The inner turmoil – a short story

Rishab looked out the window of his apartment and saw that a white taxi had just arrived at the entrance of the apartment´s building. His father Sukhdev got alarmed with the blare of the Taxi´s horn and hurried out the entrance door of the apartment, carrying suitcases in each hand and a black leather laptop bag slung on his drooping shoulders. Sukhdev was an old man in his early seventies and was long retired from a job in Tata Steel in Jamshedpur. His wife Nirmala, still in her sixties, and though younger than her husband, had turned much paler and weaker. Life had appeared to have been much harsher and brutal to her. She was, of late, diagnosed with a very rare disease, for which she was in continuous treatment for the last few months.

The taxi driver, a dark mustachioed man, with betel leaf spittles at the corners of the mouth, looked at his watch, turned towards Sukhdev, and blurted out anxiously ” Sir, we must leave at the earliest. There is always huge traffic and the drive from Jamshedpur to Kolkata would easily take 5 hours as the roads are not pakka at many places and the Taxi has to ply just on the gravel road for few hours”. Sukhdev retorted back persuasively “Hold on, My Son is coming in a few minutes.”

The driver flicked the trunk of the taxi open, stacked the suitcases one above the other, and slammed the door shut. Soon Rishab and Nirmala arrived there. Rishab touched the feet of his parents, planted a kiss on the forehead of his mother, and then climbed on to the back seat of the taxi. The driver revved the engine and sped away while Rishab was waving at his parents. Watching her only Son go away, Nirmala broke into sobs, runnels of tear started streaking down her face. She dabbed at her eyes with the loose end of her Sari. Her Son – the light of her life and the apple of her eye is going -to a far off land, beyond the frontiers of India, beyond many seas, to a foreign land, where none of his ancestors had ever gone. It was a mixed feeling of joy and sorrow. Rishab was doing great in his career but sadly he would not be close to her eyes. He was working with German Technological giant “Robert Bosch GmbH” as a Software developer and the Company decided to send him to its Munich branch for a few years.

After five and a half hours of harrowing drive, the taxi reached Kolkata. Snaking through the endless traffic, amidst the continuous snarls of cars, buses, and trucks, the taxi finally arrived at Netaji Subash Chandra Bose airport. Rishab whipped out a thin wad of money from his wallet and handed it over to the driver. He pulled out a luggage trolley stacked tightly in columns, placed his suitcases and laptop bag on it, and headed towards the entrance gate of the Terminal. The airport official at the gate smiled at him perfunctorily, skimmed through his passport and flight details, and let him in. At the ticket counter of “Air India”, he got his boarding pass and luggage checked in and started towards the boarding gate of his flight to Munich.

once all formalities were done, the pilot revved up the engine of the Boeing 787 Dreamliner, which then started off and ran on the tarmac, with its velocity picking up instantly, its wheels finally leaving the ground and ascending higher and higher in the azure blue sky. Rishab sat at a window seat and spotted the iconic Howrah Bridge, the symbol of Kolkata, and his frame filled with a deep sense of joy. As the plane flew over Jamshedpur, en route to Munich, he pictured his mother and father enjoying afternoon tea, in one of those houses, resembling miniature toys from the heights of the sky. After 10 hours of flight, the plane descended upon the Munich airport at 6:30 PM in the evening. As soon as he disembarked off the aircraft, he called up India, where it must have been midnight now. Nirmala was still wide awake, awaiting a call from Rishab. She instantly picked up the call on its first ring itself. He informed her that he has reached Munich and would soon board a taxi to his lodging apartment. Nirmala got quite relaxed but there was still a tinge of sadness in her voice. His Son was now far away, far away in a distant land, alone and struggling with the new way of life.

Slowly and steadily Rishab started getting accustomed to the new Life. His German colleagues were very methodical at work and helped him in adjusting to the new conditions. Few months after reaching Munich, he went to visit the “Neuschwanstein Castle”. It looked like a fairytale castle nestled in the lush green highlands. The castle in white and blue towered high in the sky, shimmering in the sunlight against the breathtaking Bavarian alps, arching the horizon. So magnificent and bewitching is its beauty, that Walt Disney drew inspiration from it for its magic kingdom. He made a video call to his mother as he was just a few meters away from the castle. A sense of happiness and satisfaction crept in her as she saw her son smiling in the frame of her smartphone. She cried out with joy “come here, Rishab is on video call” and Sukhdev showed up in a flash. The mother, the father, and the Son went on video-calling for a long time until Rishab realized that it was time to proceed back to Munich.

Ten months had passed since he came to Germany and now it was going to be vacation time. The month of December came calling. The trees, shopping complexes, and buildings across Munich were decorated with lights. Christmas markets flanked the city centers with dazzling lights in the night while Christmas trees and Lifesize Santa Clauses adorned the entrances of shops, cinema halls, Government buildings, boutiques, hotels, and restaurants. It appeared that the whole city got engulfed by the festive mood. Rishab’s colleagues were talking about their plans during the Christmas vacation. A colleague Stefan, holding a coffee can in his right hand, came to Rishab’s desk and asked him, “What are your plans, are you coming to visit the Christmas market with us?” Rishab answered ” No, Stefan, I am flying to India tomorrow to meet my parents. Since the workload in December is not high, I plan to spend 3 weeks with my parents and I have already applied for the leave and Michael has already approved it”. Michael was heading the project for Software development in Java comprising a team of 10 members in Germany and 30 in India, based out of Kolkata. He was quite a busy man in his early sixties, nearing his retirement. The project was quite a challenging one and language was a big barrier in that global project. He could not speak English and the team members in Kolkata could not speak German. Miscommunication was leading to quality issues in the project and so he wanted to have a German-speaking Indian developer to bridge the language and cultural barrier and plug the gaps in the project. Rishab was playing the role of Scrum Master in the team but many of the sprints could still not achieve the Definition of Done. It was difficult to align the thinking of colleagues in India to the requirements of the Sprint. But things were now slowly improving. On his last working day of the year, Rishab went into the cabin of Michael. Draped in a white shirt and black trouser, Michael was adjusting the pair of spectacles on his long nose while also working on an Excel sheet relating to the project. As he heard the footfalls of Rishab entering his room, he glanced at him and exchanged greetings with him. Rishab said, “I am flying to India tomorrow.” Michael exclaimed, ” Ah! Good to know that you would spend time with your family in India” and added jokingly ” Do come back to Germany. Do not forget us”. “No, No, Surely I would be back”, chuckled Rishab and then left for his apartment in the suburb of Munich.

The aircraft took off for its destination in another continent. The massive football stadium Allianz Arena studded with blue lights caught Rishab’s attention. He thought to himself – how India and Germany are two different worlds, poles apart like the Sky and the Earth, like the fire and water. The later loves football crazily while the former venerates cricket fanatically. In one was Sachin Tendulkar a Hero while in other Oliver Kahn was a symbol of pride. Not only that but there are striking differences in food habits and culture too. He was slowly adjusting to the German way of life but he was still missing India, its diverse color, its chaotic life, its hustle and bustle, the noisy neighborhood, the familiarity of its people, its food and most importantly his family members- His Dad, Mom, and his Sister. But after a few hours in the Sky, when the flight would land in Kolkata, he would take a train to Jamshedpur and reach home.

Nirmala hugged him tightly and kissed him incessantly for a few minutes before finally releasing him from her bosom. Tears of joy were streaking down her cheeks. Her Son -The light of her life and the apple of her eye was finally with her again, in front of her to spend a few weeks with her. The family booked a trip to the beach city of Puri to celebrate their Christmas vacation.

They arrived late in the evening in Puri. The lower arc of the sun began to touch the sea. Draped in the color of the setting sun, the sea was turning agile and violent. The waves turned bigger and stronger and a wave splashed wildly at the feet of Rishab and soon receded back and merged into the sea, dragging away a huge chunk of sand from under his feet. He lost his balance and fell down with a thud and before he could settle down, instantly a sloshing wave splashed on to his face with much more ferocity, turning his hair and face salty at once. Soon Nirmala and Sukhdev joined him and they all bathed and frolicked in the seawater till it was a little dark. Hordes of Tourists were going back to their hotels as the sea turned into charcoal. A yacht was sailing far off near the horizon- alone and abandoned in the wilderness of the desolate Sea. Perhaps the sea was its home and it had decided to stay afloat the whole night in sharp contrast to everyone heading home or hotel.

The next day the family set out for the Jagannath temple. After a lot of jostling, huddling together, pushing, shoving amongst the massive crowd of devotees and painstakingly escaping the prying eyes of greedy Pandas, who left no stone unturned in siphoning off money from them in the garb of promises made to invoke Lord Jagannath to fulfill the wishes of the devotees, the Son, the father and the mother reached the inner sanctum sanctorum of the temple. Amidst the blowing of the conch, the chanting of Sanskrit shlokas by the priests, the sonorous ringing of the ritualistic bells, the offering of lights with wicks soaked in ghee and the continuous hailing of “Jai Jagannath”, Nirmala looked devotionally at the deities – Lord Jagannath, his brother Balrama and Sister Subhadra, closed her eyes and prayed for the wellbeing and prosperity of her family- her son, her husband and her daughter but nothing for herself.

The new year stormed into the life of Nirmala and swept his Son away from her. Nirmala hugged Rishab tightly close to her bosom and did not want to let him go but it was getting late and he had to leave for the airport. He looked at her and saw she was getting older, the wrinkles on her face getting more prominent, the flesh of her neck hanging down and the veins of her hands were quite evident now. She was turning frailer and paler like a fish outside water.

Rishab reached Munich and called up his mother but she did not pick up his call. It was a different voice on the other side. At first, he got perplexed but soon identified that it was his brother in law Anand on the line. Anand said hesitatingly,” Mom is in hospital and her rare disease is nothing but a type of Leukemia.” “No, No it cannot be, it’s wrong” and his voice trailed off. A sudden chill of fear and anxiety filled his frame. Destiny has played a very dirty game with him. A few moments back, everything looked good at home but suddenly the world has turned upside down. He pictured his mother lying on the hospital bed with tubes stuck in her nostrils, with eyes closed and his father and sister hovering around her in anxiety, taking all precautions and following all the recommendations of the doctor to bring his mother back to the pink of her health.

The next morning Rishab got up from his bed and placed the kettle on the stove, sloshed the water and milk into it and sprinkled the tea leaves with a spoon, and settled on to his laptop to get to know more about the disease and its prognosis. Many experts believed this disease could be treated and many did not. He was hung between the worlds of hope and despair. One showed him the light on the end of the tunnel, the other promised only death and destruction. He was torn between this fierce battle of life and death, hope and despair, light and darkness. Beads of perspiration gleamed on his forehead and he frantically reacted to a hissing sound emanating from the kitchen. The tea was spilling over fast, dripping down on all sides, smudging the stove and its burning smell wafted into the air and spreading into the living room and the kitchen. Rishab rose to his feet nervously, turned off the stove, poured tea in a cup, added sugar, stroked it with a spoon, and started slurping tea lazily.

He reached the office and greeted his colleagues. They all enquired about India and his family members. He reluctantly informed them everything was alright and sank on his chair and started browsing his Emails. Not many Emails arrived in his mailbox as most of the colleagues in India and Germany were on vacation just like him. He was not in a mood to talk to anyone. His mind was somewhere else, thinking about his mother, her disease, and the treatment. Would she recover, would she be healthy again? In a haze, he answered the query of an offshore colleague in India who asked about some documents on test cases. Stefan hurried over to him, carrying a big coffee mug embossed with the logo of football club Bayern Muenchen in red blue and white and said disapprovingly ” Rishabh, that’s not a right document. I would send over the right test cases to offshore.” Rishab mumbled, “sorry, missed it”.

The color of the Munich landscape changed from white to lush green. The ball of snow turned into the green of the grass. Summer had set in. Flowers were in their full bloom, in red, pink, yellow and many other colors, Butterflies fluttering in the gardens and balconies, Bees buzzing in every possible nook and corner and the Magpies chirping and singing in the trees. But the condition of Nirmala was still wintry, the summer had not set in there, winter was still calling the shots.

On a sweltering Sunday afternoon, the phone started buzzing but he was in deep slumber. The phone buzzed again and again but the whirring sound of the ventilator drowned it. A Magpie squawked in alarm in a distant tree but Rishab kept on sleeping. After a few hours, the alarm set by him in his phone blared out and woke him up forcefully. He rubbed his eyes and sat upon the edge of the bed and noticed that 5 missed calls were from his father’s number. Distraught with fear and anxiety, he called back his father but it went on voice mail. He called back again and again but every time the phone went on voice mail. Sad and distressed, he went to the kitchen to get him some water. In a daze, he opened the water jar with the jerk of his thumb and started pouring water into the glass. Caught in the maze of bad thoughts clouding his mind, he spilled the water over to the floor soaking the rug and drenching himself partially on the feet.

The next day his mother Nirmala picked up his call. She was recovering from the disease. Doctors had not lost hope. There was a chance. She could be saved. Rishab asked tenderly ” Mom, how are you, how is your health now?” Nirmala exclaimed with utter joy in hearing the voice of his son, ” arre. What will happen to me? Nothing. I am fine. Doctors have prescribed some medicines and I would soon be discharged. But you come to India in Diwali. I want to hug you, see you, and love you ” “Sure, Mom, I would be there in Diwali. I have already booked my tickets to India. I miss you so much. I would be there to be hugged by you, loved by you, and caressed by you.”

The lush green landscape turned slowly into red and yellow. The autumn had barged in. The festival of lights- Diwali was to be celebrated in India in a week. Rishabh boarded his flight to Kolkata. He pictured himself entering his home in Jamshedpur and his mother hugging him tightly, showering all her love on him. He smiled at the thought and fastened his seat belts.

He reached Jamshedpur and the taxi stopped at the entrance of his building. Hordes of people had gathered at the entrance of the building. They were whispering and talking to each other, making hand and eye gestures. Their faces looked gloomy and sad. There was a touch of eeriness in their expressions. They stared at him and wanted to convey something but were not able to gather courage. He started climbing up the staircase but the crowd did not thin out. His hands started trembling, a shiver ran down his spine, his heart started pounding faster, beads of perspiration ran down his cheeks. He heaved his suitcases and bag at the door and frantically pushed the door open. Few neighbors were seen whispering and muttering in the living room. They startled to see him. He trotted over nervously to the room of his mother. Nirmala was covered with a blanket from head to toe. Sukhdev was sitting at the edge of the bed, crying and sobbing. Rishab cried out loudly ” Mom, come and hug me, come and hug me, mom, I am there, came to meet you, hug me, shower your love”.
But Nirmala did not get up. She could not hug Rishab now. She would never hug him again. Like the yacht, she sailed off alone to a new world.