and murmuring prayers incessantly, that morning we ran as fast as we could, for the first time even during our morning jog.
It all started at around 4.30 o'clock in the morning. The mall road circumventing Gymkhana club glowed in with the newly installed streets lights. The black tarred road camouflaged in with the nocturnal darkness and the leaves rustled while a faint howling breezed passed by. The green bins labeled as recycle teemed with litters, plastics, dirt and in the meantime,as the prolonged silence creped up exhibiting the stillness and darkness of the night, the moon cheerfully played hide and seek with the dense ebony clouds oblivious that it was soon time to sleep. Its was a little chilly, frost had covered the grasses and while we exhaled out vapor, it seemed we puffed out smoke from a cigarette we shared without the odor. Armored against the chill in warm gloves, insulated jackets, knitted hats, we kept walking although we coined it as jogging. Earlier that morning when we left home, Tenwang valiantly jumped up the back gate, slipping hard with a thug and groaned. I stood there, fingers clenched with keys, and once i stepped out of the gate, I locked it again which took another couple of minutes before we start off. We jogged, walked and rested and during all this, he constantly rubbed his knees, rubbed it couple of times and then later morned. "Chocho, its your fault. Why didn't you stop me."
This was our daily routine, our daily jog that we had finally been successful to follow after diligently scheduling, when to be tapping down the alarm clock and heading out of bed. A year ago, when we primarily commenced it, every morning it turned out dad waking us up, while mom later that morning would grumble and rebuke us about the alarm clock that went on for 5 minutes before dad, reluctantly had to step out from his warm bed and tap us on our head.
The chill gripped me from behind as we jogged on. Our planned run was 3.4 Km, but we only jogged for few minutes,then walked on untill we got to Sardar's statue. Once there, we would stretch out a bit, talk about each other's mundane activities, then by the time the flush of morning began to tinge the sky above Kanchenjunga, we would turned back. In whole it would actually be 2 km, but we when return home we would ostentatiously declare it was 4km and start perspiring like pigs. and yes, at this we are adept. But that day, we ran all the away back home, we didn't even jog nor stop to stretch or rest.
It was what we saw in the bush that made us run. Actually, to be precise, we don't even know what we saw, but we clearly heard something growling at us. It was an infuriated growl, not even like a wrathful cat's meowing, but more like a screamingly pithed growl, something that sounded much more bigger that a cat, that stood behind the bush near Sardar's statue.
As usual traversing a hundred of paces and once we got to Sardar's statue, we start our stretching. It wasn't pitch dark yet the street lamps kept flickering. Flies, myriads of flies hovered around it like bees. They inquisitively buzzed, swamped around it and convulsively clashed against each other. I noticed Tenwang didn't enjoy his stretches as usual. He was tall, well built, and had a lithe body more like a amazon , yet after his queer landing earlier that day, seemed that he didn't really feel much for it. He just stretched for a while, and sat down. And while i kept on, he idly moved around and then said"Chocho, why don't you keep stretching for a while while i go water the plants. I didn't pee this morning." I gleamed at him,my heads sandwiched between my legs, and stopped. Everything positioned itself upside down. I nodded and said " Don't go to far away, go behind the bush there." And thats where he shouldn't have gone. The bushes were hemmed by pipe railings, very commonly found in most Indian hill stations. The British Raj's architectural adeptness still significantly lives on. I noticed Tenwang limped slightly heading there. He leaned against the railings, got under the first bar, and crossed into the perimeters. "I will be back in a minute" he said while proceeding on.I kept on with my counts, my saliva had started to thicken, and cool breeze passed between my legs .And then a sudden growl, a stentorian one made my hair stand up. "Chocho! Chocho! there's something here"shirked Tenwang. The next moment, something rustled through the bush. It moved in very fast, and i could feel the thumping of it against the ground. Tenwang, with his zippers wide open, had already got in through railing and was standing on my right. "Wha.. whaa.. what was that?"he stumblingly whispered while my hands and feet trembled. I kept quite and he slowly looked at me. "I was just peeing when all of the sudden i heard this sudden shrill. " he muttered. My heart pounded convulsively while my brother gripped my hands. He was trembling too. Everything was so quite, as if no one was there. The buzzing of flies was the only thing i could hear besides my short breaths. The bushes started rustling again but this time, it was stronger, it was breathing, taking short breathes and moving,moving towards the railing, but slowly, very slowly. Every second, my heart started pounding faster and faster. Heaved in with trepidation, I silently tapped my brother's hand and winked at him. Pearls of sweat dwelled on his forehead and he gasped at me. I nodded at him and timidly whispered again"back off , but slowly and start running while i tell you. Don't leave my hand." The rustling grew closer and then impulsively stopped. We stood there still. Only thing i could feel was my sweat dripping down, my heart pounding faster than before, my brother dipping his fingers in my hands and then 'Grrrrwww' a shrill drill from the bush and the next moment we sprang back. Within secs, we were running as fast as we could. Tenwang ran as if all the time he was pretending to be limping. We dared not looking behind but keeping on running, and running. All the while we sprang and run, we panted and we held each others hands tight, as tight as we could. For the first time since we started our morning running, we ran and we didn't jog or walk or stop. But we just ran. Hundreds of thoughts starting infiltrating in, hundreds of thoughts for which i didn't have an answer. Both of us dared not look back for we were too intimidated. We didn't hear any one following us but we keep on running. Soon, at a distance we could see our home. I gazed at my brother. His hair, which he always combed and gelled taking every intense care to keep it from falling below his forehead, was now completely messed up and he utterly even cared to wave it back. Our hearts were still pounding hard and we were both completely drenched in sweat. Gradually his grip over my hands loosened, and we started slowing down untill we stopped at the gate. I leaned forward, my hands placed on my legs and I kept panting while my brother stood straight still scrutinizing our back and drawing deep breaths. "How is your foot?" I inquired while leaning against the gate. "Fine, its better. Actually i don't feel the gnawing in my calf anymore. Its gone" He said that and sat down next to me. "But Chocho, what was that? he asked again, but this time he didn't stammer. I raised my head, look at him and I just kept quite. He got his answer. Indeed, even now,i didn't know what was it back there,behind the bushes that made us run, that made Tenwang get rid of his pain.
Later,I found out that i had lost my keys while we ran, and so we waited that morning untill mom saw us from the windows. Ya, Tenwang was immaculate of the blame. It was me. We did manage to get a dupicate set fixed after i received a sound scolding from dad. But that was fine, completely fine. Atleast I was glad I landed home.
Sometimes, i still do ponder what might have been behind the bushes. A wild cat, a wolf, or may be even a snow leopard. Yet what ever must have behind the bush, we both still laugh thinking of the fact that that was the first time we actually ran till home and we didn't lie that we ran 3km.

Don't worry Sahib.

It was ten past eleven when i hastened off towards the taxi. The cars passed by with rolled up windows , the sun glared brightly while Mathur lethargically stood up with his lathi, opened the gate and waved me salam. His oiled haired glossed with sheen, his sanguine lips stained with paan, and pearls of sweat dwelled on his forehead. I returned him a smile which he didn't ever care tonotice as he closed the gate, sat back on his chair and dozed off in his diurnal nap. Browny sluggishly flickered his tail, batted an eyelid, and slumbered with his tongue sticking out. Like an lost wearied traveller, parched like a dried leaf, flies hovered around him, yet he was utterly bothered even to waft them away. The black tarred road scorched like a conflagration and a whirl of wind passed by, raising up a cloud of dust while the birds slothfully sat on the motionless branches, scrutinizing every move i made. Everything seemed dormant and dead for it was a torpid Sunday afternoon on 420 Sevoke road.
With my bag strapped on my back and viewing the world through my fake but ostensible 140 Rs Ray-Ban glasses that i have acquired from my brother, I lowered my head, stepped in taxi and asked the driver to drive towards to Darjeeling taxi stand. "Sahib, you can turn the fan on if you want to" the driver gleamed at me while i lowered the window. He was in his early thirties, atleast he looks so to me. Deep blue eyes, oiled hair, combed has deep pitted voice. As I sat back seat,his tabbiz glittered in the rear mirror and that was rather facile for me to deduced him as muslim. "Sahib, where are from ?" he inquired while backing back from the parking lotे. Turning my face away from the window and I cleared my throat." Darjeeling , but i have been studying away from home."I replied.
" You are lucky sahib, you don;t need to be then bearing siliguri's welcoming moonsoon heatwave" he gleamed at me and i returned him a nod.While we whizzed off towards the city, he entertained himself with humming a begali tune and a mild breeze wafted against my face. Within moments though, my hands clenched with mugginess and my back started sitting in sweat. The city wasn't very far from here for my ears could instinctively grasp the distant vociferous cars blowing their horns and with every minute it grew louder whilst the road starting cramping up with traffic. Then suddenly, the car tires shrieked and the taxi abruptly came to an halt. Shocked and a little intimidated " Oh Babumashai. Even i can see the flickering red lights from a distance. Drive slow for I am in no hurry to reach" I acclaimed. He stopped humming his begali tune,turned back his face, smiled and in heavy bengali accented english "Abdulla, Sahib, my name is Abdulla Raman.I have been driving taxi for the last 4 years. Not a single scratch on my car. Don't worry Sahib, I will you reach safely on time. This happens all the time." he calmly replied. A startled and taken aback, i glanced at him through the rear mirror while he drove on the green light. "Did you go to school" I inquisitively inquired. "Yes sir ji, i am 12th passed with 2nd division.But i didn't go to college after that" "Why didn't you? you should have continued" I replied wiping the sweat on my forehead. He humorously looks back at me, clears his throat and takes a deep sigh." Life is unpredictable sahib.I dwelt dreams too, in suit and boot ,drinking coffee instead of tea in a mud cup, working in an air conditioned office instead of driving a taxi while its so sultry, but sahib, my calls remained unanswered for above"He took his eyes off me and went back humming a bengali tune. A sudden sprang of slight uneasiness brewed up in me. "ya, not everything happens as one wishes for." I nodded towards him and glanced out through the window and I starting pondering about that very scene in Rang De Basanti when Amir goes "बहार दुंनिया में आचे आचे DJ बीस गए , लाखो के बीर में ( In the outside world, there are hundreds like me who got lost off, in crowd of millions")
Cars with stentorian horns passed amidst the sudoriferous rickshaw pullers, women walking around bare foot in mottled soiled sarries with fish baskets aloof their heads, ubiquitous vagrants laying across the sevoke bridge, some half naked, while others who were just wrapped up in tattered translucent dhoti. Every time the red light illuminated, kids covered in dirts , most of them 7 years to early teens would cluster around your vehicles, braying and brandishing their hands towards you, begging to give them any thing from a paisa to a leftover food. Stray dogs gaunt as a skeleton idly followed these kids who were their only playmates, and whose intimacy ranged from sleeping on the same footpath to ravening from the same spot.
The clock hand laid at 12 and i was nearing my destination. High pitted chattering, beeping of cars, sooty smoke and dust are the primary signs of entering the city premises. My back was already soaked in sweat and my shirt clanged to it like a wet piece of cloth. Yet Abdulla still maintained his posture. His hair all combed, his immaculate khaki well ironed and not a single pearl of sweat rounded on him. In a way, I felt blessed going to back in Darjeeling away for the heat, mugginess ,pollution and the cacophonous metro life envisaging how miserable it was to be living here. Darjeeling Taxi Stand read in big bold letters that even a bad myopic person wouldn't have missed. On the meter it read 41.50 Rs as the net charge. "Here sahib, we are right on time for you to hop on" as Abdulla slowed down his car. Abdulla still clunged to his humming while I drew out a 50 Rs note. " thank you and keep the change Abdulla" I said as i set out of the car in the scotching heat. "धोनोबाद (thank you)Sahib and you have a safe journey"Abdulla replied with his palms folded. He gazed and waved his hands bidding farewell. Usually I bargained but today it was something else that had submerged my inner conscience. I smiled at him while his car rumbled for a second time,zoomed back into road, and soon he was gone, lost amidst the thousands that passed by each moment.