Hope and love!

Dear Diary
Things are fucked up. I really mean it. Aimless, jobless, clueless — happiness gone, frustrated, angry, and what not: thank you corona.
Day was going just like it was for the past 10 days: wake up in the hospital, eat outside the hospital, look at the patients coming to the next ward, hear patients and their relatives crying. But it changed when Divya came to the next bed. I was there in room no. 3346 being the attendant of my father. Divya had the most beautiful eyes I ever saw. She was just twelve and had some problems with her breathing. The entire ward became just chaotic. I stood silent while there were 6 nurses, 4 doctors, an expressionless father and Divya. She was given additional oxygen support and all I could see was her big eyes fighting desperately to capture all the oxygen by expanding her chest as much as she could.
The chaos continued for 3 hours and then there was complete silence. I could hear her breathing. While my father was asleep I was staring at her. Her eyes too were transfixed at me. She waved hand at me and I went near to her. “Call Papa,” she said and I neither had her father’s number nor the phone. I hate mobile and don’t keep it along with me. I reached to my father’s phone to find it dead, called nurse and rushed downstairs to find her father taking a smoke at the exit. I couldn’t sleep the entire night and kept looking at her. She too didn’t sleep.
I don’t know but her father remained unavailable most of the time and I started being the attendant for two patients: Divya and my father. After three days, she waved at me.
“Why don’t you keep mobile phone?” she was talking for the first time without having any breathlessness.
“I don’t like mobile phones,” I replied as I sat in the chair next to her bed.
“I might die soon,” her eyes were shining while she uttered the most absurd statement I ever heard.
I was stoic and I was not ready to handle such situations in my life, “you've beautiful eyes, and it reminds me of someone,” I tried digressing the situation, but in vain.
She fell asleep all of a sudden while all my sleep was gone. I sat there looking at her the whole night. Every time her chest would expand, I would run to call up the nurse. She woke up in the morning to find me by her side while her father was out for breakfast. I don’t know why but I kissed her on the forehead as soon as she opened her eyes.
“Why you kissed me?” she asked with her eyes bigger than usual and a morning smile.
“Because no one kissed or kisses me. My father is pretty strict, my maa too never showed such gestures to me, so I just wanted someone to do to me, but instead I did it to you,” I was bad at justifying.
“You too aren’t loved by your parents?!” Her question somehow tore me. I understood why her father stayed away most of the time.
“No…no...no...middle class families are like this. They love but they don’t show it.”
She smiled and turned her eyes towards my father.
We started talking for hours and hours. I used to recite her stories about my life; she would keep asking me about my friends, family, work, studies, games I play – every single thing she could think of. Despite nurses' continuous warnings, I chose to talk to her. She too liked talking to me. I started giving her morning kisses, and the night kisses.
“I will die…” she said and started looking outside the room avoiding contacting eyes with me.
“Divya…” for the very first time I took her name and she responded by her big beautiful eyes at me, “nothing will happen to you. Trust me. Hope for the best, we should keep up the hopes.”
“Do you've a girlfriend?” she was good at changing topics.
“You're the first girl asking me this,” she didn’t get my joke and fell asleep.
My father was about to get discharged but I was waiting for her reports. Her reports came and doctor started explaining something to her father. Her father was phlegmatic. I joined the doctor outside the ward to ask if everything was alright; but it wasn’t.
My eyes were teary…but I taught her not to lose hope. I wiped my tears off and went straight to her. Before I could say anything she said, “Come and meet me daily. Tell me stories. I love your stories – they are dreamy.”
“I'll come and meet you daily. But promise me one thing, will you?” I asked her sitting next to her holding her hand.
“Yeah…” she smiled with her big roving eyes.
“You're never ever going to say anything…bad about yourself,” I stuttered, “hope for the best…OK?”
“I am not going to die,” and she giggled.
I went to meet her every single day despite the fucking lockdown or corona…nothing was stopping me from meeting her. I used to sit with her, greet her with a forehead kiss, leave her with my stories, and a goodbye kiss on her forehead. She believed in my stories which stood for Hope: be it failing in an entrance exam, heartbreaks or going through the surgery of my mother.
She liked my forehead kisses because she too never got them from anyone. One fine day, she was gone. She was gone…I asked the nurses and they said she was doing fine. Her reports came good. I didn’t take her number; I don’t know where she would be; but I know she would be fine, and she would hope for the best because hope is a good  thing – that’s what my stories taught her, and I hope she would live.

My Story!

I have a story: she has a story; we both had a story.

I met her at an unusual place – a book cafe: a calm evening with dark clouds, the popular Julius Meinl coffee on the table, Istanbul and there she was searching for the book. I was looking at her and could sense her impatience for ‘that' book. I tried to keep my eyes away from noticing her – she was beautiful. I was enjoying my coffee, trying to write something, gazing at the clouds, seeing the dark getting darker, the traffic becoming silent, birds going to their babies, and that girl still searching for ‘that' book.

"Fuck this library!" she seemed to be exhausted. Despite being so technically advanced, the library still allows you to feel that the library that existed in older times: it lets you search the books without any digital intervention. She sat right in the chair opposite mine. "I think you should keep quiet," I asked her. She didn't bother to look at me and kept her head down. "Mrs Dollaway, is it?" I tried helping her by guessing a name. "It's Dall-o-way," she looked right at me and the way her lower lips moved away from upper lips while pronouncing ‘way' at the end, I really thanked the one who invented phonetics or pronunciation thing, "and yeah, I was reading that earlier and that went missing". I smiled, "Yeah! I have Dyslexia and that's why this Dalloway thing, am sorry." She seemed to be apologetic. It's so good to lie sometimes, I have no dyslexia, but who cares. "Hey! I am really sorry, I am just searching for a book but she didn't seem to be anywhere in this library and I don't want to go anywhere else," I was listening patiently. "Things fall apart," I tried another guess. "Fuck! Yeah! That one! DO YOU HAVE THE BOOK YOU NAMED!" She was thrilled. "Yeah, I have her. Do you want her?" Her twinkling eyes were enough to convey that she knew I love books like her because I addressed books as ‘her'.

"Yeah, yeah, I would want to. I was reading that book for the past 15 days and suddenly this book too went missing somewhere," she was a book lover and her love to stories was evident.

"Coffee? This place is loved for the books and the Julius Meinl coffee?" I told her and continued, "you are new to this book cafe, right?!"
"Yeah," She didn't have any further enquiries.

We sat, drank the coffee, looked at the dark clouds, shared stories, went for a walk, got to know each other.

Isn't it strange that the girl didn't ask ‘how did I know the books she was searching for; how did I know that she was new to the cafe, why she just went for the walk with me when we met for the first time, why she told her stories to me: so many whys.'

Her name was Aahalya, 25 years old, 5 feet 4 inches, brown, black hair, Civil Engineer at Foster and Wheeler, 4 breakups, love to find herself in the stories told by others to escape the reality, not a coffee lover, avid book reader, demisexual, and beautiful lips.

I saw her the first time in the library and I found her beautiful; I just wanted to see her talk, so I took or stole the books she was reading and kept it in my bag and pretended to write every single day. I knew she didn't drink the popular coffee so I asked for it, I knew she was new to the cafe. She wasn't dumb enough to figure out that I wasn't a dyslectic by anyway, the way I was typing, by precisely telling her the books she was searching for, and then asking her for the coffee which she hasn't tasted in the book cafe from the day she has come.

She told me her stories that evening, and I told her mine. We exchanged numbers, went on a few walks, kissed each other on a starry night at the back of the library, once in the library, and I gave her the one book she wanted (obviously! after we kissed), and the other book after...making love for the first time – I know it sounds cheap.

After listening to stories of each other, taking long walks, seeing the sunsets, dating, kissing and making love for around 7 years now, it is the time to get married. I am getting married to her. A simple love story that started by just wanting to talk to her, to marrying her. This is my story or my version of the story, she would be writing her own; and you would know my name then.

Date: September 17, 2020
Venue: Sumahan on the Water
Address: Çengelköy Mh., Kuleli Cd No:43, 34684 İstanbul, Turkey
Coordinates: 41.054085, 29.051807

We make stories that we want to – nothing happens by chance. 

Will we ever meet again?

Sometimes life is just unpredictable.

Maybe it is calculative.

My name is Kumail and I work for National Geographic, and you must be knowing about my PAN card details as well, and also that I am a potent and not a rapist. You all know this from the story I told you the last time.

I spent three months in Coorg and it was time to go: in these three months I remember three things vividly and clearly – the project I was working on, the bed I used to sleep after a tiring day, and the smell of Anshima’s hair when she hugged me for the first and the last time, and parted ways (I think she uses TRESemme shampoo). I wished not to see the project again, neither the bed but Anshima one last time.

I boarded my bus thinking I would meet her, reached Bangalore wishing I would see her, walked the Bangalore airport praying I would find her, boarded the flight wanting she would sit next to me, landed Delhi ending all the hopes I would ever see, meet or sit next to her again. Two cities – Delhi and Bangalore, respectively the two biggest cities of India, and trying to find her in her city or maybe if she tries to find me in my city – it’s impossible. But... there is something we don’t lose – hope.

I was assigned my next project in Dehradun, and my flight ticket was booked. I requested my office and asked for a Bus ticket – to be precise – a Volvo bus ticket: Hope. But...I was seated with a boy who snorted more than me. I reached Dehradun 2 weeks earlier than the date my project was supposed to start. The reason was Vipassana.

There comes a time when you realize that the aim you made for yourself was temporary. You never realize your true aim until the time comes and as one of my friend said, “Everything, everyone has its own clock,”, something bound to happen happens for a reason: “You meet someone for some reasons.”

I want to wake up with a bird-chirp, see the sunrise, go to walk with my beagle, plough my field, sit in the field for some time in the evening, watch the birds returning to their nests, see the sunset, read the books in the light of the candle and look outside my window while it rains, and go to bed by a warm hug from my better half.

Money making is chaotic; I made enough money to live a simple life I mentioned above. I do not know whether I am right or wrong but I want to do that, and may Vipassana help me clear this out.

I registered myself for ten days program which would start after two days. I packed my bag and was ready to witness the beauty of Dehradun: to feel the mist, the fog, the chilled breeze, the valleys, mountains, rivers and beautiful people. After a fruitful use of the day I was sitting by the side of a lake in a very quiet but a very beautiful village enjoying the nature at her best, it was turning out to be a nice evening... and here, where I had no hope left or very little, I saw Anshima. My heart stopped beating and then started pounding. No, I don’t love her, she isn’t even my crush, I even do not know whether I like her or not...but she was right there and her long hair. I never told you how beautiful she looks. Wearing just the right color combination of Kurti-leggings. Black was the Kurti and red were the leggings. Her body got manufactured right from the best Human-making-god, who remains the best employee of the heaven for the past unknown number of years right after creating her. Her hair was touching the waistline. Her eyes were the eyes you cannot take your eyes off, and her lips might be the inspiration for Lord Ram’s bow. She saw me and came running towards me.

“Hey Kumail,” she just hugged me and my Vipassana was complete then and there. I was done. I can start my project now.

“Anshima...! You are...here?” I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing, and her hug was soothing.

“Yeah...Why? Don’t you remember that I am a solo traveler?” She was speaking while I was still in the hugging moment.

“I am here for Vipassana,” I was still unable to recover from the fact that the girl I was wanting, wishing, praying for while crossing the two biggest cities of India would meet me here. People do meet for some reasons, I believe it now.

“Great, I am an old student and maybe your teacher as well, and tomorrow must be your first day, right?”

“Yes... are you stalking me by the way?” I cleared myself before she questioned the same.

“Oh yeah, you are handsome, I have not seen anyone like you before, you are philosophical, and you are not the one I am going to get married to...so yeah, I am stalking.” she should be a solo troller rather than a traveler.

“You are not married yet?” I cut her in between.

“Yeah... and whatever I said especially the handsome part doesn’t apply. It is a coincidence that we met, but yeah! I wanted to thank you, and was wishing if you meet me in Delhi, as I travel to Delhi quite often and always wish I could find you someday.” She hugged me again, and maybe this was thanks-giving-hug.

“Welcome,” I was quiet.

We discussed how she refused for her marriage and became a solo traveler, then a Vipassana instructor, then a motivational speaker, settled in Dehradun and what not. I was in awe of her but I was still not sure whether I was liking her, or loving her, or just an infatuation. We roamed the beautiful place, went to Santala Devi Mandir, dined together and finally came the night.

It was a cold night, we were sitting on a bench close enough to say not far away. The breeze that never felt so gentle was soothing us, and we were about to part ways once again. I had no idea what to say, or what to ask.

“So...” She stopped.

“So, do you wanna thank me again?” I asked her and she laughed.

“Would you want to come and spend the night with me... at my place?” She asked me.

I could have said yes, but the fact that I had already paid for the hotel was the more important factor for me – yes! You guessed it right – I am a Baniya, otherwise who would in their wise state say ‘No’ to the offer made by the girl: I believe that no one would have done in the history. Jokes apart – I had my own reasons to say No. She asked me if I was sure to say No, and I was firm. Before she left I asked her for one thing – A date, a date that would later change everything for me.

I asked her for a date or let’s call it as dates. I asked her if she could spend these ten days with me inside the camp during Vipassana and not go to her house. She agreed to this different, weird kind of dates. I spent ten days with her, not talking, doing things, realizing myself – basically, I spent the moments of peace, tranquillity, and the best moments with her while I was finding myself. What else do you want – spending the best moments with the person you want to; time is scarce nowadays.

I didn’t go to her room, didn’t kiss her, didn’t make love with her, not because I did not want to, but because I did not want to lose the thrill of being with her, and once I was close with her body I may (may not) lose that thrill. Trust me, sometimes it is not the bodies that bring us close but the distance between them. And also, I wasn’t sure whether I loved her or not or whether I fit in her life or not. Why ‘do’ it and then decide?

There is a timeline of ours in others’ lives, where there are good moments and bad ones we are related to. I realized that I never wanted to be in the bad section of that timeline.

I never wanted her to remember me because of our bodies being close to each other but our souls, our intellect.

Our ten days got over, but I found myself on the night when I asked her for the date and Vipassana reinforced it in me: I wanted to be a good human being, I wanted to be remembered. We were getting separated. We might meet or we might not, but I am sure of one thing – when I wake up the next morning in my small cottage with birds chirping around it, while I plough my field, while I see the birds returning home in the evening, while I read the books in the candle light in a rainy night looking out of my window – I would smile remembering her, and I am sure she would remember me in her good moments list and would never have a moment where she would regret why she met me (again).

The unnamed relationship made me realize my time has come. It was time for my clock to tick to realize what I wanted to do: to live peacefully. She met me to for that reason, so yes, people do meet for some reasons.

Life is unpredictable – I met her where I couldn’t have thought of.

Maybe it’s calculative – She too was trying to search me, & life balanced it in its own style by making us meet.

Unnamed Relationship & An Anticipation - उसे अच्छा होना ही होगा

It was a different meeting: a bus journey from Bangalore to Coorg, different was the fact that I was allotted a seat next to a girl. This generally doesn’t happen. A single girl traveling would be given seat next to a girl or the seat beside her goes vacant. She didn’t want to sit next to me because I am man and thanks to some retard celebs that ‘All men are potential rapists’ (Nandita Das). I was ready to exchange my seats but the bus was occupied with either couples or boys with boys and girls with girls, and trust me no one would sacrifice a night ride in a multi-axle VOLVO bus which would go dark in the night. She had no options but to sit beside me and spend the entire thinking the worst cases that can happen to her during the night.

I introduced myself, “My name is Kumail, I work with National Geographic, my PAN Card number is APTL0987T, I am from Delhi, and I am potent but not a rapist.”

She seemed convinced with my introduction and was relaxed. I tried my level best to stay awake so that I do not lean on her shoulder or slide right on her lap, and she was reciprocating the same, but we were not in our college years so the fight with the sleep became intense after every passing second.

“My name is Anshima, and I do not know the meaning of my name, work at Bharat Electronic Limited, do not remember my PAN, from Bangalore, and a girl prone to be molested or raped.” Her introduction was cool, knowing the fact she copied mine.

“So different introduction!” and she understood my sarcasm.

“Can we talk?” She asked and I felt as if I was in a relationship again.

“Yeah, why not, even I am not feeling sleepy,” again a sarcastic shot.

“Listen we can’t sleep together, and before you ask, we can not sleep alternatively as well,” She clarified, “so talk and spend the night talking.”

“Sorry, you are afraid because I can take advantage of yours, so you stay awake and I will sleep,” I pulled the blanket and turned towards the window. Yeah, I got the window seat.

“Listen, talk to me, or else I will sleep, and I do not want to wake up guilty,” She requested.

“You can play subway surfer, temple run, do some Instagram...” I was still facing the window.

“I request you...I do not want to spoil my holidays, and most probably my last holiday,” and from here our conversation took a turn.

I turned to ask why was it supposedly her last holiday, and she said that she was going to get married and it was her bachelorette’s party. I asked why she was alone, and she kept quiet and I turned the other side. She requested to turn again and told me the reason – she is a solo traveler and her to be husband doesn’t want her to go places alone, which meant she cannot do solo trips.

“Why are you marrying such a guy?” I asked her and she chose to duck my question.

“So, tell me what do you expect from your partner, girlfriend, or whatever you want to call it,” she asked and her last line was going to make an impact I never knew ever existed in my philosophy.

“I do not expect her to be anything, I do not think she has to be someone for me, basically ‘she has to be herself’ and nothing else.” I said and she kept looking at me as if she was asking why, why I do not expect anything of my partner, “she doesn’t have to qualify any parameters to be with me, because who the hell am I...NO ONE.”

“Great, never expected such thing from a northerner to the very least,” she commented in the garb of a compliment.

“Generalisation is not a character a genuine person should have,” I replied politely.

“You don’t even want her to love you?”

“Never expected southerners to be so dumb witted, but... I would make sure I love her and if she wants to stay with me, she would.”

“You practice what you preach?” she was scathing with every sentence of her.

“Do you really talk so much, by the way, are you a lawyer or something...I mean you said you work at BEL but you seem dumb and I am not generalizing but concluding from the sentences of yours you said above.” I wanted to sleep.

She didn’t mind and gave me a smile I would never forget.

“You are a nice person, and expecting nothing from the one you would love takes a lot, and would you mind if I give you a piece of advice?” She seemed beautiful with every word she was uttering, maybe because of my heavy eyelids.

“Yeah please...”

“Do not name a relationship, the moment you name a relationship you define them – you make boundaries, limitations; you expect something out of it and you become selfish; you get hurt, you hurt,” She said and held my arm, leaned on my shoulder. My shirt was wet. Neither did I sleep nor did she.

We reached. She spent the entire night lying on my shoulder. We deboarded the bus together and moved to our respective booked hotels. We were not supposed to meet again.

“Hey Kumail, where do you stay?”

“Just here,” I pointed at my hotel which was right next to bus stop.

“When will you leave for your documentary or anything you are here for?” She asked with her eyes still red.

“Right after you come with me and live yourself before you regret your marriage, and you can trust me. Room number 212.” I walked towards my hotel thinking about her.

I received a call from the reception stating there is a cab waiting for me for sight-seeing and she was in the cab already.

“So...You came to pick me up!” I made a weird face.

“Yeah,” She didn’t take a nap as her eyes were still red.

“Would you mind if I instruct the driver?”

“Yeah please,” She was looking out the window and I was looking at her sitting beside the opposite window.

“Sir, would you mind driving the car nonstop for as much time as it would take to visit all the scenic beauties?” I requested the driver.

“Tea coffee break?” He was sensible.

“Yes, we can stop for that.” I was impressed with his intelligence.

“Why do you want the car to go unstopped?” She asked looking at me for the first time I got in the car.

“You will see, but before that you would not say to stop the car at any point in time, done?”

She nodded.

The car was riding at a speed you would loathe if you are in a city but it seemed to fast in that area where a crawling car is the most common sight.

The city was passing and she had the urge to stop the car whenever she was spotting something ‘special’ and kept turning back till she missed the sight of it, and because of that something ‘special’ she missed the next sight; after a while she knew that I wasn’t going to get soft on her, she dropped her urge and enjoyed each of the sights without missing a single one and anticipated coming sights to be more beautiful along the way.

We came back. She understood something. We hugged. She left for hotel and I reached mine.

Live in the moment and don’t regret what we just left behind, keep moving because neither your life is a cab nor you have the control on it. You can’t stop your life and live that moment or go back again to live that moment. Anticipate everything with positivity. As one of my friends said, 'It has to turn out to be the best, there is no other way.'

She may be happily married or maybe happily unmarried but her bachelorette’s trip would be the one she would not ever forget. I sometimes miss her. We didn’t have the time to love each other, like each other or the time to name this relationship – so this unnamed relationship was the best thing for me as well.

Did she cheat on me

Today is the last day I would be seeing her – we are parting our ways.

She is, or I must use ‘was’ from here onwards, my first love. It was love at first sight: We met via an online portal and I fell in love with her. It was only in the second meet that I decided to let her come with me or we could say ‘we moved in’. She was just incredible, with two big...you know what I mean, beautiful front and posterior to die for. She was a good match for a person of my height. She was well balanced, sometimes I felt as if she could anticipate what was going to happen next. I was in complete awe of her.

Time was flying. I knew about her past, it was a rough past but I thought of forgetting it and giving it a new start. I made sure she is new, she has to be new, she can’t be that old one who had a rough past, she has to be virgin again. We never talked about her past. I accepted her and she accepted me. It was all going well. Our life was full of thrill, it was just orgasmic to ride her, but rather it felt she rode me most of the time. We sometimes fought but she never was disloyal to me, she pledged her loyalty to me and she kept it every time.

Doesn’t it sound a perfect relation? But wait! there was something more to it.

We had a pact that I would be spending whatever the amount of money she needed for her ‘maintenance’. I was told by the person who she was with before, who treated her like a slut that because she was very demanding he doesn’t want to ‘use’ her anymore, but for me ‘using’ her was never a feeling I would accept but loving her.

I used to spend tons of money on her and never regretted because she was loyal, she went everywhere with me, she completed me, she never made me feel lonely and trust me – people around me were jealous and somehow they wanted her, but she was mine. We had evenings together that only the best writers could think of: morning mist on her always seduced me to the extent that most of the Literotica writers would want to write about her. We have spent the night on hills, by the rivers, slept under the sky lit with the brightest stars, and she was always beside me. I would look her while I fell asleep and woke up watching her standing right beside me.

But time changes and it changed my financial condition as well, she started ditching me as if she was cheating on me because I was not able to fulfill her ‘maintenance’ cost. I was getting insecure imagining seeing her with anyone else. My financial condition was worsening and her attitude towards me changed: no more romantic evening, no trips, leaving me stranded in the middle of road trips, no sleeping together under the sky, her loyalty was revolting as if she was looking for someone richer than me who could ‘afford’ her. My loneliness grew with her cheating on me. I loved her and I decided to let her go. I let her go to the one who could have afforded her. We ended our relationship. I saw her going and a tear trickled down my left cheek. I am going to miss her but she didn’t deserve me anymore because I could not ‘afford’ her. Her name was ‘1947 Triumph 3T Deluxe’. She was a vintage bike.

By the way, those who are thinking something else, you can read again and yes, it was a bike and it had two big tyres and the morning mist on her tank was seducing.

Do you think she cheated on me?

My name is Asifa

My name is Asifa. When I was born, my parents rejoiced but after 3 years they were afraid and maybe regretted my birth: not because I was a girl, but the country I was in. India, the country where girls are worshiped, was going through a phase which no one ever expected. My country is one of the safest in the world and if anyone disagree with it, you can have all the stats available to compare with. Yet, there was a change, a threat, a barbaric, an inhumane threat.

After three years an adult girl was raped in a moving vehicle and thrown on the road after the act – I believe rape would be a softer term to describe the pain she had gone through. She was raped, gang raped, her private parts were mutilated, her vagina was inserted with rods. I was small but I could sense, if not understand, that there was something wrong that had happened. Country/Countries protested over this act. For the very first time rapes were taken seriously and steps were initiated. Rapes were discussed in homes which never happened so articulately. We made measures, were relieved and thought that a lesson had been learnt on the cost of a living being, but little did we know that this relief would be shot-lived.

After a year another girl was raped. A small girl of 5 was raped and this time it was at the school she studied. People protested, parents protested. Humanity learnt another lesson on the cost of another living soul.

We all thought all the lessons were learnt. What were the lessons? A girl shouldn't wear short dresses exposing their skins. I think that was the reason of rape. Because the girl who was gang raped was wearing a dress which showed her belly a little, not because she had exposing breasts, or buttocks which invited the rapists/devils. And the same reason I found with the small girl because she was wearing skirts of knee-length. It meant breasts, vagina, buttocks do not attract rapists but a little show of skin does: I was small and inferred this as the sole reason of rape and started taking precautions. I learnt all the other lessons that were taught by my parents: do not show your chest area, do not wear skirt, do not bend, do not smile, do not breathe and do not live.

Time healed everything and we lived in harmony for 4 years. There were no more reasons to rape, no exposing of skin, no nothing. I was safe because all the protests have made an impact and all the reasons were terminated; with the precautions, we had made this place safe and we all were safe; I was wrong. There was one more reason left and we were about to learn another lesson on the cost of another body. Unfortunately the other body is me, and fortunately it is me not anyone else and the reason left to rape – religion.

I was taken into a holy place, drugged, raped, gang raped, fucked, eaten, distributed, numbered, torn: my death was postponed for fifteen more minutes because another one wanted to rape me one more time before getting me killed, so opportunistic of him. What was my mistake? I was not wearing anything that would expose my skin. I had no breast, a flat chest: I was just eight. I didn't have a buttock to excite anyone. I didn't bend. I didn't breathe and I was not living all these years, then why? Maybe all I had was a beautiful smile, a religion, and a name – Asifa.

I do not want you to cry or show any sympathy because my mother has cried enough; I want you to fight, give them an answer that neither my country stands for such an atrocious act nor humanity would ever accept this. Fight for me, fight for my mother, fight for your parents, fight so that another Asifa doesn’t happen.

Yours dead

Asifa

The Father

PRESENT DAY

“TP53 – that is what we need.” Morris said and was eagerly waiting for my next question.

“What about AEM?” I didn’t disappoint him despite we both were silent and afraid for different reasons.

\\\\

I was operating my son, and it was more of replacing his head with that of an elephant in a layman’s term. I still remember that day:

June 28, 2016

Anvi’s Birthday

“Hello Ma’am, Happy belated birthday. I hope I don’t ever forget your birthday.” I said and planted a kiss on her forehead.

“Where is my gift?” She always looks beautiful when she asks with her eyes wide open in innocence, which is the reason I never am able to hear her the first time.

“I…gift...???” I was mesmerized.

“Yeah! My gift.”

“I just gave you,” I said, still looking at her calm eyes to find myself while making gestures with my hands to be more convincing.

“Your kiss on the forehead…” she shied away.

Doorbell rang.

“No. I was talking about the HOPE-of-not-forgetting-your-birthday promise,” I pushed her and ran away to open the door – the door to my never-ending effort of proving myself, to prove I am not failed.

“Hey Anvi, we got the reports.” I said while tearing the sealed letter and further reading it for more disappointments.

I was taken aback.

It took me no time to realize that this is something which was not supposed to happen.

“Anvi, Avighna has cancer – brain cancer.” I said in a normal tone looking at her face without a single blink forwarding the reports to her.

“OK,” She said and turned away her face maintaining her composure.

“Anvi,” I said and she turned back again.

“You always knew that, you bloody knew this shit,” She still was not shouting.

“I am sorry,” my effort to mollify her was of no benefit, and I knew that.

“I told you to fuck TERT, immortality of cells and all the shits related to cancer. How could bloody single of you can save the world from cancer. My son is dying and who the fuck is responsible – YOU,” she was angry and she doesn’t know the limits when she is angry contrary to me who never hurled abuses at her, “this shit was genetic, and you knew that, so don’t ever think that I would understand.”

“Anvi, Kartik is fine, how come he is good?” I tried to manipulate so that I could just find a solution.

“That was in 2013, before you involved in THE FUCKING EXPERIMENT.” The tear dropped and her voice was much harsher than it should be.

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THE EXPERIMENT

I work at NCBI. In 2013, they came across TERT and all I wanted was to be a part of it. I was enthusiastic that I would be a part of something that would help in saving lives. We were losing 11%-25% of humans every year due to cancer and several researches have confirmed that Cancer is a genetic disease. So, it was worth trying.

I met Anvi in 2012. She was hard working woman with aspirations to touch the sky, no less than that; I was doing nothing, but I was witty (and it’s true, girls do love witty guys). …And I was/am good looking (that is my OWN opinion). I got my first job as Bioinformatics Engineer, but I was willing to do more than just being an Engineer. I wanted to explore more into this, and I applied for the position of being a Research Associate, and I was not selected on my merit, but my willingness to contribute to their experimental tests which involved my genes to be experimented in their controlled test environment, to which I agreed.

I never knew that it would have such an impact – we have two sons – Kartik and Avighna. My first son was born in 2013, but it was after that I involved myself in THE EXPERIMENT which lead to such consequence. Avighna’s brain cancer reached a level where all medical terms related to Cancer started making sense to me: be it telomerase, TERT, Synonymous mutations, Non-synonymous mutations, chromosomes or any other shit involved related to cancer. The experiment took a toll on my genes.

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“Anvi, listen to me. This is not the time to fight, I need you more than I could have ever,” I held her hand while she was trying to unclench still not looking at me.

“FUCK YOU ANAGH!!!” I lost my grip. She never takes my name (especially while abusing me).

Taking the name has nothing to do with husband’s-name-shouldn’t-be-taken but she believes in my name and it makes her love me more, and that signified she still believes in me but the mother inside her was not ready to forgive me. My name stands for the one who cannot do wrong, without error, sinless.

“He is my son as well. I know you are a mother and I can’t really understand what you are going through, but I am his father as well, and it is pretty much impossible for anyone but a father to know what he feels when his son is…” I broke myself into tears but that didn’t move her at all.

She walked away.

I cried. A father always dreams his son as his only friend whom he can rely and trust when he becomes old. His son is his only friend who will answer to his unending questions when he will become too old. His son is his only friend with whom he can easily rant about his mother without thinking much. His son is his only friend who can drink with him when he is feeling alone. His son is his only follower who can fight the world because his papa is the best. His son is his last wish in which he wishes to be funerated by him not before him.

Worlds knows about motherly love, but it is difficult to know or understand or see how a father loves. It is difficult to understand for even a son to understand the same until he becomes a father. It is very difficult to play a father.

I spent 17 months researching about the same and each passing moment was leading my son closer to his eyes closing forever. Those 17 months when I needed Anvi the most I was left alone. I sobbed, cried, whined, and shunned myself in a corner.

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Present day

“Anagha, listen to me very carefully – we are going to replace the AEM genes of an elephant to your son’s AEM genes because Elephant contains 20 TP53 which not only will eliminate cancer but also will prevent him from getting impacted again, and by the way he was unable to inherit one TP53 from you which is also a reason for his cancer, but Anvi made her contribution in that pretty well. So, the challenge is to provide his brain ample amount of oxygen, and you do understand if this works, he will no longer be human but more of a superhuman. His brain would require 80% more oxygen than we intake, so we need to give him something through which he can breathe more oxygen. Might be an extra nasal cannula?” Morris was nervous.

“This is the 23^rd time you are explaining me the entire experiment. We don’t know what would be its impact, whether he would live or not… whether his brain would work faster than any single person on this earth, whether he would be able to breathe through an extra nasal cannula. We are bloody replacing his head with an Elephant, what else could go wrong,” I was talking haphazardly and languishing with each passing moment, “…and don’t tell Anvi about TP53, which I was unable…”

“Nothing can go wrong,” Morris said to me but he was pacifying himself more than just telling me.

Morris and I zeroed in on extra nasal cannula specially made for humans from Arizona state University which can be used just like a human part.

I met Anvi for the first time after such a long time. She came with Avighna.

“Anagha, tell me you are not going to let Avighna die,” Anvi was teary and she was taking names.

“I promise you.”

Morris and I left with the the team of Doctors who would be performing this surgery for the next nine and a half hours, while Anvi was chanting ‘Mahamrityunjay Mantra’.

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Outside the hospital in a temple:

“Anvi, your son has proved his name as well, he is our own Ganesha.” I hugged her and cried like a child, staring at Shiva holding Parvati and his son Ganesha in front of me.

My son Avighna was reborn proving himself as Ganesha.