A FINAL GOODBYE

PROLOGUE....

Goodbye. It’s such a simple word. But sometimes it’s the hardest thing to say. If someone says to you that, he can leave everything whenever he wishes than trust me, he’s lying. It had just been three years, not exactly the longest time, but still I couldn’t bring myself to say the word. I knew she was gone. She was never going to come back. The note she left me was very precise. Just two lines, but it said everything. “I am leaving you. Please don’t come after me.” I didn’t know what to believe. Those sweet words of love that she whispered in my ears, or the hard and cold reality of the note in my hand. Even though I knew that something was wrong, I just couldn’t put my finger on it. That’s the reason why I still had the note and I still couldn’t force myself to say goodbye.

 

A Snapshot in Time....

Photography… its more than a passion

Photos, pictures, images; different names for the same things. What is a photograph? Is it just some scene captured in a camera or is it reality as seen through the eyes of another person? If you see a child crying on the street, do you feel sad for the child? If you do, can you always express your emotions? No, we can’t, sometimes words don’t suffice. Sometimes we need to think outside the world of words. And what lies outside that? Images, of course.

When a person couldn’t express his feelings via words, that’s when a picture is created. A photograph is a souvenir, a remembrance of some past emotion. When you were born, do you remember how happy your parents were? No you don’t, because let’s face it, you were so small. But then you see the first picture your parents took with you, and there it is. The first time they felt so happy seeing you in their arms.

Again, your first day at school; you might remember bits and pieces but never the whole thing. That’s when the photograph comes in handy. You see it and see how happy and confused you were, how scared and how thrilled. Your first crush, you remember how you fell in love with her/him, but years later, it’s the photograph which makes it even more interesting. Yes, photographs are a way to remember the past, a way to keep memories and a way to live on. That’s why they say, “A PICTURE SPEAKS A THOUSAND WORDS” because let’s face it, not all can be said. The day you get married, you are probably the happiest person on heart, and years later seeing the wedding album, you still get misty-eyed, because all those emotions come flooding in and you can’t hold back your tears.

So the question arises, is photography a hobby, a passion or a necessity? Well I would say, it’s everything of this, because we click pictures out of necessity, which then becomes our hobby and eventually a passion.  So for me, I would say, that when I click a picture it’s more of a necessity, an urgency to save the moment for eternity. Maybe that’s why, a long time back, people believed that a photograph actually captured a part of your soul. And that is probably the reason why I click pictures..

The Street Stories

Another one in the series. This one has been suggested by my friend Neelam Saikia..... Thanx!

                The Kid

The kid was tired, but still he felt like smiling. As the bus slowly grinded to a halt, he got off the bus and waved goodbye to his friends. The yellow school bus then went on ahead leaving the kid behind. The kid started walking towards his home.

As he approached the path leading to his home, he slowly walked on and made for the new shop in the neighborhood. It was an ice-cream shop which probably had the best ice-cream in the city. The shop’s banner displayed, in flashy colors, the various flavors they sold. The kid smiled seeing the familiar shop and the old man who sat at the counter. “Why hello! How are you kid?” asked the owner, an old man of about fifty. “I am fine uncle, how are you?” “I am fine, so which flavor do you want today?” “Chocolate” replied the kid. The man handed over a chocolate ice-cream to the kid. He hungrily ate it and thanked the man. As he walked out of the shop, after paying the man, he felt a silent satisfaction. His mother never allowed him to have ice-cream and the shop was his savior. As he entered the path to his house, he saw his mother on the stairs. She smiled seeing him and asked him to come inside.

The man looked at the kids in his shop. He smiled inwardly seeing their happy faces. Once upon a time, even he was one of these kids, he thought. The man grew up in the same neighborhood and after many years of drifting he finally was in the same place. He looked at the tree across the street. That tree was the place for many of his trysts. A long time back, he used to sit there with his friends and while away his time. He was an educated unemployed, like many others in his group, and he didn’t feel any qualms about that. He was happy to sit there, smoking his cigarette and look at the passing girls. The place where his shop now stood was once the favorite spot for the street-vendors. They would set up shop there and wait for the kids and other people who passed there. The place was a hotspot bearing its nearness to the schools and colleges. It also was a hotspot for girls who returned from colleges and that made it impossible for them to leave! He would sit there for a long time and finally make his way home. Every day he would come out for a job and instead come and sit there. He knew jobs were a futile endeavor. So he found it better to just sit there with his friends, discussing about anything and everything under the sun. But one day, everything changed.

As he was sitting under the tree, waiting for his friends, he suddenly heard commotion. He saw that his friends were coming towards him. They looked tensed. One of them informed him that his house was on fire. Something had sparked the fire and his whole house was engulfed in flames. His family was inside and no one was able to pull them out, as yet. He ran towards his house. That day the street seemed longer than usual for him. He felt as if the stones under his feet were slowly slipping away. His family, his mother and his father, were old people. They couldn’t escape easily. He cursed himself; if he had been there he would have saved them. But he was more interested in wasting his time. For the first time, after many years, he felt like crying. As he neared his house, he could feel the heat of the flames. The firefighters were trying desperately to douse out the flames, but they weren’t successful. And then he saw it. Two bodies covered in a white cloth. His parents, he understood. Suddenly he didn’t feel like standing anymore. He collapsed onto the street. Hi friends supported him, but he could feel the world falling down. Yes, he was responsible for this, he thought; and he must make amends. That day changed the course of his life.

Now after so many years, he was a happy and contented man. The pain of not being able to save his parents still hurt, but the pain had subsided. And seeing the kids made him feel even better and the sight of the tree across the street, reminded of the years gone by and he again felt like a kid.

The Street Stories....

This is second in the line of street stories.

                   The Snitch

The man smiled to himself. He lived a dangerous life, one fraught with perils but rewarding nonetheless. He was looking at the roll of notes in his hand. The cops kept him well-fed; after all he was the only reliable snitch they had left.

The man used to work in the biggest drug cartel in the East-side. He had been living this double life for a long time. Many a times he had come face to face with death, but luck favored him and he survived. Nowadays he didn’t worry much. He had built up a routine and the cops did a good work of sticking to it.

He was slowly walking to his apartment, when he first saw the man. The man was wearing a black jacket and was trying desperately to hide himself. But the snitch’s eyes were trained to sense danger and he immediately recognized the other guy with him; the personal hit man of the boss. So they must have suspected him or maybe came on a recce. Anyway, he had to hide. The man was merciless. Slowly he backed out on to the street, and quietly slipped out, oblivious of the fact that one of the men had been watching the road. He immediately signaled the others. The men saw him duck and run and chased after him.

He knew his end was near. These men were some of the best killers and he had no chance of escaping. Even if he did, he can never be a snitch again. He needed some refuge. The street beneath his feet seemed harder than ever and he felt as if his feet were on fire. The men were relentless, never stopping even once. He thought of the cops but realized that they would never help him now, not anymore for he was no longer a snitch. He was just some dirt on the street now. He had to keep running. Slowly he realized he had nowhere to go. He suddenly found the street a safer place to die. So he stopped, and dropped to the street. He could see the men nearing, and realized his fate. He smiled one last time and then it happened. The men gathered around him throwing long dark shadows on the street and then a shot rang out. The snitch fell to the hard street, in the searing summer heat, clutching the roll of notes as his blood stained them. The shadows disappeared, and people gathered around the man who died. The man, who always led a double life, rising from the street only to fall down to the street.

The Street Stories....

The Street…

It’s not a surprise that the most important part of everyone’s life is also the most underrated one. Every person has a relationship with the street but no one ever actually listens to the street. The street has many stories of its own and indeed each one is unique. This is just an effort to reveal and point out some of them. This is the first in that line....

The Urchin

The boy stood near the corner and looked across the street. The shop was colorful with all its lights and festive goodies. The people were standing in front of the store and talking excitedly. Everyone seemed to have some story of their own. The owner looked longingly at the throng of people and made a mental calculation of his profits.

The baker was the most famous one in the entire city and now at the time of Christmas everyone was here because of the special cakes he made during the holiday season. The boy was an urchin, a homeless street urchin. He was hungry and seeing the people in their warm coats and fur jackets eating made him feel more hungry and cold. He looked around and saw his friends trying to sneak into the crowd. A few wallets here and there and they would be well set for the holiday cheer. But he wasn’t so comfortable with stealing and so he was made the look-out. He saw the baker talk excitedly to his customers. He felt hungry and wanted to eat something. Then he saw it. The women who was getting in the car dropped a cake as she was about to go out. He decided to make his move and ran across the street to pick it up. As he was doing so, the baker suddenly noticed the group of urchins among the crowd. He shouted and made an exasperated notion with his hands. The people saw them and immediately someone shouted something about the cops. But another guy decided to take matters into his own hands and hit the nearest kid. The area was suddenly engulfed in the screams of the kids and the expletives used by the people. All the respected people suddenly seemed to change into menacing demons. They threw their cloaks of manners and became animals. The urchins were mercilessly beaten and dropped to the curb of the street. Suddenly everything became quiet and slowly the usual routine returned. Nobody thought twice about the urchins who limped back to the other side of the street, only to find their look-out missing. Immediately a murmur rose and someone said something about “beating him to the ground”. Everyone started searching for the boy.

The boy was still nursing his wounds when he saw his friends. They looked menacing and wounded. Seems like the ‘good-natured’ baker and his customers found out about them. He didn’t get the cake. As he tried to pick it up a street dog came and bit his hand, forcing him to let go of the cake. Still he fought for it only to get his leg bitten. Now seeing his friends he realized that he had forsaken them. He shuddered at the thought of the punishment, but he was guilty and had to be punished, for such was the code of the street. He closed his eyes as his friends cornered him. He could hear their shouts and curses and could feel their incessant blows on his frail body. Suddenly he heard or felt no more. All he could feel was a strange calm. He didn’t feel any hunger also and his body started to fall down. The urchins went away and the only person left was a hungry kid who bled to death on the cold streets of the city.