It had rained that morning When I decided to take a walk, In flip flops with slippery soles Which I didn't mind For I had a lot on my mind. I walked for miles Through known roads and alleys Known to me since childhood Same but not quite the same New buildings,new stores and Nauseating traffic which I hadn't known before. I passed by an alley That looked familiar A teacher of mine lived there In whose house I took tuitions The house isn't there anymore A huge building had cropped up in its place That looked quite out of place I wondered if he was still alive For he was quite old and ill then I wondered if he still used those Old yellow study notes of his to teach Scribbled such that only he could read. I couldn't muster the courage To inquire of him How he was? How were his students now? Were they just as naughty as we were? Did they too laugh hard at his jokes as we did? Did he still remember me? But I took a U turn there And decided to head back home I had a lot on my mind Some things lost their weight Some gained And some just stayed where they were Like these old roads sprawling with memories Which I didn't have the heart to disturb. Mud puddles left by the morning rain It will dry when the sun comes up And come back again next time it rains And maybe I will be back in my flip flops With slippery soles With a lot on my mind And I will find my old self here somewhere O old streets don't change too much till then!

'Three years ago we aired a special to bring to attention ths deplorable conditions of some of the public schools in our state.One of such schools was Saraswati Vidya Niketan which didn't manage to have a single student to pass the matriculation that year.The school located in the slums was considered among the most violent,with gangs of students picking fights everyday.Student attendance was low and no new admissions had happened for the past two years.The year we aired the program,Mrs.Ashima Roy had taken on the helm of principal and had brought in sweeping reforms.In three years she had managed to raise the pass percentage of class 10 students by 71 percent and student attendence by 80 percent.She is seen proactively among the students who don't call their principal 'Madam' but rather 'Maa'.Now after five years,the diligent principal has been transferred to a new school.Today we are here to join the students as they give a teary farewell to their beloved principal.An exclusive report straight from Saraswati Vidya Niketan playground-' The camera focussed on the grey haired woman in the middle of a crowd of students as she spoke'and remember my dear children, if nobody said they loved you today keep in mind that I do'A normal school day always ended with Mrs.Ashima saying these words during the assembly prayers before the students went home. Today the students had tears in their eyes as they heard their principal say the line for the last time.When the bell rang,the school was over for that day and so was for Mrs.Ashima.But unlike the usual race for the gates,on this day no one moved from their queues.Mrs.Ashima was the first one who moved and was the first to exit the school gate that day,the students following behind her.She smiled to herself as she thought of the bizarre changes that occurred in one's life.Till yesterday she was the last person to leave the school and today she was the first.

The sun had not risen,it was still dark, The sound of crickets and the flowing river, Were all that the half asleep senses could fathom. I sat near the rocky bank, Wanting to sing and break the monotony of nature, But soulless words which escaped me Could not gather the wings of a song. The birds were asleep still, The forest still brooding in the night's drunkenness. Only I was awake,a heart full of burdensome feelings, Tethered to my being like fetters. I wanted to relieve my burden, Into the cool dark waters of the quiet river, Where it would have sunk like dead weight, But I couldn't.. As the song which escaped my lips Without being freed, I too,even if relieved of my feelings Would never be free. Besides how can one expect to be, If he has loved truly,wholely and deeply?

Come and find me, In the garden where, The flowers have dried And the last butterfly has returned, With its thirst unquenched. Come and find me, Under the laburnum trees in autumn where, The sun shines through, The dry and leafless branches; In the grass still cold and wet, With the morning dew. Come and find me, In the corner of your heart where, Your feelings still throb with pain And memories bring you tears. Long forgotten and dusty with time, Yet living and breathing still.

Ahyoka and the other wives stood in the outskirts of their village watching the geared up men in war paint mounted on horsebacks galloping down the valley.The earth shook in the forward charge of the hundred horsebacked warriors and kicked up a cloud of red dirt that shrouded their advance. Ahyoka's husband,Waya was one of hundred.She looked on stoicly at the rising cloud of dust but a shade of fear still showed clearly in her eyes.She had heard of the whiteman's cruelty and dishonorable war mongering.Once again they had broken their word and killed hundreds of their innocent disarmed brethren.She felt the weight of her son,Wohali on her back who was asleep and prayed that his father may come back safely with a hundred scalps laden on his horse. The elders were praying for the victory of their warriors.A tradition which was being observed since morning and would go on till any news arrived.The women busied themselves with their daily chores while the children played.Ahyoka went to her Tipis or tent and laid her son down.Her poor son was born with a club foot and would never become a great warrior like his father but nevertheless unlike his father who wanted to banish him to the wolves,she loved him with all her heart.He was her first born and she would not let anything happen to him.She would protect him against the world.She planted a kiss on his forehead and went out closing the flap of her tent.She joined the other women in the community kitchen. Early next morning,their sleep was broken by the sound of galloping horses.Everyone came out of their tents in anticipation that their husbands were back but what they saw arose panic and fear in their hearts.Everyone fled to their tents and gather their belongings and make a run.The white men,numbering in hundreds were coming.The red dust rose again in their wake. With the few horses that remained some escaped.But majority fell prey to the whitemen's sword.Huts were burnt.Women thrust inside tents and raped before being killed.Elders and children were being beheaded,a secret competition between some soldiers on the number of heads one could chop off in one raid. Ahyoka had retreated to her tent and closed the flap.Her son,Wohali was weeping, hearing the sounds of rampage and terrorized screams that infected the air around them. Tears came to Ahyoka's eyes.She had wished she would never have to do what she was going to do.But the white men would be more ruthless to her son than her. She kissed her son's forehead.'Gvgeyui Wohali'she whispered to her son and pressed both hands against his mouth and nose.The baby began to writhe violently.Ahyoka closed her eyes and pressed tighter to ease her son's pain quickly.Finally,the movements stopped and the six month old baby stopped reaching out for his mother.He was finally dead. Ahyoka turned and lay beside her son in the bull skin rug,the inside of the tent trembled with the sound of her hysterical shrieks. A few moments later,the flap of her tent was opened and two white soldiers entered with blood stained swords in their hands.One of them who was a monster of a man,smiled inhumanely,'Looks like we got one alive'he whistled. Ahyoka looked at the two white men with a raging fire burning in her black eyes.She rose to her feet concealing a knife in her hands. 'Looks like she killed her baby,Roger'the other one said. 'These savages know nothing else' Roger said and took a step forward.Ahyoka lunged at him with the knife but the monster intercepted it and squeezed her wrist so hard that the knife fell from her writhing hands.She screamed as he hand was being crushed.With another hand,the monster lashed her face which threw her to the floor. 'Damned squaw,I'll teach you a lesson' he bellowed'Billy watch the tent.Don't let them burn it.You'll be next.Tell everyone we've caught a live one.'He smiled with a coldness that would make the winters of Siberia seem like tropical sunshine. 'Yes sir'Billy tipped his hat and went out closing the flap behind him.

On my way back from school, I had to pass a certain house in which a madman lived. You heard me right-a madman, with bulging eyes, a crooked nose and mouth which always seemed to be gaping and salivating. The tall wretched figure would stand at the gate of his house with his puffed club-like arms resting on one of the posts with his eyes staring vacantly at the road,sometime in the afternoon which coincided with my returning home. I prayed fervently not to cross paths with him. But everyday our eyes met inadvertently and he would break into laughing fits when he saw me. This made me even more uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the look of fear on my face that was so pleasing to him. The madman and his family had moved into this house a few weeks ago and ever since then I started having nightmares. I couldn’t sleep and would often wet my bed. You can adjudge me as a wuss but I was eight years old at that time although wetting your bed at eight does make you kind of a wuss. The thought of the madman haunted me every day. It was like a nail dug deep in my skin which I didn’t have the courage to pull out. The madman came in my dreams luring me with a chocolate, or threatening me and when I went near him he would pick me up on his shoulders and take me to his house where it was always dark and would shut the door behind him. I don’t know what happened after that because I would often wake up. Always in the middle of the night crying and screaming in fright. I had the same dream over and over again. I told my mother about the madman and when her rousing talk about me being a big boy didn’t work, she instructed Gita, our househelp to start bringing me back from school. I wasn’t the brave man I thought I was. But I could live with that as long as I didn’t have to deal with the madman alone. But frankly I noticed that the madman had lost interest in me. His interest had shifted to his baby nephew, who had been born sometime after they came to this new house. The woman who was his brother’s wife, would cradle the baby in her arms sometimes standing in the small garden outside their house and the madman would stand near her watching the baby with warmth in his eyes. But he was always a few feet away and was never allowed to touch or cradle the baby. On other days, the madman would crouch near the baby’s crib in the garden and just watch the sleeping baby for hours on end. The baby didn’t seem to mind him. This minute gesture seemed to move him to tears and I felt that being an uncle had made him lose his madness and become a normal person like everyone else. One day Gita had picked me from school and we were going back home on a rickshaw. When we passed the home of the dreaded madman. We saw him sitting on a chair gently cradling the baby’s crib. I had never seen the madman so mollified and calm. ‘Oi Bamma. Oi Bamma.Don’t make the baby cry’ Gita cried out all of a sudden in excitement and kept on repeating the taunting words. A chill ran down my spine. I gripped her hand tightly, motioning her not to do that. She told me to relax. She did it all the time and the madman didn’t dare to raise a finger at her. After all she worked in their house and the lady of the house, the madman’s sister- in-law had given him a strict warning not to bother her. I think she must have dreamt it all up. Because the next thing I knew Bamma dashed towards us with a murderous rage in his eyes. ‘Wait you pig! Wait! I will eat you alive’ he screamed at the top of his voice. The baby had woken up and was crying loudly. Bamma leaped over the gate and began chasing our rickshaw. I started pushing the rickshawpuller’s shoulders to make him paddle quickly. I was so scared that I couldn’t utter a single word. My throat seemed to have shut itself due to fear, arresting within it the words that wanted to come out. Bamma caught up to us eventually. Bare bodied and carrying a large stone that he had picked up on the road, he clambered up the short step of the rickshaw and sat beside us pushing us to one side. Finally I felt what it was like to see those red, bulging eyes up close and the gaping mouth which smelled abysmally of what I felt was rotting flesh. My fear of him seemed to have multiplied a thousand times at that moment. He pulled on the waterbottle around my neck so hard that it seared my skin. Gita had started a hue and cry. But he didn’t even glance at her once. He seemed only interested in me. ‘Now you see me. You little pig! I will eat you up’ he said in a low drooling voice. I was paralysed with fear and could not feel anything. He started grabbing my shirt and then my arms trying to throw me out of the rickshaw. But Gita held on to me. I was middle of a tug of a war fight and I felt defenseless. Sweat beads started pouring from the sides of my face and my heart started pounding so fast that I started feeling dizzy. All other worldly sounds seemed to have been blocked and my eardrums vibrated with the sound of my own heartbeat. My breathing became difficult and I started gasping for breath. That was the first of many panic attacks that I was to suffer during the course of my life. The rickshaw stopped and people started coming out of their homes. ‘Madman! Madman!’ Gita was crying desperately, ‘Someone please help!’ Something came over Bamma. The ragged lines of his face twisted with a kind of unnatural fear. ‘They-They will get me now!’ He said and turned to me. ‘Stop them Deepak da. Don’t let them take me away. I was just playing’ his steely gaze turned soft, almost pitiful. He folded his hands and began shaking violently. Tears welled up in his eyes. But all of a sudden the cloud over his face subsided and he became calm, looking around him with alert, fearful eyes. He tried to get down from the rickshaw but the rickshaw puller had clutched his hand in the hopes of restraining him but Bamma yanked back his arm forcefully and ran back to his house as fast as he could. People had started coming out of their homes into the street with sticks and brooms. Bamma’s sister-in-law was standing at the gate with the baby in her arms. She had an agitated look on her face. Bamma ran past his frightened sister in law, colliding with the steel gate which was half ajar and went into the house, closing the door behind him. His sister in law, startled by the whole episode which transpired in front of her eyes, tried to calm the mob down which had reached the gates demanding that Bamma be brought out. She had a hard time handling the bloodthirsty mob on one hand and her crying baby on the other. ‘This is too much now!’ someone said, ‘Something has to be done. The other day he did the same to my son’ someone said ‘Call the police! Let’s settle this now!’ someone else said. ‘No let’s talk to his brother Deepak first and give him an ultimatum. We have suffered enough. Either the lunatic leaves or we will evict the entire family.’ The presence of Bamma’s sister-in-law didn’t matter much to them. ‘Yes let Deepak come. We will talk then’ Everyone nodded in agreement. ‘Sarita,you tell your husband there will be a meeting tonight at my house, okay. You let him know what we discussed here. Is that clear?’ One of the men in the crowd said looking at Bamma’s sister-in-law . He seemed to me the front man of such eviction drives in the neighbourhood. Sarita nodded demurely and went back to her house, closing the gate behind her. The small crowd dispersed on a positive note. I sat there on the rickshaw petrified. I felt as if my nerves had turned to stone. I didn’t fully understand what exactly happened. But all I knew was that I had to go to the bathroom quickly. I could feel Gita’s hand on forehead. Her touch felt very cold. ‘Babu mustn’t be frightened’ the rickshaw-puller said. He was an elderly muslim man with a long flowing beard. “Babu is a brave boy. No need to be frightened.’ ‘Take me… home soon…’ I said in a low voice, ‘ I..Toilet..’ my face tightened into a grimace. The rickshawpuller must have driven the rickshaw at the speed of light because we reached home in a very short time after that. There was nothing to fear anymore. The madman, his brother Deepak, Deepak’s wife and son left the house two days later. The neighbours gave Deepak an ultimatum, either to get rid of the lunatic or they would call the police. I heard from Gita the next day, that the neighbours heard painful screams from the house that night, sounds of ferocious beatings, intense scolding, frantic pleadings which went on the entire night. Two days later the madman was seen lifting bags onto the back of a small truck. He was mild as a dove. People who noticed him said that his brother’s beating had straightened him out. His face was red and swollen as a tomato. It seems that the Deepak opted to leave the neighbourhood rather than let go of his brother. I came to realize what a noble thing it was many years later. But still every time I passed by the house, I would feel an uncomfortable murmur in my heart. Every muscle in my body would become stiff and I would walk very cautiously, keeping an eye out towards the gate of the house. I feared that the madman would appear out of nowhere and start chasing me down the street. I knew it was nonsense but I was still eight years old then. I could never overcome the fear that possessed the eight year old me even after twenty-eight years. Nor could I ever forget what happened that day. I think the madman will stay in my memory till the day I die but perhaps not as a monster but as a helpless, tormented man who anyone (you and I included) could turn into, if we don’t value our sanity.

A large crowd had gathered outside the police station. People were eager to see the murderer of the eminent businessman Mr. Ranjit Dhar, who had surrendered to the police in the wee hours of the morning. A woman drenched in blood, with a blank and austere face, sat silently on a bench inside the police station, guarded by two female constables who kept a safe distance. More out of fear than disgust. They had not heard of a more gruesome and horrible crime before. The severed head and bloody knife that she had brought with her were sealed off as evidence by the forensic team. The bizarre circumstances had cast a gloom inside the police station and no one talked to each other, communicating only through nods and whispers. Finally, at about noon, a black hood was put on the woman’s head and she was led by the constables through the crowd of reporters and curious onlookers to the police van to be taken away to the central jail. People were shocked at this heinous crime but those who had heard about Sarada Devi and her legal case were more relenting and pitiful although they condemned the extreme measure she had taken. She was engaged in a long legal battle against the affluent businessman, Ranjit Dhar who had gang-raped her daughter along with some of his friends and afterward, had smothered her to death. Sarada Devi's sixteen year old daughter Mili worked at his house as a maid. The miscreants then set fire to her body to remove any traces of her existence. In the morning, her severely charred body was found by the side of a road. Her face was burned beyond recognition. The case was dismissed, partly due to a lack of evidence and partly because Mr.Dhar had paid off the many witnesses, policemen, and even the judge involved in the case. Mr. Dhar and all the miscreants walked away scot-free with a relieved smile on their faces. Outside the court, Mr. Dhar came face to face with Sarada Devi. He eyed her lecherously and said, ‘If you ever need a job. Come to my house. I won’t have to look for a new maid then’ His condescending laugh was poison to Sarada Devi’s ears. Sarada Devi looked at him with red-streaked eyes filled with hot tears as he walked past her. If anyone had looked at her at that moment, he would have been frightened. Her bloodshot eyes had narrowed down into a menacing stare, and her lips tightened with suppressed rage. Mr. Dhar lived alone. He had no family. That night Sarada Devi went to his apartment with a butcher’s knife hidden under her shawl. Mr. Dhar, dressed in a silk robe and a whiskey glass on his hands, opened the door. He had a wretched smile on his face as he regarded her with lustful eyes. Sarada Devi winced a little and looked away in disgust. He welcomed her inside and locked the door. In the morning Sarada Devi came out of the apartment carrying Ranjit Dhar’s severed head wrapped in her shawl on one hand and the bloody butcher’s knife on the other. She was covered from head to foot in squirts of blood. Her face was blank and emotionless but her hollow eyes betrayed a hideous savagery that one could see in the mugshots of cold-blooded serial killers. And yet, somehow it was not evil. No one apprehended her as she walked slowly on the road. The people simply moved away to let her pass, their heads bowed as if in feared benevolence. A lunatic sitting on the side of the road watched her as she walked in a slow and dignified manner, and was overcome with a feeling of violent excitement. He leaped in the air with nervous energy, crying deliriously, ‘Devi Maa has arrived! Devi Maa has arrived! The sinners will be punished now! Beware now, world, Devi Maa has arrived!’ and then prostrated himself on the ground muttering to himself deliriously until he passed out from his violent exertions.