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Navri and her eternal victimisation
Originally posted by: MissSkeptic
@ <font color="#0000ff">bonhishikha - </font><font color="#000000">thank you so much for your comments...though I do not think this can be a novel especialy after my sister said that it is confusing..but I am happy you said that! 😊</div><div>@ <font color="#e959ff">punam2712 </font><font color="#000000">- Thank you for reading...what does RES mean?</font></font>
PART 3
RK was not expecting to see Madhu when his run brought him back to the spot he had left her. He had ran and ran until he could not lift his legs anymore. She had drawn up her legs and rested her chin on her knees. She looked dazed and tears were streaming down her cheeks oblivious to the stares of strangers passing by. Guilt kicked in as he knew he was the reason for her misery. He could not fathom how they ended up like this. They used to bring out the best in each other. Just with a smile, she was able to get him out of the lowest despair and give him hope that something good would come his way and he knew his mere presence used to give her comfort.
He limped towards her tentatively, unsure what he could do to make it all better between them. His mere presence was no longer enough and he was in need of some soothing himself. As if she could sense his closeness, she looked up and blinked the tears that were escaping her pretty eyes. Suddenly, she stood up and ran away from him but he did not go after her. They seemed to always be running or hiding away from each other recently.
He headed towards the pond in the middle of the park for some peace of mind. Coming to the park used to ease his mind and the freshness and coolness of the air used to bring him a sense of tranquility. He remembered he was in fourth grade when he discovered Mystic Park. He was approaching his apartment when he heard the familiar pleas and cries coming from inside. He knew the sight that would greet him when he opened the door and for the first time he turned and walked away. His heart raced and his palms were sweaty and something stirred in him. He knew he should be home protecting his mom but his legs refused to be deterred by his heart. He walked and walked without a destination but the park beckoned him. He was drawn to the pond in the centre of the park. He stood there picking up pebbles and threw them in the pond. He watched in awe at the ripples he created. After a while, he sat down on the grass patch encircling the pond and eyed the movements of the ducks in the pond. He was recently taught in school that most domesticated ducks are flightless birds. He wondered how the ducks feel being confined to only within the pond. Do they look at the birds, similar in shape and size, fly by and hope to be just as carefree? And when it rained, do they wish they could escape yet they have no means to do so? Do they think it was unfair that they have wings like other birds but their wings could not bring them to a better place? Or did the ducks just accept that this was the way of life? They pretend to be happy and one day hopefully they would be convinced that they are happy. That was how everyone gets through this life it seemed - by putting up a front. Just like when he went home that day, Maaji, Bauji and Aaman bhaiyya were seated at the dining table like a perfect family. No one spoke about the bruises and the broken furniture. And when Maaji went to work as a check-out girl in " Have Them All" supermarket the next morning, no one saw the bruises. And their neighbours never heard the noises nor saw any of the injuries. They always wished them the same happy greetings every morning and evening.
His mother had told him that she and his dad had moved from India to USA the month after they got married. His mother was only eighteen while his dad was twenty three. His father's friend, Uncle Malik had come to America a few months earlier and when his dad heard about how good Uncle Malik's was doing in America, he wanted to migrate there too. One bright sunny day in July, his parents had arrived in the small town of Edison, New Jersey full of hopes, dreams and so in love. Uncle Malik had arranged for lodging in one of the flats in a four storey apartment off George Street. George Street was an area where most Indian immigrants flocked to and there was a strong presence of the Indian community. There is that sense of unity and togetherness and smell of the familiar spices and flowers. Everyone always remarked how they were glad to end up in this part of America. Except, no one really want to end up there. It was just supposed to be a pit stop to the final destination.
George Street was filled with derelict buildings and their apartment was no exception. When his parents had first stepped into the dingy flat, they noticed that the walls were filled with drawings and graffiti and the furniture left behind by the previous owner was worn-out. They had left the walls as they were and made do with the old furniture as this was supposed to be temporary. No one came to America to stay in what is considered a chawl in India. Everyone dreamt of the picket white fence house with a front porch for the children to play, a garden for the mother to water and a garage for the father to park the SUV. Only that dream went on for too long for his parents.
While looking for a job as an engineer, his dad worked as a kitchen helper at the local Indian restaurant, Taj Food Palace, run by Uncle Malik's friend. His mother was initially a homemaker until he was born four years later. The family could not survive on his dad's intermittent income. His dad started drinking a few months after moving to America to deal with the failure of securing a job befitting of him. He was a graduate from India afterall and his parents did not spend all that money for him to wash dishes and cut vegetables in the kitchen. He started turning up for work drunk and Uncle Malik's friend tried to tolerate it for as long as it was possible for the sake of his mother but eventually he had to let Bauji go. And that was the beginning of the job switching career for Bauji. He had been a taxi driver, security officer, cashier, hot-dog seller, salesman but nothing suited him. But to everyone who knew them, they were a perfect family - the loving parents and the two obedient and respectful sons. At least that was how everyone pretended it was with them.
Everyone he knew was a superficial being somehow. Either they appear to be something they are not or they refuse to acknowledge the things they see. Everyone he knew except Madhu. She never pretended which was why he liked being with her so much. He had met her when Aaman bhaiyya asked him to tag along on a double date. Priya babhi wanted to set up her friend on a date and Aaman bhaiyya had no one to bring along. Aaman bhaiyya had spent everyday after school since third grade in the library as he wanted to get a scholarship for college and had few friends. RK had agreed to the double date only because Aaman bhaiyya never asked for favours. And after the movie, he still could not believe she said that she was feeling too awkward and embarrass to recall anything about the movie when he had asked her about the actors. That was her first date apparently. No clever comebacks to appear all smart and sophisticated like some girls he knew. No false pretense and giggles to wiggle out of the answering like some girls he dated. Just the honest truth. And she did not even have any make up on unlike every other girl in high school who needed a shield as though they are ashame of who they really are.
The more he hung out with Madhu, the more he liked her. She was like a breath of fresh air. And her innocence and simplicity attracted him. With Madhu, he could share all his deepest fears and secrets and she would understand. And when she did not, she would say so. Like how she was waiting for him to get over his obsession to be an actor when they were in high school or how she would tell him she hated the smell of cigarettes whenever he smoked. And she had just told him that his mother was disappointed in him - not that he needed any confirmation. He shut his eyes and tried to block away thoughts of his mother. He could not believe that she is dead. She was too young to die. Well, not that there is an age limit when it is acceptable for you to die but she deserved to live a little longer to enjoy the "American" dream that was long overdue.
He realised that he needed a drink badly as past memories and regrets threatened to slowly engulf him. Luckily his legs were no longer sore and he walked to the street and hailed a cab to the bar in town. He had promised himself that he would stay sober when he came back home. This was just another promise that he could not keep he reckon.
Note:
1. I have created fictional places just to get the right setting for this story...Places like George Street and Mystic Park are just figments of my imagination...
2. My sister said that the way I went into the flashback mode is sometimes confusing...she could not tell when it was now and when it was the past...can you please let me know if you feel the same too while reading? I want to improve on my structure in writing...
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