Time

time may heal what seems non-healable now
time may help forget what seems unforgettable now
time may kill what seems undying now
time may stop what seems unstoppable now
time may bring back what seems lost now

i cannot wait for time
my fears cannot wait for time
my eccentricities cannot wait for time
my stubbornness cannot wait for time
my hopelessness cannot wait for time

Almost wasted

This is a story of my childhood that I can never forget. I was a small kid when my parents had thrown a party at home, which was attended by several guests. My mother used to work hard do all the housework herself, so the burden of washing all the used utensils would have fallen on her shoulders the next morning.

When I woke up the next morning, I found her asleep as she was very tired, having spent the previous day working hard and making preparations for the party. We used to get water in our home only upto 9 am, it was 8 am and my mother was still asleep. I panicked, knowing that she would have a terrible time if we run out of water with all the dirty utensils of previous day's party unwashed. I did not have the heart to wake her up as she looked so exhausted, even in her sleep.

I decided to wash some of the utensils myself, to take some of the burden off her shoulders. I started with the ones which I thought she would need that day for lunch & dinner. Then, I felt I should also do some others, which were the expensive ones, and which she used only when there were guests at home. Having finished those too, I thought I would do some more, so I washed as many as I could till the time I realized I had almost finished the whole lot. The only one left was a big greasy vessel which looked impossible to work on. Thinking how much my mother would appreciate it, I decided to wash that utensil as well. It was a lot of struggle before I could get all the grease of the vessel and it was shining bright.

I looked with satisfaction at the body of work I had done and was looking forward to the surprise and gratitude on my mother's face when she discovered I had finished all the chores in the kitchen for her. I waited for the moment when my mother would wake up and hug me with joy. I waited, and waited, and waited some more.

Finally, my tired mom woke up and headed for the kitchen. I held my breath in excitement for the big surprise and for that look in her eyes, and the hug that would follow, and maybe something special for lunch that day. She entered the kitchen, fumbled with a few things, washed her face in the sink, and walked out, leaving a very disappointed 7-year-old watching all his hard work go down the drain. No surprise, no appreciation, no hugs, no expressions of gratitude. I could not believe this was happening to me.

I saw her go to the bathroom, waited for her to come out, following her wherever she went. Finally, I could bear it no more, so I took her hand and led her into the kitchen once more, asked her to take a good look, and that's when she realized what I had done for her. She was too groggy with sleep to realize it when she had entered the kitchen earlier. She hugged me tight and ran her fingers through my hair. I had saved her a lot of work that day and it was worth all the effort, seeing her smile so bright.

Simple thoughts-Desparate situation

This is an incident from my childhood when I was 7 years of age. It was one hot summer afternoon when I returned home crying. The reason was that I was slapped and beaten that day, by my neighbor and friend, Bobby, who was also of the same age, but was much shorter in height.

I expected sympathy from my parents for having been beaten and roughed up. I was in for a rude shock. My father could not take the fact that I was physically overpowered by a smaller boy. To add insult to injury, I was thrown out of the house with instructions from my father that I would be allowed to enter the house provided I go and thrash the boy who had beaten me. I was in a double-dilemma. Problem number one was how to beat Bobby, as he was stronger than me. The other problem was how to secure a passage back home if I was not to beat Bobby.

I found solace when I narrated my woes to our next door neighbor, a fine lady who offered me some fruits, and then took me back home. She spoke to my father, and convinced him not to put a small child through such a tight spot. My father agreed and I could heave a sigh of relief!

A few years later, when I was about 13 or 14, I took my revenge when I had a quarrel with the same boy, Bobby, which resulted in a fight, and I gave him a neat thrashing. Needless to say, I had my father in mind, when all hell broke loose on the poor guy.

A Murder or a Suicide?

At the 1994 annual awards dinner given for Forensic Science, AAFS President Dr Don Harper Mills astounded his audience with the legal complications of a bizarre death.

Here is the Case:
On March 23, 1994 the medical examiner viewed the body of Ronald Opus and concluded that he died from a shotgun wound to the head.
Mr. Opus had jumped from the top of a ten-story building intending to commit suicide. He left a note to the effect indicating his despondency. As he fell past the ninth floor his life was interrupted by a shotgun blast passing through a window, which killed him instantly. Neither the shooter nor the deceased was aware that a safety net had been installed just below the eighth floor level to protect some building workers and that Ronald Opus would not have been able to complete his suicide the way he had planned.


"Ordinarily," Dr Mills continued, "A person, who sets out to commit suicide and ultimately succeeds, even though the mechanism might not be what he intended, is still defined as committing suicide." That Mr. Opus was shot on the way to certain death, but probably would not have been successful because of the safety net, caused the medical examiner to feel that he had a homicide on his hands.
In the room on the ninth floor, where the shotgun blast emanated, was occupied by an elderly man and his wife. They were arguing vigorously and he was threatening her with a shotgun.
The man was so upset that when he pulled the trigger he completely missed his wife and the pellets went through the window striking Mr. Opus. When one intends to kill subject "A" but kills subject "B" in the attempt, one is guilty of the murder of subject "B".
When confronted with the murder charge the old man and his wife were both adamant and both said that they thought the shotgun was unloaded. The old man said it was a long-standing habit to threaten his wife with the unloaded shotgun. He had no intention to murder her.
Therefore the killing of Mr. Opus appeared to be an accident; that is, if the gun had been accidentally loaded. The continuing investigation turned up a witness who saw the old couple's son loading the shotgun about six weeks prior to the fatal accident.
It transpired that the old lady had cut off her son's financial support and the son, knowing the propensity of his father to use the shotgun threateningly, loaded the gun with the expectation that his father would shoot his mother.Since the loader of the gun was aware of this, he was guilty of the murder even though he didn't actually pull the trigger. The case now becomes one of murder on the part of the son for the death of Ronald Opus.

Now comes the exquisite twist. Further investigation revealed hat the son was, in fact, Ronald Opus. He had become increasingly despondent over the failure of his attempt to engineer his mother's murder. This led him to jump off the ten-story building on March 23rd, only to be killed by a shotgun blast passing through the ninth story window. The son had actually murdered himself, so the medical examiner closed the case as a suicide.

Memories-A fast buck

This is an incident about my childhood which is stuck in my memory and would probably always be there for the rest of my life.
It was a wedding in my neighborhood in the beautiful city of Chandigarh, Punjab. It is a custom in Punjabi weddings to throw money in the air when all the guests are dancing in the streets to the rhythm of the "dhols" (drums) played by "dholwallahs". The money thrown was then collected by beggars, domestic helps and the guys playing the dhol. I was a six year old then who was invited to the wedding with my parents, watching the proceedings with boredom when it suddenly struck me that I could make some quick pocket-money in that situation.

I eyed the coins and the currency notes scattered on the road with lust and was looking for an opportunity to pick up a few coins and stuff it in my pockets before anybody could notice. Throughout the celebrations, my total concentration was on the road, looking for currencies which went unnoticed by the beggars and dhol-players. What I did not know, was that my father, who was on the first floor of the nearby building, was watching the entire episode from the balcony and had read my intentions correctly.

After the celebrations were over, and as I was headed home, I suddenly felt a strong hand on my shoulders. It was my father, with a very mean look on his face. He took me to a corner of the building, where nobody could see us, and asked me to empty my pockets. I tried to protest and wanted to demand why I was being asked to do so, but the look in his eyes told me I should simply do as I was told. I turned my trouser pockets inside out and to my good luck, my pockets were empty. My father checked my pockets again as he was sure I had picked up some of the coins from the streets. Luckily for me, I did not manage to pocket any of the coins or currencies and I thanked God for that. Had my father found any coins in my pockets, I was in for a good bashing. After having gone through all the pockets in my clothes, and finally satisfied that I had not picked up anything, my father told me, “I know what was on your mind. Don’t think that you can fool me just because there was nothing found in your pockets. I can read your mind, so don’t you ever dare to pocket what is not yours”. With that, he went away, leaving behind a very relieved boy of six, who had missed out on making a fast buck, but learnt a very important lesson of life.

Desperately seeking Mohua didi

In India, an elder sister is addressed as “Didi”. I have lost touch with her- my didi who is so dear to me. Her family was very close to mine, and I have very fond memories of the time I spent with Mohua didi who was like an elder sister to me. She had two younger sisters, and I would often spend time at their place, as I enjoyed her company the most. She would take care of all us children, play games with us, feed us, and discipline us, if the need be. She had a strong personality and her mere presence would brighten up the room. I would often stay over at her place, like children of other family friends, and she would take charge of all of us. She was like a godmother to us children, and we would look up to her for solutions to our problems.

Her father lost his job, when she was in college, and she had to take charge of the family. Her family, once very prosperous, had to go through very tough times. Then her mother passed away – I remember that day when all of us were crying and instead of others offering condolences to her, she was the one hugging each one of us and asking us to be strong. She was always the pillar of strength to all of us. There was so much comfort in her touch.

I moved out of town and met her years later, during a family crisis. She had grown older-having to look after her two young sisters and educate them. I have not seen her since then, it has been 14 years, and I miss her so very much. I tried to find her on social networking sites, but she is not registered anywhere.

If you ever happen to chance on my site, Mohua didi, I want you to know that I have always loved you and will continue to do so all my life.

Desperate days

What an appropriate end to a bad day...was my first thought, as i lay on the road, right leg underneath my motorbike, right arm, right & left knees, ankles badly bruised. The helmet had rolled off, while 2 cops picked me up from the middle of the road to the footpath, and applied ice on my bruises. My fault was that i pressed the brakes a little too hard when i saw a man crossing the road on foot and suddenly he was sheilding himself from the headlights of my bike. i reacted immediately and the next thing i knew i was down, and smiling that sarcastic smile to myself. After all, it was not the best of days. Since yesterday morning, i was not feeling good - some strange depressing thoughts were creeping into my head, making me uncomfortable. My mind can play games sometimes, and it is difficult to pinpoint what exactly is bothering me the most, as there were several things that had got me upset and it was all building up. Wanted some fresh air, so decided to check the night breeze on my bike. I am lucky not to be in hospital. The pain has shifted- from mental to physical!

Devastated

When she left, I was devastated. Life had suddenly come to a standstill. I knew it was coming, but there was not much I did about it. Then I said something that triggered the inevitable. She said she had done everything she could to please me, and I told her she had done nothing. I heard something break that very moment. She left the same day. I regretted what I had said. I tried to reach out to her so many times, but she had locked herself in a cocoon. She was unreachable.

Desperate days

I saw him off at the station just like I had done so many times in the past. It was another one of his business trips and he had promised to be back home by the weekend. He never came back. The days that followed were desperate days – calls to all his business associates to try to locate him. No one had seen him. A trip to the city he had said he was going to, offered no clues. Contacts were used to search each and every hospital in town. No results. As news spread, harassment increased from people he owed money to. I broke down when I gave his photograph to the Missing People section of the TV station. The bus ride back home was equally painful. Tears refused to stop as memories of my childhood flashed in my head. He had been a good father to me.