A shore is where land meets water. Everybody is entitled to a shore and I chose to have one along the sea. The sea is calm and the shore, gently sloping.
Surf is the foam caused by breaking of the sea upon a shore. Shores like mine do not generate as much surf as hard rocks, but the surf lingers.
I cannot be the creator of a sea-shore, for the same reason that I can’t create a sea.
I have the choice to acquire a vast, unoccupied, coastline. But the mere thought of that fills me with the worry that some king might some day lay claim on it.
So, I choose to be the shore itself: the sand, the wetness, the collection of shells and corals. I can limit the sea as well as the land but still be part of both. More than that, being the shore gives me inalienable possession of all the visiting waves and all the surf that they shower on me.
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We two in the room -
Me and my dad;
I, playing with toys,
He, with nothing.
I look at the balloons
Left hanging high from my first b’day.
Longing for them,
I shake and call out dad.
He looks at me, at balloons,
Unconcerned.
I climb the chair, the table,
Hold wall, reach a balloon,
Which slips away from my finger.
I look below to be sure
That my toys are safe.
Dad, I find, as cruel as ever,
unconcerned!
Determined to pluck one,
I climb the pile of books on table.
A book slides, my feet spin.
Hands leave the wall, legs shiver.
I shriek at balloons
Frolicking at my helplessness,
Until it’s all dark and quiet.
It is bright again.
Don’t know how,
I am in dad’s lap
With all balloons tied to my wrists.
Dad is smiling!
Translated from Diary-2K; originally composed in Hindi in 1998.
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Police office did shake this time too, they kept shaking for two days after which they shook in disbelief. They had been phoned from a public booth that Alm would strike the city. Alm in the city meant either a millionaire (that this city had in plenty) or a ganglord or a politician (who by nature love to play with crime) would lose his life. Before the police sleuths could lay their hands on the caller, the police (this time the Police Commissioner himself) got a call from a mobile phone telling that the owner of Prime n Plush -series of seven star hotels would be no more before the next sunrise.
The Police Commissioner had taken the call very seriously, which he was supposed to, and his crack team reached the hotel in batches and in perfect camouflage. They secured the owner from his office even while he was chairing an important meeting (in fact, more difficult than providing him protection was to convince him that his life was more important than the issue in hand), ferried him to a police 'safe house' and informed the boss when the job was done. The PC was sure, even god won't be able to harm the hotel baron, and yet he shivered thinking of Alm. He was even unsure whether he should have provided so much fool-proof safety to the hotel boss. If in frustration, Alm harmed other people if only to teach the security force a lesson, it would be catastrophic - even more from political angle.
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Manu entered editor’s room panting, having run upstairs to the third floor. He took out a crumpled chit from his pocket and pushed it on the table. Editor read it in one breath and rang up Parasi, the owner of their newspaper, The Journal of Truth. ‘It is only in a newspaper like this that the owner does not hesitate to come to the editor,’ he told. In twenty minutes, the three were closeted in editor’s room.
‘In the loftiest traditions of journalism,’ as they called it in TJT, the editor and Parasi had decided to lead the newspaper’s 20th anniversary issue with the most unpleasant stories about its past. Other articles would follow, telling how, by holding true to its title, the paper had reached the second highest circulation.
For six months, Manu has been investigating the paper’s scandal-ridden history before it was taken over by Parasi six years back: The way its original owner-editor Dhanpat went to jail thrice for scurrilous writing. How he routinely maligned AD, the champion of press freedom and owner of the largest newspaper chain. How he got his reporter murdered for refusing to write crap. How he committed suicide after sexually assaulting a lady reporter he’d just hired.
Manu read out the page:
‘The fifth issue too didn’t print today, but how long can AD stop it? First it will be on land scandal, then the fake circulation figure scam, then the Press Association manoeuvres, then how he got the national honour. He managed to jail me, damaged my press, killed my reporter, stopped my paper. Cowardly mediamen lecturing about press freedom supported him directly or indirectly.
‘I know, my end is imminent. I know, he will get me killed in an accident or a suicide. Let Celina, my child, carry the flame. Give this chit to her.’
'And Celina joined AD the next day!' Parasi could not help telling.
Manu narrated how he had found the mutilated paper with ‘Dhanpat’s diary - last page’ written on its face with an old man who shared secrets with Dhanpat. Parasi left with a photocopy of the page, after announcing a hefty raise for Manu. The editor asked Manu to go over all his reports before calling it a day. Dhanpat’s diary would be the lead item with its photo on the front page, he assured Manu, and Manu would be the first to see the fair print of the newspaperpaper.
A packet reached Manu at midnight. He tore the wrapper, letting the special issue of The Journal of Truth spread before him. But the lead space was filled with messages from the high and mighty. The photo was not there, not a line about it anywhere. Attached to the last sheet was a sticky note. It said: I don’t write a diary and I am in no danger of being killed. Parasi has struck a deal with AD. He gets a million bucks and this year’s national honour, and AD gets the chit and an assurance from Parasi to bury the secret for ever. When I meet Dhanpat, I will tell him that I've asked you to carry the flame. Or, should I? Long live The Journal of Truth.
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Summary only...
Police office did shake this time too, and they kept shaking for forty-eight hours.
They had been phoned from a public booth that Alm would strike the city. Alm in the city meant either a millionaire (that this city had in plenty) or a ganglord or a politician (who by nature love to play with crime) would lose his life. Before the police sleuths could lay their hands on the caller, the police (this time the Police Commissioner himself) got a call from a mobile phone telling that the owner of Prime n Plush - series of seven star hotels would be no more before the next sunrise.
The Police Commissioner took the call very seriously, which he was supposed to, and his crack team reached the hotel in batches and in perfect camouflage. They secured the owner from his office even while he was chairing an important meeting (in fact, more difficult than providing him protection was to convince him that his life was more important than the issue in hand), ferried him to a police 'safe house' and informed the boss when the job was done. The PC was sure, even god won't be able to harm the hotel baron, and yet he shivered thinking of Alm. He was even unsure whether he should have provided so much fool-proof safety to the hotel boss. In case Alm harmed other people in frustration, if only to teach the security force a lesson, it would be catastrophic - even more from political angle than as a security failure.
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Summary only...
