Heirloom

The sky above the port was the colour of television, tuned to a dead channel. Mrittika looked intently…she could discern the figure of a lone girl dressed in wet rags.

A month ago Mrittika was browsing the television aimlessly. She had tumbled upon channel 666 which she had not known to exist. The channel was showing a stormy night at an abandoned port. A lonely, rusty boat was anchored that swayed to the tunes of the gale. And standing among some tinged pebbles the silhouette of a young girl could be seen. Every day Mrittika tuned to that channel hoping to steal a glance at the girl’s face. Each day the picture grew fainter, one day the boat took the colour of a dead channel, the next day the moor and so it went on for thirteen days. And on the fourteenth day which happened to be a full moon day the vision disappeared completely and channel looked completely dead.

As the moon began to wane the port started reappearing. In a startling moment of revelation Mrittika realised where the port was. Once, shipwrecked, Mrittika’s parents had taken refuge in a desolate island for a night. On that fateful night Mrittika was born. And she would turn 18 in a few days. The island was calling out to her. She had to visit.

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Lined by palm trees quivering in the mild breeze, floating amidst rippling waters the island looked like a wisp of dream under the enchanting stars. Mrittika felt a strange feeling of serenity flooding her senses as she stepped on the island. The scene looked exactly same. Her boat anchored at a corner, shiny pebbles strewn around, a chilling wind wafting through her hair…

Mrittika saw a girl lying supine…she was unconscious. Mrittika tried to rouse her. The girl opened her eyes. Mrittika braced. The countenance of the girl was in no way threatening yet the suddenness alarmed Mrittika. The girl spoke in a low whisper as if she was afraid of someone. “You finally came,” she smiled. “It’s the right time. In a few minutes there would be an annular eclipse and you must stare into my eyes without breaking contact.” Mrittika wanted to ask why…but the moon was about to hide from the sun and the urgency in the girl’s tone possessed her. Mrittika looked into her eyes. Her body started feeling numb…she was drifting into nothingnesss…

Mrittika opened her eyes…she was lying on the island dressed in wet rags. The girl was standing in front of her. When she turned Mrittika got the shock of her life. It was Mrittika’s body. The girl was in her body. She smiled. “You are the new owner of this island. Bye…” Saying this, the girl stepped out of the television into Mrittika’s bed room. Mrittika could see her through the television screen, smiling smugly. Mrittika was suddenly seized by a spasm of helplessness as she saw the dead channel haze engulfing her from all sides. “Let me out...”, Mrittika shrieked. “Shhhh!”, the girl hissed. “Everyone’s asleep. You don’t want to wake them up. Wait for the next baby to be born on the island. You must pass on the island to the next rightful heir.” Mrittika had a thousand other questions to ask…but she was on the wrong side of the television and the girl had switched the television off.

PS: Why the deviation in the nature of the article posted? Well...actually this had won me a prize from The Times of India and some friends who had missed out on reading the published version wanted to take a look.

Of carpals, metacarpals and phalanges...

The little one and grand old one:
The very popular "aari" and "bhaab" respectively. [If you are not a bengali...read along...I am about to explain the concept...and do let me know if such a concept is prevalent in your state as well.] Whenever we had a slight tiff we touched our errant friend's pinky with our own and announced "Aari". The solemn declaration meant we would not talk to each other and would not be seen in each other's company in the playground. Within minutes we did make up if we felt the need to gang up on a third friend...translates to touching of thumbs and announcing "Bhaab". This happened more than 10 times with more than 20 people in the course of a day. And I went to the largest school in Asia...so imagine how difficult it was for me to maintain the balance sheet every day. [Man...childhood was tough.]

The ring finger:
When we stepped into adolescence suddenly the ring finger made its foray into prominence. This is the age when every one falls for some one. I fell for Shahid Afridi and when he broke my heart I redirected my affection and devotion to Ian Thorpe. Then there were others like all (yes, all) the members of Italian soccer team, Alexei Nemov...no, you are not going to get a politically incorrect name in my crush list! Anyway, people kind of believed some stupid stories about the ring finger at this age...however not all people are enamoured by this finger. It's mainly the girls...the ever irritating giggly type of girls who are absolute airheads and laugh all the time in and out of context thinking it to be an alluring trait do this. (I can proudly declare that none of my female friends fall into that category...and neither do the male ones. )

The index finger:
We were all taught that pointing finger at someone else is rude and forbidden. And we know that the best way to get any thing done by a child is by asking the child to refrain from doing it. But this finger lost its significance when I was in fifth grade and the following phrase became popular: "When you point one finger at another person the rest four point back to you" Thereafter I always chose to point at someone using all the five fingers thus absolving myself of any ambiguity whatsoever!
There was another purpose of the index finger. Teachers often announced an authoritative "Finger on your lips." (Why did they have to mention "your"? Had our intentions been doubted at such a tender age? Sick...) We were supposed to place the vigilant index finger on our lips and maintain absolute silence. We obeyed the teachers and became masters of ventriloquism.

The central finger (Am I the first one to refer to it like that?):
What a crushing defeat this finger inflicts on the other finger as we grow up!!! Suddenly, every thing starts to change around us and we curse ourselves for wishing so earnestly to grow up (As if we had grown up in response to those prayers. Proof: I was one wuss who had always wanted to remain under the aegis of my parents...but then...did the sky lords listen? ) And when every single thing in our life goes askew at the end of a long, hard, hopeless day...when we find ourselves at a loss of words to describe the high level of indignation and irritation this dear finger acts as the messiah and puts all our frayed nerves and feelings into proper expression.

PS: People under 18...what are you doing in my blog? Go back to dreaming about pale Pattinson or Emma Watson (Why do their names rhyme? ) placing a ring on your ring finger.