Night 3 A.M, a middle aged man paced back and forth nervously in a hospital waiting room. Beads of sweat rolled down his sideburns and stained his shirt collar. The gentle tick-tock of the wall clock was amplified by the ambient silence. Everyone else in the waiting room was fast asleep except this man.

A nurse came out and smiled at the man. The expression on his face changed and he raced past the paan stained corridors into the adjacent room. A beautiful woman in her 30s was sitting on the hospital bed. She appeared exhausted, yet very beautiful. As he reached closer to her, he saw that she was in tears, but still smiling. She cradled in her hands a tiny bundle wrapped in soft cloth. A baby: soft, pink, full of life and too big to be wrapped completely in the hospital cloth.

The baby, a 4.5kg behemoth, struggled unsuccessfully to escape out of the cloth wrapping. The man places a peck on the woman's cheek and sat on the hospital bed besides her. They held hands and looked adoringly at the child as he looked back at this new person who had just entered into his point of view. They sat there silently for hours looking at the child, until it yawned a few times and fell asleep.

"Aanya, we only decided upon girl names, what now? " the man asked.

"I have something in my mind. The child of Rishab and Aanya. How does Rishaan sound?" she asked.

The man smiled looking at the sleeping baby and said, "It sounds perfect."

*****

14 YEARS LATER

A teenage Rishaan walks out from his bedroom, dressed in his school uniform. He wears the maroon tie on the cream shirt and walks towards the dining area of their apartment.

His parents were already seated on the dining table.

"Mmm, French toast!" Rishaan said looking at the scrumptious breakfast.

His father looks up and asks, "So how long did you study last night?"

"I stayed up all night, sorry, I studied till 4 am then read your books for another hour. But don't worry I am feeling quite fresh," Rishaan replied.

Rishab said, "Again with my books. I won't be too pleased if you became a cop, it's a thankless job," his dad said.

Rishaan replied adamantly, "Not a cop dad, I want to be a detective like you - a hero."

"Monu, you should have slept well. Especially since you have to participate in those events in the school," his mum said with a concerned look on her face.

"Win. Not participate, we don't participate" his dad (Rishab) interrupted.

"Obviously," Rishaan added, "Have I ever lost anything that I participated in?"

"So what all events are there today?" his dad enquired.

Rishaan replied with excitement, "There is quiz, audition for singing -- and also handwriting competition which I'm not going to waste my time with."

His mum asked, "Why not?"

"You have seen my handwriting right? Weren't you the one who said my cursive looks like crow's feet," Rishaan jested.

"It is a bit better now, you should write more slowly. It's OK to think fast like you usually do, but slow down, appreciate every stroke of the pen and write," his dad corrected.

"What's the use, if I'm not going to win?" Rishaan said slightly disheartened.

"Wait, try using this today," his father said while handing him his old Mont blanc pen from him shirt pocket.

"Really, I can use this today?" Rishaan asked with excitement, "but you never let me touch this pen."

His dad smiled and said, "That's because my dad gave this pen to me, so it's irreplaceable. Someday, I will give this to you for good, but I can make an exception, just for today."

"Thanks dad, but I'm waiting for the day I get to keep this for good. For now, I will try my best to win it," Rishaan said.

Rishaan took the pen, wrapped it in his handkerchief, and placed it delicately inside his school bag. He gobbled the last few bites of his breakfast with syrup as the chaser and ran downstairs as he had heard the school bus honking.

Aanya looked at Rishab and asked, "Any progress with the case?"

"There is one lead that I have now, although, If I tell anyone about it, they will think that I'm crazy," Rishab replied.

Aanya had a very concerned look about her; she asked him, "What is it?"

"There seems to be a connection," Rishab said.

Aanya had a confused look on her face.

"We are investigating the murder of a scientist, but it's come to my notice that in the past 4 years a number of distinguished scientists have died under mysterious circumstances," Rishab continued.

Aanya asked, intrigued by the new development, "So you think they are all connected?"

"They might be, I'm not sure about it, but I'm open to the idea," Rishab replied, "Either way, it's too early to tell anyone about it, unless I get any definitive proof of the same. I am going to meet a source today. Hopefully I learn more about it."

"Just be careful love, that is all I ask," Aanya said while clearing both their plates.

"I always am. What time will you leave for the library? I can drop you if you like," Rishab enquired.

"Great, I can leave now. Let me just get my handbag," Aanya replied.

******The same evening******

Rishaan walks into his home. Familiar faces look at him from their living room sofa, his relatives.

He takes his shoes off and greets the elders as he walks towards the bedroom. Whether it was the cold floor beneath his feet, or the sound of his mother crying inconsolably that sent chills down his spine, he didn't know. He rushed into his parent's room where his mother was being comforted by his aunt.

He overheard them talk, "---it is not confirmed that he was there, just be patient, we will try looking for him, relax Aanya."

He had never seen his mother in tears before and had no idea what was happening either.

On seeing him, his aunt says, "Rishaan, you are back. Good, let me get you something to eat."

She walks towards the kitchen as his mother wipes the tears off of her face.

His mother in her broken voice says, "Go to the front room, sit with the elders Rishaan. She will get you your snacks there, freshen up."

He was clueless as to what was happening, let alone knowing how to pacify his mother from crying inconsolably. He walks, feeling uneasy: burdened somehow. The air in the room felt very thick for him. He figured out the only logical explanation to what has happened here. The only person who was not at home was his father. Also, the part of the conversation that he heard made it fairly easy to discern. But denial seemed like an easier option for now.

Mindlessly, like a zombie, he walked with smaller and smaller steps, dreading to go into the other room. The small confines of the corridor with no one around felt like the only thing that was comforting. He stood at the entrance of the living room silently.

His uncle and maternal grandfather were sitting in the front room watching the television intently. The news was on.

"Reports of the casualty being rescued continues to pour in, we are still unsure of how many people are alive and still trapped inside," the news reporter said.

She stood with her finger pressing hard on her ear piece with a microphone in the other hand. Behind her there was a small building - almost as small as a chawl. Thick dense smoke was billowing from the windows of the building.

The words 'Gas leak' and 'Explosion in dharavi' scrolled under the screen.

As she was reporting the incidence, there was more commotion happening in the background. A loud cracking sound is heard at a distance in the television. The reporter turned around and saw the building gently tipping forward accompanied with loud creaking noises. The people who had gathered at the scene all scampered to get away from the building. The reporter was seen running for a second before her camera-man followed suit.

You could, for a few seconds see his shoes as the camera swung back and forth facing the ground. A loud sound is heard and a cloud of dust fills the screen. Silence. A nervous news host appears on the screen.

He says, "We seem to be experiencing some technical difficulties. Be back with the latest updates in a few moments. Until then, enjoy a few words from our sponsors."

The landline phone rings. His uncle picks it up and talks, "Yes, speaking. OK, and? If you do get any information about Rishab, please let us know."

It was time that young Rishaan stopped the vehement denial. Thoughts begin to creep into his mind. He felt like he was trapped inside a dark secluded place. Even in this cold winters day he felt warmth, no not warmth, rather a raging fire inside him that he suppressed under the veil of silence and one lonely tear.

Rishaan walked into his room. All this time, no one noticed the certificate for the handwriting competition that he held in his hand. No one noticed his dad's pen in his hand. No one noticed how his hands gripped tightly onto the pen, or the bruises it gave his palm.

He remembered saying in the morning that he looked forward to getting that pen for good. Little did he know, that today would be that day.

We should be careful what we wish for.