JULY 26 IN 3 PARTS – Reality/ Fiction/ Reality

Considering July 26 as just another day of our lives and just another date on the calendar is the most convenient way to move ahead.

If at all you plan to get emotionally involved with this day, you will recount two events in particular – 1) The Kargil War of 1999 and 2) The Mumbai deluge of 2005. Being an observant, I will not only recount those two events but, I will remember them and imagine a story to be inserted between the two events. This story is a work of fiction and takes place in the year 2011. The date remains unchanged - JULY 26.

Interestingly the Kargil war, the Mumbai deluge and the fiction are separated from each other by a span of six years.

The first story unfolds accordingly:

July 26: Part 1/ Reality – The Kargil War, 1999

I don’t think it is that easy to allow the memories of Kargil war to fade out. I can’t. Neither will the families of those soldiers who sacrificed their lives. As citizens we shouldn’t. As humans we wouldn’t. The Kargil war showed the ugly face of a neighbor. The war revealed the atrocities of an intruder. The war made us realize about our vulnerability to terrorism. One image that never fails to evoke tears is that of Captain Vikram Batra. A day before or so, he was being interviewed by a television journalist and asked to share his views on enemy attacks. He had bravely remarked with a cola brand’s punch line – Yeh Dil Maange More (This Heart Desires More). The next day (if I am not mistaken), he was shot dead by intruders. His remark was played repeatedly on all the news channels. He became legendary. Tears rolled out of my eyes and I was filled with anger. Every day a new casualty was reported from the battlefield. Yet somewhere, the heart prompted that we will succeed to overpower the enemy. July 26, 1999 is the day when our brave Indian soldiers succeeded in completely evicting Kargil of the intruders. Since then we have been proudly celebrating this day as Vijay Diwas (Victory Day). 

July 26: Part 2/ Fiction – The Lovelock, 2011

She knew this wasn’t the life she had asked for. Her marriage had hit a roadblock. A child was dependent on her. The dilemma that she was facing right now was that of making a choice. The constant traveler that she was, the late traveler that she was, little did she know that he too was travelling alongside every day. Her demanding job left her exhausted. But she found solace in long journeys. She had developed a habit of boarding a train and traveling as far as the local train would take her to. But she set a condition for herself. She had to come back home; to her son and her mother who shared a modest apartment with her. Married for as long as five years, her husband chose to work abroad, stay abroad and never invite her abroad. She delivered their first child in his absence. The only communication channel they shared were handful of phone calls, some abusive messages and emails written in threatening tone. The marriage was on the verge of collapse. She continued to save it by doing her bit. Thus she was happy being this constant traveler. She had no idea about having won the attention of a fellow traveler who followed her through these journeys. It would take her three months to realize that someone could be stalking her. On confronting, he revealed that her eyes had never left his mind for a day. On probing as to where he might have spotted her, he replied that he had always seen her boarding one or the other train and kept observing her. She sensed this being a different phenomenon. The fellow traveler had become her obsession from the day she confronted him. She felt silly of not having even asked for his name. After a month or so, they revealed their names to each other. She found it funny. He found it remarkable. They started traveling together, exploring new places. He had stories to be shared. She had her own share of woes to be shared. On a rainy day when they were stuck at one of the stations of Mumbai’s harbor line, he took her hands in his and stared deep into her eyes. Sensing too much intimacy she revealed, she was married. He kept staring at her, uttered no word and neither allowed her to release her hand from his. After a late night’s journey, he followed her home. Throughout the journey, she had rested her head on his shoulder and poured her heart out to him. When the journey ended, he had announced his love to her. It was the month of July. The rains had swelled. The puddles had thickened. Standing beneath her apartment, he expressed his desire to follow her upstairs. She didn’t expect this from him. He was persistent. On opening the door, her mother was reluctant to allow a stranger walk into their home. She had kept the apartment secluded from probing relatives. He saw her son playing around. Gently he took him in his arms, kissed the little one’s forehead and put him to sleep. Turning towards her mother, he touched her feet, sought her blessings and rose to leave. She pleaded with him to stay back. Her mother couldn’t understand the series of events that were unfolding at such a late hour. He stepped out of their apartment and started climbing down the slippery staircase. He lost his balance, banged his head against the wall, started bleeding and collapsed. The next morning he woke up with immense pain in his head. The first aid had worked but she was keen to take him to the doctor. Her mother had reservations. She took her aside and started speaking to her in whispers. He managed to leave the bed, went closer and bravely announced that he loved her. She couldn’t believe it. Her son was too young to realize that some change was occurring in his mother’s life. But her mother had her reservations. She didn’t want her to divorce her husband and settle down for a second marriage with a child in her lap. On the other hand, he started making preparations to fight against the world and bring her home as his newly wedded wife with a child in her arms. They started traveling more and during one such journey her mobile rang. Her husband was calling to apologize. On reaching home, she didn’t answer any of his calls. All his messages to her yielded no reply. After a week’s time, his phone rang. Though upset, he couldn’t resist answering the call. She expressed her desire to meet. They boarded the train at Churchgate and chose to travel till the farthest limit of Virar. During this journey she revealed to him that within two weeks’ time, she was planning to join her husband abroad. He was left heartbroken. Throughout the night, he tried many a times to hurt himself. Thoughts of suicide showed no signs of being shy. But he lived. The next morning he woke up to a series of messages from her. He remembered the last three words of her first message – I seek freedom. When they met, she expressed her desire to spend a day with him, away from the city, away from those journeys. He sensed the end of this relationship being closer. Stealing a day out of their schedules, they traveled to a village of fishermen. A few kilometers deep in the heart of the village stood a resort. From this resort, the sea looked like a beautiful portrait of thousand emotions and the rowing boats created a vibrant spectacle. She opened the windows of the cottage he had rented to spend the day with her. She allowed the breeze to brush against her skin. The saline aroma of the village left her feeling intoxicated with love. Bolting the door behind her, she locked her lips with his. As he tightened his grip on her body, tears rolled down her eyes. They surrendered to each other and remained locked in the cottage till midnight. The next morning even though they had woken up tangled into each other, he couldn’t accept the fact of her departing. He pressed her for reasons. She maintained a stoic silence. After a while, she freshened up and pulled out a gold chain from her purse. She requested him to put the same around her neck. They left the cottage, traveled to the nearby station and boarded the train, which would take her back home. During the journey, she said nothing. Once they reached the destination, she alighted and stopped him from following her. She moved a little ahead but returned to hug him. He found the hug to be intimate and painful. She kissed him again and before turning to leave home, she told him – All the time that we were locked in there; I couldn’t tell you as to why I took this step. My husband needs me more than ever. My son needs his father like never before. Above all, my mother won’t allow this marriage to end.

Before he could react, she had left. A year passed by. He was in one of those journeys when the tone of a message caught his attention. The message read – Remember. Today is July 26. Same time last year, we had locked ourselves in that little cottage of love.

He read it twice, alighted from the train, hailed for an auto and made his way to the same cottage. He bolted the doors, opened the windows, placed the cake on a table and messaged her – Between memories of you and me, we exist. July 26, our love lock!

July 26: Part 3/ Reality – The Mumbai Deluge, 2005

I was working with a Thane based corporate communication agency. At around 10 AM, I had offered prayers at the Mahalaxmi temple and proceeded to meet my client in an adjacent corporate center. The office seemed abandoned. The receptionist had arrived late. She was drenched. The client, I was supposed to meet was busy making phone calls. All appointments have been cancelled. An international webcast was put on hold. Phone lines had started going dead. I was flipping through various magazines, which lay scattered on the table. My eyes were about to fall on an important news item, when the cable power was cut off. On seeing me, she was surprised! She didn’t waste any time. She started running her fingers through the dummy copy of a magazine, which we were supposed to proof check. After an hour or so, she stared out the window, turned towards me and advised that I should leave early. I assured her of things being normal. But she insisted that I should try getting back home as early as possible because my mother could be alone; she might need my help too. The last few words left me worried. I realized something was really wrong. Was it a riot, bomb blast or some unforeseen tragedy? I stepped out of the building. Before I could hail for a taxi, a black & yellow fiat stopped in front of me. The driver shouted that I should hop in immediately before the city sinks. His words left me feeling sick with worry. On probing further, he sped across the roads, dropped me at Byculla station and before pulling out he cautioned – Get home soon sir, the city is sinking. I had read in many books that Mumbai was a group of islands and many of its actual terrain were reclaimed from the Arabian Sea. It felt like the seas were outraged and were now avenging the reclamation. The platforms wore an abandoned look. College students were huddling together to board that one train, which was supposed to be the last train back to Thane. I boarded alongside. One of the girls, standing adjacent to me, asked me from below her veil, if the train can make it till Thane. I thought she was insane. On reaching Thane, I alighted and rushed to board the bus to my office. On reaching, I realized my office was sinking. I couldn’t understand what was wrong. The rains had swelled. Before we knew it, water started gushing in from the drains of our bathroom. We locked the office and escaped. I had to swim through shoulder high waters. In an hour’s time, our peon spotted the corpse of an animal floating across. Someone then screamed that due to a cloudburst, Mumbai was experiencing he worst ever flood in its long history of other major and minor calamities. My first priority now was to reach home. My mom was alone. It took me two hours to return home, which otherwise was not even 30 minutes away from each other. Luckily our home was at a certain height. The waters hadn’t reached there. My mother and I spent the next few days together at home. My office colleagues joined in after 48 hours. They stayed with us because their homes were lying submerged beneath 7 ft of water. It took days for the water to recede. Rumors of an epidemic started doing the rounds. The worst scene that I could recollect was that of the two wheeler parking lot near the railway station. None of the bikes had left the parking space. All of them stood submerged beneath 5 ft of stinking rain waters. Having survived that day, even today I live that moment every year remembering the calamity, which was so not called for.

-Virtuous Vociferous