saying farewel to this century

Saying Farewell to this Century….


1

“So what’s the solution for this?”
There was a hint of perplexity in papa’s eyes. The tone was devoid of emotions, the face had turned a bit pale.
There was a hollow grimness in Mom’s demeanor. “Why not prevent the guest from coming at all… I mean…”
There was an air of finality to that decision.
“But would Riya agree?”
Papa’s modernity was still under trial,
The suddenly evolving tense situation had, at different levels, taken all three of them in its grip- Papa, Mummy, Riya!

2

Riya was not among those sort of girls who could, till not very long ago, be found even in the stories of ismat chughtai….Naive, impish, playing with dolls, pricking her fingers with her needle-and thread, prancing and soaring on the wings of wind, sitting between the mirasans andsinging songs to the beat of the dholak at weddings, lunging to take some teeny-weepy baby in her arms, at which the older women couldn’t help remarking, “Hey, you are still a child yourself, what if the baby drops from your hands…”
But there’s another aspect to all this too. We can as well say that Riya is one amongst those girls who used to inhabit our short stories. Even the stories of Ismat Chaghtai. Now shyly clutching a bit of aanchal between the teeth, now going capering like a deer, as tender as a rabbit and just as vivacious, bringing tears in her eyes at the slightest provocation, entangling kites on the roof in the kite-flying season, flinging herself, heart and soul, over any boy that she fell in love with, secretly writing letters to him when she was alone..And getting frightened at the slightest sound of someone approaching…
Riya was a child then. She had a dream. There are many horses and a dark tunnel. The horses and a dark tunnel. The horses are blindfolded. They are galloping away at full speed.
“Why did I see that the horses were blindfolded. There were questions in Riya’s eyes.
“Were those horses flying?”
“Yes, they were flying in the air.”
“Were they sturdy and young?” Papa turned towards her with a smile. “Because it was you, Riya. Don’t run so fast. The horses were blindfolded so that they would not crash against the walls of the tunnel.”


3

They had been born in colonies and had brought their own cultures with them. They belonged to the world of “Brands,” Or they would themselves turn into a “Brand” as soon as they were born. They were enclosed within their own walls- or we should rather say bedrooms- or their drawing rooms. They were beginning their journey with the MTV culture.
Suppose someone says.. (In the words of the German writer, Herman Hesse) a bird is going to be born from an egg. The egg is a cosmos that wants to be born; it will have to destroy and obliterate a world to do so.
Readers! My apologies. This story isn’t written in the same way as other stories. It couldn’t have been. Just as we can’t be content with the mere statement that the world is changing. Simply stating that the world is changing doesn’t bring out the full force of this image of a bird and an egg. Because, the bird is struggling to break who is being born would have to shatter the existing world first.
And just like Hesse had told Sinclair in ‘Damein’, the demise of the old world is at the hand. This world would take a new shape. The stench of death is emanating from it. Nothing new can come about without death. There will be war. You will see what great turmoil there is all around. People will enjoy it. Tired of their boredom, they are waiting for the massacre to begin. In fact, the New World has begun, and this is going to be terrible for those who are still clinging to the old one.
So readers! This news isn’t going ot bring any happiness. The night of 31st December, when such a thick fog was enveloping the sky that you couldn’t see each other’s hand, the people, locked up in their rooms, hotels, bars and discotheques were preparing fo9r the celebrations to welcome the New Year. And the thick fog at the conclusion of the Twentieth Century had brought this news for Mr. Arjun Daitya Kar and his modern wife, Reema Kar, that their fourteen-year old daughter was going to become the mother of a child.

4

This ‘world’ wasn’t like this earlier. Arjun Daitya kar, the father of our heroine, Riya, had to wage a struggle for the sake of this world. Earlier, he had very little piece of earth and a little patch of sky, a little bit of religion and a little bit of socialism. He had few dreams in the beginning. Then, all of a sudden, they started his business with small bits of computer parts. And yes, perhaps, whatever data was stored before that in the ‘floppy’ of the past had been ‘deleted’ by then. But new seasons and new circumstances had brought in a pile of fresh data that too was stored in ‘floppies’ after it had been saved by Mr. Daitya Kar in his mind.
Mr. Nilambar was also stored on one such floppy. The same Mr. Nilamber who was a senior executive in a company that sold PCLF 486 computers at monthly installments. Seeing Riya at some party, he had extended his hand in friendship towards her, (This was Mr. Daitya Kar’s own conjecture.) or, we should say, he had even started visiting their house, which something that Mr. Daitya Kar had initially disapproved. He had only countenanced such things because friendship with Mr. Nilambar held the prospect of some benefits for his business.
Anyhow, Nilambar’s friendship may or may not have done anything else, but it had put a small burning matchstick to the firework of his dreams, dreams that had been lying dormant in him.
Nilambar was friendly with people who had acquired new wealth. After meeting such people, he would give out all the news about the latest fads and in-things, like…one must go on a tour to Egypt, take a boat-ride on the Nile, climb the Pyramids of Jebel Seina. It was through him that he came to know that smoking ‘Havana’ cigars had a taste of its own, than if you drank brands like ‘Kohba’, ‘Romeo and Juliet’ or ‘Bolivia and Punch’, it would draw the attention of any wealthy man towards you, just like having lunch and dinner at ‘Balthazaro’s’ in New York, or eating your favorite things at Manhattam’s fomous Moroccan restaurant, ‘Che Zaiqaa’, or if you had an old bottle of ‘Spring Buck’ whisky that would be appreciated by any wealthy connhoisseur, and if you had Tom Ford’s designer bags, shoes, clothes or belt.. To make an impression on the people of your community, you could send your children to spend their holidays at the summer camps in Switzerland that were run by Leslie’s, and if possible, your wife too, and then enjoy your life with your favorite mistress, speeding around with her in BMW or LUXES, or in some high-speed TARGA CARRIER, PROCHE or XS4XSUTTON.
Daiyta Kar had a suspicion those days. ‘Have you sent your wife with the children too…’
“Ha…ha… ha….! Nilambar had laughed at that, but his voice had seemed so wretched and doleful, as if, in his own words, the CBI had got wind of the secret accounts in Swiss or Bangkok Banks of one of his newly- rich friends. In other words, the game had slipped away at crystal Baccarat, the game of cards played by gamblers.
“What’s the problem with you….? Riya would smile at him like a psychiatrist. Her every word seemed measured. “You shouln’t have any misgivings about me. If he is making a fool of himself, then you shouldn’t be foolish enough to stop him. The sort of life that you have now was missing before. You understand what I am saying, don’t you, and there’s some contribution of that son of a bitch Nilambar too in this change. He always gives something or the other every time he comes. Diamonds, jewelry.. and if, in return, he tells your wife how beautiful she is then listen to him Daitya Kar! Become a complete businessman…if you want to achieve something in life, and then learn to overlook a few things…..
Good or bad, righty or wrong, whatever conjectures were being made regarding this incident, it had its beginning in just this sort of ‘logic’, or, in Nilambar’s words, driving rashly through the rush hour on a street in New York, his car had suddenly careened into many other cars.

5

If he ever got angry with Riya when she was a child, Rama would always silence him… “Children need a world in which they can be free. “A world under this roof.”
Daitya Kar kept his silence. But he was repeatedly assailed by the feeling that behind the unfettered world that was being provided for Riya, his own world was being snatched away from him, or, as if different worlds were being created for each of them. His, Riya’s and Rama’s. Sometimes he would see his tiny Riya performing aerobic with the music system blaring in the background, or he would come across Nilamber, explaining something in whispers to Rama in some room. And like a shrewd wife, Rama would stop him and get up from the chair.
When we move ahead in life, our desires run farther ahead of us…
Here was a boundless world that had filled Rama’s eyes. She was so bewitched with glamour that whenever he found her face to face with Riya, Daitya Kar would be filled with dread that she was either inducing her to dreams, or that she was lost in them herself. A dark, tunnel had descended into the depths of her eyes and neighing, blindfolded, galloping horses…..
Daitya Kar was never able to forget that dream of Riya’s…Yes! Just by those horses, he would be compelled to compare them with the horses of Jonathan Swift…What are you, a mere human. You have such thin, slender arms and legs…Look at me…I’m the Chariot of the Gods… the horse was standing proud and erect, like some king before man, its enslaved subject. Daitya Kar realizes that man is nothing in comparison to the horses. Nothing but a helpless, ill-fated creature, surviving only on dreams.
Nilambar would say withy a laugh, “We are people of the Remote Culture. If there are many people living together, each one wants to view the programs on different channels. If the program on Sony isn’t interesting, switch over to Zee with the click of the remote button. If Zee too fail to grip, then MTV, or Sports, or VTV. After all, the remote is there.. If you don’t like your husband change your husband, if you don’t like your wife then..” “What about the children…You can’t change children by the remote.”
Daitya Kar asks. Nilambar falls silent all of a sudden.

But no, what renders Daitya Kar’s situation so helpless is that, on the one hand, he goes along with the system, and yet, on the other, he keeps on rejecting it at every step. If he doesn’t go along with the system, there is darkness, and the neighing horses in the dream loose their way in the dark tunnel. And when he goes along helplessly with the system, something gnaws at his insides that is, it gnaws at him on one level, the level at which he has to strangle the opposition that his conscience puts up when he gives acceptance to the system. At least he tries to do so. Any how, the fact is that he is compelled to live a life (we won’t call it wretched) he doesn’t have the strength to struggle.
Daitya Kar had imagined a world even during the days of his struggle, a world full of romance, a life full of beauty. And he had imagined and thought about it even in those days of a hemmed in, small-town milieu, because there used to be an enchanting realm of love that had existed then, in spite of all the constraints and hardships of those days. His parents, an amalgam of joy and sorrow, then their own parents, the neighbors, aunts and uncles. The poetry of love speckled the valley of life like the stars in the sky.
Then, the sun was simply the sun. the earth was simply the earth, and the sky, just the sky. The moonlight sprinkled through the night then, and the stars were full of enchanting stories. Nature took you in the roofs… Those cots were coated with the grime of tales and fables….
Daitya Kar felt that it was not just nature, or the environment that has been snatched away from the children, they have been robbed of life itself. They were children and so they used to think like children, looked like children, but would you… would you call Riya a child? Does Riya still appear to be a child? The lotuses blooming in Rama’s eyes have wilted. She is like a child because she is a child, but observing the 12 years old Riya, Daitya Kar would be filled with dread…No, Riya has become a young woman.
“No”, there was a harshness in Rama’s voice… “that’s what I am saying…She shouldn’t look like a child anymore…”
“But Why? Daitya Kar’s voice was suffused with fear. “Because, if she looks like a child anymore, it would be a disadvantage to her. It would hurt her career, her future…”
The father hidden inside Daitya Kar come to hold the front.
“Twenty-year old children go to school. Where does the future come the mestakes that we made… because this is the age when…”
Daitya Kar was frightened.
“Don’t fear…What ever I’ll do, it will be for Riya’s benefit.”
“But What will you do? Will you turn her into a woman…In the name of her future…”
Daitya Kar felt that Rama should have laughed at his sarcasm, instead, Rama had turned serious.
“Yes, I’ll turn her into a woman…”
“Have you gone mad….?”
“No… I have decided. I’ll get Riya to have hormone injections.”
Daitya Kar had been jolted even then, when Rama had talked about the world of glamour. Modeling the bold and brazen life of young actress… Nilabmbaer had asked with a laugh once. “Why do laughing. Nilambar had cited the latest example of Mamta Kulkarni. Daitya Kar thinks that the father’s forbearance must have been put to test. Moreover, here there was body fitness, ingenuity and frankness, and all of these led to the world of glamour. Beauty Quiz’s, Miss India, Miss world, Miss universe….watching their daughter’s body exposed before the worked, watching her bared legs would certainly make the parents feel so proud.

6

This incident took place during the days when the high-flying Nilamber had suddenly tripped….
Nilamber’s company was getting disturbed about the declining demand for its products. An decision was taken, why not wind up the company that was incurring so much loss. Suddenly, executives like Nilamber, who were being given such fat paychecks, were out of job.
Nilambar’s lips were trenbling that day… just like someone falling to the earth from a great height.
“Stop her…She is flying too fast….”
“But now…Perhaps, it was too late now.” It wasn’t Daitya Kar, it was the voice of a utterly helpless father.
“Do something…” Nilamber’s voice betrayed how frightened he was. “The girl has unknowingly chosen a gas chamber for herself, she’ll suffocate. First, it was the discotheque, and then bars, hormone injections…Her next stop could well be the condom…stop her!”
Daitya Kar was in a state of such wretched misery that even the word “condom” wasn’t able to join him out of it... He could see that this Liberalism, this Consumerism, had turned Riya into a woman even before she took these hormone injections.
He was compelled to see all this with his closed eyes. He could see the old world dying too. The bird was struggling to break out of the egg…He could fee4l the stench of death...Nothing new could happen without death…People need the hysteria that was the gift of war and mayhem…Hysteria…Sensation….Perhaps, the New World had begun…And this beginning was terrible for people like them…People who were still clinging to the Old World….
In the meantime, many small incidents went on happening… Like Rama plugging for ‘Modeling’ with all the force she could muster…Like the gradual stopping of Nilamber’s visits to their house…Like Riya beginning to keep glum and silent. A deep, drown-out-sadness, like a melancholy that is born of some searing tragedy, or which is common with victims of depression. And he could see how Rama was being steadily crushed and beaten underneath this deep drawn-out-sadness. He was certain that the world was round. But he wasn’t sure that Rama could ever again return in the form of a woman. Either this was total defeat, or, it was the last page of that incident when Riya had attempted suicide by swallowing those sleeping pills…
Had the bird broken out to the egg?
For Arjun Daitya Kar, it was a mystical moment of self-realization… but a horrible scene was still left to unfold. Riya had regained consciousness, but her Medical Report was still to come. But whatever was going to be revealed in the Report could be read in Riya’s eyes even now. It was as if a chill had suddenly descended on the whole house. A haze of mist that separated them from each other like strangers... A shriek reverberated, a sound of something crashing to pieces. Daitya Kar and Rama came running only to see Riya standing in front of them at the door of her house. Her clothes in tatters, her eyes burning like coals. She held a half-broken bottle of soda in her hand, and there was a strange sort of tautness on her face that had been born out of sheer anger. “What do you people want to know…If you pester me too much then…?”
Daitya Kar knew. Films and the violence that was portrayed in films naturally had their effect on the minds of children. His emotions too had c hilled in the cold haze of the mist. And then, there was just one day left for a new day to begin, or, he was going to hear some news that was going to shock him out of his senses on the last day of the old year. Or….the bird of a new beginning was going to break out of the egg.

8

How did all this happen? Daitya Kar would stand still amongst the crowed of questions. Is all of this just a truth of the darkness of these times? The idealism of the days of Independence, Lohia’s Socialism… and then all these ‘isms’ were broken into so many grouping of class and creeds. Materialism, Consumerism, the ideology of Scams… Even if a single brick of liberalism was put anywhere, then what would we call this generation …captive of a sense of insecurity, tense, wretched, as if they were leaving themselves open to attack…but from whom….these children who had grown up in an émigré or fugitive culture. They find refuge from their tension to be confronted at the next step with a route to crime. Those bloodshot eyes of Riya…they are not brave or strong, they are weak. Deciding to commit suicide in a moment, and then trying to find the meaning of life in such decisions...Victims of personal, internalized violence…with fury in their eyes, a generation ready to sacrifice itself in the name of any form of hysteria...but who is responsible for bringing this generation to this situation? Every generation is compelled to accept some sort of influence from the generation that precedes it. So that secular, liberal person dwelling inside Daitya Kar was nothing but a symbol, a myth and it was because of that person’s influence that Riya has been forced to write these pages. The horses are neighing. The blindfolds over their eyes are coming loose… the on the whole house. A haze of mist that separated them from each other like strangers… a shriek reverberated, a sound of something crashing to piedes. Daitya Kar and Rama came running only to see Riya standing in front of them at the door of her house. Her clothes in tatters, her eyes burning like coals. She held a half-broken bottle of soda in her hand, and there was a strange sort of tautness on her face that had been born out of sheer anger. “What do you people want to know…it you pester me too much then…”
Daitya Kar all this happen? Daitya Kar would stand still amonst the crowed of question. Is all of this just a truth of the days of independence, Lohia’s Socialism…and them all these isms were broken into so many grouping of class and creeds? Materialism, Consumerism, the ideology of Scams... even if a single brick of liberalism was put anywhere, then what would we call this generation…the MTV condom generation…Captive of a sense of insecurity, tense, wretched, as if they were the victims of some terrinle deceit, or as if they were leaving themselves open to attack…but from home…these children who had grown up in an émigré or fugitive culture. They find refuge from their tension only to be confronted at the next step with a route to crime. Those bloodshot eyes of Riya…they are not brave or strong, they are weak, deciding to commit suicide in a moment, and then trying to find the meaning of life in such decisions…victims of personal, internalized violence...With fury in their eyes, a generation ready to sacrifice itself in the name of any form of hysterias..But who is responsible for bringing this generation to this situation? Every generation is compelled to accept some sort of influence from the generation that precedes it. So that secular, liberal person dwelling inside Daitya Kar was nothing but a symbol, a myth and it was because of that person’s influence that Riya has been forced to write these pages. The horses are neighing. The blindfolds over their eyes are coming loose…the horses can now smash into the walls of the long, dark tunnel….
31st December… A thick blanket of fog was spread till far into the distance outside the house…There was very little time left for the New Year to arrive…But the sound of bursting crackers could still be heard outside. These were sounds of the farewell to the departing Twentieth Century..or preparations to welcome the New Year. A century was being envelope in mist. A new century was being born from the thick fog. The Medical Report had come, bringing the story of a new birth.
“She…is still a child.”
“You made her take those hormone injections….”
“But…She still a child…”
The cold was making the teeth chatter….it was bitterly cold outside. And a spite of the coming New Year, there was an eerie desolation.
“What can happen now? Rama’s lips had started trembling.
“Even earlier it was you who always decided for her…And so…”
“Don’t you have the strength to take a decision….”
“Or…I would never have allowed my girl to take hormone injections.”
“Dreams were blossoming in my eyes. Like others , I too wished to see my daughter on the TV screen.”
“Then why did you discard it….”
“Because…” Rama’s voice was like ice. “He didn’t seem to be a man to me…”
“No. He was human like you and me…” Datiya Kar was saddened by a thought…He was like a computer that had become obsolete and worthless because another new and better produced had come into the market.


9

The crackers had started bursting outside…Perhaps the time for the New Year’s arrival was near…He knew that in spite of the bitter cold outside, children and the young crowd would have come out on the streets, full of excitement and happiness…or they would be sitting in their homes, waiting for the needles of their clocks to join together. Rama is silent...They can hear a strange whispering. There are still more revolutions to come. The revolutions that are expected in the years to come, in the fields of biotechnology and genetics…Perhaps, at our next station, we would be entering the era of Nino-Technology. A new ara would begin, more horrible than the dinosaurs of Jurassic Park..Your would be able to make and keep a copy of every living and natural thing, like the biotech cloning of plants, microscopic trees, or creating atmospheric and climatic conditions inside your room
He heaves a sad sigh….These ceaseless revolutions have made a ‘bonsai’ of us….
“But what is the solution for this?”
Rama’s eyes are fixed on his face. “What have you decided about Riya?”
But perhaps, he isn’t in a condition to think about any thing. The needles of the clock have fused with each other. The bursting of crackers outside has gathered pace. Getting up from his place, he walks like a robot towards the gate and opens the door. Perhaps to welcome in the New Year or to bid a lasting farewell to the Twentieth Century. The bitter cold outside, the fog spread like a sheet…the haze till far in the distance…The sounds of laughter of some children can be heard. Perhaps they would be dancing and singing with each other and bursting crackers.
But Daitya dar…it was as if the cold had frozen him to the spot…the bird has come out breaking the egg….or…
The horse, galloping inside the tunnel without a blindfold, was lying spattered with blood after colliding against the walls of the tunnel.