“Soon, other things became a lot more important to me; I too had found our happiness appealing. Then, eight months back, few rumors began circulating before the news came in and it led to more rumors. Much of it, gradually, turned out to be true. And it gave me the answer of a question long forgotten. Why were we happy earlier? Mother had said we were growing–cars; house; furniture; holidays; money. And now our sources of happiness were being taken away from us. We needed these, not each other, to grow and to be happy.”

“Marriages are decided in heaven and are only celebrated here on earth”.

This was Abhishek’s trademark answer when his friends asked him about his marriage plans. Abhishek, an engineer, who after completing his MBA had just joined a big firm, was getting a salary that was more than what he had expected.As was the case with most people of his generation in India, half of his life was spent in the licence raj period where a good job was rare, and a good job with a good salary was even rarer.

The tragedy was not that he did not believe in astrology. The tragedy was that, he had made it a point to announce to the entire world, and then some, of his disbelief in what the stars foretold.

Now they were all out and about, smirking, to watch him devour his words – for he was at the door of a renowned astrologer, holding a pair of birth charts, birth timings and other miscellaneous details, not admitting – even to himself – his hope that the interview would bring peace to his very troubled mind.

Mom said I was in the Intensive Care Unit for a day. Unfortunately, I have no memory of it. Just when I opened my eyes to discover a few nurses fussing over me, I was moved out to the ward. Too bad – I did not even get time to savour all the attention. The name itself makes one feel important, doesn’t it? Intensive Care Unit. I like the sound of it, though I don’t fancy its smell. The last time I was at the door of the ICU was when my Uncle was admitted. He died a few days later. No wonder I had a host of wide-eyed relatives around me when I woke up.

Rajesh was more than a colleague. When he joined the organisation a few years ago, he was introduced to Sridhar for mentoring. Within a matter of days, Sridhar learnt that it was futile to even attempt such a task as mentoring a person like Rajesh, so he gave up and the allotted duration was spent in casual talk. It followed naturally that Rajesh spilled his life before him and called him his confidant, much to the latter’s distaste. But a mentor was not expected to exhibit dislike; all he had to do was listen and offer a pointer when it was required.

The Watchman was tired. Tired of faking a smile for everyone who passed in and out of the gate, with hardly a glance at him. But he had been doing this for years now, day and night, and it came automatically now – the stiff widening of the lips that he called a ‘smile’, that created no strain to the lines on his face or to his eyes. True, that not many acknowledged it, but he did it every time. He was about to close the gate when the Mother with her two-year-old on the stroller appeared.

Kallu Koylewala limped into the living room of his house. “Imarti Rani,” he called out to his wife in a shrill voice wiping the sweat from his bald head. Imarti came into the living room from the kitchen smelling of turmeric and garlic. She looked at her husband’s dark face, his dhoti and kurta, which were white when she had given them to him in the morning and were now almost blackened with coal dust.

Exactly a dozen years ago, a girl met a boy on all fool’s day and they fell in love. The rest as they say is a dozen years of history.

It was the 16th day after the Ides of March. She had come to work about an hour early today. Yesterday Hunterwali’s memo had reminded her that she would have to “temporarily” vacate her cubicle to the editor’s blue-eyed boy, who was arriving from the UK, to work on a ”research”, around mid day. And needless to say, she had to get on top of the deadline by late morning.

It was towards the back of the building that they crept silently – three figures, almost invisible, camouflaged in their black dresses against the dark night. There was a drain pipe at the back that ran up all the way up to the fourth storey, and that is what the three were going to climb.
All of a sudden they were aware of a sound in the dark. A muffled sound, as if someone was struggling to speak. Their eyes, accustomed to the dark, looked around for the source of the noise. Soon, they located the source – it was a bundle, or two, lying in a corner.

Rajesh was a satisfied man. Today was his forty-fifth birthday. At forty-five he was a high official in a government department with a bright future ahead of him. He had done all his duties — as a human being, a son, a husband and a father. He had always helped people in distress, especially from his hometown. His father had taken premature retirement from work on his insistence. His father had wanted to work but Rajesh wanted him to rest and be completely at ease. As a father, Rajesh was a firm believer of the axiom ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child’, and he had used the rod liberally. Now Vishal, his only son, 22, an engineer from a reputed institute had all the makings of a future officer. So Rajesh had every reason to be satisfied.