An Inheritance- part 2

every time i read Stephen King's prose, I'm struck by the numerous phrases of power that he churns out. Phrases that make you step back a second and think, pause to reflect. I try to blatantly imitate and incorporate that into my writing. Well, I try :P...anyways, back to the story.

The letter went thus:

'Dear Son. I know you do not know me well, and your last memory of me is one that I'm shameful of. But that life was a stifling existence. I was not resilient enough to continue even for your sake. In many ways, your mother was much stronger than I can ever be. But I have remembered you everyday in my prayers, never having the courage to reach out to you.

Also, there is something you should know...Oh god, it is so liberating to tell everything, knowing you won't be around to face the consequences. But do not judge me too harshly son. I was there at your graduation, hotel inaugurations, even your mother's cremation, only always watching from afar. I was always, but not quite, there with you.

Anyways, back to what I had to tell you. There is another family I had, from my second marriage. I have a daughter. She is eight years old. They have no one else besides me. With you being a successful man now-oh yes I've heard of your story-I only die with the worry of what will happen to them. I hope you will find it in your heart to at least meet them once. I wish I could ask you to take care of them, but I have no right to tell you anything. I've written them a letter too, telling them about you. You will find them when you come here to read this, for they will too.

I hope you will forgive me, at least in death.

Your father.'

Vineet put down the letter. He had nothing to say. He was numb with the shock of the revelation. At first he felt revulsion towards his father. Contempt for the man's cowardice. But then he realized, this was just a weak man, unable to cope with the world. He decided he would not come to any conclusions, until he met the second wife and the daughter.

'Vineet?' a weak voice called out his name. He turned around to see a woman in her late fifties, entering through the door he had. So there she was. She looked around ten years younger than his mother would have been, but worry and sorrow had aged her a lot in the last 24 hours.

'Yes. How are you?' not knowing what to say, he reverted to polite inquisition.

'I'm good thank you. I read his letter just now. I don't know what to say, how to say it. I'm as much at sea as you..' just then, her daughter came into the room. She was around 17 perhaps, a teenager. Very beautiful, she had her father's eyes, just like he did. Her name was Priyanka, she mumbled.

A long moment passed between the three of them, where he looked at the two of them, and despite them being strangers, felt a kind of warm affection towards them. Maybe it was the fact that he had been living alone for so long, something that he had willingly chosen for himself.

He looked at them, and said slowly, 'It's going to be all right. Let's go.' He ushered them out of the room, and they walked down the corridor.

That's when he realized that you didn't end up becoming your what your parents were. You always had a choice.

I'm going to be the father figure to Priyanka that I never had, he thought.

Living a life alone didn't seem all that alluring any more.

An inheritance- Part 1

can you love someone you've never even seen? someone who is your own but yet a stranger?

'Mr Vineet Mishra, we regret to inform you of the death of your father. Nobody knew much about his personal life, but our registry has you named as his next of kin. We request you to come and collect his remains and effects.

Signed, M/s Kanoria Industries.'

Vineet put down the short but informative letter. It had come in his office mail that morning. He sat down slowly and leaned back in his chair. Looking at the ceiling, body numb and mind racing. He found himself trying to remember the last time he had seen his dad.

He was eight years old back then. His mum was a schoolteacher. His dad worked as a system mechanic in an electrical components company. His parents never smiled or laughed, and never seemed to enjoy each other's company, or anything for that matter. Life was just work, the nine-to-five rut, coming home to do your duties, and starting all over tomorrow. Dad would come late some days but mom never even showed concern. Vineet always wondered whether life had to be such a compromise, and vowed that when he grew up he would be the most cheerful person on earth.

One day his dad just left. No note. No explanation, no forewarning. He left the front door unlocked and ajar, and had worn his favorite pair of loafers as he left with a small bunch of clothes. That morning his mother had shut the bedroom door on Vineet's face, but came out half an hour later looking perfectly composed. Vineet was scared, angry, confused and hurt. He didn't know what was happening or what would happen. His mum held his hand and dropped him to school. He walked home a little slower that night, apprehensive. He came home to see mom set the table like she did everyday, and he sat down to dinner. And just like that, they'd reached an agreement to never discuss his dad again, and face the world as two people now instead of three.

Ten years passed in the same grind. His mom meant the world to him and Vineet wanted to have no close contact with anyone else. He did not trust people. Now Vineet was joining college but to supplement his mom's earning he worked at a restaurant as a waiter and lived off his earnings. The tips he earned, he put aside for future plans, although he didn't have too many of those. He worked hard, and observed everything that happened at the hotel. Four years later, he finished his graduation in hotel management and had become a qualified chef. Those saved-up tips of his had accumulated enough for him to buy a small hand-cart off which he sold various confectioneries. Money came up as word of his food spread far and wide, and the hand cart became a small stall, then a dinghy hotel, to finally a fine-dine location. His rise was the stuff of inspiration.

Yet on the day of the hotel's inauguration, he found himself strangely devoid of emotion. He found only that his mind was thrumming with the numerous tasks he had to take and distribute among his subordinates once the hotel opened. That was when the thought had hit him like a thunderbolt.

He had become what he vowed he would never be. He had become his parents.

He carried the realization with him as a burden, but there were too many things for him to do to sit and mull over it. He got engrossed in the running of the hotel and he turned it into one of the city's finest gourmet places. The day a very imporant food critic had awarded his hotel five stars, he brought the paper home to show it to his mom. Only he found her stationary, head slightly tilted to the left and lips slightly apart. She had suddenly and unexpetedly breathed her last.

He felt like his connection with the rest of the world had been severed. He wanted nothing to do with other people anymore. The ones that were necessary in his work, he interacted with. The ones that gave him business, he smiled and talked with. But no one slept a more lonely man every night than Vineet.

And five years had passed thus. His restaurant had now opened branches across the city, and were soon going national. People just couldn't have enough of his food. But he still didn't have any of him to give to any person.

And now this. This letter. Vineet didn't know how to feel. He figured he should just go and do the necessary, and finish it.

But as he left to get his father's remains, he felt this growing pain inside him. Only he didn't understand why he was feeling sad; he didn't have reason to. It was almost as if he were an outside observer to someone else's pain. He trudged upto the receptionist at the company, and found out where he had to go.

He picked up the urn containing his father's ashes. Vineet found it difficult to objectify those few memories he had with his dad, the entire entity of that being, as a jar and kept it back down, feeling too many things at once.He rummaged through the effects, looking to see if there was anything about him. That is when he found a letter addressed to him. He opened it and started reading.

The Balloon Lady- part 2

sorry for the long delay in between parts, i myself have forgotten half the story by now :P had my exams in between so...anyways here's the rest of it. I didn't know whether to end this story happily or not, cos either one is feasible. I'm gonna write both the endings, the sad one marked alternate. You can choose :P

A million questions ran through her head. Whose was it? How did it get here? How much was it worth? Could she sell it? Should she sell it?

She sat down in a quiet place and thought. No one seemed to have come back to search for it. She kept throwing furtive glances in that direction, looking for a concerned face, a figure bent over, looking for something. But there was no such thing. She probably figured it was someone so rich it didn't matter to them if they'd lost a diamond ring. Just a diamond ring after all.

That brought into contrast her own situation. Poor starving, with nothing in lieu of raising her soon-to-be-born child. At that moment, she decided. She was going to sell it. It wasn't fair that someone be so rich they didn't care, while someone else sat here thinking what the right thing to do was. She was going to get her own.

She got up, careful not to put too much strain on her abdomen. She gripped the ring tightly as she walked towards the nearest jeweler's shop. She stopped looking at the place where she found the ring. Even if that certain someone did come, she was going to continue walking. She entered the store, 'Vishwas Jeweler's'.

The owner was sitting behind the counter, fitting the stereotype jeweler's image completely. A dull white silk kurta, a cap on his head, lots of gold around his neck and on his fingers, and a betel leaf in his mouth. She would have to talk her way to a good price with this one. He looked at the unexpected entrant in his shop and was about to shoo her away, before which she said,

'I have something to sell.' He looked at her ludicrously, as if expecting her to call off the bluff any moment. When she didn't, he decided to shoo her away anyway, until she showed him the ring.

'Where did you get this? Tell me!'

'It is the only thing my dead husband ever left me', she lied. 'I am now in no condition to keep the ring and want what I can make from it. So tell me what I can get for it.'

He extended his hand, and she placed it within his fingers. He took out his magnifying glass and observed the ring under the light for a few seconds, until he put it down with a snort.

'It's a fake. Your husband didn't leave you too much I guess.'

There was a ripple of anger that passed through her when he said that despite the fact that her story was a fabrication. But it was overshadowed by the waves of sorrow that engulfed her a few seconds later. It was a fake! For so many thoughts and ideas to pop into your head, to face so many possibilities for the first time in your life, only for them to be snatched away from your fingers. It felt akin to being punched in the gut. But then she realized, maybe...

'How can I know its a fake? Why should I believe you?' she asked aggressively

'Here I'll show you. Come here, look into the glass. See how the light seems to be spreading all over the place, how its lost its sharpness? A real diamond has very high refractive index, it reflects the light back cleanly. Glass creates a whole lot of diffusion, that is the spreading of light. Besides the linearity of the edges, or how straight they are, also seem glass like. Now do you see?'

She stepped back and nodded slowly, head bowed. She could not believe her luck. She would have been better off not having found the ring at all. It was one thing to not dream at all, but to dream and then lose those dreams? It hurt.

Try as hard as she might, she could not hold back her tears. Her eyes felt pregnant with them, and they spilled out hot and salty. She walked towards the door, about to make her way back to her sordid world, when the jeweler called her. She turned around. His features were set benevolently, and he smiled and told her to come back.

'You didn't listen to me entirely. I never said that artificial jewelery does not have any value of its own. Here, this is easily worth three thousand rupees. Take them.' And he thrust three thousand rupee notes into her hand. Both of them knew full well that it did not cost as much. She wiped her tears and gave him a genuine smile. Not one of those do-you-want-to-buy-my-balloon-child smiles. No these she reserved only for moments of true happiness and gratitude. It lit up her face and for a second she looked prettier than she actually did. She took the money and thanked him. He just smiled.

She walked out into the street. The breeze seemed to blow cooler, the afternoon seemed like evening, and she felt like she was walking on clouds. Alright, her mind ruefully thought, so I didn't find an actual diamond. But I found a genuinely good human being, something rarer than diamonds in today's world. And I got three thousand, which might not be a fortune, but its enough for some hope. Surely hope has not become that expensive yet. There's always that.

She looked up at the sky and smiled. Thank god for small favors.


XXX--ALTERNATE ENDING (Basically just adding two more paragraphs :P)--XXX

After she left, the jeweler chortled silently for a while and then hailed his wife. He told her what just transpired, how he had sold the poor woman something about smudged light and linearity of edges and whatnot. The poor illiterate had bought it hook, line and sinker. Then just to sweeten the deal and clear any last vestige of doubt in her head, he called her and gave her three thousand rupees. The diamond was easily worth three lakhs. His wife just listened to him and went back in. She had learnt long ago to silence her conscience, for it was of no use with her husband.

He looked happily at the figure in tattered clothes, walking away from his shop with a smile. Some days were just much better than the others.

Thank god for small favors.