I always wondered to myself, as to how difficult
announcing a fact could be? Every time I heard a loud speaker blast to its
heightened glory, it amazed me! Was it only me, who couldn’t contemplate the
noise or if it was the announcer who had no clue of how to speak? I wanted to
tell them that It was just an announcement meant to convey information and no
speed test! A higher no. of words per min. does not translate into better
understanding of the speaker’s blabber neither it was a requisite to win them a
candy. Yet, the announcer would talk… unaware of the fact that their words were
extremely difficult to comprehend; doing their routine job/ duty.
The announcement on the Public Addressing System was hard
to understand. Failing to make any sense out of this noise, I suited myself to
a clearer format of info. The Electronic Display Board!
It was time for my security Check.
Mom, Dad had come to drop me, and as a part of Indian
Airport see-off’s a few relatives had to necessarily tag along. My dear old
man, tried hard to hide his tears… his little girl was going away…travelling to
foreign shores. Mom had an unfamiliar unease of what I can understand as a
commotion of pride and concern. Uncle and aunt, would have been more in real
skin had they dropped the mask of joy; but then I’m sure they wouldn’t want to
show the green-ness of their real thoughts. It didn’t matter, cause I really
didn’t care how the world perceived me or my success. What mattered to me, were
my parents and the fact that I had made them proud was all that counted.
A middle class
income often clips feathers of innocent dreams, but they gave in their best to
never cut my flight. I was their pride… I was reality of every dream left
unrealized. I couldn’t let them down…couldn’t ever. It killed us to know that I
was finally going…going far away. And though I wish I could tell them that I
was merely a call away, I knew I would be lying! Sure there is the Internet,
VOIP and discounted calling rates…but seeing me fly so far away, made all this
pointless. I could see it in their eyes, feel it in their arms…the pain of
letting me go…letting me away from them.
Dad hugged me tight, his eyes were moist. With a heavy
voice, which trembled out of loosened control on authority…. he warned me against
any possibility of romantic hook-ups. “Remember the purpose of your travel and
don’t do anything that will put your family name in shame!” I couldn’t control
my smile and My old man smirked! We both knew, how lame and unconvincing he
sounded at his effort to put across something serious. He hugged me tighter,
and kissed my forehead.
“’I’m proud of you my child. Do well… just never let your
family or your pride at stake…no matter what!”
Mom was already in a heightened state of bellowing. Had
dad not been understanding enough, a rhetorical scene of ‘overwhelming motherly
emotions’ straight from a bollywood classic could have been re-shot now! The
only difference right now, is it was all real…real people with real emotions.
May be I would have shared a hearty laugh seeing this scene on 35mm, but it
sank my heart at this moment. This unremitting spat of tears would have
lingered timelessly, had Ma not taken out a jar of her home-made pickle from
her bag. It was my favorite; though I could comprehend the hassles that waited
on the other side of those Hi-Tech and peering, incredulous eyes…I was adroit
to take it head on!
The adieu from my Uncle and Aunt was brief. A careful
wrap of concern overlaid their good tempered covetous.
It wasn’t just my country that I was leaving; I allowed
myself to furlough my family…memories…my way of life and above all a part of my
existence. An endless stream of memories flashed In my mind as I walked towards
the queue at the check points. I was at unease with my tears… it was finally
time to leave!
Beyond the security rails, my family still were waiting…
strange, how they would not leave till the point they could see me no more!
They waved at me, blowing kisses and palms stretched in manners of blessings.
It was hard to leave, but I knew I had to! I asked a million times at this
moment if it was ‘Ok’ , not to Go…but alas! From deep within the only thing I
heard was silence. I convinced myself with reasons obvious enough not to do or
think anything stupid! My feet limped towards the Security Check!
The queue at the immigrations was long. It took a while
for my turn to face this grumpy security personnel. Suspicion and disinterest
was deeply engraved in his expressions. His acknowledgement was just so
non-felt. Visa, Passport and documents…he scanned ‘em all like a machine. I was
relieved when he accepted the documents with the seal of approval.
All as well, till the security scanner buzzed out loud!
Soon an army of security officials were on the case. My Cabin bag was isolated
and I was asked to be open it for a thorough inspection! Their incredulous
faces looked even more annoyed at the incident. To me, their act was more like
an hurried effort to clear my bags content rather than a security frisk!
“ What does the jar contain?”
“It’s a jar of homemade pickle. Its food!”
“Sorry lady, but we can’t allow this on board”
My heart sank at that moment. A fit of rage my bellowing
state of passiveness. I didn’t put a fight, rather stood a ground on my
conviction. I wanted that pickle and I was adamant about it! I would not allow
this jar to end up in a can of disposables!
There was a heated exchange of words…and I’m sure the
argument would have continued longer, but surprisingly it didn’t! They finally
were convinced to allow its carriage, but they had to act in accordance to
preserving their ego’s. The bastards almost scooped out half of the contents to
sample its non toxic/ non lethal/ non explosive nature.
It took a while for me to repack the bag and reinstate my
mother’s spill proof packing.
In the crowd of unknown faces, I found myself lost. I
looked at the sea of people…some looked curious, some calm! Few tensed…and few
relaxed! To every emotion my eyes recognized, there was an opposite feeling on
someone else’s face. I stared at them blankly; didn’t know what I was feeling. ‘Restless’
could be a remote effort to describe the emptiness inside; I was scared! Scared
of the uncertainty that awaited. I wanted to run back into my father’s arm, but
I knew I couldn’t.
Deep inside I felt clueless. I didn’t want to leave! I
wished to tell dad what and how I exactly felt, but that would be so unfair. It
would be unforgiving to their efforts and to mine. I had toiled sleeplessly to
earn my scholarship. It was my dream…everything that I wanted…everything I had
aspired for. And now I was in the vortex of these mixed and contrasting
feelings. I wanted this inner turmoil to just end! I needed to escape!
Thoughts of my childhood…school lunch breaks..college
hang outs; my room…toys…belongings and even my neighborhood leisurely took
their part to make me realize…that all of this, would only be a memory!
I shuffled through the playlist on my music player much
faster than it coveted OS, but that didn’t prove to be of much aid. I reached for
my bag, in a vain hope that the novel could put this unrest to ease. But
disaster was just about to strike…and I was completely ignorant of its arrival!
As my fingers meandered in the bag; a wet-sticky
sensation caught my surprise. Mother’s love had found its way to slip out of
the jar and spread its affection to things that were near. The security
officials intervention coupled with my in expertise to repack the lid in its
air tight configuration, translated into this unprecedented Recipe of Disaster.
“God damn it! This is F****** not done, not at all!”
I threw my hands in the air, with a hope that some divine
intervention from the blue would save me from this inconvenience and disgrace.
I scavenged to rescue whatever I could save of my belongings. To my surprise,
this catastrophe was well within the limits of an ‘accident’. Call me a ‘Drama
Queen’ if u may, but it’s only natural to get hyper; and bedsides how was I to
know what exactly would be magnitude of the damages!
The tee looked recognizable, even though it was well blotted
with pickle oil. Any other garment in this condition would probably end up in
the bin…but this Tee, was not just another garment!
“Ory” that’s what I called him. His name was difficult to
pronounce and, could be said was unusual! ORREL SAKALOWSKAS….he was from
Russia, and if I can remember correctly his origin was from a place called
AK-DOVURAK.
He sat on the berth opposite to mine. He was a
tall man. Visibly fair, with long hair and an unshaven face. He looked rugged
and it was hard to say if this rustic look was result of his hardships or his
worries. I was travelling to Delhi to meet my cousins, while he was destined
for Haridwar! I thought he was every inch a hippie! The way his attire hung…his
demeanor, just cried out loud of being care free! He kept the co-passengers entailed
with stories and incidents of his travel.
I have a strict “do not talk to strangers ” policy during
travelling. I mostly keep myself occupied in the pages of a book or my music
playlist. But this young age, tends to be curious…so I tend to casually lend an
ear to make myself aware of the surrounding.
His narrations were dramatic. Even With his strange,
rather unfamiliar accent and unclear pronunciation; he managed to spin a web of
vivid imagination. Stories which could make an excellent documentary film, left
his audience spell bound. At times, a loosely structured statement in the local
lingo threw in an unprecedented cheer and applause. I couldn’t argue that his
stories weren’t arresting…my best efforts to read through the pages of this
newly purchased thriller or even stuffing ear phones to listen to John Mayer’s
hit singles proved undoubtedly tepid!
To be honest, I was enjoying his narrations. Though my
idiosyncrasy portrayed minimal interest; I couldn’t help to find myself being
drawn in. it was hugely captivating.
This entire or surreal raptness was broken by a very
harmless question.
“What is your name, dear lady?”
All eyes were pinned at me. It wasn’t really embarrassing,
just a tad staggering.
“I’m ORREL…ORREL SAKALOWSKAS! Would you like to tell us
your name or may be share a story with us?”
I guess he referred to the other passengers with the word
‘us’. Everyone was expecting a reply, but their elating expressions were let
down by my phlegm to contribute or associate.
“I’m sorry, I got nothing interesting.” I returned to the
page wedged between my fingers.
Dinner was served hours back; the lights were gradually
being switched off in the compartment, as people unhurriedly spread their bed
rolls and letting themselves enjoy a good night sleep.
Time seemed to pass at leisurely pace during travel. The author’s
lines were much over shadowed by the stories of people and facts that this stranger
narrated. The silence in the compartment made my thoughts ran along phases of
good and heartbroken episodes of life. Questions
to which answers could never be found or the ones I gave up searching bereaved
me!
I wasn’t sleepy…just in satiated!
“Can I share your seat for a while?” A familiarly
unfamiliar accent broke my moment of solitude. It was the story teller.
“Sure.” I folded my legs to make room for him to sit.
“You never said your name, may I ask why?”
“No reason, just found it a little awkward!”
“Ok! Lets start again… my name is ORREL SAKALOWSKAS and I
belong to AK-DOVARAK, RUSSIA”
“I’m Anya. Sorry didn’t get your name again!” (It was
honestly difficult to pronounce such an unusual name!)
“Call me Ory…its easier. Do you know what your name
means?”
I nodded with a NO.
“In Russian it means Grace!”
Some say looks are deceptive, they were right! This man
had nothing strikingly captivating by his presence, but he had the gift of the
gab! From casual topics of interest and intents in life, the conversation took
us to the desolate alley’s of broken dreams. With the trek of time, windows which
were locked up for years opened to set free the pain of moments gone by!
Ory was a traveler and it all began with his story of
Love lost in memories of time. He said India was a mystical country and was
convinced that it had the true healing power to assuage his inner turmoil. At
first it sounded crazy and immature! But he was here, sitting right in front of
me; so I couldn’t say it was imposturous. His pain was real, so were his
stories of people and their lives…whom he met during his travel.
He said he would continue to be a nomad till he found the
ultimate truth. There were times, when his words just didn’t make any sense or
rather I never could understand or relate to them…but I couldn’t agree less;
that this man, had made me think about life beyond the ordinary realms of
credence. May be for just that moment… I could see a new dimension to the
meaning of living!
He believed
that life was a journey to find the truth, and that every moment was carefully
etched to teach a path. Everyone walked, to find the purpose of their existence.
People came and they left only cause on overlap of paths. To him Love, hatred, social
norms, deceit etc. were just landscapes/places on this journey of life, how
long one stayed just made them behave in that manner.
He had an explanation for everything and surprising
enough it all sounded convincingly true.
There was honesty in his words and though he spoke like a
savant, to me he was indubitable!
It was unusual for me to open up to a stranger on a train
journey; but surprisingly It didn’t feel wrong. Irrespective of my continuous
self-conscious inhibitions, we kept awake all night… sharing thoughts,
experiences and moments of our lives.
As the journey closed to its end, this stranger had
become a friend.
At the Nizammudin station, we parted after exchanging our
email-id. Though unsure of it, I promised to be in touch!
For the following few months we stayed in touch through
mails. My inbox was filled with pictures from his travel and stories about the
locals. I waited for his mails…waited for his elusive stories, and he never
disappointed.
After a long time I felt happy from deep inside. I was finally
coming out of the cocoon, in which I laid dormant for years…breathless from the
pain of betrayal. His travelogue rejuvenated me!
There were times. When I doubted, what we shared was just
an appreciated affection/attraction or we were falling in love with each other.
I was scared of the uncertainties of consequences, but prayed to know if ‘we’
could ever be…the way I wanted ‘us’ to be! Though I held back my emotions; but
deep inside… I wanted him to know everything that my heart felt.
We were two people, separated by unknown miles…but that
never was a hindrance in sharing our everyday lives. We were in constant touch
through mails; from my career plans to his punctured bike falls during
uncharted expeditions….we knew every little detail of each other’s daily life.
I was happy, but then there was this void I knew only he could fill up…cause he
was more than just a friend. He had become my guide and philosopher as well…my
true companion!
But every story doesn’t have a fairy tale ending, and
neither did mine. Things were changing…and changing at unannounced pace! What
used to be a daily affair, gradually turned into several weeks of wait. Mails
were few and gradually becoming less personal. He said everything was OK and at
times he just got too busy, I knew that the sand castle was slowly being washed
away.
Filling in forms and applications…running to the banks
for educational loans kept me busy most of the time, but on the inside ran an
unrest…unnerving questions, haunting an unending plot of unknown!
This absence of his had now become a habit, so it didn’t hurt
much… I guess! Life moved at its pace, and uncertainty regarding ORY was
brushed to the sidelines as I geared up for my masters in the State University
of Michigan! Life from this point had more important goals than just dreaming
and bellowing.
One fine morning I received a mail from a woman named
Clara. It had a subject written “Urgent” in bold. I thought it would be from
the University, but it wasn’t. The mail read:
“Dear Anya,
I am sorry to state that Mr. ORREL SAKALOWSKAS is no more
with us. He passed away on 18th May after his prolonged illness. I am
sorry for your loss and my heartfelt condolences remain with you. May his soul
Rest In Peace.
Please find, the attached letter he wrote to you.
Regards,
Clara Jones
Nurse, Moscow Institute Of Cancer Research”
I couldn’t believe what I just read. It seemed time had
just stopped ticking! I didn’t want to believe it…I mean It could be a joke? I
broke down crying.
The attachment to the mail was a scanned copy of his
letter.
He apologized for not being able to be in touch. He spoke
about his family and their worries regarding his illness. Wrote about life
during the time we weren’t in touch. He wanted to live a few more years, to
travel a little more and fulfill some of his aspirations…. The last line read
about his dying desire to meet me one last time!
I couldn’t take it any more…I ran to the bed, covered my
face in a pillow and cried like a little girl. I felt so helpless. I wanted to undo
everything…his illness…his death…his unfulfilled desires; why am I so powerless…I
just can’t do anything. I could I forgive myself for hating him… how could I
belittle myself by not believing his words! I wished to see him and tell him
that he was mean and selfish…but I couldn’t! he was gone…gone forever and I had
no choice but to live with this reality.
A tear rolled down my cheek as I washed the oil stains
off the orange tee! It was delivered in a DHL box with a birthday card…and yes…it
was my B’day gift from Ory! The big smiley on it still wears a huge smile and
say’s…” I’M WITH U..Don’t ever stop smiling.”
Ory wasn’t lame neither is his tee! He made me smile and
taught me to relive again. Through him, I truly believe that Life is all the reason
to live for and I could never thank him enough to be part of my journey! It took
time for me to accept that I would never receive his mails again, but I never
stopped believing that he ever left…he was with me…always!
Boarding the aircraft through gate no. 5A on Terminal B I
remembered one argument of his. He never liked the word ‘terminal’…he insisted
that it be replaced by ‘howdy’, which essentially meant welcome!
As i sat on my seat and buckled up my belt i Said 'howdy new life!'
He was crazy beyond doubt, but then he was my best pal
and I missed him!
Note: All characters and incidents in the plot are fictional. Any resemblance to any person-living or dead or any situation-either in the past, present or future is purely co-incidental
