Awesome Blossoms: Horn OK Please (20 page)

Nikhil looked at Isha and said,  "Young lady, I am impressed and moved. To me you represent the generation Next, which is focused on achieving their specific goals and needs, but do not hesitate to walk that extra mile to help others, even if they stand alone in that. Thank you so much. Of course, the words 'thank you' would not be enough to show Meena's and my gratitude for your kindness and sacrifice."

Isha, now the
center of attention was feeling really embarrassed. "Sir, I cannot tell you how happy and relieved I am to see you out of danger. I feel happy that I was able to take a quick decision on my own. I am proud of myself for this....yet, I don't know how I am going to convince my parents about not having attended the only interview call I ever got! They may feel I displayed the humanitarian side to my personality at the expense of a bright career start...." Isha, having poured out her heart at one stretch, went out of the room, sat on a chair at the visitor's seating area, waiting to catch her breath and steadied herself. She went inside after a few minutes to ask Meena if she could leave. "I will come tomorrow morning to visit both of you. In case you are in need of something, do let me know. My home is just ten minutes away", Isha said and went to meet Dr. Amit before she left the hospital.

As she was leaving, she heard Meena calling out. "Isha, can you come over here for a few seconds? Nikhil wants to say something. It's really important." Isha, walked towards the room Nikhil was resting in. "Yes Sir?" Nikhil, despite the pain he was in, put out a hand and announced cheerily, "Ms. Isha,
on behalf of the management at Centuras, I take great pride in offering you the post of Accounts Manager. Since you have to get familiar with the role and the responsibilities that come with it, there will be a training and orientation programme just for you starting tomorrow, for exactly a week. Welcome aboard! It is indeed a pleasure to have you with us....!"

Isha was stunned! She hadn't even imagined her day would churn out a bumper bounty like this! Even if she were going to recount this to anyone, they would deem it incredible! How many would be in a situation where
one ends up saving the life of one’s future boss in a random accidental-accident? And being offered a good position, without any interaction or interview?  Isha looked at Meena with tears of happiness pouring down her face. She didn't have to speak the words 'Thank you' to actually show the depth of what she felt. The happiness expressed by her eyes was testimony enough for everyone present around her to feel it. She held onto Nikhil's hand tighter and gave a warm squeeze and then hugged Meena.

She exited from the gates of the imposing structure of the hospital, headed towards her car and sat at the wheel. Starting the ignition, she stayed on neutral awhile, after switching on the air-conditioner and the music system. Mentally playing through the whirlwind events that had transpired that morning, she whispered to herself with a smile playing on her lips..." What a twist of events...!"

As she entered the traffic on the deadly Palm Beach Road, leaving behind the narrow service street, a wayward trailer running amok at an unruly speed appeared from the opposite side, hit the median. It ran over it and turned turtle on Isha's car…

Uncertainty is the only certainty in life…

***

CHAPTER NINETEEN

By Smita Rajan

***

It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.

- William Shakespeare

Of White Shoes and Souls

I
looked up to see who was stopping the sun from toasting me. It was he. I loathed the moment. It happened a long time ago and I was worried that it might happen again. I remember the day when I was in Indore very clearly. It changed my life forever.

Indore is a small town close to the heart of the State of Madhya Pradesh in India. Some call it a big city. It is a place famous for large
campgrounds, if not for anything else that I’m aware of. I’ve always prided myself on being a girl scout when I was a kid.

This passion led me to join the National Cadet Corps. Not to just help old people cross roads or merely to rescue stray pets, but truly to serve my country in whatever way possible.

As a grown up person now, I realize that being a Cub-Scout is probably the best thing that ever happened to me. For many more reasons than the obvious. This is a story about one such. Way back in time when I was at a camp in Indore, I was squatting on the football field that used to double up as the NCC ground, or so we used to call it.

My team was responsible for decorating the National flag
area. It was a contest of sorts about who could embellish the floor area to maximize visual appeal while fostering nationalistic pride.

During one such summer vacation, I was part of one of these initiatives in Indor
e. The camp was organized by National Cadet Corps, NCC. It is something you choose to get into once you are not a Scout anymore. Somewhat too old to be a scout but too young to become a soldier.

The Summer camp
had the participation from the six directorates from the state of Madhya Pradesh. The NCC recruited cadets from high schools and universities. I was chosen from Bhopal (Capital City of the State of Madhya Pradesh) to represent my college.

So to say, all
NCC cadets are given basic military training in discipline and small arms. In fact, it is whispered that if a war breaks out, the National Cadet Corps will become the second line of defense.

Now that was a really cool thought for any girl like me who had stars in her eyes when it came to such fantasies involving the forces. To die for one’s country would always be the greatest honor for any civilian anywhere in the world – or so I would like to believe.

I was serious about making myself useful for my country. It also meant that we cadets had to go through a really tough routine trying to fathom early morning marathons, parades under the hot summer sun for endless hours.

Actually, it was never the hot summer sun that would bother me, but it were those stiffly starched uniforms that would
cause nicks and cuts in uncomfortable places. But even that would not deter any cadet worth her salt from swinging her arms an extra inch higher than needed simply for it was a matter of pride.

One
had to look sharp, wear sharp clothes and report sharp on time for the daily parade. Everything was under scrutiny. Anything could fetch or lose your points and all that mattered was how many brownies could you notch up just to prove to yourself that you are worthy enough to die for your country at war time.

My scores and my ego – both had taken a severe battering
the previous day when I couldn’t do too well in the marathon. My points had been a lot lower than I would have liked. The points had a direct correlation with my self-esteem and pride. Unfortunately, there was a reason why I scored badly that day. I blame myself for the same.

Surely
I had been off to a decent start and we were out on our morning marathon. We crossed the boy cadets playing basketball. One of the boy cadets had broken away from the basketball team after scoring and then the cheering followed. Caught in a moment of ecstasy, he continued to run and soon he was running alongside with me.

His special attention did make me feel
embarrassed and it distracted me from no end. And that’s what stopped me from focusing on the day’s activities and I lost my stripes for the day. I hated him for it.

Later
during the day, as my team crossed the basketball court, I saw him yet again. It felt good to watch him being punished for his stupidity as he ran around the basketball court in the scorching sun, holding a rifle over his head. I was happy that he had to pay for making me lose my points that day.

The next day, I was hell bent in making up for the points that I had lost the previous day. I was now determined not to get distracted by anyone or anything this time. I had a team to support and my pride to get back. As part of the girl cad
et team, once again we were split into multiple groups and were assigned the duty to decorate the floor area under the National flag that adorned each camp.

I was engrossed in
the task that was assigned to me. It wasn’t long when I realized that someone was watching me. It was the same fool from the previous day. No boy was allowed in the camp area for girls. Had someone spotted him, he was sure to be running around the basketball court once again, rifle over his head. It was certainly a welcome thought as his impudence bothered me.

“Hi. I have a request. Could we please get some red chips from you? We can give you green in exchange, if you like,” he said. The cat had of course got my tongue. My friend and fellow cadet came forward to make the deal. They were haggling over chips, and I was
observing incredulously.

He tried his best to draw my attention, but I pretended to be drowned in work. Eventually he left with his red chips. As he passed by, he said in a low voice, “I will come back for more. It’s actually the white ones that I want.” I looked up at him, puzzled. He laughed, winked and left.
Some girls may have found him to be cute, but I did find him and his antics quite irritating.

I mean, I was in the camp for a purpose and I wasn’t about to be distracted by some crazy fool. If one wanted to be a friend, there are nicer ways to ask. But th
is annoying way of trying to get my attention was clearly immature. Worse, I was letting myself get distracted by his stupidity. His antics were costing me my points in summer camp.

“God
! He is so cute”, said my friend, who had not caught what he had just said. “What’s the matter with you? Why did you freeze? He was clearly interested in you!” Later she had issued her Q.E.D. by sending spies to another camp. Their design had something to do with green and blue. They didn’t need any extra red chips. Nor white, for that matter. Much to my dismay, they had won the flag area contest, with my team pulling in at a lousy second.

People attend summer camp for various reasons. My reason for attending it was to feel the pride in being a strong person. If others came here for some other reason, it was not my problem. I chose to ignore his immature antics of trying to get my attention for the rest of the time I spent in the camp that summer spare one incident that bothered me yet again.

There was this time when I was walking back to our tent with my team after dinner. I had brought a new pair of white shoes with me to the camp. Often I could hear the words “white shoes” being whispered. His friends were teasing him about me. It did bother me for I never thought of things that way. 

If people couldn’t get that, it was their problem. Maybe when I look back today, it is exactly this attitude that has helped me achieve all that I have today.

He tried repeatedly to get my attention. He tried, but we never talked. On my last day at the camp, someone handed me a note. It started with “Hello Miss White Shoes...”

Back home
from the camp, I had begun getting letters from him. We didn’t have emails or cellphones back then. Each letter he wrote, he addressed me as ‘W.S’ for white shoes.

I still w
onder how he had found my address. Cards, letters decorated with stickers – the works. He had even gone to the extent of finding a sticker of white shoes! In those days, getting mail meant using all 5 senses – ugh! Four! Not taste, no!

So it would start with the distant sound of postman’s bell. You’d run out to see if he
would stop by at your letterbox.

Then
you would look at the colored envelopes and confess to a pleasant anticipation. The sense of touch came in next in feeling the texture of the envelope first and then the paper inside. Embarrassingly, smell too! Well, sometimes. Faint perfume of someone’s efforts and my regrets.

I never replied. But the letters did not stop. He would write stuff about his college, about more camps he went to. He would just mention a couple of lines about white shoes, and how he missed them. The boldest one asked me to
gift him a pair of white shoes! My sense of irritation knew no bounds.

It was not that I was a prude, but the very fact that someone
who couldn’t take a no for an answer, I have learned, just doesn’t get it. Signs of a loser in the making for sometimes men fail to understand that a woman’s ‘No’ does really mean ‘NO’.

Years passed by
. The letters were now few and far between. I was happy that he was getting the drift. I was happy and I was busy. My stint with the NCC continued. One fine day, as I stood waiting for my results at the firing range, I felt as though someone was watching me.

The trick about the firing range exercise was that your targets would show if you
had got your grouping right. A grouping is when you get all shots as close to each other as possible. When my results came in for review, it caused peals of laughter. It had seven shots instead of six! It seemed my neighbor had shot one at my target. I heard my name being called in the midst of this riot.

I was soon to learn that my sixth sense hadn’t let me down. It was the same idiot who thought he was cute and this was yet another one of his antics to get my attention. It had to stop. He was a stalker in the making whose pride would be hurt if a girl refused his advances. I panicked. 

Soon, I started getting blank calls at home. I was worried that he might just land up at my doorstep.  The phone calls became a nuisance and the phone would only ring when there was no one in the house. I worried that he kept a strict vigil of my whereabouts.

I learnt from my friends that the he had been inquiring
about me with all my friends. He wanted to know everything about me – where I lived, what I liked, who were my best friends - everything. This made me anxious. Back home I called up a close friend and asked him to find out more about him. Of course, I informed my parents and let them know about everything that was going on. My father taught me to deal with stalkers well before Social Media took center stage.

This is how it was done in t
he pre-Google and FB days. My friend would ask his friends to inquire with their friends in Gwalior. This would be done discreetly, without names being taken. Or with fake names, of course!

There would be calls placed,
favors taken, days lost. But my friend owed me a favor for helping him connect to his friends. I would dial her home phone; ask for her and subsequently hand the phone over to him, so that the friends could talk.

Luckily, I didn’t have to wait for too long.
They found that he was a wastrel. This was inspiration enough to move Raja into a fading memory folder in my head. The letters kept coming for a while, but how long can someone keep writing to a wall? They gradually trickled out, much to my relief.

Not that I have any grudge towards him, but a girl’s sixth sense tell
s her whether there is something right or wrong about a boy. This behavior was perfect for a stalker in the making, a loser, a wastrel and a potential nobody. The only thing about him was that he was good looking. Maybe, that’s what had distracted me in the first place. I was happy that I see through at an early age.

Every home has one eager beaver who rushes to the door or to the telephone every time the bell rings. I was that
person in my house. If the bell rang twice, I would take it as a personal insult. Sometimes, I would rush at the mere squeak of the garden gate opening, and throw open the door even before the visitor’s finger reached the bell button worried that it might be him.

One fine
day, I must have been slower than usual. The bell had already rung once. Everyone was home; more importantly, dad was home. I rushed to answer with my usual skip-hop-jump routine.

I peeped through the keyhole and my heart skipped a beat. It was the stalker.
He was wearing a backpack and sported a toothy smile. It seemed like he had come straight from the railway station. It was the same idiot with foolish attitude. He had the gall to come to my place. I just could not believe it. If I told my father, he would probably have lynched him at the doorstep. I didn’t want any more distractions in my life.

But in that state of deep freeze, when your thoughts rush faster than your blood, I noticed his eyes. The first time.
Soft and penetrating. Light brown. What nonsense! What was I thinking? I had to think fast, do something.

Moments in slow motion quickly changed into fast forward as my dad’s voice came floating from somewhere inside the house
, “Who is at the door, child?”

And then I did something that I
couldn’t have thought of doing in normal terms, I slammed the door in his face. I didn’t care for him, I didn’t hate him. I just wanted him to go.