Misleading Affections

Even before I could open the door, I could hear the phone ringing. I peered through the glass. In room dining was busy. I sighed at the sight, and prepared myself for a long evening at work. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door. I saw James moving to the elevator with a food trolley. I looked and him, and he returned my glance with a sigh, saying, “I hope you like the welcome party.” I knew that he was referring to the rush in my department. “I couldn’t have asked for anything else.” I said with a smirk. James laughed and waved his hand as the elevator doors shut. I came to my department and looked into the cabin. Alice the order taker smiled to me as she was on the phone. It had to be a guest call, I told myself. I stood at the captain’s desk and looked at the orders that had gone till now. I blew a low whistle looking at the eighteen orders that had already left. It was barely thirty minutes past seven, and dinner seemed to be rocking. Just then I heard Alice call out to me, “Good evening honey, look what I got for you.”
Expecting it to be a rare show of affection from that pretty girl, I shifted my gaze to her. Instead, I saw her hand out a piece of paper from the cabin. It was a Kitchen Order Ticket (KOT). In fact, it was quite an elaborate order for a guest. I looked at her and caught her mischievous grin. “Nice one Al,” I told her. She giggled and winked at me. Ah well, I thought, that was all I needed. I handed the dinner order to Sam, the trainee, and told him to set the order on a proper trolley. I then went towards the kitchen to confirm the KOT. After a while, as I waited for the order to be picked up, James stood next to me. He too was waiting for another order. We got on talking about the previous day. I had just returned from leave and had a lot to share. But then, James seemed eager to speak. So I held my peace, and allowed him to proceed. He told me that he had just come from a very fussy guest’s room. I smiled at his plight. I too had experienced it in the past. He went on, imitating the guest in actions. I laughed at him. He looked at me, wondering. I asked him what. “What was so funny?” he questioned me, continuing, “I actually suffered there.” I just patted his back, and said, “Don’t bother Jamie, you seem fine. Wait, let me guess. The guest was a lady, right?” James now smiled and said, “Yes, it was a lady. And yes, she was irritating, but that did not stop me from feeling good about her pretty face. You should have seen her.” I just listened for a while, for his words were not making any sense. It seemed to me that he derived pleasure from pain.
Just then the chef called out from behind the kitchen counter, “Who has got room 208?” It was my order, and I replied, “That’s mine!”
“I hope your trolley is ready with a hot case.”
“All set and plugged in, waiting for the food.”
“Alright, get the trolley, food is almost ready for pickup.”
I turned to James and told him that we would speak later. He asked about his order and soon caught up with me. I looked at him questioningly. He simply shrugged and told me that the order was not ready, and that he had to check his trolley. Then he asked, “You are going to 208?” I was inspecting my trolley as I said yes. “Well,” he said, “that guest is a gem of a person. Tips well and has a very good nature.” I was barely listening, as I was checking Sam’s trolley setup. I approved of the setup and then told James, “Well, you know my policy, I don’t believe until I see it for myself.” He smiled knowingly. I then went to the kitchen to pick up the food. As chef said, the food was ready at the counter. I stacked the food in the hot case, and moved to the elevator. I picked up the bill in the check folder. When the elevator door opened, I called on Sam to remove the old clearance lying on the floor of the elevator. Soon I was on my way up.
As I moved the food trolley out of the elevator, I came across Marianne, the housekeeping supervisor. The poor girl seemed hassled and worked up. I pushed the trolley in her direction and asked, “Hey babe, what’s up?” She just looked at me. After a pause, she just nodded her head. “Hey Marie,” I caught up with her, asking again, “what’s the matter?”
“Oh, it’s nothing… I am just frustrated with the guests today. Can you imagine how demanding they can be?”
“Ah, yes,” I replied, “I know…”
“No, you don’t!” she cut me short, continuing to complain about the near impossible demands she had to achieve. I knew I had to get away from her now.
“Ah,” I exclaimed, relieved inwardly, “I guess this is my corridor, Marianne.” I was indicating my turn to my room order. She looked at me with a smile and told me that she would catch up with me later. I bid her goodbye, and quickly proceeded with my room order.
Finally! I reached room 208. I reconfirmed the room number from the bill I was carrying; I feared that I was misled by that Marianne’s constant blabber of complaints. Thankfully, I was standing at the right room. Taking a deep breath, I rang the doorbell and announced myself in a loud voice. “IN ROOM DINING!!!” was what I said. As I waited for the door to open, I just looked at the guest name. It read ‘Mr. Atlee’. The door still did not open. I looked sideways at both ends of the corridor, hoping to see the floor butler or the housekeeping attendant. But none appeared. Then, I rang the bell a second time, announcing myself in a much louder voice. Finally, I heard hushed footsteps behind the door. I silently thanked God as I heard the door being unlatched. At last, the door opened. And I said instantly, “Good evening, Mr. Atlee.” But I knew that I was hasty in my greeting when I heard a very feminine voice say, “Oh good evening! Do come in.”
I looked at the person who addressed me. It was a lady, a young lady. I immediately apologised for the mistake. But she laughed it out, saying that such things happen all the time with her, and that she had gotten used to it. She then stepped aside, indicating me to come in. I pushed in the trolley and shut the door behind me. I turned to her and got my first glimpse of her. She was of good height, with long, curly black hair, wrapped in the hotel’s yukada. I asked her where she would want me to set up the trolley for dinner. She looked around the living space, and looked back at me questioningly. I smiled at her and suggested the sofa by the television. She smiled and nodded her head. She told me that she would be back in a jiffy. I replied, “Yes Ms. Atlee.” And she went into the bedroom.
By the time she came back, I had the table set up and secured in front of the sofa. She smiled and asked me where the food was. I smiled back and told her that the food was in the hot case. She laughed and told me to take it out. I replied, “Yes, Ms. Atlee.”
“Oh, please,” she said instantly, “call me Rachel.”
“Yes, uh, Rachel, Ma’am.” She laughed out at my embarrassing reply. I then told her that the dinner was ready, and I offered to serve her the meal. She obliged. After I seated her and placed the unfolded napkin in her waiting hands, I explained her dinner order. It was then when I realised that this was too much food for a single person to eat. By the time I was done explaining the various dishes on the table, inside me I was cursing the stupidity of Alice, the order taker. I was so sure that a lot of food was going to go to waste. But somehow, Rachel seemed to read my thoughts. She just shook her head knowingly, telling me that this was exactly the portion of food that she had ordered. How graceful of her, I thought in awe. That was when I really looked at her.
She was clearly in her late twenties, blessed with glowing skin. I looked at her thin and well manicured fingers that grasped the water goblet. I watched those fingers raise the goblet to her face, emptying its contents into her mouth outlined with full, bare and naturally pink lips. I watched the skin stretch across her prominent and well chiselled jawbone as she drank from the goblet. Her wrinkle-free neck swayed rhythmically with every gulp of water. Part of her neck was covered with wet and curly black hair. It was now obvious that she was at the shower when I rang the bell the first time. As I poured the rosemary jus on her Fillet mignon, I watched her perfectly shaped eyebrows arch in satisfaction. She had a very sharp nose, and a lovely set of eyes that looked intently at the food she was about to devour. As a matter of fact, I too gazed at this angel I was with at the moment. I had never met anyone who was so breathtakingly beautiful and as warm as her. And for the first time, I realised that beyond doubt, I had a major crush on Ms. Rachel.
Just before she began to eat, she looked at me and gave me a warm smile. I could have drooled at that moment. She thanked me, and told me that she would leave the trolley outside the door when she was done. Trying not to lose the opportunity of seeing her again, I asked if she would like to try some desserts. She smiled, as if knowingly, and told me that with have to think over it. I smiled at her beamingly. I felt like a schoolboy, falling head over heels over his favourite actress. I presented the dinner bill to her and took her signature. I thanked her and left the room. I walked a distance to the elevator, and stopped. I paused for a moment. I thought over the person I had interacted with. She was the most amazing lady I had met since I started working. I made up my mind to wow her at every possible moment of her stay. It would be great to be in touch with her on a personal level. With a mischievous smile, I walked to the elevator. When the elevator door opened, I saw another clearance on the floor. I sighed at the sight. I knew it had to be one of the housekeeping attendants making his work easier. Ah well, I thought to myself as I picked up the tray clearance, back to reality.
The moment I stepped back into my department, I was amused to see Sam lost and confused at the pending number of KOTs. I could not blame him. It was his first week, and he was learning the ropes rather quickly. The moment he saw me, he took the clearance from me and said, “Dude, look at the flow of orders.” I shrugged my shoulders in resentment saying, “Here comes the rain.” I was obviously referring to the number of KOTs. Soon I got into the workflow. In moments like these, you have to haggle, or bargain. And in this case I haggle for time, from the chefs. That way I would ensure that my orders leave the department without a single call from an anxious and hungry guest. If I was to get that kind of a call, I would find myself in a very embarrassing situation. But on that dinner service, time flew. I did not even realise that two hours had passed since the start of dinner service. At last there was only one order at the counter. It was a cold coffee order. I looked into the cabin and told Alice that James and I would be upstairs in the cafeteria. I also told her to give a call if there was any other order, and to check the cold coffee before Sam takes it up. I waited for James, and soon we headed for a much needed break.
While we were sipping coffee, I suddenly realised that I had forgotten about room 208. I asked James, “Dude, I went to 208, and boy! What a person!”
James was lost for a moment, and suddenly he burst out, “Oh yeah! See? I told you,” he continued, “isn’t she a beauty?”
I stopped short. “Wait,” I said, “are you telling me that you knew that the guest in 208 was a lady?”
“Yeah, of course. So what’s the big deal?”
“‘What’s the big deal?’” I responded, agitated, “Jamie, I made a fool of myself, calling her Mister!”
“Chill dude. Relax! It’s a common error I make, I admit. I am sure you feasted your eyes on a real beauty.”
“Knock it off, James. She is a very pretty lady, alright. But she is not the kind of woman you are thinking of.”
“What?” exclaimed a very amused James, “so what ‘kind of woman’ am I thinking of?”
Before I could fire back, I saw Marianne enter the cafeteria. I relaxed a bit. Though she was a blabbermouth, the complaining would be more bearable than James’ playboy-like remarks. She poured herself a cup of coffee and headed to our table. Just as she sat down, James turned and asked her how the day was. She let out a sigh, and poured out her heart. I closed my eyes and continued to sip my now cold coffee. For now, her complaints were music to my ears. I was beginning to enjoy my coffee. But my pleasure was short-lived. I opened my eyes she mentioned ‘Mr. Atlee’. I stared at her. She looked at me as she spoke, but stopped short, confused by my stare. “What?” she asked me cautiously, “What did I say?”
“Come on Marie,” I laughed, “surely you know that there is no ‘Mr. Atlee’.”
Marianne was blank for a moment. James let out a small laugh. I continued to look at her. Then she told me, “Come on dude, I supervise the rooms, I meet the guests on a daily basis, and being a girl, I DEFINITELY know who is a man and who’s not! And what’s more, I even spoke to that bugger before heading down here.”
Now I was confused. Confused as hell. I looked at Marianne expressionless, or rather, lost. I turned to James. He stifled a laugh and tried to put up a serious face. I was definitely missing something. “Are you sure that ‘he’ is the only one in the room?” I asked her, quizzically.
She simply nodded her head.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I exclaimed, “I went to that room myself, and instead of meeting a fussy bugger-of-a-guy as you very well described him to be, I met… I met an Angel…”
This time to mine and James’ amazement, Marianne burst out laughing. “Aw, come on, dude!” she guffawed, “since when did you change you sexual preference?”
I was flustered, all the more with Marianne’s laughter. “Marie, this is no joke,” I continued calmly, “I really like this person, there is n…”
“Oh I am so perfectly cool if you like guys,” She said with a large smile writ on her face, “It’s normal to accept such things and its mighty brave of you to make such a statement.”
I was quiet for a moment. “Marianne!!!” I raised my voice. She quietened almost immediately. “I am serious, Marie,” I continued, “I know that my eyes were not playing tricks on me when I saw the most beautiful girl there. For goodness sake, girl, I was holding a hot sauceboat in my hand, so there is absolutely NO way that I was dreaming.”
“Okay,” she said slowly, “so there might have been a girl with him…”
“Oh yes,” contributed James, slouching on his chair, “I am certain that there is a girl in that room.” Both Marianne and I look at him. I suddenly realised that James WAS aware of a girl in this room. “You know about this?” enquired a surprised Marianne.
“Yeah, sure I know her.” he continued, “As a matter of fact I served her dinner last Saturday.”
“She was here LAST Saturday?” I asked stunned.
“Yeah dude,” he continued, taking another sip of his coffee, “she usually checks in every weekend.”
“Wait a minute,” said Marianne, with a pause, “wait a minute…”
Both James and I looked at her silence. She rummaged through her reports for a moment. Then she looked at me, and asked, “Her name is Rachel, right?”
I thanked God aloud and exclaimed, “Finally! We are getting somewhere.”
“Well, um, not really.”
I looked at Marianne, amused, asking her, “Now what do you mean by that? And where is your ‘Mr. Atlee’?”
“Oh, he very much exists, and is also staying with us. The small detail we overlooked is that Mr. Atlee does not have one booking, but two rooms booked on his name. Rooms 526 and 208. The ‘Atlee’ that I met often today for his never ending demands is in room 526, and your ‘Rachel’ is…”
“In room 208, I see.” I replied quietly.
“And brother,” said James, patting my back, “that’s not all.” I looked at him. He was instead looking at Marianne, indicating her to proceed. I looked at her instinctively.
“You see, dude,” she spoke, looking directly at me, “that Rachel you seem to have fallen head over heels for, works as an escort. And she is his escort this time…”
“… and she is the kind of escort that I would REALLY talking about.” completed James with a cynical smile.
I could not believe my ears. I was silent. More than anything else, I was heartbroken. Rachel was so innocent looking, so lovely in sight, so warm in heart and so witty in spirit. But in the end, she was a professional escort. That very thought engulfed every other notion and fantasy I had thought and dreamt of her. I looked at James and Marianne giggling at my foolishness. They had every right to do so. I was a fool again, going for what my eyes saw. And just when I thought the worse was over, I heard the phone ring. I was brought back to reality. I looked at my buddies sitting in front of me as the phone continued to ring. They didn’t seem to pay attention to the call. So I got up. I picked up the phone, expecting a fresh order. And I was right. I was glad for that order, I was sure that it would take my mind off heartbreak. But before I disconnected, something at the back of my head nudged me. So I asked, “Alice? Can you tell me whose order it is?”
“Dude, its two dark chocolate supreme orders for room 208, Mr. Atlee. You coming? ”
That was the last straw. I could not believe my streak of bad luck. I turned to James and Marianne. James caught my gaze and stopped laughing. He got up, came over and said, “Something’s up.” I smiled at him. I told him that Rachel had ordered two desserts to her room. James understood. He patted my back and said, “Don’t worry buddy, I’ll take care of that. Chill out, I will follow up on that order. Give me that phone.” He took the phone and spoke up, “Yo! Alice, my babe! I’m coming at you, so you better lay out that dessert for me. Thanks darling!!!” and he kept the phone. He winked at me, and ran to the department. I sighed and turned to the coffee machine.
I sat back at Marianne’s table. She asked what happened, and I told her about the dessert order. She empathized with me with a very audible and visible ‘Oh!’ expression. I did not really look at her. She then stretched out her right hand and held mine gently. I looked at her. She smiled, and told me that it’s okay, and told me not to worry. To be frank, at that point, worry was the last thing on my mind. That’s because I had never seen Marianne so compassionate and gentle to me. Sipping the fresh coffee, I began to wonder if there was something brewing between us. And then, all of a sudden, a fleeting thought of Rachel passed my mind. It rubbished every fresh thought of Marianne that I thought of. I smiled. Somehow, Marianne noticed the smirk on my face. She chuckled warily, releasing my hand, and asked, “What happened?”
“Oh, nothing,” I continued, smiling, taking a sip of my now hot coffee, “nothing at all.”

Love, Beyond Words...

Many words were spent on an emotion called Love. Many love stories were written on the very expression of love. And today I was going to be changed with love.

The church was packed and tension was in the air. And I was in the middle of all that tension. I stood near the altar along with two of my best friends. They were talking to each other, standing a bit away from me. I looked around me. There were many people, both known and unknown to me. To my left were two young women who I barely knew, coupled with three cute tiny tots in flowery pink frocks. The tiny children had miniature tiaras on their heads. And they never stopped readjusting each other’s glittering crowns, much to the delight of the two women overlooking them. I turned to the hall.

The space was cavernous and multi-hued colors poured from the stained glass murals in the tall church walls. Men and women sat with each other, all dressed in crisp tuxedoes and satin gowns. They had filled up both sides of the aisle. My relatives and known friends sat at the section behind me. I looked to the other section, and knew that I had to get acquainted with many new friends. The aisle was lined with white lilacs and sunflowers. Cream satin covered arches with red roses covered the aisle. The choir was sitting on the side, with their black and purple church gowns. The pianist sat at the pipe organ, while the violinists joined him in playing a few hymns. The guitarist sat quietly looking at the gathering. The choir seemed calm with their song folders in their hands. I looked at my watch and sighed. I closed my eyes for a moment. It was time.

Just then the organist and violinists ceased their instrumentals. Instinctively I looked at them. They were looking towards the end of the hall. I turned my eyes in the same direction. And I began to sweat. One pair at a time, a woman and a man walked down the aisle. There were three pairs, the women in silver blue gowns and men in crisp tuxedoes. The women were my colleagues and friends, while the men were my new friends. As they walked down the aisle, the violinists played a soft sonata. My best friends patted me on my shoulder and went to their seats. The two young women led the three small children with flowers to their seats. The men and women walking the aisle separated at the altar, the three men coming to my side, and the three women standing on the other side. I smiled at the men and women at the altar with me, and looked in anticipation towards the end of the hall. To add to the anxiety, the violinists too concluded their sonata. Silence filled the hall.

It was noon, and light shone through the main door of the church. My palms were clammy. Just then a shadow spread from the church entrance. In unison, the gathering rose to their feet. They looked to the end of the hall. The organist started playing his piece. Just as the music filled the emptiness of the spacious hallway, I smiled to myself and closed my eyes for a moment. The music seeped into my mind, bringing back a memory. A week earlier, she told me that she loved Coldplay’s ‘Fix You’ for its meaningful lyrics. And she even told me how much it related me to her. And today, on the most important day of her life yet, her favorite song filled the hallowed emptiness of the church. It was a bold step, since the priest was orthodox in the ways of the Church. But he had a good heart, and gave his consent for the song to be played. Prior to this day, I sat down with the choir and explained the need for this song and told them to give it a soulful composition. And today, as I listened to the song playing from the pipe organ, guitar and violins, I knew that this WAS her song. The song was perfect, and this was her moment.

A silhouette was visible at the entrance. But as they came close, I saw Clara, my love, holding the arm of her father. When I saw her clearly, tension left me. She looked lovely in her flowing white gown. White satin flowers seemed to fall down her gown as she slowly walked down the aisle, towards me. The gown trailed behind her, giving an effect of her walking amidst white roses. The gown was simple, yet it highlighted her figure with every step she took. A thin white veil fell from her tiara, covering her glowing face. Clara held a bouquet of pink roses in her white, long gloved hands. She wrapped her right hand around her proud father’s left arm. As with me, all the people gathered in the hall were amazed at the transformation of a girl who grew up before their very eyes. She looked beautiful, and I was so proud of her. As the choir started to sing ‘Fix You’, Clara looked them and then at me in amazement. And she started to cry.

Many people sighed at the sight, and some women blotted their eyes with their handkerchiefs. I too was overwhelmed with emotion, and tears welled up in my eyes. Her father patted her hand in consolation and smiled, braving a tear. As she neared me, I stretched out my right hand. She managed a smile, and looked at my hand. At the front row, she turned to her father. Her father lifted her veil and kissed her cheek. He then went and sat next to Clara’s mother, who was already crying in joy. I looked at my parents, and saw them hold each other’s hands. They smiled at me and nodded in consent. I smiled back at them, silent as ever. Clara turned to me and smiled. She took my hand and stepped up to the altar beside me. She covered her face again with the veil. I looked through her veil into her moist eyes, never letting go of her hand. Clara and I looked towards the altar at the priest. The reverend smiled at us and beckoned the congregation to sit down. The congregation sat down. The choir remained standing, softly singing the song while the priest began to recite.

Clara always dreamt of a short and memorable wedding. Today she was getting what she wanted. We faced each other as the reverend spoke. He spoke of the commitment of two souls, in harmony, through love and pain, joy and sorrow, and through the journey of Life. But I was not listening. I was lost in the mesmerizing sight of Clara in front of me. I looked at her cherubic face, those moist eyes, scarlet lips curving into a smile, her thick curly hair that fell to her slender shoulders, her neck decorated with a string of pearls and her ears glittering with pearl solitaires. I held Clara’s hands in mine, and felt its warmth. As she gently gripped my hands with a smile on her teary face, we promised each other a lifetime of commitment and love, without saying a word. I looked at the priest, who continued, saying, “Shall we have the rings?”

The bridesmaid and the best man presented the rings to Clara and me. As the Reverend pronounced the vows, we exchanged rings. My hand was trembling as I slowly slid the wedding band up her ring finger. My heart fluttered, and my spirits rose. The priest smiled at us.

And he said, “Before this gathering, you have promised each other your love and have given each other rings to wear as a sign of your deep commitment. It is my distinct pleasure to declare that you are now husband and wife. You may kiss one another.”

I looked at her and smiled. She quickly lifted her veil and smiled, tears streaming down her face. I wrapped my hands around her and held her tight. Then with one hand behind her head, I looked into her eyes for a moment. Her eyes were barely open and her head bent back, waiting for the kiss. And we kissed. The choir still sang our song, and the congregation rose to an applause. When we parted, we thanked the priest and faced the gathering. The three cute flower girls came forward and gave Clara flowers. Clara bent low and gave each girl a kiss on the cheek. She got up and looked at me. I smiled at her and kissed her again, much to the encore demanded by the gathering. And the rain of rice fell on us both.

Holding her hand, we ran down the aisle towards the doorway of the church. At the entrance, the warmth of the sun greeted us in our new life as one. There was our getaway car ready at the church entrance. I went over and got into the car. As I opened the door for Clara, I saw her toss the flower bouquet behind her. Rounds of cheers emanated from the crowd as the bouquet landed in the hands of a lucky young woman. Clara quickly got into the car and we both waved out goodbye. As we drove out of the church’s courtyard through the wrought iron church gates, I felt a rush of emotions through me. It was coupled with the feeling of Clara wrapping her arms around my neck as she rested on my shoulder. We were married at last.

After driving a while, we stopped on the side of the road. I turned off the engine. I looked at her. She returned my look, and I could see that she was relieved. Then she sat back, and moved her hands in a series of gestures. I read her signals and responded back through hand gestures, telling her that we will first go to the hotel and change up for the reception. She looked at me in silence. I signaled her, asking what’s the matter. She paused a while and replied with gestures ending with a closed fist over her heart, telling me that she loves me forever. I did not gesture back at her. Instead, with fresh tears in my eyes, I reached out and kissed her once again.

As we treasured a private moment in tender passion, I still couldn’t believe that I would have found love and companionship in a person with a speech disability as I. And today, I was glad that that person was none other than Clara. It was in her that i had really discovered love, beyond words.

--- FIN ---

00:00:09:76

For the love of Spirit...


00:00:00:00

Bang!” went the pistol. At that instant, Justin’s vision was blurred. He hurled himself off the ground with his mammoth legs, packing enough thrust that he could have moved almost 260 kg. He moved his toned arms rhythmically to balance himself. So powerful was the thrust that blood rushed to his head. His lungs contracted, and he took short, controlled gasps of air.

00:00:01:14

By this time, Justin had covered 11 meters. The rush of adrenaline mounted within him. By now, he recovered from the thrust, and his sight became clearer. He had literally flown with the drag effect resulting from the initial thrust. He felt light and near weightlessness for the first instant, managing to touch the ground nearly 5 times on foot.

00:00:02:42

23 meters covered, and Justin felt the drag reduce. His eyes were red with the rush of blood to his head. He felt his eyes ready to pop out of their cavities. The pain was unbearable. His heart kept pumping blood, but not enough was returning back. Involuntarily, he started breathing faster, his diaphragm moving up and down in ascending motion. This action pressed against his lungs and heart. It massaged his heart and gradually the inflow of blood increased. And Justin felt the pain ebb away.

00:00:03:40

Exactly 98 milliseconds later, Justin ran 35 meters. At this speed, he felt the air howl past him. But through the rush of cold air, he could hear heavy breathing. It was not his. He could hear someone pounding the tracks not far behind him. He was not done, yet, he said to himself. He lowered his posture a little to cut the drag. The new material in his racing suit was like the land version of the swimmer’s ‘shark suit’. The air resistance was unlike he had felt before. The airflow enveloped his body suit resulting in lesser resistance to the air. And with glee, he picked up speed. The rhythmic throbbing of his heart seemed to give him new energy.

00:00:04:32

47 meters covered, and a new problem was unfurling. His legs numbed. His arms stiffened. He strained to move his arms to and fro. But he saw the crowd whizzing past. The floodlights were glaring. The lights seemed to navigate him down the rubber tracks. It was an exhilarating experience for Justin. He captured the moment through the corner of his eye. But the thuds and huffing behind him cut everything off. They were getting louder, clearer and dangerously, closer. Instincts told Justin that something was terribly wrong. And through the mounting pressure, he tried to focus on the sprint.

00:00:05:67

Tim had crossed 60 meters, and he managed to get a glimpse of his competitor. Through the corner of his eye he could make out the navy blue and white spandex and the glistening stud on his ear. It was Olusoji Fasuban, and he was gaining on Justin. And to make matters worse, Olusoji seemed energized. He was closing on Justin with relative ease. The effort was going to be hard. For both men, that is.

00:00:06:52

28 meters to go, and both Justin and Olusoji were neck to neck. Justin’s heart pounded heavily, and he had a bout of breathlessness. But through his setbacks he stayed focused. He never took his eyes off the strip of white at the finish line. To make matters worse, trouble was getting the better of him. He tried to fight away the numbness in his leg. Justin tried to synchronize his running rhythm. But to his dismay, when he looked forward, Olusoji was getting away. And then, for a moment, he lost hope.

00:00:07:89

81 meters over, and Justin was 3cms away from Olusoji. It seemed a small distance to the on looking spectators. But Justin and Olusoji knew that a hundredth a second could make or break a race. Justin knew that it was not going to be easy. He was already having problems with his leg. He tried his best to control his breathing. And to his luck, his heart pumped oxy-rich blood into his system. With newfound energy, he surged ahead. And for the first time, he knew that he had a chance in this competition.

00:00:08:96

8 meters to go and Justin blazed across the tracks through the chilly air. At this speed, he felt the cold sweat fly off his face. He closed in on Olusoji, and both men knew that they were straining themselves. Justin’s abdomen was taut with his legs moving as quickly as possible. The throbbing of his heart made his chest hurt as if pounded by sledgehammers. It was a tiresome sprint, but he had faith in himself. And the finish line seemed closer than expected. He could do it, he told himself. He held his breath. And propelled himself forward with a gigantic leap.

00:00:09:76

81 milliseconds later, Justin felt something wrap itself across his chest as he ran. Gradually he slowed down, and covered his perspiring face with sweaty calloused hands. Through the intense pressure, tears and sweat rolled down his face. They were tears of joy.

Then with one hand, he held the winners banner that wrapped itself around him and ran the victor’s lap, acknowledging the spectator’s cheers. At the end, Olusoji came up and congratulated Justin for winning. Then Justin turned to look at the LCD screen clocking the time that he covered. He was shocked.

And to this day, he is the world record holder in the 100 meters men’s race at 9.76 seconds

Hunter

The morning alarm woke me up from my slumber, and I stretched myself in bed. Suddenly I sensed emptiness by my side. I looked right, over to the side where she slept. She was not there. I looked away, and closed my eyes for a while. Then I sat up in bed, and covered my face with my palms. I shouldn’t have shouted at her, I told myself. I knew that I had crossed the line. Now I realized how hurt she would have felt with my outburst. I was ashamed with my act. I had a lot of pressure in mind, and I released the frustration on her. Her fault; just that she was in front of me at that moment. God, I knew I could never forgive myself. It had happened in the past, and of late it was getting more frequent. I had to apologize. And make up for all my faults. But something caught my eye in the distance.

On the doorknob, there was a small note. I got up and went to the door. I picked up the folded paper with my hand and opened it. It was from her. Her handwriting. I felt relieved. But something was different.

“Honey,

It’s a new day today, so the best is yet to come… look ahead.

D.D.”

I read it over and over again. Did she forgive me, I wondered. But then again, I did not feel too optimistic. Then I walked to the bathroom. I splashed some water to refresh myself. The water was already hot. I was surprised. I couldn’t believe that she had actually heated water for me. She always used to push me out of bed to heat the water for us. Well today was a different day. I spent a long time in the shower, feeling the water cleanse me of drowsiness. The sensation of warm water hitting my skin gave me the goose bumps. But it was relaxing. I turned off the shower and grabbed a towel. Wrapping the towel around me, I drew aside the shower curtain. There was a lot of steam in the bathroom. I navigated to the door and opened it. Slowly the mist wafted away. I turned to the cabinet to take out my shaving kit. And then I get my second surprise…

The steam had misted the mirror, but I could clearly discern words on the glass. Once again, I recognize her handwriting.

“Honey,

Surely you have enjoyed your shower. I hope you are now fresh for the new day ahead.

D.D.”

The message seemed to have a deeper meaning. I did not know yet what it meant. But then again, I knew that she had forgiven me. It was typical of her. With a smile on my face, I wiped off the mirror.

With the towel wrapped around me, I walked to the kitchen. I was pretty laid-back at home. I did what I wanted, even wore what I wanted. I opened the fridge to take out some milk, and there, once again, I see a note on the milk carton. It was obviously her note. I opened it, and couldn’t believe my luck.

“Honey,

Your breakfast is ready. You will find it in the microwave oven. Please heat the food. I don’t want you to get an upset stomach. You will get a fresh start today.

D.D.”

And I couldn’t have asked for a better start. She had prepared pancakes and eggs for me. I sat at the table, relishing every moment of this breakfast. But I wondered where she was now. I looked around the room and saw her handbag missing. She had gone to the studio. Well, I thought, I guess I have to return the goodness. I called up office, and told them that I wouldn’t be coming in. Then I sat in the couch, trying to figure out what to do. The curtains were still closed, and my eye trained on a solitary candle upon the showcase. It was right in front of her photograph. I got up and walked towards it. I picked up the photograph. I looked at her face intently. She had an infectious smile and a graceful look. She looked happy, happier than present times. And even through all the troubles I had put her through, she still turned it round and returned love. Guiltiness overcame me. But just then, the flickering flame reflecting from the photograph gave me an idea.

By the time I was almost done with implementing my plan, I heard the phone ring. It was a cordless set, and the surprise I had planned for her had made it difficult to locate the phone. Somehow I managed to pick up the call. I was breathing hard from the effort. But when I heard her on the phone, I held my breath. I wanted to apologize to her that moment. But the words never came out. Instead, I listened to her intently and carefully. She wanted to check on how my day was. Magical, I thought, but I didn’t tell her. I was still skeptical. And then at the point of putting down the phone, she had one more thing to tell me. I was still silent. A short pause, and she told me to meet her at the studio. It was important. Had she finally forgiven me? I certainly hoped so. I told her that I too have something to show her. But she cut me off, telling me that I needn’t worry, the best was yet to come. And the phone went dead.

I looked at my watch. I had one and a half hours before meeting her at the studio. I got dressed very quickly. I knew I would have to move through peak traffic. Reaching her place on time seemed hard. Somehow I managed to get out of the house in twenty minutes. As expected, a traffic jam loomed ahead. Almost forty-five minutes later, I found myself moving at a snail’s pace. I was getting frustrated. But when I looked out of the window, I noticed a florist’s. I was close to the sidewalk, so I parked my vehicle on the side. I walked into the store and asked for violet petunias. She adored them. These were the very flowers that got me her approval. The storekeeper had a good stock of them. Picking up a score of petunias, I rushed back to the car and drove right into traffic. To pass the time constructively, I took out a pen and wrote a small note for her.

“Honey,

Today is by far the best day of my life with you. And I too have something for you. Don’t worry, and like you said, the best is still to come.”

I placed the note amongst the delicate petunias. They lay at the passenger seat by my side. I was getting excited of meeting her. It felt like falling in love once again. I as inched closer to the studio, I thought over how to bring her home. Probably take her out for lunch… No… I would takeaway some lunch… Or maybe even have the food delivered home while I am at the studio with her… Yes… Then I would take her home… Close her eyes while I darken the living room with all curtains shut… Probably light up the candles while her eyes are closed… No, maybe she can help me out lighting them all… Lavender scented ones, yes… Sit at the couch with a glass of her favorite wine listening to her love songs, her talks, feel the warmth of her tender and delectable lips, sharing a priceless moment of privacy together…

The cacophony of blaring horns behind my vehicle snatched the fantasy away from me. The signal ahead was green, and I had not moved my car. Embarrassed, I shifted gears and sped away. But I could not help but notice a sly smile on my face.

I was about eight minutes late when I arrived at the studio. When I entered, I saw a sea of familiar faces. Even though I had been here before, I still felt out of place. But when I saw her, I relaxed a bit, wary of her anger. I expected her wrath, since I had come in late. But to my surprise, she greeted me with a smile. I went forward to greet her with a kiss, but she offered a cheek. I found it odd, for she was quite open with our relationship. She asked me how my day was. I told her that I followed her every instruction and it turned out to be a great day. In return I gave her the violet petunias. The sight of the flowers brought that familiar glow to her face. I was mesmerized. I came close to her, and picked up a faint scent of ‘Sheseido’. It was the perfume that aroused my senses. I whispered into her ears, telling her that I had a small surprise for her. She smiled back and told me that she first wanted to show me something.

She turned around and then back again, holding a folder in hand. I looked at her questioningly. She gestured me to open it. I opened the folder, sensing the worst. But it was a song script. It was full of notes and lyrics. “Hunter” was its title. She told me that it was a song she had written for me. I was touched. It was the most romantic thing that she had ever done for me. I looked at her lovingly. I offered her a hug, but she asked me if I wanted to hear the song. Feeling awkward with my raised arms, I discreetly put them down and nodded. She smiled and told me to sit and listen from the control room. And then she left.

In the control room, the sound engineer handed me the headphones. I looked at her proudly. I told the guys there that she wrote a song for me. They nodded their heads, uninterested. But I didn’t care. I was still proud of her. She looked at me for a while. I returned her gaze. Then she motioned me wear the headphones. The live room was sound proof. When I wore it, she came to the microphone. She asked me if I remembered her telling me that the best was yet to come. I nodded and smiled. She smiled back and told that that moment is now. Once again, she told me that she wrote this song for me. I smiled back at her and gave her a thumbs-up. She smiled back, and then told the team to start the music. And I sat back, listening to the rhythm.

As she started the first stanza, I did not know where she was going with the song. But as she proceeded to the second stanza, I knew something was wrong. I opened the folder and read the lyrics, in horror.

“With one light on in one room

I know you’re up when I get home

With one small step upon the stair

I know your look when I get back

If you were a king, a pharaoh on your throne

Would you be wise enough to let me go

For this queen you think you own

Wants to be a hunter again

I want to see the world alone again

To take a chance on life again

So let me go…

Your red book, a painful look

The TV’s on, the sound is down

One long pause, then you begin

Oh look what’s the cat brought in

If you were a king, a pharaoh on your throne

Would you be wise enough to let me go

For this queen you think you own

Wants to be a hunter again

I want to see the world alone again

To take a chance on life again

So let me go… let me leave…

For the crown you’ve placed upon my head feels too heavy now

And I don’t know what to say to you, but I’ll smile anyhow

And all the time I’m thinking, thinking…

(I want to be a hunter again

I want to see the world alone again

To take a chance on life again

So let me go… ) X 2

Let me leave… let me go…”

I was speechless. I closed the folder. I read the title of the song. Hunter. I never imagined its contents would be so strong. I looked at her. She was looking at me. Deeply. I felt her stare burn right through me. And I saw a tear trickle down her cheek. Sadness overcame me. I thought she had forgiven me. But she gave her answer through her song. I was devastated, not knowing what to say. The guys at the recording desk looked at me, confused. I suddenly felt vulnerable. I looked at her again, and saw her wipe the tears off her cheek. I got up to go to her, but she said no. I sat. She shook her head, and left. I knew it was over.

I left the studio, frustrated and dejected as ever. I got to my car and looked across the car park. I caught a glimpse of her getting into her car. I watched her drive away. Gloomy, I sat in my car for a while. Then I saw something caught in the windscreen wipers. I stretched across to retrieve it. It was a folded note. Her note. I opened it and read its contents. Tears were brimming in my eyes at that moment.

“Honey,

I know you are wise enough to let me go. Only then will I get another chance on life again. It’s the best for us both, so let me go…

D.D.”

(The lyrics are from Dido’s single, “Hunter”. That’s the inspiration to this piece.)

Journey of love - IV (A daughter - II)

That Saturday, I managed to take a weekly off for Amy’s concert. My parents and in-laws told that they were coming too. The day before, I called my wife and told her that I was going to the mall to pick up a small gift for Amy. As I roved the shelves of the shopping complex, I searched for the one doll that my wife knew Amy would like. About a while later, I was heading home with a chocolate brown teddy with a light blue bow – tie. The color reminded me of the day Amy entered our lives. Two hours before the concert, Amy was impatient on getting into the car. Finally, after much persistence, she managed to pull us out of the house and into the car. When we reached the town hall, the crowd was already there. It was the investiture of the new mayor of the town, and Amy and her troupe were to perform in the cultural evening. Before I left Amy in the care of the ballet dancers, I told her that she looked real pretty. She asked, “How pretty, daddy?” I came close to her ears, and whispered with a wink, “So pretty, that you are giving your mom some serious competition.” Amy chuckled and looked over my shoulder at her mother. She stood with my parents, waving at Amy. The instructor took her away. I watched her disappear into the hall.

The ceremony was a boring one. We were impatient, waiting for the performance to begin. Finally, the cultural program began. My dad was prepared with the camcorder. The ballet started. I could spot Amy in the side. She was looking into the dark crowd. I stood up and waved my hand. She jumped up and waved back, all excited. I was amazed; she did not show any signs of stage fright. My colleagues wished me luck as the performance began. I watched the dance intensely. Her every move and step; they were flawless. She was so focused for her age. And she always smiled. I smiled too. Until….

As she moved for the final turn on the stage, I noticed that she was not smiling. Instead, she was panting. Instinctively, I knew that something was not right. I held my wife’s hand as I watched Amy take her final leap on the stage. But she did not. All of a sudden, she stopped in her tracks. I was unsure of what was going on. Amy looked in our direction, her eyes rolled, and she collapsed. Our little went into some kind of convulsions. As the hall erupted in concern, time slowed down as I looked at my daughter. I read her lips. She said slowly,

“Help me, daddy….”

My wife let out a shriek. I left her hand and raced to the stage. The other ballet dancers gathered to a side, scared by what was happening to little Amy. I rushed to Amy’s side and picked her up. “I AM TAKING HER TO THE HOSPITAL!!!” I shouted out to my family. As I carried Amy in my arms, she felt so frail. No, I thought, maybe it’s the dress that she’s wearing. “Amelia!” I told her, “Stay with me. Daddy is here now.” I headed to the car, and my wife was in the driver’s seat. She said that she would drive. I sat in the backseat with Amy in my arms. We got to the nearest hospital quickly. Thankfully, there was no traffic on the road. As soon as the car drew to a halt, I got out with Amy in my arms and rushed to the casualty ward. I entered the ward, with tears in my eyes. “HELP ME HERE!!” I shouted, “MY BABY IS NOT WELL!!” A nurse rushed to my side with a stretcher and put Amy on it. As we wheeled her into the emergency room, I looked at my girl. She was unconscious and sweaty. I was so scared that I could not control my emotions. Soon my wife came to my side, and I hugged her, not wanting to let go. I wanted this to stop. But it didn’t.

The doctor called us to his office. We asked him, “How’s our girl?” He looked at me slowly, then away, and said, “I think it’s better if you first sit down.” I know people and situations, and I knew that I was going to hear something bad. I sat down with my wife. I held her hand. She was tense. She had every reason to be so. I patted her had comfortingly and told her that we will see this through. I looked at the doctor. He was grim. “Well doctor,” I asked, “What’s wrong with my daughter?”
“She has a heart problem.”

I was shocked. I thought of many things, but never expected this. My wife was already crying on my shoulder. I controlled the tears in my eyes. “Will she be fine?” I asked him, “When can we take her home?”
“You cannot take her home.”
“Why not?”

“I hate to tell you like this, but Amelia will not be with us for long.”

My wife opened the door to Amy’s ward. She looked frail. And there were many tubes in and out of her body. My wife went to Amy’s side and sat with her. My mind was still reeling of the meeting with the doctor. He told us that Amy had a rare heart problem where her heart was working too hard. One of her heart valves was deformed. The tragic part was that her condition was at an advanced stage, and there was nothing that the doctor could do. I was lost in thoughts. I wondered what I would have to do next. I looked at my family in front of me. I saw my wife and my daughter. She was lying in bed with Amelia. Their eyes were closed and my wife placed a gentle hand on her sleeping child’s heart. The same scene was reminiscent in my memory. It was Déjà vu. The only difference was that earlier, my wife and daughter slept the same way on first day Amy came to us. And now, Amy was leaving us, the same way.

A year later, I sat at the dining table. My wife sat opposite me. I was reading the newspaper. But I sensed that my wife was looking at me. I kept the paper down. I looked at her. I read her face. But I did not want to do that. I got up to go to work. “I will be a little late today dear. Clive wants me to work an extra hour. I will get some food….”
“Dear….”
“… so I will tell Martina to get the laundry and…”
“YOU ARE NOT HEARING ME!!!”

I very well knew what she was going to say. I sighed. “I cannot do it,” I told her, “I cannot forget.” She got up and came over to my side. Emotions were getting the better of me. She sat next to me and held my hand. I gripped it tightly. I looked at her. “My dear,” she said slowly, “you don’t have to remember. You have to let it go. It has not been easy for me, but can’t you see, I am still here with you. We have struggled in the past, and I am sure that we will face our difficulties with strength.”

I sighed. She was right. We really struggled in the year past, since Amy’s sudden illness. In fact, it was year since her diagnosis. The words of the doctor still rang in my mind, crumbling my weak heart. My wife slowly squeezed my hand. I looked at her. She was looking in my eyes, for some sign of comfort. I forced a smile, and gave her hug. But I did not speak. Instead, I held her for a while, in utter silence. She held my embrace. Then I told her, “I think I will go upstairs for a while.” She looked at me, concerned. I caught her look and smiled, telling her, “Don’t worry, I am okay.” She returned my smile and went back to her cooking.

As I walked up the stairs, my mind went up in memory of my beloved daughter. It reminded me of the moments she used to run up the stairs, tagging her dolls and satin ballet shoes. When I reached her room, I paused as I placed my hand door handle. I closed my eyes and filtered out my worries. Finally, my mind was clear. And I opened the door.

The room was pretty much like it was since she was admitted in the hospital. It was neat, with all her toys neatly arranged, but looked untouched. As my sight shifted to the bed, I saw a teddy bear. It was the same one I had given her on the day of her diagnosis. It was laid on the bed, with its feet and torso tucked neatly under the covers. The bed cover was ruffled. I went over the side, and sat there. I placed my hand on the crumpled cover gently. And then, there was a movement. I just looked on as I pulled down the covers. And there I see a small figure, curled to a side, with eyes closed. It was my daughter, Amelia.

Yes, she recovered, and was saved in a nick of time through prayers and surgery. As I stroked her soft forehead, I remembered how she faltered through her first steps post surgery to the boisterous brat she had become now. And all her mischief had made her tired, pulling her into a deep slumber. I brushed her soft cheeks with my fingers, and it reminded me of how she laid in my arms for the first time. The brittle skin of my palm had stirred her, and her eyelids slowly fluttered to life. I looked at her, with a tear in my eye, and said softly, “Hello beautiful.” Her sleepy face slowly brightened with a smile. She sat up and wiped the tear off my cheek, asking, “Why are you crying daddy?”

I just looked at her with a smile, and told her, “It’s nothing dear. Well I…” I fumbled, “I love you, Amy.” She smiled even more and hugged me, saying, “I love you too, daddy.” I held her close, and rocked her slowly, repeating those same words. Then I felt it. It was déjà vu. Only this time, I was sure that I had kept her closer and above all, safer.

And now I felt content, completed with a loving wife and with the flame of my life, the only one, prettier than my wife.

And that was my daughter,
Amelia

Journey of love - IV ( A daughter - I)

That’s not just a word... it’s a labor of love, pain, trust, and joy. The only need of despair would arise at the point of losing her, forever.

I met her mom, six years before she brought a fulfilling joy and pride in my life. Her mom and I were in love, and were sure of a life in blissful, holy matrimony. Within six months of knowing her, I asked her hand. My spirits reaching dizzy heights, I got her immediate approval. Five years of courting her, and we knew that it was time to build our family. A year and two months later, our bundle of joy arrived, covered in soft blue towels.

We decided to call her Amelia. But tenderly, I whispered into her ear, “Amy”. In remembrance of a friend long lost but never forgotten, I was beginning to start a long journey with my little baby.

Mum and daughter entered our flowery entrance of the house, and it was a sweet homecoming. All close relatives were at home, to welcome mother and child. A warm light seemed to radiate from Amy’s luminescent face. I felt warm and tears trickled down my cheek. I sat at a chair and watched my little bundle of joy, passed around my relatives as a symbol of her first meeting with her extended family. I moved my head and caught the watchful gaze of my wife. Post pregnancy, she looked relieved, and overall, very beautiful. My love for her and grown by bounds and leaps. Suddenly I felt a slight, nimble tug at my sleeve. I looked down and saw Amy, in the arms of my mother, her sleepy eyes searching for a familiar expression on my face.

It was a lovely feeling, watching little Amy in her grandmother’s arms, resting on the shoulders that once supported and comforted me. My wife came over and caressed her child’s face. Her arms, wobbly as they were, stretched out to embrace her mother. It melted my heart. I hugged my wife, mother and little baby close. It was a moment I would cherish for a long time to come. The welcome party was short. My wife was tired from the long trip home. I took my child and wife upstairs to bed. Thankfully, the little one was sleeping soundly. As I laid Amy on the bed, I helped my wife into the bed covers. As I tucked them in bed, I knelt by her side, watching my wife admire our labor of love. I bent forward and gazed into my wife’s loving eyes. They were sparkling, and the next moment, tears welled up in her eyes. I kissed her eyelids, and ran my fingers through her hair. She looked up and smiled at me.

I whispered in her ear, “Thank you.” She chuckled and drew me nearer, saying, “No, thank you, for I wanted a girl.” I loved her, and when she told me that, I just wanted to cry. I kissed her, passionately, and felt revived. As I roved her long tresses with my fingers, I heard a small gurgle between us. I broke away, and looked at Amy. The little one was trying to sleep. I laughed quietly at the amusing situation, and so did my wife. I kissed her a quick second time, bent low to kiss my sleeping princess and smelt her hair. She smelt wonderful. I told my wife, “You need some rest. Go to sleep, sweetheart.” I left the room, in silence. Two souls were at rest inside, hearts beating almost in unison as mother and child slept in a warm embrace.

Years passed by. We grew up as a family. I got busy trying to cope up with work at the hotel and playing my role as the doting father for a sweet, cherubic little angel. The cons of my job included coming back home late, tired and weary, and when Amy was asleep. But no matter how much my wife protested I used to go quietly into Amy’s room and sit by her side. I developed a habit of watching her sleep. She curled up on her side, her nimble chest heaving in slow rhythm, and her eyes closed shut. Her face had the most serene expression that would always take away my weariness. I was so proud of her.

Soon I would feel my wife’s hands, gently resting on my shoulder so as not to startle me from my dreamy reality. I looked at my wife. She too had a smile on her face as she gazed at Amy. I caught her gaze and silently said, “I love you.” She understood. She wrapped her arms around my neck, kissed my cheek and called me to bed. She was right. I needed the rest. I nodded, and bent forward to kiss Amy goodnight. I wondered what she dreamt as she slept. The days to follow were busy, and I had to spend a lot of time at the hotel. She grew up quickly, and I made it a point to watch on her whenever I could. The days when I could spend and evening with her, I would sit at my couch and relax with her crawling at my legs.

She was already speaking with a few mistakes, making her as cute as possible. One fine day, while I sat with her on the couch, she started playing at my legs. “Daady, when I go to beach?” she would ask, with eyes sparkling. I would tell her. I told her, “Very soon, my precious.”

“No daady, I want to go soon,” she would say, tugging at my pants.

“Alright dear, I will take you on Friday. Just you, ‘daady’ and mommy.”

You would have heard the sweetest squeal of joy, as she continuously jumped on my legs. Unable to move much, she hugged my legs, and said, “Thank you daady. I love you shooo much.” I looked at my little one, clinging to my legs as tight as she could. I stretched and ruffled her hair. She giggled, tickled by the sensation. I lifted her up in my arm, and told her that I loved her too. Never in my life was I so sure of my words.

My little girl was a feisty one. And naughty too. She was on the move, never sitting silent at one spot. With her around, the house was as noisy as ever. I used to come home late, so I never experienced her ‘wrath’. Only on my off-days would I realize why my wife always grumbled in her sleep. The house would be in a mess, a havoc created by my daughter. Some days, I would tolerate her. On the other days though, she would cross the limit. When she does, I would call out loud, “AMELIA!!”

I don’t know how, or the reason why, but it works. Whatever she does, she stops and stares with concern. I return her stare, but with one of frustration. Immediately, tears welled in her eyes. She ran into her bedroom. When she left the room, there was a sudden emptiness. Unable to hold any longer, I went in after her. Her room was closed. But it was not locked. As I opened the door, I hadn’t the slightest clue that I would be changed man, forever.

I opened the door, and looked around. I managed to spot her white toes beneath the covers. I was sure I heard sobs. In an attempt to reconcile with her, I slipped in beside her. I laid my hand on her head. It was warm. “Honey,” I whispered. She moved. She stopped sobbing. As my fingers moved to her cheeks, I felt them moist.

“Honey, I am sorry,” I told her, “don’t get so sad.” Through the darkness, I saw her face me. She looked into my eyes, almost seeing right into me. I could feel it. I sat upright, and she got up too. “Daddy, I am sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be, dear,” I said, pushing the hair off her face, “I was just correcting you. Your mother loves you very much, and it would break her heart if you don’t listen to her. If you love mom and me, please listen to your mother. I love you very much, dear.”

She hugged me. I sat in silence, and patted her head. “I love you dad,” she said softly. I held her closer to me, saying, “I love you too.” I began to rock her gently. She again said, “I love you, dad,” to which I replied, “I love you too.” We continued repeating these words, and it seemed to go on forever. But there was something about that day. I felt nice in her arms. I felt a sense of longing, and it was a longing to keep her happy, as long as I could. But the way she hugged and held on to me, she felt so vulnerable. Sadly though, as she slowly drifted into sleep in my arms, I had a feeling that I was going to lose her. I put her slowly to bed, and left the room quietly.

My little girl was a lovely dancer. She was graceful with her steps and she seemed to float along the floor. It was pleasing to watch her twirl in front of the mirror. She came up to us as my wife and I sat at the couch, watching her. She said that she wanted to be a dancer. My wife smiled and told that Amy was the best dancer she had seen. Little Amy’s eyes gleamed with pride as she continued dancing. My wife was happy, for one reason, that Amy was not busy messing the living room. I put her in a dancing class, where the instructor told us that Amy was best suited for Ballet. I was enthralled. My wife jumped at me in excitement when I told her the news. We were hopping like mad in the living room, when little Amy stood there, happy, but not knowing what ‘ballet’ meant. To her it was ‘fun’. That time she was a six year old.

I saved up a small fortune for Amy’s classes, and I had never seen her so happy. She loved to dress in those small white frocks and dance with her satin shoes. At the dinner table, when we all sit down to eat, Amy would tell us of all she learnt in the class and school. As she talked to her mom, I looked at Amy’s face. She was bright and very happy too. That satisfied me. Then she came home to tell us one day that there was a concert at the town hall, where her class would give a performance. We were happy. At the hotel, I proudly gave my work buddies flyers of my girl’s concert. Most of them told that they would make it. I really wanted them to see how lovely my daughter was in her dance.

Contd.

Journey of love - III ( Birth)

The room was full of people. Here, I sat on the light blue bench. There was a lot of activity here, but my mind was elsewhere. I was preoccupied with tension. Trying to take my mind off, I looked at the surrounding area. There were many similar benches and the room was painted grass green. Oh, how I hated the color. I felt as though I was in a detention room, a result of disrupting my teacher’s class. But this was no detention room. And no, I had not quite done anything naughty. This place seemed to carry off an air of cleanliness. Occasionally, a few uniformed men and women were patrolling the area. I looked at the faces of those who occupied the various benches. They too seemed to wear a mask of anxiety. One by one, they were called into another room, and new individuals took their seats. Gazing at their looks got me more worried. I looked at my hands, and they were sweaty. I looked at my watch. It was 21:47. I heard cries down the corridor, raising the tensions in my mind. I covered my face with my sweaty palms, and closed my eyes in prayer. I needed to get through this ordeal. I was surrounded with many of my relatives, sitting outside an operation theatre, with my pregnant wife inside.

I started to get jumpy. I had to be inside the theatre. I paced through the corridor, waiting to meet the doctor supervising my wife’s delivery. The theatre door was white, and had tinted glasses on it. It prevented me from looking inside. As I tried to peer inside, I was startled when the door opened. I faced a man in a green uniform, complete with a green shower cap and mask. It was the doctor. “Hello,” he said with arms crossed, “can I help you, mate?” I stared back at him, and replied, “Yeah, you MUST!!” I continued, agitated, “I am the father of the unborn child my wife has been carrying since nine months. And I think I deserve to be with her in this critical moment!”

The doctor quickly apologized and called out, “NURSE! Get this man in, and hand him his scrubs.” He glanced at his watch and continued, “We better hurry.”

I stared at him and said sarcastically, “Yeah, I’d reckon that.”

My relatives bade their well wishes as a nurse rushed to my side, and led me to the washroom. There, she assisted me in wearing the green uniform, and sanitized my hands. She was talking about precautionary measures in the theatre, but I was pondering over the sight of my wife. I did not know how she would be coping with the situation. She often told me that she was ready for the baby, and anticipated its arrival. But it was easier said and done. When the nurse led me to the theatre, I was not sure if I was strong enough. As the door swung open, I saw a bright light focused on the operating table. It too was covered in green linen. There were a lot of people in green mufti surrounding the table. On the side, I saw a lot of equipment, and a tray full of scalpels and other instruments. The sight of the scalpels made me sick. I turned to the operating table. And there she was.

She was in pain. She was sweating a lot, and in tears. She was holding the cold steel railing so tight, that her dainty fingers were white and looked bloodless. Instinctively, I waded through the people, and gently touched her hand. I looked at her, but her eyes were shut. I looked at the doctor. He caught my sight, and nodded in approval. He waved two doctors off her side. I got even closer. The smell of spirit was in the air, but when I came close to her ear, I got the familiar scent of cherry blossoms. I whispered softly, “Hi honey.” She opened her swollen eyes. When she saw me, she cried even more. With one hand, I ran my fingers through her scented hair, and gently placed my other hand on her hand holding the railing. She looked through her moist eyes, and said, “Honey, I am so scared.”

“I too am scared. But we will get through this, dear,” I said, now holding her hand, “that’s why I came back for you.” She smiled for the first time, and it took some weight off my mind. But then, almost suddenly, she face distorted, and screamed out in pain.

The doctor called the shots, “Alright people, lets get it started. She is going into labor, so we better work fast. Do you get me?” All of them nodded. “And Mate?” he called out to me, “I want you to keep your wife calm. Can you do that for me?”

I stared at him for a while, and said, “Of course, I can!” I looked at her and told her softly, “Okay honey, I am with you. Hold my hand, and we will get through this.” She held my hand firmly, and nodded in pain. The nurse who helped me with my scrubs was on the other side of the table. She directed my wife, and instructed her to control her breathing. My wife seemed to calm down. When the doctor ordered my wife to ‘push’, she pushed hard. I felt her effort as she squeezed the blood out of my hand. I too winced in pain; I had not known my wife to be so strong. The nurse directed my wife’s breathing until the doctor called for another ‘push’. I held her hand firmly as she exerted herself. Then I heard the doctor say, “We have the head! PUSH!”

This time, she screamed she gave all she had. My head was close to hers as I closed my eyes in concentration. But suddenly, I heard something different. It was a soft gurgle, followed by faltering, short bursts of wailing. I opened my eyes and looked at my wife. She was exhausted, with her eyes closed. A slow smile writ across her sweaty flushed face. But the shrill screams were not coming from her. In fact, I could hear it from the doctor. I looked at the doctor questioningly. And then I corrected myself. It came from the bloodied little one in his arms. MY little one. The doctor came over with the child. “Congratulations mate, you are officially a pappy!” he said to me, with a smile of relief on his face. I thanked the doctor. Emotions were building within me, and I was speechless for the moment. The doctor looked at me for a while and said, “I think your girl is very beautiful.” I looked at my wife resting and replied, “Yeah, I love her even more right now.”

“Actually, I was talking about the pretty girl I have in my arms.”

I looked at him and looked at the child. It was a girl! My wife would simply freak out when she heard this new revelation. I carefully handled the child as the doctor placed the child in my arms. I heard the doctor say to another person in the room, “It’s a healthy girl born at 22:34.” I looked down at my bundle of joy. She was neatly wrapped in a soft towel and was moving. I was broken, and tears poured out of my eyes. I was holding my first child and it was a memorable moment. She too was crying, but slowed down to a sniffle. My eyes were slowly brimming with tears. Her eyes were barely visible, picking that feature from her mother. “Hello beautiful,” I whispered, slowly, “daddy’s here.”

I cradled my child close to my chest, fumbling with the towel she was wrapped in. The fine hair was matted on her scalp, as she smelt faintly of surgical spirit. I slowly brought my head close to hers, as she fumbled in my inexperienced arms. I felt the warmth of her as I pressed my ear to her wet head. As I closed my eyes, I could hear strange sounds she mumbled with my ear. I felt very light, and I had never felt like this before. As I traced my finger across her cheeks, I touched beauty. They were soft and pink. I lifted her tiny arm with a single finger and kissed her barely open hand. To my amazement, my baby responded by gripping my finger with her tiny hand. I was choking up. I was proud of my beautiful baby. And then, with tears streaming down my cheeks with unending flow of relief and joy, I kissed my pretty girl for the time.

I heard my wife stir. I turned to my wife and slowly placed our child by her side. She looked at me, groggy and asked me, “Well?” I looked at her through my moist eyes and smiled.

“You did fine.”

She looked at me, not getting what I was trying to tell her through thoughts. Slowly, I gestured with my eyes to look at our subdued child. When she looked at her, she gasped and burst with tears of joy. She could not stop saying OH My God! Over and over again. I watched her gently hold the baby. She sensed me staring at her. When she returned my glance, I bent forward and kissed her softly. And for once, my pretty wife ceased her tears. And she looked more radiant than before. I looked at our now sleeping child, and while caressing my tired wife’s cheeks, I simply said, “Thank you Honey.”

And I held my loving family together in a warm embrace, closer than ever.