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2017

August

06 : 23

Squinting my eyes, I observed the dreamy and exquisite sight ahead of me. Darting back and forth at the heavens and my watch, I noted the time. Apparently, it was twenty three minutes past six in the morning, displayed by the faded neon green light, which flashed on the cracked screen of my battered old, third hand watch. I did not have the heart to throw it away. It was precious.

Eyes dampened with tears of sorrow, Baba had handed me that watch when I got accepted in the most prestigious institution of the country. Just like my brother.

My brother.

He was like a faded memory.

"Make me proud, my son!" he had said, as a single drop raced past his wrinkled cheek.

Reviving the memory, the illusion of my family itself, made an unimaginable feeling of bliss seep through my bones.

The morning call to prayer from the mosque across the streets outside our campus, reverberated around the neighborhood, making the ivory wings of the doves flutter abruptly and fly away, teasing the clouds with the soft feathers.

As the purple hue kissed the red tinge of the rising sun, I watched the dawn settle, announcing the beginning of a wonderful day.

Beginnings are beautiful.

The watch was another memory of my deceased brother, something which I had found on the terrace of his hostel along with the other belongings of his. Parts of him which he had left behind.

"Yesterday the dawn settled twelve minutes before, today it is behind schedule," I mused. For the last one week I had been jotting down the time when dawn fell and it was consistent, just a minute here or there.

Standing at the entrance of the campus, I watched the doves twirling in circles above me. Connecting my fingers with the water beads on the surface, I clasped the soda bottle and brought its opening to my mouth, enjoying a sip. The chilled beverage made its way down my throat, while I planted the bottle inside my bag as the glass material clinked against the things placed inside it.

I caught the sight of the children on the other lane, throwing the stone and jumping on the numbered boxes, playing the classic old game, hopscotch, while on their way to school. Before heading here, I had watched them play for a brief time.

I can't afford to become a child again.

07 : 44

The red hue blended with the blue, unfurling the clear sky.

I watched the boys flocked into their own groups, gather outside the hostel. It was a weekend. Hanging out near the small tea stall nearby or mounted on their bikes, showing off to their heart's content. Laughing, gossiping, slapping each other, they pass their time. The seniors picking on the freshers, my batchmates.

My phone's screen lit up, notifying two missed calls and a message from my roommate.

"Where are you?"

Glancing at the hostel's entrance gate, eyeing my sporty roommate glued to the phone, mounted on his bike near the big tree, I texted back.

"At the entrance. Look up."

Walking towards the idiot, I took a sip of the tea which he handed over, forgetting how hot it was, burning my mouth.

Digging my hands into my pocket, I conducted a quick search for my wallet. Opening it up, I traced my fingertips over my college pass, chuckling at the photo of the playful boy staring back at me. Had my brother been there, how much he would have teased my for that snap!

Had he been there...I wish.

I unearthed a torn photograph and few silver coins, hidden behind my identification card. Delicately brushing over the photograph, I smiled at the sight of my older brother. Mayank.

Handing over the coins to my roommate, I paid for the tea which he bought. Don't keep debts. Mayank used to say that.

The caption of that snap gleamed under the sunlight.

'MayanKiran'

The combination of our names, Mayank and Kiran. Mayank, the moon and Kiran, the light. Moonlight.

But my moon wasn't here anymore, the photo had to shine under the sun.

He was three years older to me. My moon. Our personalities were like night and day, like dusk and dawn. I was bold, held strong opinions, rebellious. He was timid, shy and soft-spoken. He meant the world to me.

The crowd amassed on the ground, tramped back to the hostel. Probably mess time.

"We should get going."

My roommate dragged me to the mess hall. Time for breakfast.

08 : 32

My stomach growled at the sight of those crispy Dosas. No matter what, the food was great here.

Digging into the plate, I tore a piece of the Dosa and dipped it into the bowl of chutney. Delicately placing the heaven into my mouth, I moaned in approval.

The shrill voice echoed throughout the hostel premises, the warden slamming a spoon against the steel plate, indicating that it was time for food.

Finishing my plate within minutes, I washed my hands and walked outside the hostel, back to the big tree with the idiot tagging behind me.

There was a light breeze. The forecast did mention a rain today. So it was the monsoon breeze.

But even the breeze would not wash away my pain. The rain would not bring back my brother.

And unless I got my brother back , I couldn't be a child again.

Why should he come back? He would not have been happy here. He is happy where he is right now.

My thoughts taunted my desires and tickled the painful memories.

How my brother's roommate had told me what had happened, how my brother was treated and how he endured it. All of it. All alone.

How he was called a 'filth', treated like 'filth'.

How we were not able to give him justice. We neither had the money nor the influence.

The kids here still detested the reservation system. But they did not dare raise their hands against us again.

They still treated us like outcasts. But never came near us or talked to us.

Can I ask?

"What was my brother's fault?!"

The second round of the banging of the plate and spoon started. The last warning for the breakfast. There won't be anymore food.

Drops of water splashed against my hair, finding their way past the tree branches. It had started drizzling. Soon it would start pouring.

Reservation. I know may talented people lose their spots in colleges because of those. I know it felt unfair that one person got more preference than the other because of their caste.

But wasn't that how it worked for centuries?

Weren't we mistreated by the so called upper castes? Weren't they the ones who had prevented us from getting educated? Why were we only supposed to clean their toilets but not use them? Why couldn't they do it themselves? Why couldn't we be educated and hold respectable positions in the society like them?

You say we stole your seats.

We say you stole our 'rights'!

You stole our right to live a life with human dignity.

For the past one week, I've been coming here. Near this tree. Trying to look up at the terrace. Trying. Sitting here alone for few hours and heading back to the hostel again. If I back down this time, I will be a disappointment to my brother.

I gazed at the dark clouds, crying their hearts out, shedding tears in memory of brother. All the tears which never left my eyes. Mayank would never want to see me cry. He would do anything for that.

The breeze had turned into strong wind. Yet it could not carry away the hollowness within me.

Walking away from the shield of the generous tree, I stand in the rain, drenched.

I look up at the sky. I knew he could distinguish my tears from the rain.

I did not care. I wanted to be selfish for one last time.

A kid for one last time.

Can I have my brother back...one last time?

Dawn. The dark clouds could not block the sunlight.

Standing still, I closed my eyes.

Mayank, Baba, Ma, my idiot, the assignment I was to submit tomorrow, everything flashed in a blur. The final mirage of dawn clouded my thoughts.

Beginnings are beautiful.

I opened my eyes and glanced down at the deep puddles.

How I used to leap into those, get the water splashed on my moon and listened to his scoldings and rant for hours.

One last time?

I looked up at the sky, again. The rain had stopped. The rays of light peeked through the clouds. It was an approval. I glanced back at the puddle.

And I jumped.

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