Rain and Broken Bones

It took me years to realize where the broken bones really were. I did not know there would ever be a story I would be telling when I reached that small town for my university admissions.

All I could see apart from the airport, which looked like a makeshift version of an overnight constructed luggage carousel, was the rain soaking every bit of earth it could see, while dampening every inch of whatever zeal I had left from the shortest flight I ever had. 

If you noticed the unnecessarily long and dragging single sentence, that's how the first day felt to me. Anyway, let's start from the start. 

The sun was on the verge of setting down. As I waited for the cab that would drive me to the small town where I was headed, I called a friend. The usual greetings later, I told (complained mildly) that it was raining. Heavily. Continuously. The reply was yes. I was as perplexed as you probably feel now. 

They elaborated further, saying that upon asking around about that place to people who had been there before, they heard that it rains there almost every day...round the year. Every nerve in my body must have witnessed an unnerving malfunction upon hearing that. 

I could just think... what? All throughout the year? You can't be serious. And I am here, almost committing two years of my life to this place! 

Despite every fit I should have thrown, despite every resistance I should have shown, despite the small voices in my head asking me to take the next flight back home, my body moved towards the cab...like clockwork. I was heading towards that small university town... the very one that I wanted to run away from even before arriving there. 

The hotel I stayed in, the mountainous roads, and the drenched green trees in that town were asking me if I was really going through the admission process that was scheduled the next day. And then among contemplations of various kinds and forms, the day, or whatever was left of it, ended. 

Early in the morning the next day, I decided to just check the campus and if still I couldn't find anything that I find agreeable, I would not join the university. After a while of looking around, as I was going towards the waiting room, I thought (was I thinking or was it something else?)... 

almost every student here has a fractured limb. Probably because of the treacherous roads. The rains were not making it any safer. I must be careful in these two years not to break any bone. 

What? When did I decide that I was going to stay the 2 years here? Was it some kind of indication? And just like that...abruptly... I knew I was going to stay. And I did. 

Every day was passing by fast. And slow. And every night I would thank the universe for letting me survive another day without a broken bone. I changed my footwear too. I gave up on any and every kind of heeled footwear and chose the safest ones. I counted each step more carefully than I had ever done. I alloted an additional 10 minutes than it was actually needed to walk from the classrooms to the hostel rooms. 

Whenever I wandered on the streets, even though I wasn't mindful of my thoughts and my existence, I was mindful of my steps. And a semester ended - the first one. I was ecstatic to go home and exhilarated to stop worrying about broken bones for a month. 

The night before leaving for home I received a text from a friend asking me if my semester was fine. We chatted for a bit over text...about plans for the vacation, my flight timings the next day, their university's semester schedule, their travel destinations, and the like. 

When asked about the top 3 things that I was looking forward to during that vacation, I remember excitedly replying : not having to worry about broken bones, not having to wake up that early, and being able to sleep early. Yes. That was my list... I didn't realize it then and not even for the next few years. The reply I received for that list was in the form of a combination of laughing and wondering emoticons. 

Anyway, they wished me the best for the last few hours in that place before vacations and I went off to sleep. The next morning, thankfully, was a sunny day. I took a cab to the airport, happily if I may add. 

Just before boarding, my friend again texted me to wish me a safe journey and to take care. Not TC or a a shortened version or a sentence without the ending punctuation. Take Care. With the period punctuation. Those were the last two words, ever, in that chat window. 

I survived. I survived the next 3 semesters. Without a broken bone in my body. I was careful enough... more than enough perhaps. Even though I was aware of the 'broken bone theory', I perhaps never took it seriously and I am not sure if I still do. Perhaps, I overlooked it without even realizing.

The rains in that place washed away that realization... perhaps. Even though it didn't rain everyday as my friend had mentioned, but it did for most part of the year. And that was sufficient enough to wash away many things that I held dear. And...

It took me years to realize where the broken bones really were. 

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A Little Something:

1. This is a fictional story written from a first person perspective.

2. The 'Broken Bone Theory', which can be considered an urban myth, suggests that if a person has never had a broken bone in their life, they may face duress/challenge in their emotional or spiritual aspects of life which will be similar to the physical pain of a broken bone. 

3. In this story, the protagonist was busy in avoiding the physical pain of a broken bone/fracture, but had to undergo a similar (or perhaps more) pain emotionally, the pain of losing a friend being one of the many aspects. Just like physical pain sometimes numbs the body (if it is too much to bear), emotional pain too can numb an individual to an extent where they don't realize the extent of the loss and pain.

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Copyright © 2025 One Life To Live. All Rights Reserved

Raahi Chaand

महकी हुई सन्नाटों में वो चाँद आहें भरता है आज भी 

महफ़िलों के उन चँद रंगों को वो निहारता है आज भी 

हैं ये दिन हसीन और शामें जवाँ अब भी मगर 

नर्म मुस्कानों में वह बातें याद करता है आज भी 

थे कुछ अनकहे से लफ्ज़ अब भी बाकी शायद 

उन लफ्ज़ों की शिकायत निगाहों से करता है आज भी

नज़र की नज़ाकत चाहे पलकों से घिरे रहें मगर 

तारों को रोशनी के किस्से बेबाकी से सुनाता है आज भी 

किस्तों में बादलों से मिलना होता है कभी कभी मगर 

उनसे समंदर का हाल-ए-दिल वो पूछ लेता है आज भी 

वह लहरें जो बेक़रारी में क़रार ढूँढती थीं तब 

उनके शिकवे में दास्तानों की गूँज सुनता है आज भी 

कुछ कहानीयों में राहों का आगाज़ रहता होगा शायद 

हर कहानी के मोड़ में जाने क्या राह तलाशता है आज भी 

रास्तों मे अक्सर भटकते होंगे राही मगर 

पर क्या भटका राही मंजिलो से ख़फ़ा रहता है आज भी? 

Copyright © 2025 One Life To Live. All Rights Reserved

An Anecdote Away 3: The Tale of the Sunflowers

The bus would pass by those fields everyday. Except for Sundays and important holidays. The streets and stories that led and passed by those fields were all so similar, with just bits and pieces of everyday differences sprinkled in to make the world believable.

The bus was a world by itself; it had stories, music, lives that were lived (and some that existed), redundant routines, and a collection of exotic exceptions every now and then. It was my first day in that bus, or what was going to be a part of my world for the next 4 years. It was the first day of my school, new school at that time.

*********

Our school was outside the main town, or should I say amidst a small clearing of sorts surrounded by rows and rows of eucalyptus trees. There were no machined-looking buildings (often termed as modern and simple), like the ones one would imagine as a school building, straight-lined with no character-defining details.

We had octagonal cottage-like structures, there were clusters of three to four cottages, and such clusters were spread all across the campus. The cottages in these clusters housed classrooms, offices, and other necessary facilities. To go from your classroom to science lab, or art class, or the library, one would take a stroll among those beautiful trees that filtered the sunrays that wafted a mild scent of eucalyptus bark and leaves. The nearest small town was 20 minutes away. So, I used to call that place middle of nowhere and everywhere (MONE – suggested pronunciation: like how Monet is pronounced).

I loved the new place for it was straight out of a story book.

It was my first year in that school; I had transferred from my previous/childhood school which was right in the busy heart of town. I loved the new place for it was straight out of a story book. However, I did have my apprehensions because I would be so far and so almost-immediately-unreachable distance away from my parents, my home. I had only been once before to the school on the day when I had my entrance test scheduled. This was my second time, but first one alone. Thoughts, rather concerns of kinds, laced with hints of excitement were all over my mind. I missed my old school, my parents, and even the town.

While the nestled thoughts played like a movie with too many plots played on my mind, I looked at the roads, fields, and houses through the bus window. The bus was packed, rather over-packed, with students (who had already found their friends) and their animated and whispered talks. I heard the voices but not the conversations.

After about 15 milestones, I witnessed something that would make me await for them every spring and summer, probably for life.

The bus kept moving on routinely, and with each passing milestone, I knew school wasn’t very far away. I didn’t want the milestones to stop; I wanted to go on and on with the bus, even though the journey wasn’t exactly comfortable. After about 15 milestones, I witnessed something that would make me await for them every spring and summer, probably for life.

In an unassuming and calm neighbourhood, there was a vast sprawling field of majestic sunflowers, golden and dreamlike. The view was absolutely sublime. I have always loved sunflowers but had never seen a vast field with so many sunflowers shining in all their glory. Thankfully, I was seated towards the western side which allowed me to view the face of the flowers as they looked at the sun. That also meant, while returning I would be on the eastern side and could see the sunflowers facing the sun again. Destiny sure was having its way--- or atleast so it felt at that moment. 

They say one needs to meditate to achieve thoughtlessness or a single line of thought. If that is true, I was possibly in a state of mediation then. 

They say one needs to meditate to achieve thoughtlessness or a single line of thought. If that is true, I was possibly in a state of mediation then. I was completely enamored by the sunflowers and had let go of all the thoughts that were there until few seconds ago. I had completely submitted my thoughts to that magnificence.

The thoughts of the field stayed with me even when we crossed that and reached the school. While returning, I eagerly waited for the flowers again. Days passed by and vacation arrived sooner than expected. During vacations, I found myself missing them. Though I knew that they won’t be there when we return to school after vacations, I still awaited that field. During winters the field was filled with mustard flowers and they too looked splendid basking in the warmth of the winter rays. And they would tell me that spring is just around the corner and soon I would meet the sunflowers again. I would smile along with the mustard flowers while waiting for the sunflowers to arrive.

And they would tell me that spring is just around the corner and soon I would meet the sunflowers again.

Four years in that school passed by and I would wait the entire year’s bus journey for those couple of minutes (to and fro) of sunflowers during the few days of summer. I remember the roads that we took everyday, the mini farms, the hillocks, temples, and the conversations that I had with friends. But the way I remember the sunflowers is different than everything else.

With the changing times and vanishing landscapes in the name of development, I don’t know whether that field where the sunflowers smiled and loved would still be there. But I can’t imagine of anything else there. Every summer of my life and sometimes during days of other seasons too, I keep remembering my sunflowers. And will always do.

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A Little Something:

Composed on September 22, 2024, Sunday, during a lunch that brought back memories of the sunflowers. 

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Copyright © 2024 One Life To Live. All Rights Reserved

An Anecdote Away 2 : Magic in the Mundane

The day that it was slowly becoming was not what anyone, even I, would have expected it to be. Well, I really don't know where and when the day actually began, but for the sake of convenience, let's say it started when I got ready to leave for the airport. 

It was 3.30 am. I was all packed up to leave. Normally, I pack extremely light, a regular back-pack which houses my electronics, a pair of clothes, and two books. However, this time I was going away for 2 months, which meant a backpack was not going to do the trick. I had luggage to check-in.

I kept the bags ready by the door, re-checked the house, and waited for the clock to strike 3.45 AM, which was when the cab was supposed to arrive. But it did not. Many phone calls, efforts, panicking thoughts, and desperate prayers later, somehow the cab arrived at 4.15pm, taking away the buffer time allocated for both cab delay and travel time.The first and the smallest hurdle had been taken care of. 

I reached the airport on time, thankfully. However, the flight, originally scheduled at 6.20 am was delayed by 2 hours. That meant letting go of my breakfast plans. At 7 am, while still waiting for the delayed flight, I called the restaurant and cancelled my reservation. Now, this would seem insignificant to many, but cancelling reservations or any appointments are tough. The severity is like going back on a promise. And if it involves food, it feels like a double blow to your heart - ask someone who loves food. 

It was an hour-long flight. I just had a few hours of work in the city, after which I would take my next flight, scheduled at 6 am the next morning. So, I opted to avail the airport cloakroom services (the 9-hour package by when I would definitely be back) to drop off my bag. I grabbed the tallest cup of coffee to keep off any possible drowsiness (courtesy of not getting a wink of sleep for the last 27 plus hours), took a cab, and off I went to the first meeting of the day. 

This is just for context of how the day was supposed to be, but I think this paragraph may be skipped if context is something that can be done away with. It was almost 10 am by the time I got the cab. My first meeting was at 11 am and all the work was supposed to get over by 2 pm. I had a lunch reservation at 2.15 pm at a restaurant just a stone's throw away from the place of work. I had planned to go to a gallery after that, be there for an hour, and then be back at the airport well before 6.30 pm. I would then collect the bag, check some stores at the airport, have a relaxing long dinner at that fun Japanese restaurant at 7.30 pm (the restaurant was just 5 minutes walk from the drop-off/departure points), and then wait in the lounge until my next flight. 

As the very first line suggested, nothing went as per the plan. I had to cancel my lunch reservation too. The work extended much beyond the expected hours, but the output was disheartening. It took much more than double the time I had allocated it, but didn't yield even a fraction of the result that was expected. The reserves of sunshine a person can hold runs low sometimes, especially when it is fuelled by lack of sleep, uninspiring work results, and an entire day with just a cup of coffee (for a person who is not used to caffeine).

I reached the airport after 7.30 pm, an hour late than when I was supposed to collect my bag from the cloakroom. I decided to not cancel my dinner reservation; I didn't have an ounce of strength left to do that. The restaurant anyway was just 5 minutes away. I went ahead with dinner, my first meal in 30 hours. However, again against expectations, I couldn't enjoy the dinner whole-heartedly... for worrying thoughts kept looming over me. Please don't misunderstand, the food was absolutely amazing but I was extremely tired... so tired that I feared if I rest in the lounge, I might not wake up to board the flight. 

After a quick dinner, I reached the cloakroom, two and a half hours later than I was supposed to collect my luggage. I was ready to pay the fine but arriving after the time slot that I had ticked on that form weighed down on me more, perhaps more than when dark clouds weigh down on an already gloomy sun-less day. After the allotted time slot expires, uncertainty creeps in, like unresolved shadows. The person in-charge might have experienced that uncertainty. And it's definitely not a good feeling. I was ashamed and knew apology is not enough. Nevertheless, apology was a must. Upon reaching the cloakroom, I did exactly that... I apologized, as much as I could. 

The person in-charge, let's call him N, smiled throughout and kept saying, "it's okay. I can understand." N was extremely polite and the owner of a pleasant and comforting smile. When I tried to hand over my card to pay the fine, he said, "you must have paid for the service when you dropped off your bag." I said that I had paid, but this is for the fine that I am supposed to pay for the delay. And I apologized again. He replied that he would waive it off. When I insisted, he said, "It's completely okay. It wasn't that long anyway. I understand you might have had a tough day. You don't have to pay anything extra." He smiled, again.

I was extremely grateful. I had nothing with me that I could give as a token of appreciation and gratitude... except for my custom made bookmarks. I opened my luggage for the bookmarks, wrote a gratitude note, and then went back and gave N a set of bookmarks along with the note. I thanked him and he thanked me back. His earlier smile of understanding now reflected a smile of being appreciated, perhaps with a hint of graceful happiness.

Afterwards, I debated whether to go to the lounge or just dwindle around for the entire night. I strolled around for 30 odd minutes which made me realize I couldn't go on like that. I grabbed another tall cup of coffee and checked into the lounge. I requested them to call me up by 3 am, lest I fall asleep. They suggested that I have enough time if I want to take a nap, and I should because I looked exhausted.

Until they told me so, I had not realized that I too might look exhausted. When I think back, the server at the restaurant looked concerned and N's initial reaction when I first apologized too had a hint of concern. I misread/ignored those expressions back then. Did I look that pathetically exhausted for them to get concerned, I wonder. With these and some other unassociated thoughts, I took a rest in the lounge but I couldn't sleep, the caffeine was doing its job, even working overtime. 

I checked out of the lounge a little before 3 am, checked in for my flight, which thankfully was on time, and checked the few shops inside the airport that were still open. Even though I had not slept in 48 hours by then (which would later on extend to 60 hours), I still didn't sleep during the flight. I was perhaps physically drained off my strength, but the kindness that I received surely did boost my spirits. N's smile and his kindness did help refill the reserve of my sunshine too. A nice breakfast, sleep, and later some familiar faces helped in further refilling the reserve. Often things that are otherwise considered mundane... are actually magical. 

Copyright © 2024 One Life To Live. All Rights Reserved

An Anecdote Away 1: Expressive Errors

An exceptionally expressive soul with a stoic stanced exterior is a puzzlingly perplexing problem. I call it the esp... for reasons that seem and feel obvious... to me. But as has been proved earlier, on many occasions, I cannot say with a certainty that it is obvious to others. 

Thus arises the need, nay want, to explain. However, just how an explained joke is a joke no more, this too meets the same fate. So, I would not describe too much than is actually needed. 

There's another reason too. I am pretty sure that this piece, or any other piece penned by me, would not be visible to a majority of people- many will actually not see it, and many will choose not to. Of the countable few who will see it, most would not read past the first couple of lines. And by the time we reach the crux, or even the beginning of the crux, there might not be any readers left. In essence, it might just be me or someone like me who reads it; they would understand anyway.

So, here's the beginning. It was one of those subject labs which was considered (probably still is) as one of the most difficult and complex labs. It required application of both software and hardware components embedded into one. And hence (possibly) it seemed daunting, because the presence of both aspects, actively, in humans is also a rare sight these days. Hence, to relate to aspects of this lab might not be an easy task.

In one of the sessions of these labs, we were to hand out problem statements to each of the lab participants. The norm I prefer to follow is to test the waters yourself first before sending anybody in. So, one saturday afternoon, one of my colleagues and I decided to give each statement a try. There were 6 statements, in total, to test. The first 4 were executed without hiccups of any sort. When it came to the 5th statement however, that was not the case. 

For the 5th statement, we wrote the lines of code, made the necessary configurations and turned our eyes towards the screen that would show us the output. But, it wasn’t what it was expected. It showed a "different", "unexpected" value. I was thrilled to say the least. My soul was experiencing exploding streams of happiness. My stance, however, was calm. I was smiling which was a vast vast understatement of how excited I felt at that moment. I was able to utter a meagre "wow" that assisted my smile.

My colleague looked at me and had an expression that was "expected" at that moment. The output was unexpected and hence is considered an "error", something that is not meant to exist, something that should be discarded, removed. My expression might not have made sense. So, she asked me why I was happy/calm about it. The output was so irrelevant and had to be fixed. I knew what she meant but I didn't quite understand the reaction.

Maybe the output was irrelevant in that context, but it still felt like a desirable necessity. If everything goes as they are expected to go, if everything is done to fit the relevance code, everything would be so linear, so redundant, and so against the basic nature of the very universe we live in. Why can’t we celebrate irrelevances, differences, unexpected-ness-es!!

There was no way I was going to ramble these lines there. So, I just said that even though it is an "error", it still is so beautiful and interesting. And that made me happy. She was kind, and hence smiled back with a "you are optimistic" reply. We did not dwell on it further and after a couple of minutes of modifications, the experiment showed the expected outcome. We winded up the 6th one too and called it a day.

I still have a photo of that unexpected result on the social media page of this website. It might be insignificant, but still doesn't feel insignificant. It feels like it had a meaning and a purpose. The day that it was... irrational and beautiful. 

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