Cotyledon

Not all stories need to be set in plush green fields or with aesthetic background to make them romantic. If green fields what you need to fall into love then I should have fallen into a relationship a long time ago, as I am from a village named Budhatheh, which is full of such natural décor. With lush green fields which end just a mile before the horizon, accompanying with birds and scarecrows, with mild tunes of Kirtan coming from village Gurudwara sets the perfect stage to bud love. And it does also, mostly. Mine was not mostly. Some stories are more subtle then mostly and more often get sets in sober surroundings of daily habitat. More subtle they seem, more subtle they gets as the time flows.

Till this day I can’t forget those mornings. Reading newspaper was never that much fun. You know what, to keep an eye on your favorite house gate of the colony while acting that all of your brain is busy with newspaper’s headlines is a hell of a job. But guess what I did it for four continuous years. Quite an achievement ha. I should rather attach a smiley here to make it more appealing but I am confused what face should I put on this smiley, the one I make when I listen a joke and laughs or the one when I crack a joke to make people ignore me and my inner. Let’s put it this way that those days were the best days of my student life. Still somewhere down the chest some stupidity beats for it.

There was nothing extraordinary, if I think now. But still it was special for the girl who daily takes the broom and opens the gate for her daily ritual and for the boy who just get into reading the newspaper for making an excuse to see her. Excuse, in those days was not only a word but was notoriety of the human sentiments and now when I am old enough to make enough of them it seems it has just become a word.

These daily rituals were what I usually wake up for. Now when I sit back and oz back to those days I still can’t believe that such a fable happened to me.

That was 21 of June of 2006 when we get shifted to Jalandhar. We comprises of me, my mom dad and my brother. We were a typical Punjabi family. Dad the earner, mom the nurturer, bro the bully and me the kiddo. Shifting to Jalandhar was completely for my sake, for my graduation. Before coming to Jalandhar we were in Budhatheh near Beas somewhat around 40kilometers from Jalandhar. Budhatheh was a usual Punjab village, with Gurudwaras’, open green fields and old Sardar man with turbaned head and milk white chest-long beard on their milk caring motor-cycles it was nothing less than a kiss of countryside. People were humble and kind and even with strangers they talk like they know them from ages but if a stranger is ‘suit-shoes’ or foreigner type then the ever frank villagers will like become awkward curious and work there eyes as some kind of reading machine, which goes up and down of the person as a scan is going on. There were much of the incidents of that village which still comes to my memory and tickle my belly for a moment. Budhatheh was nothing less than an open novel because there were such kind of characters there that some time they seems to be leading a dual life of their present and of their literature. But whatever one say those people were fun to hang around. Like Sajju-Khabbu’ both were brothers and were famous for leaving there elder brother alone in fields and ran away when there brother gets a stroke and there’s this 9 year old Hariya who was caught by a man while peeking in his house at night time when this man was busy with his wife, how should I put this delicately say, making pasta. But wait as we are in the backgrounds of a Punjab village let’s say, churning. Wink.

In his defense Hariya told that he was returning from Ram-Leela and got a sudden urge to pee. As it found out the first part of Hariya’s side was as true as the second part was lie. So, results in Hariya got one or two slaps from his parents but in return he got a story to tell his friends regarding churning.

Like Sajju-Khabbu and Hariya, there were more and even more interesting characters along with their share of incidents. Mor, Tunda, Mummash are few of them but about them later on.

As we were shifting to this new place, I was quite curious about it. While the truck full of our belongings entered the colony I was noticing the pathways and then suddenly the truck took turn and then one another turn and then finally sharp U turn and started coming backwards. And there were we, home sweet new home. It seemed to be a good place and which later on proved right also. To start with a good omen it got an open ground in front of it, as I have this streak for outdoor games, but later on this good omen just remain sited on front of house porch used not more than four to five times in our stay of four years there. I was in a transformation phase in that period like every other kid, one day I like one thing and another day I was mocking others for doing that same thing, because now out of some blue moon this thing has became lame. Adolescence is a strange drug.

I was sitting in the loaded part of the truck and was looking funny. Anyone will if you suppose to hold too many things at a time and to add on that sweat and heat is making you wear your worst look. But anyways when the truck came to halt I just jumped out of it before any new neighbor of my sees me in that position. This new place was looking very own. It felt like that this place and me is going to have unforced camaraderie. As I was looking around to take the feel of the place, I noticed lanes of houses and children playing here and there. Most of the houses were painted except of two, one was ours and another one was on the left side of the ‘T’ road which forms itself in front of next to the next accompanying house of ours. We got first floor portion of the house. And seeing its staircase my mother was worrying about carrying the truck load to the first floor. Before proceeding ahead I should clear one thing about my dad, though my dad is Sardar but he is a Sardar with Jew’s pocket and as it was not less, he’s in army also. In short there was no labor at all to carry the luggage to the first floor; it was just me and my brother. My brother, Wick who suppose to help me was coming on the scooter and he was also suppose to be here before us but as always he found a way to go clear off it. So it was me only who started taking the packed boxes and trunks to the first floor. Damn! I hate to get ‘Wick-ed”, story of my life.

I didn’t notice at first this rusty-grey color scooter parked in front of this another un-painted house. Maybe I didn’t noticed first because there was nothing there to notice, but now pair of girls along with a little Sardar kid were standing there. Kid was on the scooter and these girls were standing by the scooter. I was feeling tiredness but as I got female attention the adrenaline gets pumped in the veins and I started carrying trunks more easily and in quicker manner. Gosh I miss my teens; they were like my best friends. From thirteen to nineteen each year you are altogether a new person, a complete new stranger you become at each passing teen year. Now it seems I miss those seven buddies which I made and get separated through my teen-age. Adolescence is the only thing which can make a male to react in such a manner, the manner I reacted after seeing those girls. Especially, the one which stood by the gate of his house for most of the time even after her companions left. That time I wasn’t aware that what connection I am going to share with her, if I had known, who knows may be the story had been different. And I was just lost in my thoughts when the wicked Wick arrived, after half of the truck gets dispatched by me. As always he was all laughs after seeing me sweating like anything.

And he said,”Chotte (kiddo), what is this? You didn’t wait for me and started alone…” I hate when he says such things with cunning smile that only he can manage, “…now listen if you need any help...” I was just going to take the breath of relief on seeing some help coming and there he choked me of that first breath of relief by saying,”…I am upstairs.” And there he goes with my breath of relief and hope of extra shoulders.

I was standing there with lots of packages staring me in my face to piggyback them. And there she was standing there, still. I just casually stole a glance of her and again started carrying rest of the boxes and packages and thought, “Still there.” It never occurred to me on that evening, which seed is getting sown by these two words. But as later I found out it was not the seed, it was cotyledon.