Loss

Anger, pain, hurt, frustration, hatred-she had nurtured and harbored those feelings for over ten years now. She had imagined how it would be if she were ever to meet him, what she would say to him, what she would do to him, how she would hurt him. And yet when it came down to seeing him, being in his presence again, just hearing him breathe, the pent up vengeance had been washed away in emotion. Emotions that she did know existed, feelings that she had forgotten about. In her misery and despair, she had forgotten how happy they had been. How joyful, carefree and gay they had been, how much in love they had been.

"A cup of tea, Mila?" her reverie was suddenly broken by his sweet voice. When she did not reply, he caressed her hair gently, pulling it out of her face. To his surprise, she shrunk away from his touch and said quietly,"I need to leave now."

"Are you sure? It would be quite wonderful if you could stay for a cup of tea. I know you like your morning tea and we have quite a lot of conversation to catch up on while sipping it", he said, still in that godforsaken honeyed voice.

But she had to stay strong, she had to protect herself. He had left her. He had deliberately let her believe that he was dead. He had not even cared enough to bid her a proper goodbye. Instead, she had to weep over a charred corpse, she had to organise a fake funeral, she had to pretend to be devastated when all she wanted was revenge. And this man now wanted her to stay for a cup of tea! The audacity, the defiant smile, the pretense of caring for her!

He could understand that she was in shock. And that it was his fault. He knew that he had to make her stay. He knew he had to make her understand. He knew he could not let her down, like he had done so many years ago. "Stay, Mila. Please. We need to discuss this."

Discuss? She thought. The man had the gall to call what he did to her a mere discussion? The rage came back. "Discuss? You think I want to stand here and discuss what you did ? Not only did you leave me, you let me believe you were dead? Have you any idea.."

"Yes I do. I knew that you knew," replied he, with much pain in his voice.

"You what!", she gasped, not believing her own ears. This could not be true. He knew! He knew she was watching, that she was seeing him leave her, betray her, abandon her. He knew. She could not stop herself or her pent up feelings and with all her strength, she slapped him straight in his face.

"I deserved that, I guess " said he, head bowed with shame, tears in his eyes.

"How could you have done this to me, Tom! Did I mean this little to you?"

"On the contrary, my love, you meant too much. You would have never let me go and I was exposing you to more and more danger. And I could not have lived with myself if something had happened to you. I had to go, Mila. And I had to make you believe that I left you."

She just stared at him, unable to believe what she had just heard. No matter what he said or did now, no matter how logical or illogical his explanations sounded, he had left her to mourn his betrayal. He had deliberately let her see, he had deliberately made her hate him, he had deliberately hurt her.
And there was no forgiveness for what he had done.

"I do not care what you say now, Tom. You hurt me. You wounded me. You left me much worse than dead. And I will not have you ruin my life again. So keep your explanation, keep your excuses and keep your concern to yourself." she said rising from the couch, her voice shaking with anger and rage.

He knew then that he could not stop her from going away, he knew then what he had done, he knew then what he had changed. Her, him, them. And nothing would ever be the same again. He had lost the only woman he ever loved. He could only watch as she got up and left, slamming the door leaving nothing but despair in her wake. 

Deception

Panic mounted in her in fits and starts. But her voice remained unnaturally calm when she made that 911 call. "I would like to report a fire. Its a car parked in front of my neighbour's house. 8, Rue du Pasteur, Paris."

Thirty minutes ago, a busy doctor was trying to get her patient to agree to a surgery. That barely took two minutes as the patient only wanted to meet her surgeon in person to assure her. Such assurances people need, she thought to herself and as if to re-affirm that, she receieved a phone call from her friend and neighbour, Mrs. Durand.

"Hello, Mila. I know you are busy but if you don't mind, would you just come and look at my little Tony today? He seems to be a little ill today and its only been two weeks since the surgery."

"Of course, Gina, don't worry, I shall be there in no time, "replied an ever courteous Mila.

It was probably nothing but it never hurt to be too sure. So she finished up her patients for the day, checked if she had a surgery scheduled for the night and satisfied that she didn't, walked to her car. She started the engine and revved her baby up. No matter what Tom said, she would always love her little Punto. It had been her companion for a long time, be it her college trips in and around the French countryside, or the long trip to Italy she had done with her two best friends. It might not have the best fuel economy, or a powerful engine as compared to Tom's sleek BMW 5 series. But what this car had was memories. And she would always be fond of it. It was while driving to Mrs. Durand's house that she had the idea of starting a family with Tom. And she made a mental note to run it by her when she went and checked in on her son.

In less than 15 minutes, she was chez elle and instead of parking in front of her own house, she parked in  Mrs. Durand's garage as it was opposite her own and had much more space anyway. Tom's car was also blocking their driveway and she made a mental note to remind him when he got back from his day trip to Lyon. He must have left in a hurry in the morning with his colleagues so probably did not get time from his early morning gym session to park it in properly. "Men", she sighed, "can't live or without them".
Mrs. Durand opened even before she could ring the doorbell. "Why come on in Mila, I saw you come in from my window, " she beamed.
"Let's look at Tony and then get down to gossiping, shall we?" Mila replied with a bigger smile.
Tony was looked at within ten minutes, fussed over by both ladies and then decided to be left to his toys by the window as the two ladies settled down to gossip over a cup of tea. "Why, you know Gina, I was thinking maybe I should talk to Tom about starting a family. You think he will take it well?"
"Why come on, Mila. He is an angel and loves children himself. Why he is Tony's favourite Uncle, is he not my child?", she replied looking at Tony fondly.

"Yes he is, Mommy. But Mommy,what is that man doing to Uncle Tony's nice car!" Both ladies immediately went to the window and saw two men completely dressed in black heave something big inside Tom's car. The men then poured something over it and to the horror of the two women, lit her up. Both of them could not believe their eyes and as Mrs. Durand rushed for the phone to call the firemen, Mila held her hand. Mila had seen more movement. She could only stare in curiosity and horror as another man came to inspect the car. A man also dressed completely in black. A man whose  every muscle she knew as well as his thoughts. Or mistakenly thought she did. A man called Tom.

Mila's mind was a whirlpool of thoughts and emotions. What had she ever done to deserve this? She knew very well that what the men had put in inside Tom's car was a body and that it was lit up on purpose to obscure evidence. She knew that when the police came, the charred body would be found wearing Tom's clothes, his watch, his shoes. She knew exactly what he wanted; he wanted the world to think he was dead. Even her. In one blow, he became the cold, dark, mysterious stranger whom she met two years ago. A cold, calculated anger rose inside, mingling with her panic.

"This last man is driving away too, with those two other men. Mila, we should call the police quickly, right?", said a frightened Gina, breaking Mila's reverie.

"Gina, let me make the call,"said she. Panic mounted in her in fits and starts. But her voice remained unnaturally calm when she made that 911 call. "I would like to report a fire. Its a car parked in front of my neighbour's house. 8, Rue du Pasteur, Paris."

Home

It is the sights which strike you first-the cafes, the restaurants, the Eiffel, the sounds kick in later-the tolling of bells at the Notre dame, the gushing waters of the fountains, the street musician's mesmerizing chant. And the rain, oh the incessant rain. Washing away the cigarette smoke and the smell of coffee everywhere. As she breathed it all in, she knew that she had finally come to the place she belonged, she had come home.

"Stop grinning like an idiot, Mila. See this is why you should have never gone away," her friend laughed, braking the car and breaking Mila's reverie.
"Sorry, Marie, but you know.." replied a smiling Mila
"Yes I do, " said Marie, with a chuckle. "Now let's get your bags up and have you settled down."

And as soon she had done the needed settling down, she went straight to the Seine and went down to her favourite spot under a tree. It was a hidden place really, right in the midst of the madding crowd and yet away from it. It had been her happy spot. So she was a little annoyed when she found that it was already occupied. Some idiot of a man, smoking a bloody cigarette, with a bloody book in his bloody hand, had beaten her to it. "Guess it wasn't that secret after all," she mumbled and angrily kicked a stone in front of her. The cursed stone rolled and rolled until it stopped at the feet of the man who was in her spot. And he looked up from his book just as she tried turning away. And the book and the cigarette fell. She thought she had seen a ghost for it could not be, not after all these years, not after all these months. And she turned and ran with all the force she had.

She should not have bothered running in fact because he caught up with her pretty soon. And stopped her. "Mila, give me a chance to explain. Please. I had to do what I did. I had no intention of hurting you. And you know that I had no idea that you would be back here. I would never have come if I knew. I do not mean to cause you any pain or harm. Please listen."
But she stayed silent, immobile, not hearing a word of what he was saying. She put out her hand to touch his face but could not bring herself to. It could not be true, she surely was hallucinating. Maybe it was a bad dream and all she needed was to open her eyes. But her eyes were already open. She suddenly found that she could not breathe and the world slipped out of focus. He caught her in his arms as she swooned and fell.

He brought her back to his apartment and laid her gently on the couch. And watched her sleep. A terrible sense of remorse washed over him, He had done this to her, he had caused her pain and suffering, he had hurt her. And that was as unbearable now as it was then. And he knew that ten years apart had done nothing to change the way he felt about her. And that even a lifetime apart would not rectify it.

Dregs

Time passes fast. One minute, you are watching your own life being consumed in flames, the next, you are on a fast plane to Thailand and fighting against an unknown, unseen enemy-organised crime. It had been 10 years since he last saw Mila. And in those 10 years, he had taken one mission after another, faced death many a time and had even established his own section, his own wing here in Bangkok. They called him Phuna which was Thai for leader. And leader he was. He had not only managed to convince HQ that this was a viable option but a sound economic one as well. Gathering the men and the money had not been a simple task but his passion and dedication had destroyed all that got in his way. He had a mission in his life-an ambition and he would stop at no limit to get what he wanted. He was becoming the man he once was, the man he was when he started out. Young and fresh and full of ideas to change the world, a young Tom had pledged his life to serve the country he loved. His zeal and hard work had helped in transforming a newbie to an asset in a very short span of time. Focused and concentrated on his missions, he had become a valuable agent to the Secret Service in no time. And then he had met her and had been on the descent ever since, But now he was back to what he was. In fact, he was better than what he was. He had no weakness, nothing could cause him pain, nothing could cause him suffering. He had become who he had always wanted to be-independent, strong and free.

Time passes fast. One minute, you are watching your lover's life being consumed in flames, the next, you on a fast plane to a humanitarian mission to Africa, fighting against an unknown enemy-disease. It had been 10 years since she last saw Tom. And in those 10 years, she had taken on one patient after another, helped the sick and the needy, helped man, women, children alike. They called her Malaika, which was Swahili for angel. And angel she was. She had not only completed her mission to save an entire village from possible death from a mysterious plague, but she had stayed on and established a hospital for the locals.  She had come a long way from the surgeon she once was, working in a huge hospital, treating patients in a purely professional capacity where her mechanical hands could have performed every surgery without even thinking. But here, in her village, in a remote area of South Africa, she was no longer the cold professional- the villagers had adopted her as one of their own and went to her for all their problems, not all of them medical. She heard their stories, cured the diseases that she could and enjoyed living in the company of such loving and simple people.  But that did not mean that she was  cut off completely from her old life. She travelled back and forth to Cape Town for medicines and supplies and sometimes even attended conferences there organised for surgeons. She was the same person she was before she met him, strong, independent and free.

But no peace lasts forever. Their worlds were to collide once again. A political uprising in Bangkok and a deadly virus in Cape Town was to link their destinies again. 

Time

Unhappiness. Dejection, Grief. She hid all of them well. She had hidden behind a mask of happiness, joy and ecstasy all her life. She had cared for others without giving any thought to her own desires, her own happiness, her own joys. She had served strangers and family alike, friends and foes alike with passion, compassion and sympathy. The patients came in everyday, smeared with blood and gore, screaming and wailing, crying and suffering. And she greeted them all with a smile and a cheerful hello and then she got down to work, carving, extracting, sewing, stitching them back together like before. In healing their wounds, she became their angel, their savior, their hero. She saw how their loved ones crowded around them, she saw the love and the angst and hope and tears. But in healing them, she scarred herself. She craved for her own loved ones to crowd around her and love her, comfort her, take care of her. It was time to move on, time to be a little selfish, time to focus on her self-it was time to start a family, one she would love and that would love her back. She wanted to know what having her own family was like. She decided to talk to Tom about it, after all they had known each other for two years now and had been happy and in love. He would surely understand and even welcome the idea. It was time.

Worry. Anger. Pain. He had hidden them well but nothing he did could get her to leave him. He had tried to push Mila away but she always managed to come back in his life. He had tried hurting her but could not bear to cause her too much pain, he had tried staying away but instead found himself distracted worrying about her, he had even taken on a lot of work to keep his mind off her but in vain. The memories were too strong and they always held him back. He had never had someone who cared so unconditionally for him, who loved him without any expectations of a return, who understood him, who cared for him. But the work he did, did not permit him to have access to such luxuries. He had to leave her, he had to regain his focus - he needed a change of place, a change of heart. He would take the assignment in Thailand and never come back. But before that, he had to make certain arrangements; he had to arrange his untimely disappearance. In his profession, that was easily arranged.  All it required was a certain car, a corpse charred beyond all recognition wearing his clothes and gasoline. All that required was a certain phone calls and a painful goodbye which he was not ready to bid. But he had no choice. Sighing, he got down to work and assured that the corpse he had been provided with was in the right position. He shut the car door gently and poured the gasoline over his own car. And lit her up. And walked away. It was time.

Logic

He knew he would have to let go. Circumstances were proving to be too dangerous for her to stay by his side. Not to mention hat her mere presence was distracting him from his work. And nothing distracted him from his work. Nobody. She had to go.

He began by methodically searching for a method to remove her from him and him from her. The process had to be non-invasisve and had to create minimum damage for both individuals involved. He would tell her that he needed to leave for a mission of great importance and then would never return. He would perhaps fake his own death and she would be better off for it. She would move on and find happiness again. With another. But even the thought of her being someone else caused his stomach to tighten. However, he knew his work was far more important than any one woman. He needed to look at the greater good; he remembered why he had joined the force in the first place-to serve humanity,to save humanity, to protect humanity. From its own stupidity.

Humans tended to be overly optimistic and often ignored logic while making important decisions. Logic to him was everything. It had been logic which had prevailed in preventing mass terrorist attacks, protecting the lives of heads of state and in averting major missile crisis.
But in his refuge to logic, he had lost in touch with the human inside of him, the part in him which could love, which could give, which could feel without reasoning or questioning. He had become a machine, following orders, executing missions, killing the undesirables so that they could save the millions of others, because it made logical sense-one man's life over a thousand others. He knew it was logical to stay calm in a tense situation because the brain functioned better, he knew it was logical not to get too attached to people because it trained one to be independent, he knew it was logical to be prepared for all eventualities because the laws of probability dictated so.

However so, he could never have trained himself enough for her. Initially he told himself that she was a mere asset, she helped him when he needed it but why had he risked his own life to save hers? That had made no logical sense to him initially but he eventually explained it as his duty to repay the favour she had done him once. Then over the next few months, he justified her presence as a friend whom he could talk to and who could take care of him, giving him more time to focus on his work as his mundane tasks were taken care of.

But when those two men had attacked them, he had felt an innate desire to protect her, which he could no longer explain. He had wanted to kill the bastards who laid even a finger on her, for the first time he had valued someone's safety above his own without being duty-bound to do so. And that had to stop. Now. 

Blood

Blood. She could see blood everywhere. The blood of those two men as they lay on the cold street. The blood from the wounded man she saved in Paris and who had now become her lover. The blood of her own guilt. Blood was the reason she now saved lives; blood was why she had become a surgeon.

It was a cold and dismal day in far away England and a little girl lay on her bed watching the rain patter on her windowsill. She loved the sound of raindrops on her window pane-it was like the rain was whispering its secrets to her.
'My little dove, my child, come out-we are going to your favourite pizza place, ' her mother called.

Little Mila threw back the covers and started to get dressed-she put on her favourite red frock and her red rain boots with her matching red umbrella and ran pell mell down the stairs.

Thunder and a sudden downpour greeted the family as they bundled up in their red Chevy quickly and headed out. Like all little girls, she did not like the thunder so to provide a distraction, her father began to sing to the thundering beat of the raindrops. Her mother coaxed her to join in as well and soon the three of them were singing at the top of their voices. The little girl got so excited that she had a sudden urge to dance and all of a sudden, her seat belt came loose and she slipped in the space between the driver's seat and the rear one. Her father immediately turned back to see if she was all right and her mother beckoned him to stop the car. But in the split second, as her father turned to ensure that his little dove was all right, a truck came up out of nowhere and hit their car at full speed. There was a deafening sound as metal hit metal and glass was shattered. The car spun out of control and skidded off the slippery road to collide with the trees on the side. As the car finally came to a halt, a scared yet unhurt little girl peeked out from her spot to see if her mother and father were all right. She just saw two bodies slumped in their seats. She climbed out of the seat and touched her mother's shoulder. 'Mommy, are you ok?' getting no response, she turned to her father, 'daddy, wake up, daddy'. But neither of them ever woke up. Again.

It was nearly an hour before people found the car by the road. A red chevy with two adults and a child inside, hugging her parents and wiping their blood with her tears.They rushed the trio to a hospital nearby but it was already too late for the parents. They managed to save the child though, soaked with the blood of her parents, mingling with her favourite red frock and her red rain boots.

Questions

Questions-racing through her brain even as her heart told her otherwise. Questions about the man standing in front of her, the person she was beginning to discover, man she was beginning to fall in love with. Why did he obstinately refuse to tell her what he did as a living, why did he disappear at odd times of the day, why did he have so much money? And why had he chosen her.

When they were together, he was funny and a patient listener as she told him all about her life. Growing up in England, moving to Paris and staying there for her profession. He listened as she raved and ranted about the hospitals, the doctors, the patients, the sickness and disease. He sometimes even spoke about his own childhood in England, in a quiet countryside where he lived with his grandparents or of chaotic London where he lived as a student. He talked about travelling-about visiting Spain, Italy and Greece. They discussed ideas, life, philosophy and religion. But despite the familiarity, she was always haunted by her unanswered questions. Who was this man?

One thing she knew for sure that despite his qualities, he was no saint. She had seen him kill. They were in a street in Paris one beautiful moonlit night when they were stopped by a man asking for money. She quietly opened her purse to rummage for some change so she never saw the other men converge. But he did and he knew this was no ordinary begger. Within seconds, there was another man with a knife right behind them who asked them to give in all their money and their valuables.She was ready to comply and she begged him to also. Reluctantly he agreed and lay down all their valuables in a pile in front of them as they instructed. The men were almost about to take the loot and take off when one of them had an idea. "Why not take the woman as well? This man will be no match for our knives. " They came back and started making a move towards her and although he understood no french, he knew that they had a different valuable in mind. One that he was not ready to part with. He moved in protectively in front of her as the two men drew their knives and begun to fight. She had never seen him move so fast or fight so ruthlessly. At the end of two minutes, one was already on the floor trying to fight Tom while the other tried to attack him from behind. But she would not be a silent spectator. She grabbed the closest heaviest object she could find and attacked the assailant on his head from behind. The man dropped like a sack of potatoes. Tom, on the other hand, had managed to wrestle the knife away from his attacker. And within minutes, his attacker lay quiet on the cold hard street. The other man was still alive but Tom was not one to leave unfinished business."Don't kill him, Tom. Please," she begged.
"Look away, Mila if you don't have the stomach for it but I cannot let this man live, " and he plunged the knife in his heart in a brief silent strike.
"We need to leave. Now," he commanded. And she turned away to leave so she never saw him methodically wiping the knife of all fingerprints and throwing it in the gutters. The waters carried away the blood. And the guilt.

Fate

He knew she was trouble when she first walked into his life. In that one night in Paris where he was wounded while carrying out his duties. He still vividly remembered how she helped him selflessly, even when he was nothing but a rude, ungrateful and sullen young man. After taking her leave, he hoped it would be the last time they would be seeing each other. For his sake and hers.

But it was not to be. Business found him again in Paris and a rain drenched one at that, too. He was patiently waiting for the lights to turn green, when he saw her again. Right in front of him. Loose brown hair soaking in the deluge, arms spread out as if to catch every bit of the water that she could and  that wonderful smile that could turn hearts and heads. But why could she not hear or see the car coming straight at her? He knew he had to act and  with a reflex sharpened by time, he grabbed her roughly and pulled her towards him to throw her out of harm's way. Unfortunately in doing so, she lost her balance and she fell, head first, to the pavement. It was a hard fall and he noticed, with horror, the blood seeping out from under her head, becoming one with the rain and the mud. Immediately, he lifted her and bundled her into a taxi, hoping they would get to a hospital in time. His clothes were soaked with her blood as he tried to stop her head from bleeding. He would not let her die.

Once at the hospital, he entrusted her to the care of doctor. As he sat in the waiting room, he found himself remembering the few days that he had spent in her home. He remembered her soft and gentle touch as she undressed and dressed his bandages. He remembered the probing eyes which seemed to look straight through him. He remembered how she sang effortlessly while cooking his meals, how she coaxed him to eat, how she pulled the blanket over him at night. He pretended to sleep whenever she got up at night to check on him. He pretended to not notice how beautiful she was as she bent over him to inspect his injuries. He pretended to be unmoved by her kindness, patience and tolerance.

She regained consciousness after two whole days-two days of agony and torture being ridden with guilt as he was. Guilt which stemmed from him being unable to thank her for saving his life and being helpless and unable to save hers. He wanted to go see her but knew that she would be too fragile to see him right after she woke up and he had put himself at enough risk as it is by staying at the hospital. But he knew that this time, he wanted to say everything he had not said the last time. So instead of meeting her the minute she regained consciousness, he checked himself and went back to his hotel. He waited two more days until she was discharged and was fit enough to go back home. The night she returned, he lounged in the street as her friends came and left. He then went straight up to her apartment and knocked. After getting no response, he let himself in quietly. And found her sleeping on the couch-just like he once lay with her by his side. He pulled up a chair beside her and waited for her to wake up.

As he saw her sleeping peaceful form, he sighed and muttered, "Fate has a cruel way of bringing us together again."

Rain

Rain. The inevitable, inescapable rain. She laughed hysterically as rivulets of water ran down her-her hair, her neck,her shoulders, her entire dress till the tips of her toes were soaking wet. Who knew that Paris could be so rainy all of a sudden? Definitely not the weather 'experts' by whose predictions she had long ago stopped living, Well they were right for a change-they predicted a storm and here it was. And she was in the middle of it.
She watched the others scurrying for cover, watched how they opened their umbrellas to battle against the wind, watched them lose the war with the weather and watched them retire to their fate. She was not one to succumb to hers-she was going to enjoy this rain. She spread her arms and turned her mouth towards the heavens and smiled as the rain washed her. In her delight and bliss, she never realized that she had stepped off the pavement and onto the road. It was only when someone screamed that she saw the car coming towards her. But before she could react, she was flung away on the pavement and she saw the world go dark. The last thing she remembered was the taste of rain in her mouth-oh the sweet rain.

She awoke to the sounds of machines around her and as she slowly opened her eyes, the room swam into focus. White, sterile and clean. She tried moving her hands and realized there were needles attached to them, feeding her IV no doubt. A nurse came in with a big smile. She could only smile weakly in return. The friendly nurse soon checked her vital signs and went to call the doctor. He came in minutes later with an even bigger smile and asked her how she was feeling.

"Weak and dizzy, doctor." she replied in a raspy voice.
"Well you are lucky to be alive, madame."
"What happened doctor? I think I remember a car."
"Why don't you rest now and I shall tell you the details later. We are glad that you have gained consciousness.Try get some sleep now. "
She was too weak to protest so she took his advice and slept.
When she awoke next, she saw the nurse by her side who coaxed her to get up and eat some food. After the meal, she asked for the doctor who came in a few minutes later.
"Good evening Madame. Good to see a little colour coming back to your face.How do you feel now?"
"Hello Doctor. I feel much better now. I think I am now strong enough to hear what happened to me."
"Well, Madame, you were on the road and a car was coming straight at you. And at the very last minute, a stranger pushed you out of the way. But in the process, your head hit the pavement and you lost consciousness. A very close shave, indeed but you escaped with nothing but a slight head injury."
"A stranger saved my life? Who?"
"Well he just gave in his first name. One Tom."
"That's curious, I know no one by that name.Anyway bless his soul."
"Indeed Madame. You will be discharged in a few days. The nurse will take care of the formalities."
"Thank you, Doctor."
When he had gone, she asked the kind and chatty nurse to see if she could give a description of the man who had saved her from the clutches of death.
"Well all I can tell you was that he was tall and handsome. A most striking aquiline nose and high cheekbones. Quite like a prince charming, Madame. But I only saw him for a few minutes sadly" she giggled
Mila frowned and tried to remember if she knew anyone of that description but nothing came to her mind.

A few days later, she was discharged and sent back home. Her friends who had come to pick her up settled her in her apartment and left reluctantly after she persuaded them she could manage alone. She lay down on her couch and for the first time realized that she was glad to be alive. And that she should find the stranger who had helped her. She drifted off to sleep. She awoke to the sign of the pattering rain drops on her windowsill. And to a stranger sleeping on a chair next to her-an incredibly handsome man, with an aquiline nose and those high cheekbones. And she smiled knowing that the handsome stranger had crossed her path again.

Memories

Back in the dimly lit room, the man lit up a cigarette. He had finally succeeded in comforting her and putting her back to sleep. The bastards had been rough on her; and all for the sake of protecting themselves when all she had done all her life was protect them. And their secret. His secret.  As he turned to look at her, his gaze softened and he found himself going back in time to the place where they had first met.

It was Paris, the nuit Blanche, and was full of tourists thronging to see sights opened for only a brief window of time. She was one of them, struggling to get a foothold, when he stumbled upon her, clutching his bloody side. She saw that the stranger who had just jostled her was tightly clutching his side and his pallor was unhealthy. It was only as she caught his arm as he stumbled that she noticed the blood seeping down his shirt. She grabbed him and whispered in his ear as she steadied him, ‘lean on me.’

“No, no I will be fine,” said the stranger.

“I am a doctor; I know you are anything but fine, “she said firmly.

He ceded, knowing she was right and let himself be guided in a less crowded corner. Under a street-lamp, she made him remove his hand and inspected the wound. The loss of blood indicated a deep wound and she saw he needed immediate medical attention if he was to stay conscious. She pressed her scarf to stop the bleeding and said, ‘I am taking you to a hospital nearby. You have lost too much blood.’

“No, no hospital, “said he in a raspy voice. “I don’t have medical insurance. But you are a doctor, surely...” and then he winced in pain.

She would have to take him back she realized and quickly hailed a taxi. It was a brief drive but by the time they reached, he was on the brisk of losing consciousness and her scarf had turned a deep shade of red.  They somehow managed to reach her apartment and she quickly put him on the couch. Removing his shirt, she cleaned the wound and bandaged it. She gave him medicines to alleviate the pain and put him to sleep. He had lost quite a lot of blood but would live to tell his tale. She went to bed, keeping her door open to keep an eye on the stranger in the couch. When she woke the next morning, she checked in on her patient- he was still sleeping. As he slept, she realized how good looking he was, black hair, aquiline nose and high cheekbones. Despite the bandages, it was clear how well built he was. She almost touched his brow to brush back the hair from his eyes when all of a sudden he opened his eyes and caught her hand.

‘It’s just me, relax.’ He let go off her hand but his gaze still remained as fierce. “Water, “he said softly. She brought him a glass and helped him up to drink it. ‘I will make breakfast for you, you just try resting.’  He nodded weakly and went back to sleep. It was only while eating when she let her curiosity get the better of her and finally asked him, “What is your name?”

“Tom”, he replied, not looking up from his plate of bacon and eggs.

“I am Mila. How are you feeling today? Better than last night? “

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You were in quite a state yesterday. The wound was really deep. You should have really gone to the hospital.”

“Didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Really? Care to tell me what happened? “she insisted, pressing further.

He didn’t answer but instead finished his breakfast. Then tried to get up from the couch and swayed. She quickly steadied him and helped him lie down again.

“How long before I can move from this couch?” he said breathing heavily from the effort.

She narrowed her eyes and said to herself that two could play the game at not giving direct replies. “Time to change your bandages.”

He tensed as she touched his wound but relaxed as her expert hands undid and redid the bandage.

“Try resting”, she said curtly. And he did as he was told.

The next few days the same routine continued. She never asked him again why and how he got the wound and he never cared to explain. Then one day when she got up, she found him gone. There was a note however on the space he had occupied. She opened to read it. It said that he was eternally grateful for everything she did for him and that he would repay her someday.

“Well at least he knows his manners, “she said loudly, knowing that the handsome stranger would never cross her path again.

Today

It was a sunny morning like no other; the brilliant blue sky untarnished by clouds, all in all a perfect day for people to throng the streets. But there was no one to be seen, not even a whimper of as much as a footstep. It struck her as rather odd that this small picturesque town would be as quiet. However she could feel eyes watching her behind the windows and behind the doors, as she crossed the empty street. She took her time to find the house; those cobbled streets were all the same and those unwelcome houses all the same. At last, she came to it, and she hesitatingly knocked on the brass knocker, awaiting a response. When none came, she looked around and thought she saw a curtain flutter on the 1st floor window-she knew instantly that they were watching what she would do. She emboldened herself and went around to the back and to her surprise, found the back door ajar. She peeped in and seeing no signs of the inhabitants, pushed it open. It made no sound and she entered to stand in the spotless kitchen, closing the door behind her.  She paused for a minute before opening the other door opposite the one she had just come through, unsure, afraid.  And as she opened the door, things started happening too fast, someone pushed something in her face and she fell to the floor. The last thing she remembered was the sweet sickly smell which rushed up her nose.

When she woke up next, she was lying on a bed in a dimly lit space. The nondescript room, as it whirred to focus, was tiny; with a chest and drawer on the left and two doors, one opposite the bed, one on the right. She could make out a window too over the table beside the chest. They hadn’t tied her, she noticed, but somehow she could not get up so she waited a little to regain her strength. A few minutes later, the door opened and a man stood in the doorway, framed by the light of the corridor outside. She could not see his face clearly but from his shoulders and hands and from the way he stood, she knew it was him. He drew a chair from the corner and came to sit by her. And then she saw it clearly, the tiny scar above the right cheek-bone which never failed to remind her of her guilt. She cringed a little as he touched her neck to check her pulse. Satisfied that it was healthy, he motioned for her to sit up. She did as she was told, albeit slowly and with great effort. He made no motion to help her, watching with hands folded across his chest. When she was sitting facing him, he looked at her with his piercing black eyes, full of questions. She could not help but staring at him for she had no answer to them.  They stared at each other for some time, lost in the memories which flooded back, until they turned painful and she could look no more. He sought her hand and held it. She looked at him with an anguished gaze and eyes glazed with tears and said-“I can’t run anymore.” He nodded, he knew already. He pulled her closer as she wept. 

Geneva

Geneva, I discovered is not just characterized by its fountain spurting high above humanity in a magnificent lake or by the riche who live around it. Nor is it all about cows, and chocolate and fondue.
It is in fact one of the most diverse cities I have visited. The surprises began during the train journey where a breath-takingly beautiful landscape awaited-green hills, towering on either side of the train, made it appear like we were going through a secret passage through them. The pristine rivers flashed by the countryside, dotted by numerous cottages so typically Swiss, as the well-organized farms stood out from their Indian (as well as French and English) counterparts. So it was somewhat of a disappointment when the train pulled in at the station for it was in the midst of a concrete jungle and with the French signboards crying café, bar, tabac, it was like I had never left. It soon got better once I got the first glimpse of the jet d’eau and the lake it embellishes. Surrounded by the awe-inspiring Jura mountains with their ringlets of clouds, the lake was regal, magnificent and pure. The water was so clear one could see the bottom and its myriad shades of green and blue can leave a mark on even a disinterested looker. The lake is also the source of the Rhône- the well-loved river which flows through Lyon and one can see where it gets its beauty from. Walking around the lake and peering in the water every two minutes to make sure it was still as clear, we soon forgot the heat and the fatigue.
Next I was encouraged to go to the watch museum-the Patek Phillipe museum and I graciously accepted( out of politeness, tinged with apprehension) . To my surprise I realized that watches in the museum were in fact pieces of jewelry in the 16th century and it was actually a jewel collection-any girl’s paradise. Snuff boxes, fans, mirrors, rings, necklaces embellished with more gems than one can imagine awaited me. In fact they were so beautifully inlaid that one had to search very hard for the original purpose it served-keeping time for the watches were dwarfed by the humungous gems. There were ingenious mecanims for decorating the clocks, with moving parts and melodies and I realized that watch making was indeed advanced mechanics. After having gaped, admired and thought about stealing every piece of jewellery possible, I had to be torn away(literally) to be taken outside.
 My friend and guide took me then to a neighbourhood which was in fact a little Italian village. Huge houses with shutters and red-tiled roofs on either side, a calm so decidedly non urbane, it was like we had left the hustle and bustle of Geneva behind and come to a quaint Italian quartier. We strolled along the streets, soaking up the atmosphere and chatting incessantly. Next on the list was the old genevan town where cobbled streets, heritage trams and tolling church bells awaited. It was like coming to another part of town-gothic cathedrals, fountains which spouted water and streets which led nowhere, we were soon lost in the beauty of history.

It was time for a change once again as we picnicked around the lake, watching a movie in open air and seeing the sun settle down for its nightly nap. Geneva by night was even more impressive than during the day-the wind made the jet d’eau leave a spray trail and the city- lights around the lake formed a necklace of pearls around it. One could hear the gentle (and sometimes not so gentle) waves lapping at the rocks and the ever changing reflection of the lights in the water added to the beauty. And just when one thought it could not get more beautiful, the moon came out from behind the mountains adding an unearthly glow. We must have lost track of time as we gazed at the scenery and it was soon bed time.

We got up next morning, refreshed and eager to explore some more. I was in the countryside now, for my friend lived in Vernier village, little outside Geneva, and in exploring the forest around, we found the river Rhône again. It was a little trail in the woods by the river and we took a leisurely stroll around the mountains and discovered quite a few waterfalls which came cascading down to the river. It was like hiking in Shimla or Ranikhet, or in the forests on the hills, where the only sounds were made by non-human creatures and the river. Who knew the Swiss countryside was so magically calm? It worked up quite an appetite though and I was treated to some brilliant food cooked by my friend as soon as we found our way back home.
After our tummies growled no more, we headed back to Geneva to get one last look at the lake. We again sat in the parks beside the lake and watched the sky go from light to dark, the wind change from mild to stormy and had to eventually run for cover as the rain came pouring down. Geneva seemed relieved from the heat it had been experiencing as were we. Nothing like old friends and their banter as we laughed and chatted until the time came for me to leave, thus ending my Geneva adventure.
Until the next trip then…

Snippets from a traveler’s life

Snippets from a traveler’s life

How best to overcome the fatigue and the tiredness of continuous exams, presentations and report submissions, the sleepless nights and the aftermath?Simple; just take a refreshing sip of lush, green and enchanting England.

As I set out from a sweltering hot day in Paris towards Norwich, I saw the parched French landscape grudgingly give way to the fertile English soil, nurtured by the blood and toil of generations of men. The landscape dotted with teeny tiny houses among vast fields gave way to the hustle bustle of London and then  transformed again to the rolling country side of Norwich. Green, gold and brown seemed to merge in one hue as we continued, ambling through villages and those typical beautifully quaint English cottages one always dreams of having.  Norwich came at last, the light at the end of a very long, albeit beautifully embellished, tunnel. Meeting family is always such a joy and this time was no different. After a sumptuous Mediterranean dinner, we strolled along the trail of gorillas, innovatively painted (some even resemble batman and ironman) admiring the beauty of Norwich as it slumbered.(The painted gorillas represented their not so fortunate real-lifecounter parts becoming endangered by the minute.)

The next day we set off for the town of Bath, where Jane Austen wrote some of her best works and most of England went to, well, take a bath. For it was here that the Romans discovered the healing properties of the hot water springs and decided to make a pomp and show about it by building a public bath. Now when one mentions public baths, one automatically thinks of the unhygienic conditions, where the entire world comes to wash their dirt and sins away. However the Romans were well aware of this fact and set up an elaborate system of purification in place, well before entering the main bath itself so that only once a person was deemed clean enough for the bath could he enter it. A spa, a sauna, numerous dressing rooms and massage rooms were all part of the main structure, and at the helm of it all-the Scared Pool. This was where the hot sulphur springs finally found an outlet for their boiling rage and gushed to the top. And they remain angry and warm to this day-steaming hot and tantalizingly therapeutic (yes we did touch and drink it and yes we do live to tell the tale).  With an elaborate drainage system and brilliant engineering, the Roman baths are a marvel of their age and to this day, even after significant additions by the English kings, survive the blemishes of time.

Bath in itself is a small town with various other attractions, notably the Jane Austen house and the Fashion museum where one can not only see but also get to try on the Victorian dresses for oneself. And after doing so and trying to sashay down the room, we had a new found respect for the women of that epoch who readily underwent this torture for the sake of what fashion deemed as beauty.  Next on the list was the imposing Pulteney bridge sitting atop the gushing waters of the Avon and built on the lines of the locksmith’s bridge in Florence(but that makes for another blog post). Nibbling on the some fresh Italian ice cream seemed like a dream come true on that hot sweltering day(and yes the sun does reveal itself to the people of England) and all this while strolling the by lanes of one of the most scenic cities in the world-Bath.

The following morning, we had another of our childhood fantasies come to life-that of paying a visit to the mysterious stone circle known as the Stonehenge. The way was marked by chalk figures as old as the hills themselves, and the alleged fields marked by crop circles( made by men or otherwise) and the quaint thatched roof cottages of one of the villages. But nothing could have prepared us for the stones themselves, massive, towering, over powering, awe-inspiring and we paused for a minute, overcome with a fatal desire to touch them yet glad of the distance between us and the Stonehenge.  We did not just marvel at the strength of the men who brought them from Wales without modern machines, but also at the architects who conspired with the stars and seasons to overwhelm the common man into believing that it was less of architectural ingenuity and more of a sacred temple for worshipping the forces of nature.

From the ancient we moved to the medieval by shifting base to London and paying a visit to the Westminster Abbey where centuries of men prayed, hoped and dreamed- from royalty to poets like Chaucer, all found their final resting place underneath. From grandiose royal weddings to even more opulent coronations, this abbey really has borne witness to man’s journey through time. For a less romantic version of life, we visited Tower of London, marked by blood and gore in the violent English history. It was in this tower cum hill fort that Sir Isaac Newton lived as the head of the Royal Mint and that Sir Walter Raleigh was imprisoned.  All of Henry VIII’s wives were also killed here and apparently a man, one of the many bloodthirsty England hung, was hung, drawn and quartered here( from where the expression originates). This is also the resting place of the famous Koh-i-Noor in the queen's crown and the less I say the better. Moving on, next on our list were these interesting fountains which seem to spout out of the ground suddenly and which were quite the rage with people actually bathing in them to take respite from the heat. From then on, we just roamed around near the river banks until we were tired  and/or hungry. It is rather magical to be roaming around, discovering parts of London very different from what one has read about(read Picadilly circus, Buckingham Palace which of course we did see but we enjoyed the parks around rather than the Palace itself). It’s the realization that you don’t want to be a tourist anymore and would rather explore the city for what it is than for what it has to offer.

And thus another beautiful trip to the city of my dreams came to an end. Until next time then!

London Diaries II

The next day dawned bright and clear( well as far as London goes anyway) and we went to eat fish and chips in one of the oldest pubs in London. After a sumptious meal and conversation to go with, we proceeded to the event which had instigated the whole trip-a performance at the Globe theatre.

Shakespeare's charm which has held audiences captivated over the centuries was brought to life in the rendition of A Midsummer Night's Dream which we experienced. It was a very scintillating performance, what with the actors up close and looking in our eyes and the various characters from the play which kept bursting from in between the audience. The open environs(namely no roof) added to the old world charm. Music and dance and drama kept us on our toes for almost 3 hours. 

Soon after the dream ended, we went about trying to find a good indian restaurant, guided by our noses and some helpful Londoners(they are awfully nice and hilariously funny). We eventually found ourselves in Brick Lane and helped ourselves to some delightful and savoury dishes-the likes of which  I had only seen in my own country. Stomachs filled to bursting point, we traipsed to central London where a delightful performance by a stand-up comedian, Inkey Jones was to follow.His scathing yet hilarious comments about people in the room left us laughing till we ached and begging for mercy. We all needed a breath of fresh air after being a nearly passive audience for some time and decided to walk back to our hostel. Although it took us close to an hour, nothing could rival London in all its beauty at night. Shimmering in blue, yellow and red, London transformed from a classical old world town during the day to a glittering modern butterfly at night. The Millenium bridge looked like a portal straight out of Star Wars( or Trek if anyone can tell the difference) and the reflection on the waters on the Thames was close to celestial. There was magic in the air and in our eyes as we finally brought yet another remarkable day in the remarkable city of London to a close.

London Diaries I

Hello everyone.

This blog has been in the making for a long long time and should have been up and running a few years ago. Nonetheless now that the moment has come, lets not mince words and get down to brass tacks.

Let me begin by the motive which finally pushed me to creating this-the London trip and hence the first entry is aptly titles as the London Diaries I

Why London  I hear the interested reader(s) ask? Well it was officially a trip with my English class( don't get me wrong, my level of english has not regressed with learning french but this is a compulsory course and I am not complaining) with a legendary Prof who will be called as such and some band of friends who will also be called as such. One weekend was what it consisted of and evidently one did not expect to discover the whole country/culture in such a short span of time. But what I did not expect was that I would make new friends and discover a London which was very different from what a tourist might hope to discover.

It all began on the train which although goes under the Channel is not like the one which has been made popular in Dubai-that of fish trailing above and menacing sharks baring their beautifully set teeth. Neither does it involve the impressive ocean waters swirling into nothingness. All it does involve is a tunnel where one hears nothing thanks to blocked ears and has to shout to make oneself heard. Which is mildly irritating for those whose ears are NOT blocked-its like being stuck in a fish market in Kolkata when you don't want any fish. Moving on, the light at the other end of the tunnel gave way to some dark clouds and a lush countryside-my first impression was that i was finally in a country where cars rolled on the 'right' side (or left as my italian friend quickly pointed out) of the road.

The disembarking, taking the tube(which is really like its name suggests, giving you the uncomfortable feeling that you are much like an insect inside a tube) and reaching the hostel was banal. However the achitecture and the planning of the city with a Shard rising above some classical bulidings was surprising. We checked in and decided to roam the streets for food when we bumped into our Prof with some other friends. Finally having chosen a pub/resto we settled down to a delicious meal and some wonderful conversation, for who knew that Prof was such an interesting character! The never ending wonderful stories, the stimulating discussions and the cracking sense of humour was enough to keep us entertained until late at night. Who said age was a barrier to have a pleasant evening?