Time, Speed and Distance

I knew they would be here. They have never missed a single event in my life. They had been always there, keeping aside their pre-occupations, taking time out of their busy schedule, just for me. For me, my parents were my pillars of strength, and their presence was more important to me than anything in the world was. Be it the first day of the school, or the solo singing competition that made me nervous in the second grade, or the tennis finals in eighth grade, they were always there. Always motivating me, propelling me further forward and today was no different. Anyways who would miss their only daughter’s graduation day? 

On even the smallest of your achievements, the adulation and ecstasy reflected in your parents’ eyes is second to none. Today it was the same. Their happiness took me down the memory lane – right down to my childhood. I was the youngest in the family and the only daughter after two sons. Naturally, I was an apple of the eye of everyone around. I used to be the focus of everyone’s attention. My dad was a strict disciplinarian and ideal match for my mom – tender, loving, and caring. They used to go on  walks together every evening to a nearby park. Sometimes my brothers would join us but it was a fixed routine for dad, mom and me. Sticking to a routine was something dad was very particular about. One thing I always noticed while walking was that my dad used to walk fast and ahead and mom always followed behind. I used to oscillate back and forth between them. Sometimes the distance was huge. It always perplexed me why mom walks so slowly; or dad walks so fast for that matter. Dad was strict and this was a stupid, childish question; one that I never asked out of fear.  As I grew older, I had to walk with one of them rather than oscillating. Mostly, it was dad, as he walked ahead and I liked to be in front, plus he was my hero. Other times it was Mom, when I was upset with my dad or crying or feeling sad. But I never walked with them together or saw them walking together. It was atypical for me and hard to understand as all my friends used to walk at the same speed as me, always together. However, my parents walked at their leisurely pace, never equal to the other. With none of them ever trying to match it up with the other, apparently it never mattered to anyone but me. As time flew, I stopped giving it much of a thought too. You know teenage years- you have a lot to think about other than a stupid childhood anomaly. 

Now today when I see them something is different. The distance between them is reduced to minimal. They look great walking together. That how it should have been, I knew it. As the time flew the distance between them receded, slowly but surely, syncing up their speeds. As of now all three of us siblings have moved out and have our separate lives, there is no one to take care of them, and they have no one to take care of.  I see them taking care of each other and complimenting each other. The feeling is exhilarating more than anything. I always wanted to walk with them together, and today I have a chance I might savor for the rest of my life. Any distance can be reduced over time, surely!

The Photo

“Is baar aap camera nhi laaye?” 
(Didn’t you bring the camera this time?) .

 “ Nhi! Aaj tumhare liye kuch aur hai.” 
(No! I have a surprise for you today.). 

(Photo credits: www.celebrities-with-diseases.com)

She spotted me from a distance and ran upto me quickly before asking the above question. We were meeting after quite a few weeks; however, it appeared as if the gap had rather increased her excitement manifold. That glitter in her eyes was unmistakable; Infact it was a characteristic of her. Frankly, it was that same thing had brought me to her once more.  About her, everything looked too good to be true: Her innocence, her energy, her smile, her eyes, her persona, her exuberance, her excitement, every damn thing.  

The very first time I saw her, I was convinced she was one of its kind. Her childish smile had an enigmatic delicacy to it. Coupled with her eyes, those big, brown, beautiful, glittering eyes, it made for a compelling sight. Her disheveled hair only enhanced her charm, as if it needed anymore. That morning she was playing with the stray puppies in the park, giggling and looking even more enticing. Wait! What was I doing there? Well, I was on another one of those laborious endeavors called morning walks. I used to take my camera hoping for some nice clicks. ( I guess I had just found one ;)).   Till date, I don’t know why I was so fascinated. Her exuberance and persona had me captivated at the first sight. She could not have been more than seven-year-old. (Say what? Yeah, not another love story, this). However, her aura and innocence made for a compelling click. But, first I had to make acquaintances.  I found that she lived in a nearby slum area in Dharavi, about 100 yards from the park. She had a working mother, working father and an “quarrelsome but loving elder brother.”  Then I asked if I could shoot her with my camera. She said “Nhi” (No) and ran away giggling. Why did I even ask? Should have taken the pic and then showed it to her. What could have she done then? All this work at interaction and you just get a “No.” That’s it? But then, when someone says no, it just makes you want it even more, right?  That hope saw me become a regular at the park for two whole weeks. In this time, we talked a bit, and I got four more “No” s and 'giggles' and 'run away' s to my repeated requests for a photo. After all this hard work, we had become good friends. One day, she wanted me to take a pic and I obliged. After that day,   I didn’t go for another morning walk. ;)

A few weeks later, a national magazine selected that pic as a cover for their next issue. It was my first too ;). This, coupled with a brand new orange shirt (my present) was the above-mentioned surprise. My intention of giving this to her in person was to see her reaction. It was truly worth the effort.  She took the magazine and was euphoric, showing it to everyone on the way to her home. The excitement in her voice was unparalleled. I had never seen anyone this happy before. Everyone around her was seemingly involved in her happiness too and I felt rather jealous, as I never had so many people to share my happiness with. I met her family and gave them the allowance for the publication. It was just a hobby and I figured the published pic was reward enough.

About two three months after this, I saw her in the same park (this time it was evening). However, what I saw that day was nerve wrenching. There were no puppies around her; she was sitting alone gazing into the infinity. She didn’t even notice me until I called her. As if, I woke her up from a long slumber.(that rhymed.) Her eyes had lost their glitter; they looked soar, pale, red, and dull, presumably from crying. She was wearing the same shirt I had given to her, but it too looked old and rather shabby, like never washed from eternity. Then it dawned on me. Her characteristic smile was gone. The hairs were dirtier and drier and in a disarray. She looked tired and lonely like after a long battle. She still had that magazine cover, clutching it tightly in her small fingers.  I asked her how she got to this. “Koi pyar nhi karta mujhe!”( No one loves me here! ).  I thought it was a childish thought and didn’t go deep into it.

Sometime later, her brother told me that she was dead. He explained everything. After the pic, her behaviour had changed considerably. She was no more the same cheerful, talkative self. Other kids fought with her and happened to ostracize her. She was proud of that cover-pic and kept it with her at all times. She started to dream big and garner aspirations. Instead of support and motivation, she was mocked for that.  Even from her family, she was abused and lambasted for those ambitions. With no one she could confide in, and tired of battling everyone all by herself, she committed suicide; about a week after our last encounter. Hearing all this got me thinking. How a girl, at a tender age of seven, could have dealt with all this? Who was to blame? Was it her parents who couldn’t understand her, or her peers, or was it that she was lonely and depressed, or was it me who’s request for a photo started all this?

His brother also told me that she never took that orange shirt off. My mind had drifted to our last conversation while still trying to come to terms with the present.

 “Yahan koi pyar nhi karta mujhe!”(No one loves me here)

“Kyu? Kya ho gaya?” (Why? What happened?)

“Sab ladte rehte hain mujhse. Kisi ko parwah nhi hai meri.”(Everyone is fighting with me. No-one cares for me anymore.)
...

“Achcha chal ek smile de de, ek photo aur leni hai teri.”(Leave it. Just give me that smile. Want to take another picture of yours.)

 “Mujhe nhi khinchwana koi photo!” ( No more pics for me!)

And she ran away.

-The End

P.S. This is just a story, entirely a work of fiction.I dont mean to put anyone  in bad light on account of what happens in the story. The characters in this story could have been set anywhere: with any background regardless.