falling free

To release your seat belt, lift the upper portion of the buckle…

‘I always get depressed to see these wrinkly old ladies reciting the instructions, why don’t they hire young ones?’  frowns Ashutosh.

‘Air India you see, never spares money for young chicks. Instead, will get tons of cosmetics to decorate these old shabby ones’ I say ‘for the first time I attended the instructions, not the beauty!’

‘Yeah, as if the plane is gonna crash! Avoid it, I’m sleeping.’ 

Oxygen and the air pressure are always being monitored. In the event of decompression, an oxygen mask will automatically appear in front of you…

The old airhostess recites the instructions. Ashutosh has drifted off. And quite oddly, I’m listening to the instructions with caution.

A life vest is located in a pouch under your seat or between the armrests. When instructed to do so, open the plastic pouch and remove the vest. Slip it over your head. Pass the straps around your waist and adjust at the front…

   The air knob above me is jammed. It’s an eerie kind of dampness around me – I feel claustrophobic. The temperature control is functioning abruptly–sometimes it is distinctly cold and at times uneasily warm. “Technical Glitch”, is what they mentioned the reason for such inconvenience. Ashutosh is snoring like a wild boar; I wonder how can a human being sleep in such an uncomfortable climate.

   We are heading Delhi to attend a wedding ceremony of our school friend. I still remember how ambitiously she dreamt of getting married, right since we were in school. Classmates getting married, and I still pointlessly wonder what exactly my calling for life is?

  Someone said me – 'Do what you think you can do best! But make sure it ought to be something unique and saleable.’

    True that. The quote ‘do what you love’ has gotten obsolete by time.  We, the people, the job goers, the bread earners, never have the tendency of thinking out of the box. We need to get a job and earn a living. No fooling around. Surely do what you love, but make sure you can earn from it, depend on it – thrive on it. Hard fact. But if we take it with a different perception – haven’t we forgot to take risk? Take a chance instead of being safe and unhappy?

   Suddenly I feel a jerk and come back to reality from trance. Quite often I contemplate such deeply. And end up doing what most do. Fall in crowd of millions alike. I hope someday something will make me step out of that crowd and stand apart.

‘Sir, please tighten your seatbelt. The weather has turned a bit rough, you might experience jerks’ says the stewardess.

   I take the belt straps and try to assemble them. I hear a distant thud, which makes the aircraft twitch for a second. Then I hear another thud – this from not so far – and again the plane jerks. It makes the coffee on my tray table spill out of the cup. What the hell?

    I look out of the windowpane. It’s 3:00 in the afternoon and I see absolutely no traces of sunlight. How is this possible?

   Thick layer of cloud surround us. I could see lightening. As if it’s happening few meters away from me. Whenever it occurs – in an uncanny way – it sends chills down my spine. The oxygen masks falls down in front of us. The plane sways violently in the air. Aashu wakes up in despair.

   An old man gets up from his seat and starts swearing at the crew to the peak of his voice. Another jolt – he falls off his feet and gets hit by a hand-rest right on head and lies flat–unconscious­–on the floor. I instinctively unbuckle myself and try to get up and help the man to his seat, is when another massive jerk throws me off my feet right on the window-pane – on my nose. It starts bleeding. I try to stable up and in no time, a sharp, thick ray of light strikes the aircraft’s left wing, right in front of my eyes. It catches fire.

    It’s a state of conundrum. I here people scream and cry. The old airhostess pulls off a life jacket and re-explains how to use it. The groans and moans sides through my ear. It makes me numb. I don’t understand what goes on. Desperation of mayhem is all I feel. All I reckon.

   The plane, by now, is tilting off on one side. We hold anything that comes across. I could feel the warmth. Warmth of the fire, that burns in front of me.

   I clench my tray-table so tight that the edges cut through my finger. The captain comes on board. And I see the most ghastly sight of my life.

   He takes a backpack, wears it, opens the exit door and jumps off. We are on are own now. I pull the tag below my seat and fetch out the life jacket. A man punches my gut and snatches it away from me. I drool blood. Dark. Thick. Red.

   We are falling down with the highest of intensities. The fire has almost reached the outer surface of the passenger compartments. I slap Aashu, who’s crying his wits out,  ‘pull out life jacket below your seat!’

    In a savage blast the entire compartment blows off in to space, leaving behind burning flesh and metal. I realize. I’m in agony. And Aashu is gone. Forever.  

    I can’t feel my left hand. Even, I can’t see it. I try to open my eyes but couldn’t. It stings. I’m hanging on my right hand – which I can’t feel above my wrist. I again try to open my eyes. I see vaguely. My legs turned upside down due to the immense intensity with which I fall. I see my death approaching. Clear Blue Sea.

I’m in anguish – mental, more than physical anguish. I’ve surpassed the threshold of pain, beyond which it cannot be felt. I’m numb. A sharp burning piece of metal detaches from the propeller, slits through my shoulder and gapes deep in to my collarbone. Blood oozes in a sharp stream.

   I don’t even try to free myself from the aircraft from the hand that is entangled to a strap that holds me from falling free. I close my eyes. And sob.

   Beautiful memories pass by my eyes. My first karaoke performance where I sang  ‘Kabhi aana tu meri gali’ and just pulled it off, my car ride in the Himachal when I precariously zipped my uncle’s car on the hills of Shimla, and plunged in to a ravine and came out alive, beautiful faces of my family, friends and that one girl I can never stop thinking about, my first kiss – on a lazy winter afternoon behind the couch at her place – and how I screwed it badly. All the sweet aspects that made my life’s worth flashes by my eyes in that very moment. As if I saw a beautiful movie in just a fraction of second. I decide, it can’t end this way. I open my eyes again. The white linen shirt that I’m wearing has almost turned entirely red. I scream in pain. My throat aches. I scream again and vomit blood that vanishes in the air.

   I see the same man who punched me, hanging on the other side of the aircraft that is intact, struggling to wear the life jacket – my life jacket. In no time his struggle for life finishes and he falls off – on me. His left hand shoves off my face and pulls me down with an outpour of force. The strap on my right hand releases and a backpack falls on my face. The same kind of backpack, which the captain wore, before jumping off board. I clench it against my chest with all my strength. I’m in air. Falling free.

    I try to pull up my legs to hold the bag against my torso, but it looses my grasp. I struggle to hold it with my right hand, which sways above my head, I pull it back and somehow slid my right arm through one of its strap. My shirt tears away in the gust of force with which I fall. I try to put my left arm through another strap; I couldn’t. I don’t feel it anymore. I can see seashore, which appears to be frighteningly close. I pull off the only string that dangles out of the front compartment of the backpack.

   It shoots open in to a beautiful rainbow colored parachute. 

   I feel another jerk and open my eyes to a scene that has robbed my heart for an entire lifetime that is yet to come. I’m alive. I’m at Pehelgham. Kashmir it is.

And a dream that was. 

Kashmir

Day 2.

       Agar-firdaus-bar-roo-e-zameen-ast-hameen-ast-o-hameen-ast-o.

    If there is paradise on earth, it is this, it is this, it is this. A line, cliche for Kashmir, isn’t? Believe me, it is true!

So much to explore. So much to devour. 

   Imagine yourselves, every morning opening your eyes to this mesmerizing view. I bet you’ll wish to cease the time. So did I. 

 

    I reached Srinagar to see an ordinary village-like looking city, which had its own charm. But before I could make a wholesome judgment about the place, I had to leave it. Leave it for better. Pehelgham was our next destination. We left the very next day for Pahalgam.

     A 90 km road-trip on the National Highway 1A, is worth an experience. We got up at 4:00 in the morning and left Srinagar at around 7 ‘o’ clock. There’s a very peculiar trait to Kashmir, daytime seems to be longer than normal. I woke up at 4:00 and by 5:00 it was sun shining to its brightest; and the evenings are pleasantly illuminated until the hour hand hits 8:00. Anyway, we packed our bags to head towards Pahalgam via NH1A.

    NH1A has everything that Kashmir is famous for. May it be, dry fruits, Saffron or willow bats, it has them all. Basically, the highway has factories and shops located on either side, all along its length. And yes, try to crack a good bargain or you’ll end up losing huge margins. En route you’ll also come across many apple gardens and rice fields. They’re enjoyable.

Lidder, river that flows along. 

    As our car caught up speed, cool breeze struck by my face, and led me to reverie, followed by a shallow sleep, which was soon broken by the humming sound of flowing water. I opened my eyes to see a thin stream of water gradually getting broader by every few meters. As we moved by, along the slender stream of fresh water, I noticed the flora getting intensified, roads getting narrower and steeper, and the air getting cooler, minutes by minutes, seconds by seconds. All the small tributaries of water adjoined gradually as we approached its origin, finally turning in to a humongous stream of ferociously flowing river – Lidder.

   Lidder had begun, it meant that we were somewhere near Pahalgam, which was a township basically located on the banks of the river Lidder. The chill in the air started giving me goose bumps. Quite ironic it was, just 100 km away from the place, which was sweltering beneath the sun, we could keenly feel the nip in air. Altitudes play a sublime game with circumstances. As we progressed to higher altitudes, the scenic beauty got more riveting by every second. Anything I could see outside the car window was enchanting. A wide and meandering river, lush green jungles, and enormous–white and green–mountains behind them, summed up for a perfect landscape.

Kashmir

Day 1.

     As our car maneuvered across the slender roads of Srinagar, I got a brief idea about the city.

     I could see roses. Many of them. Coming out of wall cracks, growing on the road dividers, beside the compound walls and few of them in the swampy areas. It makes the city look so good. Their size and shape are the aspects that surprised me. Bigger and colorful than those I’ve seen before. They add a whole new dimension to the city.

     Srinagar seemed to be a city that still needs to be worked upon a lot. But it’s kind of elegant. And this elegance doesn’t derive from its regularity, but the irregularity of everything it sports. I saw beautiful houses everywhere, they’d tapering rooftops, so that the snow didn’t stay over there in the winters. As a matter of fact, there’re virtually no apartments in Kashmir. People stay in their individual houses (Kholi). Big or

small, but they should be individual.

     Talking about people. Kashmiri people were so different in appearance. Clear complexion and straight noses. You’ll hardly see a dark complexioned Kashmiri; all of ‘em had this extremely clear skin color, especially girls, fair as hell! All of ‘em have red cheeks. Literally red cheeks. As if they spend days and nights in beauty parlors. Believe me, with some acting acumen they can give Indian actresses a run for their money. Men over there had peculiar characteristics. Chiseled jaws and most of ‘em bearded. Sometimes it was hard to distinguish between them.

      In no time, we were at the place about which I’d heard a lot right since my childhood – Dal Lake. It seemed to be pretty enormous for a lake. Having a shoreline of around 16 kilometers, Dal Lake was humongous. Houseboats and Shikaras densely populated its edges on either side. What a spectacular view it was! Water bodies instantly become the most sought after tourist spots everywhere; it was the case with Dal Lake as well. Everyday hoards of people throng the places in its vicinity. Markets and restaurants basically accompanied its shorelines. Famous Mughal gardens such as, Nishat Bagh and Shalimar Bagh, having exquisite flora were spaciously located adjacent to the Lake. I was getting impatient to revisit the place and explore it amply. 

Try to look beyond the smileys.

     Last week, I had this huge party at my uncle’s place, on occasion of his 50th birthday. All the family, friends and close acquaintances, were invited. I usually don’t like attending such parties, but still, for the family's sake, I do. In retrospect, I’m glad I went to this one. It was nevertheless a boring party, but I learnt a real life lesson over there.

    

     I formally met a bunch of people whom, I guess, I only meet on such occasions. And then, as usual, acquired a silent corner took out my cellphone and got busy chatting.

     

     An hour went by just like that, and that’s when an old man came to me. Noticing me completely engrossed in randomly typing things on my mobile screen. He said, “What you young people really have so much to discuss about?”

    I didn’t have an answer to that question. “It’s about studies Uncle” I lied.

“It clearly isn’t about studies, c’mon tell me!” Old man was quite inquisitive.

“We don’t really have much topics to discuss about, but we manage to discover few of them. It spares me from interacting with people I don’t know.” I hoped he didn’t get the sarcasm.

“They are your relatives, aren’t they? How could they be stranger to you? And btw I’m Hitesh Sharma, Managing Director of PKWC.”

PKWC is a big Investment and Finance Company in south Bangalore. It was no less than a prestigious opportunity to talk to its Managing Director. Now, I was a bit nervous. I stood up and proffered my hand for a handshake.

“Sir, its pleasure meeting you, I’m really humbled.” I clearly appeared a bit unsettled while saying it.

“Be seated young man. Tell me, what makes you people so pre-occupied with these apps and social networking sites, that you completely seem to have lost touch with real world that too in such a wonderful party?” He insisted me to answer. 

“I don’t know Sir. I feel addicted to it.” I blatantly replied.

“There you are, so true. Times have changed. We speak to people openly, but hide ourselves behind the mobile screens while doing so. Isn’t it?”

“Yes, true. But hasn’t it made things convenient enough?”

“It’s relative. But mostly, it has diluted the human relationships. I installed WhatsApp a month ago; only to find myself completely engaged by it for hours together. Its human nature to run towards convenience and ease, but isn’t it more enjoyable to meet and hear people in person?”

 

WhatsApp eh? The old man was pretty young at heart. But what he was telling was worth giving a thought.

He continued, “I’ve seen lots of kids of your generation doing the same thing; relentlessly fidgeting with cell phones. You waste more time in waiting for a reply rather than typing a message, isn’t it?” he quipped.

“Indeed!” I replied and chuckled a bit.

By this time the M.D. was sounding quite well versed with the chatting stuff! 

I listened silently as he continued.

“When I was of your age, things were different. We’d no such medium to communicate, to share or, as most of people do now, talk loads of nonsense. We’d no other option, but to meet in person. It was quite a better world then. There was inconvenience but we learned to live with it. We saw people laugh and cry in their real faces and not over digital emoticons. We learned to express well. We shared our sorrow by crying on someone’s shoulder and jumped for joy when we were happy. And people could literally see us doing so! We didn’t played games on a 5-inch touch screen; we’d vast grounds to do so.” He stopped to attend a phone call.

A strongly established person comes to me and blabbers stuff, which is quite insightful, but there must be something that really bothered him while watching me sitting at a secluded corner without actively participating in the party.

“I ain’t boring you right?”

“Absolutely not sir” I replied. He really wasn’t.

Mr. Hitesh Sharma continued.

     “I’ve seen the world beta. I know how it works. You feel close to people on your chat list but rarely meet them. Value these people who surround you right now, whom you can see in real. Feel their presence and rejoice sharing a life with them. Don’t you feel annoyed at times when people don’t reply quickly? Try talking to them face to face; they won’t have enough time to pretend. Try seeing the world with people who don’t hide themselves behind the glossy screens. At times, when you’ll feel really sad, a message won’t be enough to comfort you, but only a real friend who sits beside you and nudges you playfully, can do the needful.

       
      So, try switching off your cell phone for a day or two. At first it’ll make you bit uncomfortable, but keep at it. Go out; visit people who you really feel could be a better company in real world than on phones. You’ll see how happier life could be!”

     That’s when my uncle stepped in and formally introduced me to this amazing man. I came to know, he was a big "apple" fan and a gadget freak. So, basically I was hearing from a knowledgeable person.

    

     The next day I tried to implement his idea of switching off the cell phone for a day or two. It worked off quite well. I haven't completely stopped using WhatsApp and Facebook but now I feel less depended upon them.

    Try living in real world, with real people in real circumstances. Messaging is good, but only for sharing documents not emotions.