The Amazing Case

Story So Far: Pheluda and Thopshe quite accidently (the writer insists!) stumble into Blah Blah Land, which holds a vital clue to the mystery they were investigating.  ‘Find me the person who has answers to all my questions’, the case briefing by their client Lord Henry Williams III had been literally, brief.  Lot of surprises lay hidden in Bhah Blah land– including an unexpected meeting with a legendary sleuth.  Read  The Amazing Mystery   for more details.

And now the remaining part of the story …

‘Welcome Mr. Mitter! I was waiting for you …’, Sherlock Holmes addressed Pheluda  in a deep baritone voice.

‘I am honored to meet you … Sir’, Pheluda responded in a surprisingly reassured voice. Topshe was still staring at the legendary sleuth, with his jaws dropped.

‘And you must be Pheluda’s Watson …’, Holmes’ thin lips curled into a smile ‘ Master Topshe’

‘Follow me!’, Holmes said, turning around and marching briskly down the long corridor. Pheluda gave the attractive receptionist a polite nod and followed the man wearing the ever so familiar chequered overcoat and a matching cap. Topshe followed, trying to keep up with the brisk pace of the two tall men.

The empty, brightly lit hallway extended unendingly in front of them. They walked silently amidst the rhythmic din of their footsteps on the white mosaic floor. The white walls of the corridor were occasionally interrupted by huge silver doors that had big golden signs with embossed letters.

“Conversation in the Park Department” said the door they were currently walking past. It had a closed latch with a huge lock hanging from it.

‘What is that ‘, Pheluda asked Holmes pointing to the locked door.

‘Oh, they have closed that department ‘, he replied with a straight voice,’ There are no conversations in parks anymore’

They walked for what seemed to be at least half a mile, of mostly locked doors – “Chit Chat with Neighbors’ Department”, “Blah Blah with the Green Grocer Department”... closed doors with locks hanging from them – a reminder of a bygone era of blah blah.

‘They have been setting up new departments also’, Holmes said pointing to a row of flashy silver doors. There was a big sign on the door - “Digital Meta-Life Department”.

 ‘What is Meta Life ?’ , Thopshe asked Holmes with a curious look in his face.

‘Data about Life’, Holmes responded ‘Texting, Tweets, Facebook …’, Holmes said opening a door and walking briskly into it.

*****

They entered a small room that was illuminated by warm, yellow light. There was a lit fireplace on the left, a merrily flickering fire and soft smell of burning wood adding to the warm comfort of the room. There were four chairs arranged neatly around the fireplace.

 ‘Have a seat !’, he pointed to the chair next to fireplace as he straightened his overcoat and settled down,’ I know you have a lot of questions, but  why don’t I start telling you why I am here first ..’ , he said digging into his pocket and pulling out his pipe.  Pheluda walked over to Holmes and offered his lighter.

‘Nifty contraption – but does not go well with pipes’ , Holmes said producing a box of matchsticks. He lit up his pipe and blew a big cloud of smoke that spiraled across the room before getting sucked into the fireplace.

‘I was engaged by Lord Henry Williams, perhaps the great grandfather of the person who might have engaged your services’

‘Find me the person who has answers to all my questions’, he had said. He had also said that he will have all his future generations dedicated to this quest until the question was answered.' Sherlock Holmes face became grim as he looked distantly at the flickering fireplace.

‘For the first time in my life, I have not been able to find the answer to a puzzle ... and I have been here for so long …’, he said slowly ‘But time does not exist in this world in the conventional sense – as it does in the world that you come from. Years there are merely minutes here…’

’ So I patiently waited for the next generation of master sleuths who would be hired by the next generation of answer seekers … waited here … right in this world….

…But no one turned up. Apparently they were looking for answers in the wrong places. Several of the master sleuths who were hired for the task -  like Killmaster Nick Carter or James Bond, who I believe had an official license to kill , got so fixated in killing that they forgot about the question they has set to answer…’

‘BB But ... how do you know about all this … I mean what is going on in the world?’, Phedua asked , his eyes locked into the intense eyes of Sherlock Holmes.

‘Blah Blah land manages all the communication in the world’, I have access to all patterns of interactions across the world … across the ages. .. from the first phone call ever made, to the latest tweet by Lady Gaga’ , Holmes winked.

‘Talking about the first phone call, in the world ‘, Homes gave a quiet chuckle, ‘ It had confused me when the inventor of telephone had made the first ever phone call  - “ Mr Watson , I need you here”’

‘It was Graham Bell’s assistant Watson , not your friend Dr Watson’ Topshe chipped in beaming, apparently happy with his general knowledge. Pheluda's omnivore taste of facts and figures had rubbed off on his assistant apprentice.

‘Good Observation. Yes, Dr Watson must have lived a full life in the other world, happily married to his love … while I continue to pursue my quest in this land – trying to find out the person who has answers to Lord Henry Williams’ questions’

*****

‘ I have listened to millions of phone calls, conversations, books, gossips, news since then ..’, Homes  continued his narration as Peluda and Thopshe listened with apt attention.

‘I have scrutinized each and every person that Lord Henry Williams and his following generations could possibly get all their answers from. ALL of the possibilities. But none of options could qualify’

‘When I started this case, It looked like a Mystery  to me. But after all these years – I am convinced that it is not a Mystery. It is a Puzzle. A puzzle that I am unable to solve’, Holmes got up and stood near the fireplace.

‘What is the difference?  I mean between a Mystery and a Puzzle’ , Topshe asked with a puzzled expression.

‘A mystery has missing pieces of the big picture. These pieces need to be found out. A puzzle has all the pieces in front of you – the pieces just need to be arranged’, Holmes replied empting his pipe in a crystal glass ashtray sitting on the mantel.

Pheluda walked up to the fireplace and lit up a cigarette. He offered Holmes one and the legendary sleuth pulled a stick from Pheluda's packet of Charminar. Pheluda lit up Sherlock Holmes’cigarette with his lighter.

 The two detectives stood smoking in silence looking intently at the flickering flame in the fire place.

Mystery – Puzzle … person who has answers to all questions … thoughts ran through Pheluda’s mind at an amazing pace as an imaginary sitar played with an increasing tempo.

‘I think I know the answer !’ , Pheluda  exclaimed suddenly, his face lit up with a wide smile.

*****

‘My first lead was the fact that there are no missing pieces of information. ALL the information is right here and now - as you had found out Mr Holmes’, Pheluda said with a twinkle in his eyes.

‘“Once you rule out the impossible, whatever is remaining, however improbable, is the truth”, these are your words Mr. Holmes. Words that have helped me solve so many cases – including this one!’

‘So, if there are no missing parts of this puzzle and if you have concluded that no one that Lord Henry Williams knew, knows or could possibly know would be able to provide the answer to his questions….

That leaves just one person … however improbable … that person is the answer to the puzzle…’ , Pheluda said beaming.

‘Amazing Case! ... Could not have solved this without your help, Mr. Holmes! ‘, Pheluda said excitedly as Holmes looked at him with a blank expression, the cigarette butt hanging from the corner of his lips.

‘Brilliant !! ‘ Sherlock Holmes exclaimed suddenly, as his face lit up.

The cigarette slipped from his mouth and dropped on the wooden floor creating a splinter of small sparks. He stamped out the butt hurriedly and grasped Phelu’s shoulders,’Brilliant!’, he exclaimed again.

‘But ... WW-Who has the answer of Lord Henry Williams’s questions?’, Thopshe asked with a sheepish grin, trying to keep up with the jubilant air in the room.

‘Lord Henry Williams himself! ’, Sherlock said with a smile as Pheluda beamed, ‘Nobody else ... but he himself has all the answers ... however improbable it may sound, that is the answer to this amazing puzzle'

‘Elementary!’, Pleluda added with a wink as three smiling faces looked at each other in the warm light of  merrily flickering fire.

THE END

Authors Note:

I have been intrigued by mankind's quest to find out the answers of all our questions. People have generally followed several different approaches to get to the truth. 

“Know Thyself” features as one of the less popular and puzzling approaches right above "Find out what is this number 42 after all", approach. Killing people who did not agree to your approach, apparently is one of the most popular approaches. 

But I continued to wonder - am I really the person who has answers to all my questions? And then I met Pheluda in storyland !

The Amazing Mystery

Authors Note: This story is a tribute to the great detectives that lit up my imagination when I was a kid, and to a great extent, still do. And also to Malcolm Gladwell for pointing out the difference between a mystery and a puzzle. And also to … well… why don’t we get to that after we have read the story…

‘How do you know my name?’, Pheluda’s calm voice could not hide that fact that he was surprised.  

The charming lady sitting across the counter smiled as the golden panel behind her slid open to show a guilded silver door. 

Thopshe’s  jaws dropped in amazement as he stared at Pheluda, the lady and the door in quick succession, over and over again.

An imaginary sitar played in the background, with percussions increasing in volume.

******

Pheluda and Thopshe were in England on their latest case.

The pair does not need an introduction in India – the finest private investigators the country had ever seen. The detective scene in India had seen a giant leap, quite a bit of progress from amateur teenage detective duo Rajan & Iqbal and sensationalist macho Colonel Ranjeet.

Thanks to their discovery by Mr. Satyajit Ray, the country could now claim detectives that could give Sherlock Homes and Dr. Watson a run for their money, only if the two duos were not separated in time by a whole generation that is.

But Sherlock Holmes remained an inspiration for Pheluda, who besides picking up Sherlock’s idiosyncratic analytical skills, also picked up his encyclyclopedic knowledge of diverse scientific & anthropological subjects, unarmed combat skills, and of course - affinity to smoking.

It was only last week when Phelu and Thopse got their first international mystery project.  A rich heir in England had hired Pheluda for a case.

The case briefing by Lord Henry Williams III was literally, brief.

 ‘Find me the the person who has answers to all my questions’ , the man with a nasal twang had said slowly, ‘ I am willing to spend as much money as you want to get the work done’ , came the voice after a brief pause.

‘As -much –money- as- you- want’, he had repeated pausing between the words for emphasis.

*******

The duo had headed over to the Dover Cliffs, which Pheluda wanted to visit in his pursuit of a vital clue.

It was a bit windy but they had dressed up appropriately in warm jackets. Pheluda guided Thopshe to one of the cliff trails. Spring had just started and they walked amidst the flora and fauna of the chalk grasslands, enjoying the view of the vast expanse of the channel and continental Europe far in the horizon.

 ‘How do you know that the clue for this case lies here?’, Thopshe asked Pheluda as they walk along the cliff trail.

‘I don’t, Pheluda said raising his chiseled nose in the air to smell the breeze laden with the salty scent of the sea, ‘ But I am sure the author of this story does…’, he concluded with a laugh as he lit up a Charminar cigarette and trotted briskly down the trail. Thopshe followed him with a puzzled expression on his face.

Just around the bend of the trail, there was a wooden sign pointing inland – “Phones”

‘See ! Didn’t I tell you …” , Pheluda said hopping onto the path leading to Phones , ‘That the author will figure out something !’ Thopse had a grin on his face.

The bumpy path led to a parking lot. There was a large four storied building in the middle of the vacant parking lot. It had a big blue neon sign with Phones written on it boldly. They walked into the building.

It was a bit dark inside. There were a row of phones arranged neatly on a table along the wall. None of them were connected– their chords lay folded neatly next to shiny golden phones .

'Hmm, the plot gets interesting' , Pheluda said with a smile.

He picked up a handset and suddenly out of nowhere, a door appeared in the wall!  The white door had a black doorknob. Right in the center of the back door knob was a telephone socket !

Pheluda tried to open the door but the doorknob did not budge.

‘How do we open this door?’ asked Thopshe.

‘Wait, I think I know’ said Pheluda.

Pheluda picked up the cord that was lying neatly folded next to the shiny golden phone . He plugged one end of the cord to the telephone. He took the other end and plugged it into the socket in the center of the black doorknob.

Nothing happened.

He picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’, he said softly into the mouthpiece.

The door on the wall opened !

********

Pheluda  and Thopshe walked into a huge windowless room filled with white florescent light. It was a bit chilly in the room.

There was a charming lady sitting behind a gilded counter at the other end of room. It was a very long walk to her table and they were a bit winded when they reached there.

‘Welcome to the Blah Blah land!’ she said with a pleasant tone.

 ‘Blah Blah land ?’, Topshe asked with a puzzled look on his face.

‘Oooh … I am sorry, I should have explained – please don’t go on the words – words can be misleading”, she said with a smile, ‘Just rely on your intuition and use the words as a stepping stone. Get off the words as soon as you get the concept!'

'We manage all types of Blah Blah that takes place all over the world’, she continued ,‘All conversations, phone calls, newspapers, magazines, texting, emails  ...all Blah Blah’s’

‘How about conversations with people who have answers to all our questions? ’ Pheluda asked after a pause.

‘Yes even that’, the lady replied without batting her eylids. ‘But that is a very small department, you know. And pretty unused.  Those folks don’t converse that much nowadays’

 ‘C-C-Can I make a call, Pheluda said, staring the lady. He could not believe his luck! A stroll along the Dover cliff had led him right to the answer of his amazing mystery! 

‘The author of this story is surely motivated to come the point pretty quickly!’ he thought as an amused grin spread on his face.

‘I-I need make a quick phone call - to a person who wants to talk to the folks who have answers to all questions – the small department you just mentioned …  can I make a call from here?’, Pheluda asked the lady.

‘Sure, here you go’, She produced a sparkling golden phone out of nowhere and put it on the counter.

Pheluda  picked up the handset and was relieved to hear the soothing dial tone. As he put his fingers on the dial pad, to his surprise, he realized that I did not remember the number to dial!

‘The phone number of Lord Henry Williams III was in the phone book which I left in the hotel”, he said as droplets of sweat formed on his forehead. ‘Topshe, do you remember his number?’ he asked Topshe with urgency in his voice. Topshe shook his head feebly.

The dial tone in the phone ended playing a message.

‘If you want to dial a number, please hang up and try again’, said a lady from the other end. The distant message coming from the receiver filled up that quiet cold room.

‘Oh, did you get the Hang up and dial again department Mr. Phelu?’ the receptionist asked with a smile, “The Poor folks are pretty overworked – for some reason, a lot of people are not dialing the correct number nowadays …” , she said with a sigh.  Pheluda nodded feebly, not knowing what to do.

“How do you know my name?”, Pheluda’s calm voice could not hide that fact that he was surprised.  

The charming lady sitting across the counter smiled as the golden panel behind her slid open to show a gilded silver door.“Follow me”, the lady said opening the gilded silver door. The door opened into a Inside there was a very long gallery with doors on either side. There was a very familiar figure standing in the corridor.

“Mr. Holmes, Pheluda is here”, the lady chirped in a cheerful voice.

’He asked the same questions that you did when you came here – maybe he is looking for the same thing as you are and you two can work on it together”

Phelu and Topshe stared in amazement at the tall figure with sharp nose, black hair, intense eyes and unmistakable features who was smoking a pipe. Sherlock Holmes was standing in the corridor with a cynical smile on his face.

“Welcome Mr Mitter ! I was waiting for you …”, Holmes said in a deep baritone voice.

Thopshe’s  jaws dropped in amazement as he stared at Pheluda and Sherlock Holmes quick succession, over and over again.

An imaginary sitar played in the background, with percussions increasing in volume.

Continued  in The Amazing Case ….

The Crossing

"Welcome sir", the man in crisp navy blue security uniform said cheerfully giving me a polite bow.

He then proceeded to give me a brisk but thorough body frisk with a portable metal detector that would put any American Airport  TSA personnel to shame. 

Before I realized what happened, the man had done his job. He gave me a polite bow again and opened the door of the hotel as I looked at him bleary eyed and disoriented after my transcontinental flight.

The multistoried hotel was located just across the largest technology park in Hyderabad. I looked out of my room window at the rows of huge buildings across an empty road. It was late in the night but most of the buildings across the road were lit up, their glass edifice shimmering brightly against the night sky.

"The hotel is just across the road from the office park , the HR manager had chirped cheerfully over the phone, " it is verry convenient" she had said rolling the r's in a fashionable south Indian accent.

"We also arranged for an office drop, it will take you right upto the office building. It is a big campus - too many buildings, the cab will be verrry convenient" , the r's rolled again to convey the emphatic message.

Looking across the road I wondered which of the buildings hosted our office."If it is just across the road , I can perhaps just walk to the office" , I thought before dozing off to sleep.

***

"The cab is ready sir !", the cheerful receptionist greeted me. The security guard, who had given me a body frisk last night, approached me with a polite bow and placed my rollon laptop bag in the cab.

“I will just walk”, I had changed my mind. The cab driver and security guard nodded their head in unison and stood still, waiting for me to make my next move. I want to leave my laptop bag in my room" , I said politely. The security guard retrieved the bag from the cab and handed it over to me before I could blink my eye.

I turned back to enter the hotel lobby and lo and behold, our speedy Gonzalvis security guard was standing at the entrance with his portable metal detector !  No one could enter the hotel lobby until his work was done. A polite bow, a blurry flash of the detector across my body, another polite bow and I was in the hotel lobby.

I left the bag in my room and returned back, clutching my iPad, scurried past my speedy frisker, into the walkway leading to the road that separated me from my destination. It had rained last night and I walked carefully avoiding the puddles and stood next to the zebra crossing, when a blast of horn drew my attention.

The road was swarming with vehicles that would speed up just before they approached the zebra crossing. 

It was a Serengeti stampede !  Endless rows of vehicles of all shapes and sizes ran across the road. The elephantine bus swaggered as it ran towards the crossing as the warthog autorickshaw wound it's way through the swarm of wilder beast cars. Motorcycles jumped through the stampeding vehicles like gazelles, only pausing to honk as they passed me.

"Look at that silly man !" the striped gazelle honked teasingly to the brown wilder beast, which honked in agreement as it swerved toward the elephant. "Ooooout of my wayyyy !" A long blast from  the huge elephant cautioned the swarm of gazelles that overtook it in an attempt to have a closer look at the silly man who stood clutching his iPad on the zebra crossing, with his eyes wide in amazement.

It was a wild !  I stood on the fringe of the road for fifteen whole minutes, hoping to catch a lull in the traffic and cross over to the other side, but the endless swarm of vehicles did not stop. Not even for a second as I looked longingly at the buildings across the road.  

Just then a woman strode  past me and hurled herself into the traffic - almost with a deliberate vengeance.  I gasped as she effortlessly floated through the stampeding vehicles which screeched and screamed as they ran around her.  I got occasional glimpse of her long braid between the speeding vehicles, as she floated across the road and reached the other end of the road and merged into the flow of office goers entering the office park.

***

A flurry of emotions ran through me and I surprised myself as I started to chuckle, much to the amusement of passerby’s. "I guess I have lost practice", I was still chuckling as I walked back into the hotel and was being frisked by my familiar security guard, third time  in the day.

“Can you help me cross the road?", I asked the security guard. The chuckle had helped to keep my ego at bay. The security guard smiled shyly.

“No I am serious", I said, still unable to wipe off my grin.

The guard handed over his post to a colleague and walked with me out of the hotel. I could see the traffic zipping past us slow motion as he dove right into the flow, grasping my hand in the last moment.

Like little Simba guided by the Lion king through stampeding animals, he strode across the road ignoring their  taunting  honks. He looked at the speeding gazelle square in the eyes, stared at the elephant, raising his arm and signaling the wilder beast to slow down. 

Look, step, stop, look again, trot,  signal, step .... We were at the median now. Turning his head to the other side, he followed the sequence again and before I knew, we were at the other side of the road.  Shiny buildings stood lined  up  in from of me.

"Thanks ! " I smiled at speedy .  "I guess I  am out of practice" I added smiling sheepishly.

****

" Your hotel drop  is ready", the HR manager said peeking into the  conference  room. " It is a short drive, but the evening  traffic can be verry bad. But the hotel is so close no ... It is verrry convenient ..."

" Look,step, stop, signal, trot, stop ..."  I thought picking up my iPad.

" I don't need the cab .....", I said getting up, " I need some practice !"

 I walked out of the room as the HR Manager looked at me with a puzzled look on her face.

Palma non sine pulvere

‘He is too young for fifth grade’, the bearded priest said somberly.

My parents shuffled uncomfortably in their seats. ‘He is a good
student . He will manage, Father ...’, my mother replied with a
hopeful voice.

‘Do you know what that means, boy?’ father D’Souza had asked me ,
running his fingers through his black beard, looking at the nine year
old boy sitting across the table. I shook my head looking at the
school emblem he was pointing to.  The colorful emblem had a shield
with two lions and a banner that said “Palma non sine pulvere”

‘It means - No reward without hard work’, he said in a firm but kind
voice. ‘Are you ready to work hard, boy?’

I gave a fleeting glance to my parents who were sitting in the
principal’s office with me. Then working really very hard not to look
at the three feet long cane lying on the table between myself and the
principal of the school that I was about to join, I nodded.

We walked out of the Principal’s office beaming. My parents much more than me. And it was not without reason - I had just secured admission in St Peters College. The school was one of the oldest convent schools in India.  Spread across a sprawling fifty acre campus, this all boy’s school, established in the middle of the nineteenth century, was one of the prominent schools in Agra. The school had hosted visits by known dignitaries, boasting visitors like Prince of Wales and Mother Teresa among several others.


***

My mother had started my schooling much earlier than other kids. As a result, I was much younger than my classmates and invariably the smallest kid in the class.

‘You should try to be like Golu uncle’, mother would say very often. Golu Ganguli was a genius relative, who started his first grade when he was three years old and became a licensed doctor before his twentieth birthday.  

I have no doubt that the genius would have been much happier if his parents had given him a lesser academic challenge - and a perhaps less funny name.

Apparently, I had not inherited the genes of my genius uncle and had to spend a large part of my early school years trying to figure out what was being taught in the class. An equal amount of time was then spent suffering the consequences of not being successful in my effort trying to figure out what was being taught in the class.

The only part of the school day that I looked forward to was the mid day recess.

The somber countenance of the campus would erupt into a joyous outburst during the school recess.  Sound of laughter, screams and shouts would ring across the school, overflowing from the large campus walls into the roads surrounding the school.

Several vendors lined up in these roads. Chuski Ice Cones, sweetened Suparis, tangy Churans and hot Samosas were in constant demand. While most of the vendors timed their arrival during the break, some had their business open all through the day, relying on the unauthorized trickle of students who dared to sneak out of their class to cater for a food emergency.

One of those enterprising vendors was the Chuski ice cone seller who stood with his hand driven cart lined with colorful syrups in glass bottles neatly arranged along the perimeter. Right in the center of the cart a big slab of Ice lay covered with jute cloth. The Chuski wala  would expertly shave a block of ice into a small earthen cups, dowsing the white ice with a colorful blend of syrups before slipping it into one of the several eagerly waving hands.

The hustle and bustle of the recess got vastly amplified during three weeks every year- just before the elections for the school parliament.

***

The members of the school parliament were elected by a secret ballot during the school Election Day. There were three political parties in the school and canvassing was allowed in the school recess time. The parties staged processions through the campus with large banners soliciting  for vote. 

Students distributed leaflets and shouted ‘ Vote for Labor Party’ , ‘Vote for Liberal Party’, ‘Vote for Democratic’, ending in a friendly faceoff slogan shouting match at the end of the recess.

I loved participating in those noisy gatherings. Rubbing shoulders with the big high school students who seemed larger than life, my loud voice made up for my small stature.

After elections, the leader of the party with majority seats was appointed as the Prime Minister - the face of the college, who made key note addresses and represented the college in all inter college gatherings. Inside the college however, it was the reign of the number two in command - The Law & Order Minister.

The Law & Order Minister, acted as the head of the student body helping in the enforcement of the school’s code of conduct and discipline, acting as the first line of governance before a disciplinary issue was escalated. Escalation usually meant sore bottoms for the offenders.

The Minister had the authority to make an offender run around the school grounds as a punishment for loitering during school hours, coming late for the morning school assembly or coming to school without proper uniform. Often seen taking inspection rounds around the school, walking through the hallways and playgrounds, he was the envy of lesser mortals like me, languishing in the confines of the classroom.

The smallest boy in my class, I always ended up standing in the front row of the morning school assembly, looking with awe at the symbol of authority among the students, standing next to the Principal’s podium.

I could not guess at that time that several years later, I will end up being one.

****

‘You are perhaps the smallest law and order minister we ever had’, Mr. Nath had joked after I was sworn in.

I still remember walking around the campus for my first inspection round. The freedom of walking outdoors during school hours. The fresh air and the distant sounds of the classroom chatters floating through the windows.

And the hot sun!

It was so hot that I was drenched with sweat even as I tried to walk under the shade of the trees that were scattered along the edge of the huge playgrounds. I walked along the perimeter of the school to the side door of the school. The iron door almost singed my palms as I opened it. I peeped out - there were no loiterers. Glad that my work was done, I was looking forward to the cool comfort of the classroom fan.

‘This job may not be as much fun as it appeared to be after all’ , I thought flicking droplets of sweat from my nose.

The chuski ice cone wala who was standing next to the door, smiled at me sheepishly. I smiled back and reaching into my pocket, pulled out a coin.

‘One large cup please’, I said wiping sweat from my brows.

****

 ‘How is it?’ I asked my ten year old son Rishi as he bit into his ice cone.

We were sitting on the warm sands of Redondo Beach in California. It was a hot day and the cool breeze blowing from the Pacific was refreshing. A pair of seagulls started to hover around expecting tidbits from the lone occupants of the beach.

' The bestest ice cone in California !'  Rishi joked and offered me a bite.

‘How about I tell you the story about the bestest ice cone in the world?’ I winked, ‘It was sold just outside the bestest school in the world’

As I gazed at the horizon, I could almost feel the sunny sky above my school in Agra, the fresh air and the distant sounds of the classroom chatters floating through the windows, the hot sun, the sweat, the smile of the chuski wala.

And the taste of the large cup of chuski ice cone.

****

Author’s Note:

As a concluding remark I do want to mention that eventually I started
to enjoy the entire school time in the bestest school in the world.
Not sure why, but classes stopped being boring, the games started
becoming more interesting, and it was no longer just the recess that I
looked forward to everyday at school.

It was perhaps because of Mr.Vashist’s enactment of simple harmonic
motion, where he played the role of the pendulum, running across the
classroom with an excited smile on his face.

Or maybe Dr Gagil’s unique approach of teaching Hindi using English.
‘Write a letter to your friend telling him about the environmental
changes in the neighborhood’, he would say somberly in fluent English.
The students were supposed to translate his instructions into Hindi
before executing them.

Or perchance Mr. Sharma’s jokes on scientific etymology, Mr. Sinha’s
discourse on differential equations punctuated with stories about his
motorcycle, Mr. Anthony’s leisurely approach to physical education,
making boys sweat while he kept an eye standing peacefully under the
shade of a tree twisting his mustache, Mrs. Bhatia’s encouragement
to a small boy to stand up for himself and against bullies or Mr
Edwards diligent coaching in gymnastics that helped me claim the
position of team captain.

Or because of the countless school friends who touched each other’s
life without any of us realizing that we did. Much before our thoughts
were conditioned by the toil of the world.

Several years after I graduated from St Peter’s, I was sitting with my
Thesis advisor in his cramped office at MIT. ‘Are you sure about your
research topic?’, he had asked me ‘ It will be a lot of work’

‘Palma non sine pulvere’ I said with a hint of mischief in my voice.
My advisor gave me an amused grin.

‘How true, isn’t it?’ he replied. I had not expected the middle aged
professor of German descent to interpret the Latin motto of my school
in Agra.

‘No reward without hard work’, he continued, ‘You know Prithvi, hard
work is the reward in itself - isn’t it?’ , he said looking out of the
window.

I followed his gaze. The frozen Charles river shone brightly under the
winter sun.  The naked maple trees lining the river stood shivering in
the wind. A branch pine tree ran across the window laden with fresh
snow – like heaps of fresh ice cones!

“Hard work is the reward in itself “

Had I finally understood the motto of the bestest school in the world?

Don’t Tell Anyone !

‘Are you sure that we have the correct address?’, I could not hide the hint of nervousness in my voice.

“Turn Laafft on Kalapana Road” , the much familiar GPS  lady’s voice crackled across the car. On our left was a thin winding road that cut its way through what looked like huge a coal mine spread along the ocean. 

Shiny black rocks lined the road and small thorny bushes occasionally erupted from the cracks between the rocks, accentuating the eerie landscape. On our right, the Pacific Ocean was fiercely splashing against the shore adding a somber soundtrack to the surroundings. The setting was quite a deviation from the huge velvety green mountains and lush green vegetation Hawaii is known for.  

“Drive 3.5 miles to your destination. On your Laafft” , the computer generated voice cracked again as I took the left turn.  On our left was an expanse of ugly black volcanic rocks. On our right were uglier black volcanic rocks that were being incessantly pounded into jagged shapes by the ocean.

 Anita had booked the accommodations on the Big Island of Hawaii. “It’s a surprise”, she had said with a mischievous smile. I am sort of a person who does not enjoy surprises - especially on vacations. After great coaxing and cajoling, she had divulged that we will be staying close to one of the best black sand beaches in the world.

And it was indeed a surprise. The drive along the road was like witnessing the geological evolution of the earth unfold in front of our eyes - the big volcanic rocks got small and smaller; making way to black soil that was ferociously claimed by lush vegetation.  Mangrove trees materialized near the coast and a lush green evergreen forest sprang almost out of nowhere. The road winded cautiously through dense canopy, as colorful ferns stood guard on the either side of the road and creepers with huge green leaves hung down from the branches of the trees.

*****

“How did you find out about this place?”, the resort manager asked us as Anita elaborated on her goggling skills. “Kehana Beach is just across the road.  It is the best black sand beach in the world. ”, the manager said proudly, as Anita beamed a smile at me.

“The kids will love it !” , Anita said as we headed toward the famed Kehana. Rishi and Tanu follows us hopping through the ferns . The kids seemed much more interested in chasing the small frogs that sat camouflaged under the bushes.

‘Hurry up!’, Anita implored as the kids sat crouched next to a Ama’u fern trying to trap a small frog.

‘Why can’t  we just play with the frogs?’, Rishi complained as the small hopie frog jumped away , dodging the enthusiastic  admirers.

‘Don’t you want to see a beach that is black? Anita said widening her eyes and dropping her jaw wide to emphasize the wonderful new experience we had in store for our kids.

 ‘Where is the beach?’, Anita asked expectantly as we walked across the small parking area perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean. I had no idea. We were on a cliff that was at least a hundred feet over the ocean. Precariously balanced big boulders were scattered along the edge of the cliff, leading down to the ocean which was lashing itself incessantly on the volcanic rocks.

‘Let’s ask’ , Anita walked briskly to a woman who was walking towards her car with two toddlers in tow.

“They are so cute’, Anita pointed to the chubby two year olds, who looked like twins. Not identical though as one was a boy and other girl. We could tell.

‘Why are they not wearing their chaddis?’ , Tanu asked, tugging my arm for attention pointing at the kids walking in their birthday suits. ‘They must have wet them in the beach”, I tried to explain glancing at Anita who was having a conversation with the lady as she loaded the toddlers in her car. The car was covered with decals of all shapes and sizes.  After what seemed to be a very long conversation, Anita was back with directions. ‘That way’ , she said pointing to a narrow opening between the trees.

There was a narrow path that led to the beach, the path lead to a trail the made its way down the cliff. I offered to lead the expedition and we made our way down.  As we were climbing down the rocky path, the surroundings seemed familiar.  And then I made the connection as I recalled a beach Anita and I had visited when we were just out of college. 

It was a long time ago and that beach was in Goa.

*******

‘I have to pee’ , ten year old Rishi, declared as we were near the end of the decent.

‘You can go in the restroom on the beach’, I offered.

‘Why can’t I go right here?’, Rishi  insisted “ I need to go bad ‘

‘You cannot do that type of stuff in public … in America  ... ‘ , I tried to explain.

This was not the first time we were having this conversation. Rishi had this knack of springing this surprise at the most inconvenient locations like the top of a crowded trail end or in middle of the lake on a fishing boat.

’Why can’t I go right here”, he would say on these occasions. 

'No indecent exposure... you can get arrested' , I would joke , as we would hurry towards the closest  restroom.

My eyes were searching for the restroom as I was the first to step off from a big boulder into small makeshift steps made out of rocks, on to a beach that was jet black.The secluded beach was guarded on all sides by towering cliffs and the only access was the narrow winding trail that we had just descended from. Soft black sand stuck on my toes as I helped Rishi down the rocky stairs. 

Then I noticed something unexpected as I glanced along the expanse of black sand. We were on a nude beach.

********

There were several  stream of thoughts that ran through my mind as I realized that I was standing on a nude beach with my ten year old son who was desperately looking for a place to pee and my wife and five year old daughter would be joining me in the next few seconds. 

‘Look at the black sand!’, I said widening my eyes and dropping my jaw wide. The decoy did not work.

‘Dad there are naked people on the beach’, Rishi remarked almost as casually as he was commenting about a hopie frog.

Anita and Tanu had descended down the stairs. Anita’s expression changed from the feeling of awe (seeing the black sand) to surprise  (seeing the bare bottoms on the black sand) to worry (seeing her kids standing next to the bare bottoms on the black sand).

‘The best black sand beach in the world!’, I remarked, smiling sheepishly as Anita stood still, fumbling for words.

‘I cannot see a rest room ‘, Rishi’s voice was surprisingly contained as his sister Tanu pulled his arm and said something in his ears giggling incessantly.

‘Can you see that bush?’ , I asked pointing towards a grove towards the back of the beach – just where the cliff started. ‘Do it there’.  Rishi gave me a smile and walked confidently towards the grove to relieve himself. For once I was not worried about indecent exposure.

We took a few pictures of the black sand cinematographically editing out the occupants and headed back up the cliff.  

****

Anita and I had climbed down a similar cliff several years ago.  Along a winding path through rocky ledges to a secluded beach in Goa in India.  One of my friends had recommended this place.

’ Calangut and Bagha beaches are for tourists – if you want to see the real stuff, go to Ozran’, he had said.

‘Where are we going?’ , Anita had asked we drove along the winding roads on a rented Enfield  motorcycle.  ‘It’s a surprise’, I had said.

 We had parked the motorcycle on a parking lot at the edge of a cliff overlooking the Arabian Sea.  A narrow path had wound down from the parking lot, makings its way to pristine white sands. That morning, Anita and I had descended down that path to right in the middle of a nude beach.

‘I swear – I did not know about this’ I had tried to explain with a sheepish smile.

‘Who are you kidding!’, she had responded mischievously.

****

The kids were once more busy chasing the hopie frogs as we walked towards the resort from the beach. Anita and I sat down under a mangrove tree watching them. We had not spoken to each other since our recent adventure unfolded. 

Anita looked at me and started laughing. I joined her, our laughter echoed along the deserted Kalpana road, interrupted by excited squeals of children who had just caught a frog.

‘We are even now’, she remarked, catching up her breath,  ‘and about this Kehana Beach adventure … Kisi se nahi Kehana- OK! ‘  

‘Kisi se nahi kehana’: ‘Don’t tell anyone’ in hindi.  

A Bullshit Story ?

‘Are you OK babuji?’  a tight knot  of vegetable vendors surrounded  Golok Babu as he lay sprawled over a pile of potatoes.

‘Throw some water over his face’, shouted one. ‘I cannot see his face, help me turn him around’, shouted another as he tried to turn Golok Babu, who lay face down on the pile.  The heaving sent him rolling down the pile of rounded tubers - the limp form glided down the heap and stopped against the sack of cauliflowers stacked at the back of the mud and straw vegetable shack.

‘Abe Bhaag!! Saand vapas aa raha hai!’ (Run!! The Bull is coming back!) The loud shout ended the humanitarian activity in the busy corner of “Budhwari Bazaar” – the weekly farmer’s market that congregated every Wednesday on an open ground next to the Government Intermediate School of the sleepy little town of Rampur. 

The vendors left their wares and dispersed as the big bull charged down the muddy lane of the Bazaar. Golok babu stirred slightly as the sound of the mud squelching hoofs came closer and closer…

****

There were seven farmer markets scattered around the town of Rampur, one for each day of the week.  Golok babu sometimes found it confusing as he had to recall what day of the week it was, before heading out the appropriate market. His job as the manager of the busy petrol pump and automobile service station, did not give him time to reflect upon what day of the week it was. Every day was equally mundane and boring – except Sunday, which was his only day off in the week and the day when he partied with his friends.

‘Why can’t they setup a permanent farmer’s market’, he fumed as he waded through the muddy slush from rainfall that occurred last night, clutching on to his big jute bag with bamboo reinforced handles.  

‘Bull Shit!’, he muttered under his breath as he maneuvered around a big bull that was sitting calmly on the middle of the muddy road. The black bull with a brown hump on its back, was chewing cud calmly as its glassy eyes gazed into a distance. The Bull turned its head lazily towards Golok babu as he jumped over a puddle, holding up the trousers of his tight Safari Suit, rolling up the big red jute back tightly under his arm.

His wife Savita had bought the bag especially for Golok Babu from Belgachchia when she had gone to visit her sister in Calcutta.’ He always loses his shopping bag ’, she had complained to her sister. ‘Why don’t you get him a brightly colored one – that will be easy to spot … even in a crowded bazaar?’

Golok Babu was bent over picking up medium size Haldwani potatoes from the big pile in front of him when the commotion broke out. Amidst screams and yells, the sound of mid squelching hoofs got louder and louder. Bang! The Bull’s horns grazed Golok Babu’s buttocks, barely missing it, as it’s forehead whacked into its target. Golok Babu went flying head on right into the pile of shiny yellow potatoes.

****

Golok Babu had just turned forty last Sunday. He had a small party at his home, attended by his close friends. ‘You don’t look forty at all’, his best friend’s wife squealed handing Golok a wrapped present. It was a tee shirt that said “It is all downhill from here”. She and her husband had laughed in glee imagining Golok’s face when he would open the gift.

‘It is the black hair’, Golok beamed flicking his dyed hair, ‘I got it from my grandfather’, he lied as his grandfather ashes squirmed in their resting place in the bank of river Ganges. Golok put up his best mock laugh that would put “Gabbar Singh” to shame as he opened the gift and showed the tee shirt around.

‘He was promoted yesterday’, Savita said beaming to the guests, who feigned a polite smile. ‘He is the General Manager now!’. The guests had to try harder to retain their smile – their hosts were really making them work today.

The fact was that Golok babu had been doing exactly the same work for the last ten years which was basically making sure that the workers of the petrol pump did not sleep at work and maintained their fear of getting fired.  ‘Bull Shit’, Golok Babu would roar in his squeaky voice to an erring service man.

‘Bull Shit’, he would roar again to a dozing pump operator, before slipping back into his air-conditioned office and dreaming about what he would have for dinner.

Every three years or so, the owner of the petrol pump would come up with an innovative designation and announce it in front of the grumpy staff wearing dirty overalls. The people at work hardly cared about the designation change – at least from the bigger scheme of things about getting work done. Neither did Golok babu care whether these people cared or not. Strangely, the people who he really cared about if they cared about his designation were the guests he met at the Sunday parties.  

****

The sound of hoofs stopped suddenly. Golok Babu turned around, the potatoes digging into his aching buttocks. The hustle, bustle and commotion had strangely dissolved into an eerie silence. Then it happened. The big black bull widened it's snout before opening up its lips to show a row of blackened teeth causes by years of cud-chewing. It spoke.

‘Do you even know what Bull Shit means?’, the squeaky voice was grossly out of place. Besides the fact that your don’t expect a Bull to speak, say if it did - you would  expect it to sound something like Simba’s dad in  Lion King, or in the worst case like the donkey in Shrek. This one sounded like Mickey Mouse!

‘You said Bull Shit when you passed me at the entrance of the farmers market ...’ the Bull continued.

Golok babu looked at the Bull with a dazed expression. ‘It is a hhhabit’, he squeaked ‘I say it all the time…’

‘ But do you know what it means?’

Golok did not know how to respond to that question. His brain told him to answer the question with specifics about the etymological origin of the slang - how it originated in England, its close cousin “Bollocks” and how he had picked it up at college and had used it frequently since then.

His smarting bottom told him otherwise. 

‘Let me tell you what it means’, The Bull sat down on the muddy path in front of the vegetable shack and plucked a bunch of radishes that had been neatly arranged in front of the vegetable shack with their green leaves sprawled like a headrest for the shiny white roots. He finished chomping as Golok babu watched in silence.

‘It means saying half truths to impress others’, The Bull gave a quick snort as he wagged its tail to smack an ant that was climbing up his muddy rear. ‘They taught us in Bull Shit 101. Can’t become a Bull until you clear the course …’ , he added with pretentious humility. The Bull then lowered his neck and wiggled his hump. ‘Bull Shit has a significant strategic importance for us ‘, he said in a lowered voice, quickly glancing around him.

‘We the Bulls of the world are really counting on you humans to restore us back to the fame we had in the past. Those were the days - companion of Lord Siva, a whole constellation to ourselves’, the Bull sighed, ‘We are counting on the affinity of the human race for Bull Shit to make that happen again’ the bull looked straight into Golok Babu’s eyes.

“I do it all the time Mr. Bull’, Golok was quick to spot an opportunity ‘Saying half truths to impress others …’ , He boasted offering the Bull a leafy bunch of spinach, ‘I don’t stop even there, when there is no one around …  I Bull Shit to myself’, he added in a lowered voice.

‘Good’, the Bull said breaking the eye contact ‘Super. That is how it should be. It starts with you and before we know families, societies, town, cities and countries start bullshitting to each other. The entire world drenched in the sweet smell of bullshit’, The bull grabbed another bunch of radish and started chewing it slowly.

 ‘Out of all the people that you could have goaded with your wise head – why did you choose me?’, Golok babu could finally muster the courage to ask the question that has been sifting through his mind.

‘I can’t say ... I spotted something …’

‘It is was the red shopping bag – wasn’t it?’

‘No – not that’, The bull replied lazily ‘It was your red underwear that is showing through your ripped suit’

Golok babu sprang on to his feet and examined the big rip in his favorite suit. The suit that had gotten tighter over the years as the dinners he dreamed about during his work piled up in his body. The white suit had become off white after years of work and Sunday parties.

The pant of the safari suit was torn right along his buttocks showing his red underwear !

The End

How does that matter ?

RRRRRRRRRRRRR-RRRRR!! The engines started and the plane started moving, going fast then faster then the fastest it could possibly go. The plane took off. I thought about my homework, then suddenly, ppppppsh! The plane flew through a cloud so fast that I felt sick. I tried to get my attention off it, so I started to play my DS …

‘How is it?’, Rishi asked his mom expectantly.

‘It is great Rishi …’ Anita said as she browsed through the story her fifth grader son had written.

‘Which part do you like the most ?’, Rishi asked. He was now peering over Anita’s shoulders, breathing down her neck.

‘Hmmm, I will have to go with this …’  

When we got to the Emerald bay,  I pretty much dived in the water because I was in a hurry to see the fish and when I did I was aghast. The fishes were all sizes; shapes and colors, there were purple fish, orange fish, green fish and any other color fish you could think of!! I saw at least 1,000,000 fish.

‘But you need to fix the grammar in a lot of places’, Anita winked at Rishi. Just then Rishi’s five year old sister who was hovering around the room, decided to jump into the action.

 ‘I want to read that story too!’, Tanu declared, trying to grab Rishi’s notebook.

‘You cannot even read!’ Rishi responded cruelly ‘besides, I won’t share my story with you – go write your own’ 

Tanu and Rishi’s ocean of sibling love was currently under low tide. The trouble had started about fifteen minutes ago when Tanu refused to share the candies from the goody bag she got from a birthday party of her classmate.  Rishi had been fuming all morning that he was not invited to his sister’s friend’s birthday party.  Tanu's refusal to share goodies from the party had pushed her brother over the edge.

‘How about I tell you both a story’, Anita suggested jumping into the couch. The leather couch felt warm as the late afternoon sun shone through the patio door. Tanu and Rishi snuggled around their mother.

Once upon a time, there was a huge lagoon overlooking vast expanse of blue Ocean in the western coast of the island of Oahu.  Huge volcanic mountains guarded the sandy beach along it’s coast, their mossy green slopes casting an emerald shadow over the sparkling water.  

In the lagoon were white corals and colorful fish. The fish were all sizes, shapes and colors; there were purple fish, orange fish, green fish and any other color fish you could think of!!

‘That part is from my story!‘, Rishi exclaimed, grinning ear to ear as Tanu glanced at him from the corner of her eyes.

‘I told you I like that part ...’, Anita smiled and continued with the story…

But this story is not about the green mountains, the emerald lagoon or the colorful fish. It is about something just across the bay, deep in the Ocean – two little waves. A small wave called Honu and his friend Meha. 

‘Was Meha Honu’s girlfriend?’, Rishi interrupted.

‘How does that matter? Shut up!’, Tanu was getting back her pound of flesh.

Anita resumed the story quickly, averting the impending flare up.

Honu and Meha lived with millions of other waves in the ocean.  They spent most of their time jumping in and out of the ocean with other small waves, making the ocean look like a giant trampoline. 

‘I can’t wait to a become a big swell’, Honu said eying one of the big swells lazily rolling around the surface, not too far from them.

‘They say that one has to learn the language of the winds, and follow them to faraway places before you become big – it that true? ‘, Meha remarked plopping next to Honu.

‘Yes that is true’ , Honu replied ‘ And don’t tell anyone ...’. He added with a hushed splash,‘ I have almost learnt the language of the winds. They say that westerly winds will pass again this way soon. I am going to follow them … ‘

‘I don’t want you leave me alone’, Meha was almost in tears. It was difficult to detect that though because the tears looked pretty much like rest of her – salty water.

‘I won’t.  I will take you with me.’

Several waves had followed the westerly winds a little while ago. Honu had watched in admiration as the first wave had set out on the ocean following the wind and as other waves had followed. He had been preparing for his own excursion listening to the incessant splashes of the big old wise swell that ebbed around the little waves, sharing with them drops of wisdom.

‘The wind takes us out on our journey – without it, we are nothing’, the big old wave had said, ‘Never forget that’.  Towering over the little waves, the big swell looked remarkably peaceful as it rolled around on the surface of the ocean. ‘Also, it gets a bit cold when the wind gets strong – put on your white caps if that happens’, the old wave had said.

But the words of wisdom were forgotten as soon as the wind had picked up. The waves had scrambled out on the ocean surface with a rush of excitement.  Like a giant roller coaster through the ocean – the ones on the front riding under the illusion that they were leading and the ones on the back under the illusion that they were following as the winds heaved them towards their destiny.

‘Why did the small waves forget about the old wave’s words?’, Rishi asked

‘Is the Old wave Grandpa of the small waves?’  Tanu chirped in.

"How does that mater?" it was Rishi’s time to get back at Tanu.

Anita smiled and continued with the story…

So the westerly winds arrived shortly.  It was a clear morning and a wise old wave was telling them about stories from faraway seas when the wind had started to pick up.

 ‘Hey !  I am shining like a diamond!’, a small ripple shouted, basking in the reflected glory of the mid morning sun. ‘Of course you are!’  The wise wave did not want to dampen the enthusiasm of the small ripple, ‘You must see the waves near the emerald lagoon which is just down the horizon though …‘, he continued as he patiently rolled around the restless ripples, ‘ I have heard that the waves there look like red rubies !’  

‘How can a wave look red?’ Meha had wondered but she was too shy to ask.  Both Meha and Honu were less than a day old which almost made them teenagers in wave years. They had not seen a sunset yet.

Just then the winds picked up again. ‘Follow me’, Honu shouted at Meha as they set out in the open sea.  Meha followed Honu and along with countless other ripples, started speeding up towards the horizon.

‘Do red waves really exist?’ Meha asked Honu as they glided through the ocean surface. She had been wondering about what the old wave had said just before they set out, ‘I would love to see a red wave.’ 

‘You don't believe in the old wave’s stories, do you ‘, Honu laughed ‘He is mad. Blue waves, yellow waves, even green waves I can imagine. But how in the name of floating kelp can a wave be red?’

Honu laughed as he swelled with the wind – he was getting bigger.

They cruised along for a few more hours. The winds were picking up and the waves had put on their white caps. ‘The old wave did talk sense sometimes ... like putting up the white caps ...’, Meha sort of  liked the old wise wave - his quiet roll was different from the restless ripples surrounding her.

‘Ha ! everyone knows about white caps’ , Honu shouted above the wind ‘ How about the other rubbish he talks about -  like all of us being connected ?  You, me and every other wave being just a small part of the ocean … do you remember that ?  That old wave – I tell you … it’s time for him to evaporate.’

A faint outline of a shore appeared far away near the horizon, and with it a swarm of pelicans who glided noisily past them. ‘


Watch out’, Meha shouted as a row of Pelicans dived towards Honu. Before Honu could realize, the pelicans crashed through his ebbing form as he watched them in disbelief . His quiet disbelief turned into horror as the pelicans reappeared, each of them flying out with a squirming Anchovy in its beak.


‘The old wave did say that there are treasures hidden in the ocean- just beneath the waves’, Meha  said excitedly. A visibly subdued Honu took off his white cap and rolled silently towards the shore. 

It was getting dark and the familiar blue sky had started to turn orange. The distant shore was getting closer and closer as mossy green mountains loomed above them. Just then Honu crashed into a big reef that guarded the emerald lagoon. Meha crashed shortly after, creating a big splash of salty water.

The spash of water spilled into the lagoon filled with colored fish- The fish were all sizes, shapes and colors; there were purple fish, orange fish, green fish and any other color fish you could think of!!. 


The splash started small ripples in the lagoon. The emerald ripples danced in joy as the sun set across the ocean.

The End

Anita, Rishi and Tanu lay quietly, basking in the late afternoon sun. ‘You used that part again – the part with colorful fish’, Rishi said breaking the silence. Tanu was staring out of the window at the sun which was setting behind the woods.

‘I really liked that part’ Anita replied poking Rishi on his side.

‘Did Meha and Honu Die?’ Tanu asked, still looking out of the patio door.

‘The pretty red ripples in the emerald pool … they were new waves , weren’t they?’, Rishi  asked looking at Anita.

‘How does that matter?’ Anita hugged Tanu and Rishi and rolled over in the couch, playfully pinning them down. The room was filled with delighted screams of the two children.