You are a disappointment

New York 

August 19, 1999 

“Why…and why on earth do you want to be circumcised?” she asked in an authoritative tone, but it was way too late as we were both in the hospital for the surgery. “Because I love you, and I want to stay longer in bed,” I chuckled. 

December 21, 1999 

“I need to go to close a deal I was behind for quite some time now,” I kissed her on forehead, “and I will be back on Christmas.” 

“Bye Aron,” She called my name and wished me luck. 

I boarded my flight to Afghanistan. 

Kabul 

December 22, 1999 

“Dorood,” I greeted Hamid – Leader of بدون نام – which translates to ‘unnamed’ because followers of Allah must have no name, and the deeds done for Allah should be done anonymously.  

“Dorood,” he replied, “hale shoma chetor ast?” 

“I am good,” I replied to his question asking about my wellbeing.  

“I believe you have become one of us on the very day of this country’s independence by performing ‘Khatna’?”  

“Yes, and now my name is Aarif.” I was accepted gracefully by 'them' as one of 'them'. 

“Allah hu Akbar” they all chanted loudly. 

Kandhar 

December 24, 1999 

“Bismillah,” I uttered those holy words and killed an Indian hostage on the hijacked plane. His name was Rishabh Katyal. 

There was no going back now. 

New York 

September 09, 2001 

“Sorry baby I am late,” I kissed her and impaled my knife into her ‘Vena Cava’ to make sure she dies instantly by losing too much of blood. ‘They would have killed her anyway,’ I thought with a stoic expression looking at her dead body and turned away. 

September 11, 2001 

Attack on World Trade Center. "Oh my god!!!” I uttered those words after I saw the twin towers falling. World trade centre was falling.  

December 11, 2001 

After torturing me, and suspecting that I had a role in ‘September 11’ (just because I was circumcised and I went to Afghanistan) they let me go to my country, and I believed I was late for the work I have been assigned by my country – to protect her from any external threat beforehand, eliminating or informing about those threats to the security agency via encrypt code messaging. 

New Delhi 

December 13, 2011 

Attack on Indian parliament. I failed, but I was able to save the most prominent leaders of my country. 14 dead including 5 militants, 18 Non-fatal injuries, and all I got to hear was, ‘You’re a disappointment.’ 

My name is Aarit and I am confused. I killed a man of my own nationality to be one of ‘them’ whom we call terrorists, the evil minded; to save those who planned an equally ‘evil’ idea – the prominent leaders of my country: to be one of ‘them’ at any ‘cost’. 

Who is wrong!!! Who is right!!! What is love – is love an infatuation towards a religion like those so called unnamed بدون نام or is love defined as to protecting our Mother land by killing one of our own, in the case of mine?  

I changed names – Aron, Aarif, Aarit, religions, stabbed my girlfriend, shot one of my own, 9 of my own got killed for no reason, 18 were left paralyzed or mutilated. Isn’t it too much of a ‘cost’ to be one of ‘them’. 

Yes, I am a big disappointment.  

Jab WE met in Paris

I landed Paris in the perfect month of June and reached Bateau Parisiens, central Paris, located at the foot of Eiffel Tower to enjoy the most beautiful Parisian boulevards along the river Seine. I love to be with Bateau Parisiens whenever I go to Paris to save my ass from my father: their services are just marvelous.  

I booked Le Bretagne which happened to be my favorite in the list of their 'Restaurant Boats' , and I always descend to reach the aft, just to relish the beautiful moments a bit longer in solitude. I was keeping an eye on every passing serenity which was tranquilizing my soul from within, and I happened to meet 'her'. 

"At the aft, and that too in a Restaurant Boat?" The inquiry came out of curiosity and also because I did my schooling from a Boys' School then Mechanical Engineering, as soon as she reached within my proximity. 

"Hmm." She took a sip from her glass and let the rest of it flow from her glass staring somewhere in the sky and ignored me perfectly. I am used to getting ignored by beautiful girls, but this was way above. 

I decided to turn away and enjoy what I paid for, but she was way beautiful to be ignored. Her ruffled hairs were irritating her, but she was careless enough to let that beautify her even more. Her doe-eyed made it more irresistible to not look at her. Her beauty was getting aggrandized by each passing moment.  

"Hi, I am Anaaya," She said while placing the empty glass carelessly and her hands reaching out to mine, "I am sorry, I was just lost." 

"That's perfectly fine, I know I am handsome." I used my wit to be insulted soon only.

"But you're fat," She trolled me the very next second, "What do you do?" 

"I do nothing, but I have just cleared ACET..." I kept praying not to get trolled again. 

"Really! but you're fat," she started laughing with her innocent eyes teary making it more glittery. 

She trolled me again. 

I really need to know how is being fat related to your intelligence; what if neither Bill Gates, Steve Jobs or Mark Zuckerberg are fat. 

We gelled quite well: she was trolling me and I was getting trolled. We exchanged our contacts before we bade adieu each other. Thanks to Mark's intelligence we were able to contact each other on Facebook. 

She teased me every single time we chatted whether I really cracked ACET or it was just to impress her; I bloody cracked it and I told to impress her, but I couldn't tell her that. Our friendship grew stronger day by day, and on one fine day she asked if I am committed to any girl or BOY. Her questions always showed her prowess to troll anyone, and I was stunned by the question which I couldn't really answer to her instantly, definitely not because I am gay, but committed to a girl or not.

It was a complex thing to say – on one hand I liked her immensely, and on the other hand I wasn't ready to love her the way I would have wanted to or might be she was asking it genuinely, but my heart never agreed for the later thought. She was a queen and I knew I couldn't have afforded to treat her like one. I didn't know whether I was making a mistake or not but I held a belief that I would marry a girl only if I could make and keep her like a queen, sounds childish – yes it is!!! 

"Yeah, her name is Arshini... and... she is quite happy to have me," I lied to her. 

"I bet she must be chubby," She trolled me again, "because you could make her laugh all day." At least she appreciated my jocular adroitness. 

We still share a real bond which is way above than friendship, which is selfless, not demanding, not complaining. We haven't met after our Paris's sightseeing. I respect her, and she still trolls me even though I am fit enough (I am still not having six packs), working for Gardner Rich and Co. (Intelligent! Isn't it). 

Was it wrong or was it right? Should love or practicality of life be given chance? Whether I deserved her or not, whether she liked me or not, should I have lied? Some questions are unanswered, it's better to speak up, and work your ass off to get what you want, and how you want – most importantly – do you really want it? 

The Mother

I am a writer and I was searching for a story from quite a long time, and I started believing that I had hit a writer’s block. I tried many things: from going Himalayas to doing Vipasanas, to solving mysteries to visiting cemeteries, but nothing fetched me anything good I must say. But there is always an end to everything, and eventually I got one story. This story is about Aarit, a mother, her son and somehow, I got involved into it only to give this world a message: a message that is full of love, but never I knew I would be told in a shocking manner.

Aarit met me while I was on the penultimate serial of my itinerary: Highgate cemetery, North London – England. I was trying to find my story and had tried things which I must not had, and visiting the cemetery was one of them. I touched each and every grave to let the story sink in me, but all the graves were ‘dead’ I believe. I was ‘leave-taking’ from the cemetery to my hotel named Fantasma located in Manchester. I boarded London-Underground and found Aarit sitting in the next seat.

“Hi,” I said while shaking my head a bit, carrying an etiquette smile.

“Hey, going Manchester?” Aarit shocked me, but he wasn’t finished, “Fantasma, isn’t it?” OMG! He knew where I was lodging.

I was glued and stoic.

He started, “I am going to tell you a story which you’re looking for,” and I was all ears to him without a second thought. He began.

“I went to handover the assets of my roommate to his village who left this world few months ago,” Aarit looked at me with grief in his eyes, not ready to believe his friend had died, “It was December 2, 2013 and it was around 2 A.M. by the time I reached. I knocked his door and her mother opened the door.” Aarit kept staring me while he asked, “Do you believe me?” I nodded without blinking, but afraid and he continued, “I forwarded my hands to handover his remaining assets, but she said to give it to her son himself.” It was as shocking for me to hear this from Aarit as much as he would be there then. “But your son…isn’t he…where is he?” Aarit questioned the lady and waited for her to answer patiently. “He would be coming soon, you drink the water, and take some rest,” Mother replied.

“I drank and rested there for some time only to be woken up by my roommate’s father,” Aarit told and was looking at me once again deeply, “I believe you,” I said firmly, and he was satisfied. Aarit started once again, “It was 3.13 A.M. as I rubbed my eyes to see that digital wall clock as the first thing,” Aarit smiled slyly, “I was telling his father about his mother’s mental condition before he stopped me to tell that she had died months ago just after hearing the news.” I was cold after Aarit told this to me, and I understood why he was smiling, but I was wrong, there was something more. He was about to start again but I defiantly asked, “Who opened the door and gave you the water?” Aarit smiled again, but this time he shrieked in a feminine voice, “The same woman talking to you. I have one son, and he is not dead. I am his mother and no one can separate him from me. Go tell them this.”

I passed. I opened my eyes back in my hotel Fantasma conceiving my ‘fantasmal’ story.