A Note On Why I'm Reverting To My Real Birthday On 20th August

By Sadho Ram

A decade ago, I made a decision to celebrate my birthday on the 1st of January despite not being born on that day. At the time, it made more sense given my journey. For those who may not be in the loop, let's just say, it wasn't all that pretty. You can read more on the link above.

A decade has passed and I've gone on to celebrate every 1 January since 2015 as a way to mark my 'birthday' with the loved ones in my life.

However, things have since changed — for the better.

My horizon is now vibrant with the arrival of a new Moon that has brought greater joy in my life. And so — to paraphrase the words of Christopher McCandless — I've decided I'm going to live this life by being free of the shackles of my past because the simple beauty of the present is just too good to pass up.

But above all, what matters is that I'm truly happy now and I want to share this happiness with her. And I'm not going to hesitate to make any excuses if that means I get to live a life filled with abundance with my partner.

I was born on 20 August 1986, among my mum's happiest moments. I no longer wish to undermine this memory of her, given how I've reclaimed my sense of identity.

I would like to express my gratitude to all those who have, for a decade, indulged my whim to celebrate 1st January as my birthday. You all have been kind and understanding with it, and I hope you all will offer the same understanding now.

Thank you.

And since it's my birthday today, let me be the first one to wish myself the happiest — a long overdue — birthday :)

You may send me your birthday wishes either via Instagram or Twitter.
And if you would like to send gifts, here's my wishlist 🐒

Why I'm Celebrating 1st January As My Birthday Instead of 20th August

By Sadho Ram

I was not born on the 1st of January. But the day is so much more important to me than my actual date of birth, which is the 20th of August. I'll explain why.

But first of all, let me take this opportunity to sincerely thank everyone who has been kind enough to take note and wish me. It truly means the world to me.

More than a decade ago, when the world hit the new millennium, things in my life changed.

In less than four years, I lost both my parents — my mother was murdered in August 2000 and my father was poisoned in May 2004. He was an influential politician in Eastern India.

But my life didn't stop. It went on, albeit with a few minor hurdles. Over the years, though, something kept transpiring and by the end of 2008, it became so much harder for me to carry on.

I despised the name I was given, the identity that was associated with it, and all that it reminded me of my past, including the people. In other words, I didn't want to exist carrying all that further.

But I couldn't just stop. I had a little sister to take care of, to see that regardless of what my situation is, hers is a good life.

After much consideration and reflecting upon the possible repercussions of the decision I was going to take, I finally decided to renounce my name and the identity it carried with it and in the presence of my friend, Swapnil Shahane, I named myself Sadho.

That was on the 1st of January 2009.

I named myself Sadho after the 15th-century mystic, Kabir Das, who — in his couplets — had used Sadho to address anyone in search of something; a seeker. In my case, it became my search for myself.

That morning I not only renounced my old name, but I also renounced other Hindu societal norms that came associated with my birth and I was made to carry in the name of keeping the family honour alive, such as caste, religion, surname, etc.

People's reaction to my decision was very... frustrating, to put it mildly.

Almost none of them took it seriously (some still don't). Everyone thought I'm just fooling around, because who really changes their name and shit, right? I kept bearing them on while telling myself that it's alright, people don't really understand and sometimes they need time. So it went on. I found a few who even though could not understand me completely, respected my decision to do so and started addressing me as Sadho.

Anyways, fast-forward to 2013, I was still struggling to get my name legally registered and get myself a government-issued photo identification card under my new identity — not to mention, and still dealing with people who refused to take my decision seriously.

But after several dozen failed attempts and reattempts, in December 2014, it finally happened.

With the help of some really kind people in my life, I managed to get my name legally registered and got the Income Tax Department to issue me a new ID. The entire process was filled with ordeal and disappointments, and it would have never ended if not for a certain few people who used their best resources to help me.

To name a few of them, Neha Vaswani, who from helping me file the papers to finally using her personal contacts got the entire process done, Anshul Tewari and Guneet Narula, who truly tried all they could do to make sure the issue is sorted out, and finally, the guy at the Income Tax Department in Delhi. His name is Azam and he, even though there were some issues, made sure that my new ID is issued to me. No amount of 'thank yous' would ever convey my gratitude to these people.

All this while, I kept celebrating my birthday on the 20th of August, but somewhere in my mind, there was always this thought that I shouldn't, not on the 20th of August at least. So I made another decision, this time to start celebrating my birthday on the 1st of January instead of the 20th of August.

Swapnil with me. This picture is from 2011.

Why?

Because it makes more sense to celebrate and acknowledge the date — 1st of January — as my 'birthday' on which I renounced what I despised and everything else that held my relation to the people who are responsible for making me and my sister orphans.

Much has come to pass since the morning of that 1st January when I changed my name in front of my friend. Many who are close to me have become more privy to some of the most vulnerable memories of my past, some of which I've written and published for the news site I work for.

Mukhagni: Putting Fire Into The Mouth Of My Dead Mother

By Sadho Ram

Couple of weeks ago, I came across a set of very intriguing images on my Facebook News Feed. The images were such that it immediately attracted me towards them and reminded me of my father’s funeral pyre. I’m sharing one from the set below :

Artwork by Urs Fischer

Usually it takes over three hours for a body to turn into ashes and cinders, but, I remember very clearly,  when I put fire to my father's pyre -- his body completely deteriorated after over two decades of alcohol consumption and having poisoned a week ago -- melted in manners as if it was made of wax (just like the sculpture in the picture above).

The fire didn't even last for an hour. I stood there, right by the pyre, not at all feeling the warmth of it, because there wasn't any. It was surprisingly cold, almost like the night in an usually slightly hot month of May.

Although, not my first, the experience of seeing my dead father's body melting into the fire was surreal for me.

About four years before this, I had also put fire to my mother's body. The images of that night are still very vivid in my memory.

It was the night of 30th August. The year millennium. We had all come to the Jangipur Ghat in West Bengal. It was here where all the Hindus came to put fire to their dead loved ones.

There's a term in Hindi for it - 'mukhagni', which translates to "to put fire into the mouth of a corpse at the time of lighting the funeral pyre". And you actually do put fire inside the mouth. I remember when I was told to do so, I freaked out. Even protested. Shouted.

“How can anyone ask me to put fire inside my mother's mouth? Don't you know it would hurt her.”

No one said a word. Everyone just looked at me with pity.

“Why can't you all see how calmly she is resting? Why would you ask me to put this burning stick inside my mother's mouth?”

What do you expect, I was somewhere around 13 then.

It was agonising for me to comprehend the fact that I will have to perform that one task which will eventually wipe off her existence from the face of this earth. I couldn’t come to term with it back then. I’ve not managed to come to term with it even today.

I remember my father, who was otherwise lost in his grief (I had never seen him in such heartbroken state), coming to me and trying to explain to me why I must go ahead and do what the pundit was saying. I still couldn't. So he held my hand, asked me to close my eyes and took it toward her face. He then took me towards her feet and put the burning stick there. As soon as it was done, couple of relatives and staffs started piling the candlewood logs on top of her. I shouted at them. Again. Almost breaking away from my sobbing father’s arms.

"Stop. Stop. Why are you putting all these heavy woods on her? She can't take the burden. Please stop."

"She is beyond all that now, son," he whispered into my ears, holding me tight.

"Your mother is beyond pain and suffering. That thing burning there is no longer your mother. She is finally at a place where she can find peace."

…

Today is 30th August. And it's been 14 years to be exact now.

But I'm still not sure if she is really at a place where she has found peace.

You see, I don’t believe that those who were not allowed peace while they were here, can or will ever find peace anywhere. She was not allowed her share of joy and peace, and I refuse to believe anyone who have tried to tell me how she is now in a much better place. She is dead.

There is no better place after life.

So stop telling me what you don’t know. For it’s the one thing I don’t need people telling me about someone who they never knew.

Trust Me When I Say, You'll Be Wasting Your Time By Reading This

By Sadho Ram

I cannot count the number of times I have wondered how would my life be had I been speech-disabled. There have been so many occasions where I have regretted having the ability to speak.

Now, this is in no way a proof that I don't value it. It's just that there's this constant feeling inside which makes me wonder about the (im)possibility of such a life.

I mean, what use of such an ability which only hurts the ones I care about? More or less, it has been the case that whenever I have opened my mouth, I have uttered something vile or disgraceful for the ones I love and have loved.

There have also been times, where I have actually considered the very possibility of impairing my speech by myself. And the strange fact is that the thought doesn't scare me even one bit. It somehow seems like an ideal way to keep my unwarranted anger inside. Because it is something, which has only ruined the good stuff in my life so far, and I'm sure it will in future too.

Or, maybe I should train my mind to be in control and not wander.

But, the very idea of being speech-disabled is so fascinating to me, it almost makes me want to rip apart from venom-spewing tongue out of my mouth and wonder what the heck did I just do!

Maybe, one day I actually will..

PS: The sketches are totally not related to the whole thing. The whole thing, as I said in the heading itself, was a total time-waster.

A Profound Realisation In The (Prolonged) Moment Of Crisis...

By Sadho Ram

Sometimes, it so happens, I'm not sure about things that I do on daily basis. But, again as it so happens, this feeling of being uncertain doesn't last long enough to warrant any additional thinking.

Like for example: the futility of taking a bathe everyday.

PS: That's a sadhu, not Sadho.

Now this is a feeling I encounter when its just another option for me. But as soon as this option turns into a privilege, the very feelings of being uncertain departs my mind as a soul would body.

So, now that due to unmanaged circumstances, I am rendered out of taking bathe everyday, I realize that there's no futility to it. That how essential it is not just for body but also for mind and our emotions. I not only understand the profound impact a normal shower can have on us but also accept that I've been a baboon whenever I thought that there's nothing more futile than taking a shower. Sigh!

Just Another Monday Afternoon..

By Sadho Ram

I look forward to my Mondays as others may look forward to their Sundays. Its the day when I can choose to stay in bed for as long as I want and not worry about anything. Some days the Mondays are exciting, some days dull. It's a natural cycle.

Today is Monday. I am inside the quilt, reading Hanif Kureishi's 'The Last Word', a brilliant novel about an aspiring writer paid to write a biography of a larger than life writer.

N is sleeping next to me with her face resting on my right arm, while her right arm resting comfortably on my stomach. It feels good to have her by my side while I am lost in the world of my own. Relaxed, calm and in the moment to experience its comfort. N's warm breath feels soothing, almost like as if caressing.

She woke up for a second, apologized for dozing off, turned towards the other side, while putting her left arm on my thighs and going back to sleep again. I look at her, and go back to reading the novel, while waiting for the engineer from LG to come to repair the microwave at my place. 

Catapult

By Sadho Ram

Life suddenly seems as if it has come to an unexpected halt.

Everything I do seems to have lost its charm. Or to put it in a better manner, I somehow seem to have lost interest in almost anything that I do or doing these days.

Mistakes have become an active part of my life both personally and professionally. As a result, I feel demotivated, demoralised and defeated... even though there is no war that I am fighting. Or maybe I am. Who knows!

There is also one more thing that is happening, I am losing interest in people in general. I live alone, so I only step out when I need to buy groceries and food items. Other times, I keep myself within the boundaries of my house, locked and glued to my laptop screen, working away the hours of day and at times... night.

I am scared to mingle with people of the outside world.

But that is not what I want to be. I don't want to be scared or to keep myself locked within the boundaries of my house.

I want to live and not just exist.

I am man with dreams in my eyes and purpose in my mind.

I want to break free from the shackles of my own mind and catapult into a free-self, someone who can learn to be empathetic, someone who understands the value of life and people in it... someone who is not afraid to live.

I wish to be catapulted into the world of calm and sanity, where mindlessness has no place and where light shines through even the darkest of nights.

Of Vultures of The World and Lovesick Crow!

By Sadho Ram

‘When the ‘sexed’ vultures of the world are eyeing the cuckoo,’ I said to my friend, ‘She doesn't fall for the ‘love-sick’ crow.’

‘Crow?’ asks the friend.

‘Yes, you idiot, that's me.’

Hell, the ‘crow’ still makes an effort though, however lame it is. And then vultures yell and the ‘horny-ies’ bark- ‘bow, bow... look at him! Got what he deserved. (bow, bow, and bow) instead of kissing she pissed on him, bloody piss-taker... bow, bow.’

I howl back ‘fuck-woof, you bastards.’

‘Damn, have I become an animal too?’ I then think. Yes, yes, yes... that's what her ‘socially cultured’ rejection has caused. A loud cry of pain erupted within and an animal was aroused. Ho, Ho, Ho, Haw, Haw, Oo-hoooo!

‘Is it a crime to like a ‘blue legged’ bitch? Or is appreciating her is committing a sin?’ The animal in me now gets thinking.

Ha!

‘You see now, O’Dea’ friend, what the ‘... cultured’ rejection has found? The ‘creepy & awkward’ animal which eats ‘sweet candy floss’ gets profound.’ Oo-hoooo!

‘So, what’s the end conclusion, my animal friend?’ – Inquires the sane.

One of the vultures gets the cuckoo,

Takes her high on his flight, yuhoo!

Then ignores her plight

And bangs her tight!

‘That, my friend, is my version of conclusion, mixed with total jealousy and oozing hatred as perfect solution.’

I'm a Sucker for a lot of things..

By Sadho Ram

...and cinema happens to be on top of the list! Good, bad, it doesn't matter how a particular film is, I've got to watch it. And not just Hindi or English films, I watch films in language I don't understand a shit about and that too without the subtitles (in case I have to when I don't find subtitles for them)!

Back in village, about 15-16 years ago, I would steal money from my father's pocket to go watch films in the only theater my village had. It would cost 5 rupees per ticket, I would get caught, get thrashed by him but couldn't let go of the habit.

I don't know why, but the emotions that run through me while watching films―fills me up with immense joy, a kind of satisfaction I can't really describe!

I laugh, I cry, I rejoice, I clap―at times I jump from my seat, I whistle, I shout―I make noises that annoy other viewers (although none of it is intentional, I guess I just lose myself while watching a film)―in sort, I celebrate cinema the way it should be celebrated (according to me).

Although I try to contain myself when I'm inside the theater as much as I can, but I forget everything when I'm watching a film inside my house. And maybe that's the reason I like to go to movies alone―all by myself!

This world, my life wouldn't be the same for me had it not been for films! ―♥

Me, Facebook And The Profile Of My Dead Brother..

By Sadho Ram

Yesterday, I suddenly came across the Facebook profile of my dead cousin, who got electrocuted a few months back. He was only 14. He was sweet and a nice kid. Very adorable! He was studying in a city away from the village, and had come to the village to get his papers for some exam, and was about to leave on the night when his mother, my maternal aunt, asked him to say a day more, and so he stayed.

He got electrocuted the very morning when he stepped inside the bathroom to take a bathe and tripped over the wet floor along with the bucket full of water and electric heater attached to the plug. When I got the news, I was out with Blue, shopping. My sister had called to give me the news. I later came to know that he didn't want to bathe that early in the morning, but as his mother had other things to do, so she wanted him to get fresh and ready for breakfast.

That poor woman, my sister said, kept blaming herself. His father.. he did not believe even though he held in his arms the lifeless body of his youngest son, whom we all fondly called Raanu!

I never called his parents to share their grief, never made even a attempt to do so. I did cry. But I don't know why I didn't just called them up and say sorry for their loss! They were there when I lost my parents, they were there when I had lost almost everything in the past! But still I didn't .. I just couldn't do so much as to make a single call.

The reason I'm sharing this, is because I had almost forgotten about him but coming across his profile on Facebook yesterday, just threw me back to that day and all those memories of him just overwhelmed me.

Life is so short, we never realize what or who we might just lose in an instant!

I haven't still called them up. After all these months, I am not sure if it's the right thing to do. Moreover, I no longer know what is right or wrong. I just think that maybe I should just let them continue to think that I do not care or I've forgotten everything, even though I haven't actually.

Maybe it's just that people are better off without me or my presence in their life!

... And So We Must Rise Before We Die A Death With Every Tock!

By Sadho Ram

Helplessness—of all the worst feelings in the world known to human beings out there—is the most worst of them all!

Helplessness—in the face of an apparent problem which one may know how to solve but is unable to—why—because the feeling of helplessness makes them feel just inadequate or plain hopeless!

Helplessness—that's what it does. No matter how strong a person maybe—this feeling—the helplessness makes a man incompetent.

Incompetent towards himself. Insufficient for himself. Insecure about himself.

And if untreated, left in the hands of fate and destiny, gradually but surely the very feeling of helplessness grows and grows like... cancer, YES, cancer, advancing, slowly but surely to its last stage—a stage from where there's no return!

It is then that this helplessness doesn't just remain merely what it is, it becomes something bigger, something more worse than worst of things, something so gigantic that when the realization hits us—the realization of this final stage of helplessness—we see nothing but foggy darkness, the line between reality and fantasy blurs, the emotions and feelings that may have kept us going—starts coming out in layers!

And with every tick we lose a breath and we die a death with every tock!

But wait, that's not the end of it—certainly not the end of us. We are better than that and we deserve better—much, much better!

It is now that we—the helpless, hopeless beings—shall rise—rise like a Phoenix rises from his ashes—no, not because life is a fairy tale but because life isn't a fairy tale. So, we must rise in the face of each adversary—no matter how Goliath-like they may appear at first, second, third or even at further sights—because there's a little David in every one of us—a David whose purpose is to discover itself within the self—and which can only be done in the face of Goliath-like adversaries.

Because no matter what—when the cause, the reason behind helplessness is realized or figured out—it can be stopped—much like the cancer if it's detected in the first stage!

Because there is nothing that can put us down but we—ourselves! Because there is no one out there who knows what it takes to wake up every morning even though we don't want to but we must because life is not a fairy tale because standing up for ourselves is the first stand we make because at the end of the day when we go back to bed that's what counts the most because those who don't stand up for themselves, certainly cannot stand for others because a house first must have strong foundation in order to sustain itself so that it can sustain a roof for others over its walls because... because we must first come first to us before others because in this life-long journey of constant adversaries it is us who won't desert us, who won't leave our side because whatever may be the circumstance—helplessness or hopelessness—cannot last forever—because they are not meant to because almost nothing ever last that long because all we need is to wake up, make a stand, face the problems whatever they maybe, look into its eye and say—enough is enough!

Remembering My Mother

By Sadho Ram

Saroj Devi, my mother!

12 years ago, today was the day, when surrounded by many a strange faces, a few stranger feelings and a wailing-like-a-child father, in the midst of cold August wind blowing calmly over the shaved off head of mine and graveyard dogs howling afar, and night sky covered with heavy clouds.. clouds seeming as if ready to burst.. pour.. come down, and those strange faces moving, changing shades.. shapes and chattering along the sides of Bhāgīrathī river at Jangipur town, I put fire in her mouth at the stroke of midnight while she lay, like a tired traveler after a long and tedious journey finally given a bed to rest, on her pyre made up of sandalwood logs.. and watched her body burn into cinders.. 12 years it's been today. And 12 years is a long time for a soul to wander. Hope her soul has found its place and now rests in peace!

A Note on Waiting and the Joys and Sorrows of it.

By Sadho Ram

Waiting, for some, is a process of experiencing joy, for some it is merely a process of evolution of the self by acquiring what one is waiting for. But for me waiting has been all sorts of different kind of things. Like others I’ve had joys and while waiting I’ve evolved too. But it somehow has always felt like a slow severe pain in the chest. And yet I’ve waited for everything that I’ve ever wanted in my life, regardless of whether I got or I didn't, whatever was that I had wanted at the different waiting junctures of my life. I’ve waited so much, working my way through to get whatever I want, that at times I've felt I should just give up, that I shouldn’t wait anymore for anything.

But no, I haven’t given up on waiting or waiting, so I’m still waiting; now for a whole new awakening to embark into a journey from where I know that my life will take all those turns which is only going to make it what years and years ago, lying over the vast spread of due laden grass in the fields of my village, beneath the gaze of winter sun on my face, I had dreamt and promised to myself. And now somehow, somewhere down the line, the waiting for me has gradually turned into something else, a sort of different pain, not in the chest anymore, no. But somewhere deep within; it pleasures me now, keeps me going, gives me strength, and provides me with a hope that my waiting will finally yield the result(s) I’m seeking. So I wait, hoping and holding onto whatever that I’ve now with and within me.

It’s a strange phenomenon with waiting. There is always a sense of uncertainty attached to it and yet we wait.

Currently, at this very moment I wait for her. And I’m waiting for my birthday this August.  I’m waiting to hold her in my arms once again, and to feel her warmth once again. For waiting is all I know that I have chosen to do, not because there isn’t any other option but because I’ve  promised to stick to waiting through thick and thin, and work my way through it for that new awakening, no matter how long it takes, no matter how short it lasts, I’m waiting... I’m waiting.

I remember about exactly 11 years ago I had waited with bated breath to get to my village to take one last look at my mother’s pale skinned face, who was lying dead, covered in red, inside her room. That was the time, probably the first in my life, when I experienced the sorrow of waiting. Because when my wait had ended, she hasn’t come back to life, as I foolishly had thought. The sorrow of that waiting was much deeper than I had imagined it to be, or maybe it was just too shallow. Because I remember I didn’t even shade a tear. But at the cost of being honest, it was that I couldn’t shade a tear, I just couldn’t. I had gone silent, partly with sorrow and partly with the realisation of the great loss. It was silence that had engulfed me, and had consumed the basic ability of a child to cry.

Since then a whole decade have passed away, actually more, and life is not what it was back then, so am I. Emotions have evolved, feelings have changed, I’m different too. But the silence of that day is still within, caged somewhere in some corner of my chest. It still breaths, still lives on. Although now that day of my life seems like another lifetime, it’s a whole new life now that I live. For I haven’t given up on waiting or waiting...because I know that the sorrows attached to waiting are gone now, all it now has to offer are the joys of waiting.

She is coming here to see me, to be with me. My woman from west, who have promised a new world to me and to whom I’ve pledged my life and every single joy of it. I’m waiting to experience the world she has promised, and I’m waiting to live up to the pledge I’ve taken in her name. On my this birthday, I will finally experience the joy, the ultimate joy of its kind, when I take her in my arms, tangle my fingers in her tresses, and plant the kiss that I keep playing in continuous loop inside my ever active head time and again. I’m waiting to become one with her.

Just like the sense of uncertainty is attached to the process of waiting, there’s one very distinctive trait attached to it too. It’s the test of the mettle a man is made of. And currently, I’m testing my own mettle.

...because, folks, all I know is that I’m waiting.

Rest In Peace, Father...

By Sadho Ram

"I wish I had not cremated him, instead buried him. That way I could have at least wished that he would rise from his grave and come and see that his son, whom he loathed, is not that worthless today as he had said once on his son’s face."

I wish you would rise and see that today your name is known after me, my name, which I, your worthless son, have made your this particular dream come true, that people around today know of your name because of me and my deeds.

Hello father,

I wish you could rise from your ashes and see that no one remembers your death nor do they remember the date on which you died, no one, except me, except your son. But don’t worry; I will make sure that the world does remember. So here it is, O'world, today, on 14th may 2004, my father – Gulab Ram Choudhary – breathed his last, exactly 7 years ago, tied to the hospital bed, he succumbed to the poison running in his veins along with the alcoholic blood.

Rest in peace, father, rest in peace.

And please forgive me for momentarily disturbing your sleep, but you see it was needed, or else how would I have told the goddamned world about you and your death anniversary, which sadly no one remembers, not even your own mother. But you see, I have to live up to you and your dreams, even though you are fucking dead, thanks to your good old friends.

Anyways, that was it, I have done my duty for today, have told the world that you died on 14th may 2004, exactly 7 years ago. I should now let you rest in peace and head towards that one person who doesn’t consider me worthless, she instead thinks that I’m perfect. Which again makes me wish that you would have survived longer enough to see that what kind of devastatingly comforting beauty have fallen for me, for that son of yours whom you considered nothing. But anyways, you rest in peace, just wanted to let you know that I’ve found my peace. It doesn’t actually matter now that you are not here, for I’m happy that you did not have to suffer longer than you already did. But see, that’s the thing it is, you would not have suffered had you loved my mother the way you did after she was gone. Trust me father, had you loved her before she died, you would have had a much better life. Much, much better!

But why the hell am I telling you all this, you are dead, right?... burnt into cinders, so then why?

I guess I’m just having a mighty good time by telling you what could your life had been, had you only realised what you did realise after it was too late to realise anyway. So, rest in peace, father, for I’ve made sure that people know a bit more about you, this time through your death anniversary.

The Joy of Giving!

By Sadho Ram

“Sometimes the joy of giving has the amazing potential to surpass even the most strongest of feelings known to human being. Because when you give, you love; and love, I’ve experienced in my life is the purest of emotion.” – Gulab Ram [1960 - May 14, 2004]

Time 21:55 [October 18]

I've never actually given anyone anything except that once I gave out my heart to a pretty looking girl, who later “respectfully” returned it to me, when my childhood buddy offered her his own. Anyways, that doesn't count. Though I’ve always had this feeling deep down inside that one day when I’ll give, it will be substantial in many aspects. And currently I’m having this intuition that the moment has come.

Time 23:46 [October 18]

I’m going to give. Yup, I’m finally going to give something, and this something, as felt by me, is quite substantial in its nature, as it is one of the main sources of life inside human body, in fact it’s something that our heart pumps throughout it’s time – blood.

I don’t know how to say this, but I’m kind of really excited. I know most of you might be thinking – “Dude, what’s there to be so excited about?” Well, may be the reason that it’s my first opportunity to give something to anyone, and when that something is the synonym of life itself then I think, it, indeed, is the very reason to be excited about.

I don’t know the person who needs my blood. But the person happens to be a friend of my Facebook friend Rizvi Amir, who was introduced to me by another Facebook friend.

I’ve always believed in the saying that – “Everything happens for a reason, and the reason is always good.” So, when we, me and Rizvi, were introduced (without any particular reason), I immediately had this feeling, that it must be for a reason, which is not clear/known to us now, but when the moment will come, it will reveal itself. And see how it has unfolded itself.

A friend of Rizvi needs O Positive blood and Rizvi puts a request in his Facebook status asking if anyone is in his profile with this particular blood group. And call it co-incident or a cosmic conspiracy, I, who only few days ago became his friend via another friend, happen to be the one.

So, I’m expected at Tata Memorial Hospital (Bombay) around 09:00 and so I better get some sleep, as the Hospital is a bit far away from my place, and in the morning a tsunami takes place every day on the route (Vashi – Church gate) in which the Hospital falls (Parel).

Time 13:30 [October 19]

I can never, ever donate blood. I was tested positive for Hepatises B seven years ago, and thus my blood is not safe for others.

This was what I was told by the doctor who was questioning me. And the moment I heard it, believe it or not, I felt an strange kind of ache in my heart; an ache which I know will last till I last.

Time 18:40 [October 19]

When I came out of the room, I was feeling really sad, but then the one who needed my blood said – “You take care of yourself. You came here with good intention; intention to give something to someone whom you don’t even know, and that’s what really matters. It’s another thing that it didn’t materialise the way you had thought it will.” And other’s too, his wife, and my friend Rizvi Amir, and later my boss also said the same thing to me.

And coming to think of it now, I feel good inside that at least I had the right intention and went there with the heart to give, where there are people who, though completely capable of giving, mentally and physically, but never come out.

But then one thing is for sure that I will never experience that feeling, which in the word of my late father – “…has the amazing potential to surpass even the most strongest of feeling known to humans.”

I’m stripped off of that joy, even before I could have it.

About the person, who needed the blood, well, he has cancer and will be going through a major operation of Thursday. I hope, yes, that’s all I can do now, that everything goes well with him and that the operation be a successful one. I hope that when he comes out of that operation theatre on Thursday, he be gifted with a life, not only healthy but also prosperously long. I hope that he now not merely live, but also enjoy life to its fullest. Because somewhere in my heart I know that on Thursday, a new life will embrace him. A life, full of joy; joy of acceptance and humility towards others, and a life, full of love; love for life itself.

And, lastly, I also hope that all of you, who have come this far here, will also hope for him in the manner most hopeful for him.

Thank You

Of Yore and Of Hope [Emotional Atyachaar]

By Sadho Ram

Author’s Note: The below posted narrative is one of my personal experiences. It happened with me about a year ago. My motive behind posting it here now is nothing specific except that I’m participating in this month’s Indiblogger Emotional Atyachaar and Weblog's  Sleepy Sunday contest. Though partly sad, partly mad, but I enjoyed completely while writing it and I hope you all enjoy it too.

Have fun reading it, friends!

Part 1

On the 4^th of June 2009, I was in Pune, about 170 kilometres away from the suffocating humidity of the furiously sweating city, Bombay, and it was warmly cold in there (yes, warmly cold).

And for the first time in 3 months I found myself almost so very close to shivering (in the season of summer), and so naturally it was unbelievable for me but it seemed like magic, I mean the feeling was something I had only experienced once in my life (I will get to that too). So the first thing I ask myself,

“Man, am I not supposed to sweat?”

And then this thought appeared into my mind,

“Maybe not”

Because I was in Pune, where the sky was frigidly blue and was smiling as vibrantly as my animated heart, which was so filled with the fragile but sturdy thoughts of that girl, Sasha, whose mere glimpse were enough to send me into the world of serendipity and romance.

I first saw her on the very first day of my new class in my college, which was held in our Auditorium.

I was sitting on the first row, waiting for our new faculty to arrive, and chatting with others quite loudly, when she walked in and while the entire auditorium went on just as it was before her arrival, I (trust me, friends) somehow went into an unknown state of quieten trance where calmness took over me and my eyes followed her to the third seat from the left in the third row and then remained constant there on her charmingly simple face. I had completely lost it… my senses were somewhere, while I was out of sync with the nearby happenings and my heart was drooling when all of a sudden (when the guy seating beside me kicked me with his leg) my beautiful dreaming world came to a screeching halt and brought me along with my senses to the middle seat in the first row. As I came back to my sane state I realised that the class has gone silent and everyone was staring at me (including our new faculty who, I don’t know, when had walked in).

Here I must confess, that I had to literally force myself to stand still (given my condition a moment ago) and at the very first glimpse of our new faculty further demanded that I now must force myself from laughing out loud while not to blurt out the obvious (WTF).

You see, our faculty actually looked just like the character ‘Jack Sparrow’ from the movie ‘Pirates of the Caribbean.’ (I know all this sounds weird but I’m telling you this is what happened).

And so from that afternoon, Jan 14^th, 2009, I have been simply watching her, while she played games in her mobile and took notes simultaneously, though I did confess my instant feelings for her to few of my class mates and other friends outside but I somehow was not been able to gather the courage to go and tell her all that how her presence and absence, both, made me feel.

That how her confident voice made me nervous when she spoke in class (which she did very rarely), that how lucky I felt when she unknowingly looked at me even if it was only for a second, that how badly I wanted to go to her and just say, how special she is to me, but somehow I just couldn’t say.

Why?

Well, (including the above mentioned factors there was something else too) that I actually wasn’t ready to repeat the same scenario of my perplexed past, in which I once had felt the same emotions sparkling inside my 4 inch tiny heart and then was left to moan after being used like a mere toy for a little fun.

It was the month of December 2005, when the pathos came into my life hiding behind that innocence, which, without any qualm, ridiculed my days of adolescence.

******

Part 2

‘Excuse me, are you Gopal?’

A sugar like voice knocked at my ear-barrel and the spoon, with which I was feeding myself, stopped just inches before my open jaws (yes, pretty BIG mouth I’ve). I then looked up and for a moment I forgot to blink my eyelids.

There she was, standing just before me, on the other end of that round table in which I was busy gorging myself just like I did daily, but that day it was different and also new but somehow it felt surreal, because, I thought,

“This can’t be real”

And so just to make sure that she was actually standing in front of ME and asking if I indeed was who I was (Gopal at that point of time and Sadho at this moment), I looked on both sides off my shoulder and when I found no one there, my heart suddenly started pounding so heavily that it seemed like it was going to burst anytime now.

‘Excuse me, I am talking to you, are you Gopal?’

That sugar like voice once again knocked at my ear-barrel and this time it slowly made way towards my heavily pounding heart.

‘Oh, ‘m sorry, what? No, I am not Tejpal.’

(Yup, bloody me) it was the first line that flushed out of my (BIG) mouth and in reaction to it, her face displayed the signs of disbelief and her eyes got widened.

‘Are you deaf?’

She shot at me and in reply this time it was I, who had to widen my eyes.

‘What?’

I shot back at her.

‘I asked …are you the Gopal?’

She threw another question in reply.

‘Of course, I’m Gopal, the or not, that I don’t know.’

I said it with a tone that even surprised me (don’t know what it did to her), as I thought,

“Dude, I sounded pretty arrogant there, didn’t I?”

And which could have been enough to send her off on any other day but as I said “that day it was different.”

‘Listen, I need your help. Can you please ask your friend, Zahid, to stop following me? I have tried telling him myself, but he seems least interested in listening to me.’

She said and was about to turn and leave (I guess).

‘Wo, wo, hold on, lady, Zahid, and my friend? Who told you so? I don’t even know him properly.’

I, in complete company of instant surprise, immediately shot back at her and she at once stopped and looked at me, with only innocence in her eyes.

‘But that girl in my class said, you two are ...’

I cut her in middle.

‘Listen, I don’t know why the girl in your class told you so, but the truth is that, you can ask anyone out here and each one of them will say that We, Gopal and Zahid, are not friends.’

*****

Part 3

It was fine till there. And my life would have been as smooth as it was minutes before her ‘excuse me’ approached me, which infected me with the terminal bug called love. But, I guess, it was not supposed to be like that and so I promised her that I will try to talk to him (even though I really didn’t know the guy at all).

She smiled and turned to leave but instead stopped abruptly and said,

‘Thanks, hoping to see you around sometime.’

And I stood there like a box watching her leave and fixed my hypnotised eyes on her (she had the most curvaceous figure I’ve seen in my entire period of life) till she disappeared into the crowd outside the canteen.

Three months went by, we became friends and then one day on the eve of Valentine’s Day, I finally proposed her in front of the entire college. She said yes and I felt like, I have conquered the world.

But the euphoria lasted only for few weeks, as one day when I accidently bumped into her and the Zahid in a pizza store.

I was shocked (understatement) to see her cuddling in his arms and when I went near to their table in the corner, she after seeing me, didn’t seemed to care enough as if… as if I was a total stranger to her.

‘What the hell is going on?’

I, after standing there for like almost 5 minutes (which in reality seemed like an eternity), shouted at them and pulled her away from his arms by grabbing her hand.

‘What do you think you are doing?’

I once again shouted at her.

‘Seems like you are as blind as deaf you were on that day in canteen, Tejpal.’

She said while jerking her hands off mine.

‘Hey, Zahid, look at his face, poor baby, I broke his heart, touché.’

She continued her verbal attacks on me, while Zahid continued to enjoy the show along with others, who seemed as insensitive as those pizzas, that they were piling themselves on.

My mind had lost its basic understanding and so it wasn’t able to decipher what was happening and I could not believe what my ear-barrels were listening, and so I thought that I am dreaming, yes, I’m dreaming (oh, how I wished and still wish that I was dreaming) and it will be over as soon as I shall open my eyes, but I wasn’t actually dreaming and neither could I open my eyes, because, I don’t really know how to open those things which never ever closes (you see, my eyelids remain half opened even when I am sleeping).

‘But why, Neha (yes, that was her name), why did you play with my heart?’

I somehow asked her, while trying to garner the audacity to stand still.

‘Huh, you still want to know? Well, I was a bit bore by my monotonous life, where I only dated hunky guys, so just to freshen up it a bit, I, as you said, played with your heart for a little fun.’

She delivered her last part of dialogue as innocently as if I was a mere plastic toy straight out from her cupboard and so has no feelings whatsoever, which stays as its owner keeps it and remains silent even if its owner beats it.

But I was not a toy and so I finally fell on my knees, tears dripped out of my red eyes and I chocked as if I was about to die (this is true… you see, I had genuinely fallen for her and given the factor that she had the figure any woman would be jealous of and any man would kill for, besides, I’m an emotional man, so this – chocking down – was bound to happen).

She left with Zahid, hand in hand, leaving me alone more than I was before she had come.

And so, since then, almost half a decade have passed by, but those blunt memories of my yore are still so sharp that it leaves a cut mark every time I try to walk by it, ignoring unknowingly and sometime even intentionally (can’t help it), with a companion which I quite often choose in these days of my chilling solitude.

And, I know my past was like a bad dream but unlike the bad dreams, I’m yet to get over it, and so the pain of yore continue to haunt my times of hope.