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
