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Literature Blogs Short Stories Welcome To the World of AIDS
Literature Blogs Short Stories Welcome To the World of AIDS
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If there is life anywhere in India then it has to be Mumbai. Literally life runs on the two parallel steel rails all the time—from Vasi to Thane… Thane to Vikroli, Ghatkopar, Dadar and life goes on. Yes! Here I am talking about the local trains of Mumbai which are the lifeline of this metro city named the city of dreams Mumbai. This old iron coaches hold together the city of diversities. They say dreams are sold in Mumbai but little do people know dreams are sold in local trains and also shattered there only.
Dusk has always been my favorite time. More than the scenic beauty I like it because it is the time for home coming. But little did I knew that on one fine summer evening I have to leave for a city bigger than the biggest I can comprehend, more complex than I can imagine and more beautiful than I can ever dream. I boarded the Konark Express, the last I can see the waving hands of my parents and those two drops of tear in my mommy’s eyes. What were those tears for? – I am moving away for the first time out of her eyes, or was it the fear how a lone small town girl would manage in the sprawling Mumbai?
When my eyes opened I found myself in a corner of the coach I was traveling, my clothes destroyed, my body brutally abused and my soul completely ruined. The local train second class compartment, as if had already become my mirror image of my ruined self. All I could hear was the roaring of the last local train running the heart of Mumbai which had become my home since two weeks.
My uncle received me at 4.00 AM in the morning with a wry smile and a visibly “oh shit” kind attitude. After all he is only a friend of my father and in a city like Mumbai why on earth he would take care of a newbie when he has his own family to look after. And categorically he has said that Mumbai is a city for everyone and I could easily find out a place to live either as a paying guest or some could stay at a rented house with the colleagues of my company. I was thinking, “is he the same person who has said my father that he will take every care of mine in a new city?” This is on 7th January 2009. I left his house for a paying guest accommodation arranged by my colleague on 10th January. He was supremely relieved and so was I.
The train was running like a remorseless creature, right upon my bare chest. Not a sign of little sympathy for me, despite being the witness of my exploitation. How can the train forget the towering black monsters that leaped upon me like a tiger pounces on its prey? But yes she did. Everybody ignored me like I am non existent—the time, the distance; the space and even my spirit deserted me. I am lying there helpless not even able to get my torn cloth and wrap over my bare chest. The demons had left the train and I was lying alone, oblivious of my own existent. Was I waiting for dying? No I was not. Life and death both had desecrated me into the abyss of hell. I was dead. Minakshi (name changed) was dead.
The office was too hectic for me. But as a fresher and a new team member I was enthusiast enough to shoulder any responsibility that came my way. They said girls need not work longer but I was not the one to hide behind such a veil. I wanted responsibility and I was given enough. Every body liked me in the project. I was that hard working girl who showed a lot of promise. And on one fine evening at 7 o clock my manager said “Minakshi, I know it is getting late but can you look into this issue it is very urgent and needs to be delivered by day after tomorrow. What I need of you is that please come early tomorrow and look into it at the first place.” And the ever enthusiast that I was, I got myself fully immersed into it. Time went like anything… and when I saw my wrist watch it was 1.15 AM. “Oh my God!! The last local is at 1.40 AM. I rushed out… for the last time…
The train reached its last station. Now it was gasping for breadth after running the whole day restless. And so was I. What wrong I had done. My dreams were shattered on 20th January 2009. Should I go to Police station or should not I? The first thing that came to my mind was jumping into the moving train.., but alas the last local had stopped and god had not even left a leeway for me even to die. My life shattered… on that fateful night. This is my new home now. My family has not disowned me but is neither ready to embrace their own Minakshi. My office had shown me the exit door hiding behind the veil of recession. Now my abode is this place this 6 by 6 room of a NGO (name can be specified for obvious reasons).
I am now not Minakshi. I am patient no 135—AIDS patient waiting to die. Welcome to my world… “the world of AIDS”.
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| Last Updated on Tuesday, 17 November 2009 16:16 |
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