Matter of Choice

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. However keep the initials of each character in mind while reading , it may just be someone you know. 

Randy Garcia was cocooned in his room. In a couple of days he had to give a speech in front of his classmates. Randy tried to calm his nervous by smoking cigarettes. He went over the points that were written by his good friend and aspiring publicist Gina. She loved him secretly and would give up her soul to see him being applauded and win the college elections that were coming up next month. Randy was from a respectable family. His command over the language was acquired from various universities that he had enrolled into, only to succeed with the help of his lineage.

Nathan Moore was a professor in the political science division of the college. He came from a low income family, studied in community libraries, worked at odd jobs and managed to get an education. Since he was not so advantaged, he had also got through college through the reservation system. So it was but natural that he would always support the boys from the backward class. He loved his religion and opposed anyone who was against it. He would get into arguments with other religious fanatics who showcased their religion as the ultimate religion to be followed. The college was going into elections next month and they had to choose a leader from the student body. He already had set eyes on his favorite student -cum –confidant, Rachael Thatcher. He had prepared a powerful speech for her. She had rallied with him and had also managed to bully the boys to comply with her whims and fancies.

Aron King was the local boy, who grew up in the same town, went to the same state school, got his education on merit basis. He had acquired admission into college only after the reservation seats were filled and he was given the seat on his own merit. Therefore he wasn’t the favorite of Prof Nathan. Aron could debate with anyone openly; however he had no experience in leading or no backing from any professors. So when his good friend Anna told him to stand for the student elections, he was hesitant.  But she encouraged him, and he reluctantly agreed. Anna was his strength and he needed her guidance.

The Election Day arrived; each candidate came on and gave their speech on how they would change the system in college.

Randy was a painter by nature. He knew if he didn’t contest the elections, his mother would be very upset. She had warned him that if he didn’t contest, then she would strike him out of all the wealth that she had accumulated over the years and give it all up to his sister Patricia. While giving his speech, Randy didn’t realize that the questions raised by one of the students Archie Gordon had no answers. He was speechless but he managed to recollect the speech written by Gina and added one line from each paragraph to answer him. Archie was his friend in disguise, so therefore he didn’t object nor did he correct Randy.

Then came Rachael’s turn, she raised her voice and boomed into the speakers. She showcased her high school activities as a student administrator and emphasized all the good that she had done for her college till date, suppressing the fact that her professor Nathan had helped and coerced the others into submission while getting all the work done.  She was met with a thunderous round of applause.

Aron King stood there in front of the crowd. His glasses were firmly on his face and his eyes were scanning the filled room. He was going to be next after Rachael in his speech today and he had written his own speech and had rehearsed it a million times. He meticulously started his speech and spoke the truth about Prof Nathan and Rachael. He sympathized with Randy as he was really a painter by nature and was just following his mom’s orders. Not once did the audience interrupt him. They all knew the truth. They knew if they interrupted today, the truth would never come out. The principal of the college empathized with him and did nothing to stop him from speaking. Prof Nathan had a very strong hold on all, except Aron. The principal admired this boy’s courage, for standing up against the bully and the bluffer.

The college then went to vote.

1^st Ending

First time in the history of the college, Prof Nathan didn't win. His candidate was shocked. He lost out to Aron with a margin of 15 votes. Prof Nathan tried to demean Aron by calling him names and making fun of his attire. Rachael tried to calm him down and managed to take him away. Randy was relieved that he did what his mother asked him to, but thankfully didn't have to continue this façade of being a good leader anymore. He would paint now and do what he loved to do.

2^ndEnding.

The expected happened. Rachael’s grip was greater over the students.  She had managed to threaten the people with dire consequences if they didn’t vote for her. Prof Nathan rejoiced. Now he would coerce the student union leaders to vote to increase the reservation system. He would give preference to those who followed his ideology, his religion. He would turn this college into his personal kingdom. Aaron would be just a name in the college history. In fact he was branding him as a traitor to his religion and to his Alma Mater from where he got his education. Randy was relieved that he did what his mother said but thankfully didn’t have to continue this façade of being a good leader anymore. He would paint now and do what he loved to do.

Which of these two scenarios do you want for yourselves, readers? Politics is a dirty game and it’s not my cup of tea said the common man. The common man gets silenced or the common man revolts. The nation rises or the nation ignores and goes to sleep. That one vote that you would give to any of the candidates is what will matter, so be fearless and vote. The question is not who you will vote into power. The question should be - Will you Vote?

K

15th February 2014

From Humans to Robots

What is the first thing you do when you get up?

My mom would say you should say a small prayer and thank the lord for one more day. But we live in a technology obsessed world. The first thing we do when we get up is to reach out for our smartphones. While in bed, we scroll through the messages, our news feeds on social media sites and by the time tea/coffee is ready you haven’t seen the sun come up but you are abreast on the life of strangers and friends.

Then we whiz into office, and start our daily grind. We check our emails and start responding in a robotic manner. There is a limited greeting exchanged with  colleagues, unless you’re working in a government office where for the first one hour you’re catching up on the daily gossip. Emails and office instant messaging has made communication faster; but less personal. It has helped increase productivity but people are shielded by the email and avoid face to face communication as much as possible. Email was supposed to lower the response time but it has in fact lowered the human interactions.

While delivering bad news, the email is the most effective tool. For example:  if you don’t get selected for a particular job, or if your presentation wasn’t approved, an email comes to the rescue... We all want to avoid the awkward moment of having to explain the rationale behind the rejection. But the rationale is what gives closure to the receiver. It gives a chance to interact with the person and give them feedback. In hiding behind the emails we tend to avoid the possible confrontations. We are evolving, with so many applications for communication.

We prefer the written word over the spoken word.

Even love today is all about the status messages. Writing love letters is definitely a thing of the past. The heavy heart when you receive the love letter, the anticipation of the contents and the feeling of joy on opening the envelope are all gone. Now an email from a loved one could increase the heart rate but somehow seeing their handwriting has its own charm, which an email can never replicate. Recently I read an article where the author was counting the amount of birthday wishes he receives now- a –days by phone as compared to via social media sites. He felt special when someone called him to wish him instead of using the internet. During my teenage years for every birthday of my friends, I would line up at the card shop and buy Anne Geddes cards because they were my favorite. How the message on those Hallmark cards used to matter. Now it’s a simple cut copy paste and an email sent along with an image. Really, how boring we have become. We have lost the ability to appreciate the artistic covers on the cards; we don’t pen a few personal lines. I don’t blame the card shops for going over the top with advertising during Valentine’s Day in order to recover the loss they must be incurring the full year. I think I would have to Google the nearest card shop in my locality, as they are now a dying breed.

The advent of Online Shopping is upon us. Firstly, let me clarify I am an online shopper of certain items. I have bought computers, phones, bags, books and some other items as well all online, so I am not averse to it. But now we have grocery shopping which is also online, I mean gone are the times when we could smell the coriander leaves, savor the feel of the tomatoes, the freshness of the vegetables in our hands. We simply click a button add it to a virtual cart and are done. There is no interaction between the seller and the buyer, no favoritism of which seller to go to, no small chit chat about the rising prices. When I was young, I knew my grocery shopkeeper by name. Today I have a choice between a few down the lane. However I choose to just call them instead of going to inspect the goods that he would deliver.

 I suppose it’s all about convenience in this fast paced world but sometimes I think the world should slow down and we should take a moment to breathe it all in.

However much we hate the email and the instant messenger apps, they provide us one thing that is really essential.

They provide us connectivity with people who we haven’t been able to stay in touch with. With the press of a button or two we can record our voice and send it over to a person sitting far away in a different country too.

 I have my mom’s recorded voice singing to my son. Without technology that wouldn't have been possible.

Technology has helped us grow from being the village idiot to the modern slave. But along the way, we have lost out on the human interactions of facial expressions, eye contact and small gestures which make us human.

K

1^st February 2014.

I am blogger, but I didn't know that I was writer too. We have Facebook to vent our one- liners and we have Twitter to let random strangers know what we are doing. But blogging is a different world all together. Our blogs are our personal diaries; we share our greatest fears and we share our smallest achievements with a 500 word write up. There are bloggers who are struggling with various diseases, some suffering from heartache, some first timers who just want to be heard. But all have a common purpose to someday be recognized by their words, to someday be published or to just connect with people with similar circumstances.

So I am truly blessed to have discovered a page on Facebook nonetheless that lets the anonymous writer within each of us to be heard. The Anonymous Writer page is not an ordinary page; it’s a page that is totally unbiased with regards to their political views. The writers or the admins of the page write from their heart and they weave stories that are real and make you relive your heartaches and all the 1000 emotions that we face in a day. I was a fan first and now I am an admin with them. I owe them my words and my heartfelt thanks as they were the ones who encouraged me to write short stories, a talent that I didn't think I had within me. I have miles to go before I can come close to the standards of the veteran writers on that page. I used to always wonder how the plot, the suspense and the characters come alive with each passing word, from the write-ups on the page. I know now the effort that goes in writing and putting yourself out there waiting to be critiqued by strangers nonetheless. The audience that TAW ranges across ages and therefore a lot of good and bad criticism can be received from them. I think every critic teaches you and they are a vital element of the story as well. So please do visit their page and see if the young blood with a fresh perspective can bring out the writer in you.

You can also inbox them with your write-ups and they could post it if they find it appealing.

Thank you and keep on writing.

K

10^th March 2014.

Donate - Short Story

Victor was born with a golden spoon in his mouth; he loved to take everything for granted. His schooling was at the top schools of the district and he was able to graduate from a prestigious college even though he had scored low.

Victor’s father, Michael had been brought up in poverty. He had made his fortune in the diamond business. From being an office boy in one of the diamond trading firms, to owning the firm eventually, he had made his fortune by sheer hard work and a keen sense of business... He made wise investments and watched his wealth grow over a period of twenty years. He wanted to provide the best for Victor and as any loving father would, didn't want Victor to ever have to slog even for a day.

So after graduation Victor joined St Joseph College of Management. He didn't need the degree but to satisfy his father, and to justify himself as the inheritor of the large business, he reluctantly joined college. Girls admired him and he developed fake friendships easily. The gang used to rag and tease boys and girls who would not conform to their way of thinking or to their lifestyle. They were the bullies of the campus and no one could touch them due to Michael’s money that was given as donation to the college trust.

Due to his obnoxious attitude, he had an attitude of ownership. If he didn't get a girl, he would buy her what she wanted. If he didn't get the seats he wanted at his favorite game, he would throw money at the cashier and ask for the manger to arrange for the same. His birthday parties were all about cash flowing outward and expensive gifts being showered to him by his father.

His mother had left his father, when Victor was ten years old. She didn't love the man that his father was becoming and since his father had more money, he got to keep Victor. Money had bought him as well.

Then on his twenty fifth birthday his dad gave him an Audi. They both went for a spin on the race course. He had been drinking and he had not informed his dad about the same. Both father and son raced on the roads without a care in the world. They avoided collision with three cars and that’s when they slowed down. But alas not fast enough.

The car hit a pothole and Victor lost control of the car. He slammed into the ongoing traffic coming his way.

Victor regained conscious, but he was in the hospital. The Audi, on impact had inflated the air bags. The air bags on Michael’s side somehow didn't open, due to which he went crashing into the bonnet of the vehicle.

He inquired about his father at the hospital, screaming at the nurses and shouted abuses at the doctors.  “Do you know who I am?” he roared. The doctors tried to calm him down. His father’s secretary -cum –friend- cum -assistant had arrived at the hospital and managed to pacify him. Victor arm was bruised but the doctors had taken care of that. He didn't want any pain killers.

The doctors need to perform surgery on his father to stop the internal bleeding, but there was a hitch.

His father was a rare blood type. He was what was known as “Bombay Blood”. A blood type so rare that only a handful people have it. Only “Bombay Blood” could be given to him and no other. The hospital had arranged for 2 bottles by contacting various hospitals however two more were required. Victor was ready to donate but the doctors refused as he had lost some blood himself and he was given medications. They appealed to him to locate his uncles or aunts who could donate. But there were none. His father was the last surviving member of the family. 

After threatening legal action the doctors agreed to take his blood, however they still needed one more bottle.

He appealed to his friends, his so called well-wishers. They used social media to reach out to anyone who could donate.

He said he would pay anyone with that blood type, any amount, if only they would donate the same day. .

A lot of fake people came to the hospital claiming they had the required blood; a lot of precious time was wasted.

As he sat there besides his father in the ICU, he recalled every detail of his childhood. The memory of his mom which he had buried resurfaced. They were happy as a family, the three of them. How did it come to this? Was he going to be alone now?

As he sat there, his head resting on his father’s hand, he felt he was in some dream and wished he could escape to his life of partying and boozing. He recalled the time during the annual blood donation drive in college he had always ridiculed people, bullying them, boasting to his friends that a dying man needed only money to survive.

The nurse came rushing in. They had found a donor. He ran to the blood bank to thank the person.

The donor was already in the process of donating blood so he waited for them to come out. The person who stood in front of him was the nerd Malcolm. Victor had bullied him in college and had taken his notes and had never thanked him in return. But here was Malcolm standing with a tape on his arm trying to avoid eye contact. Victor hugged him and cried. Malcom didn't know how to react. He was a boy who wasn't used to attention and the Mr. Popular was hugging him. Malcom just blurted, “I need the money. I need 100,000. I want to study abroad. Please just transfer it.” With that, he gave him a note with his bank details and left. Victor stood there with the note in his hand, the bank numbers in red. He had bought a life; he was buying his father’s life.  

Which was when another nurse came rushing in. Victor snapped out of his dream. He had fallen asleep. His father had taken a turn for the worst, she said.  As he sat there, in his very real world now, everything seemed to move around with extra speed. The machines beeped, the ventilators made the hissing sound and all he could do was just watch as his father’s heart was giving way. He couldn't buy life this time around. He couldn't force anyone to give the blood required. The money he had was just paper. He had ridiculed people like Malcom who used to line up for blood donation during his college days, discouraged it, and told them that money is all is required even for a dying man.

15 years of living in a bubble came crashing down on him. The doctors tried to stop the heart arresting but all Victor could see now was a flat line. 50,000,000 in his bank account couldn't save his father.

You make the choice, dear reader. What would be an appropriate ending for Victor’s story? His dream or the reality that kicked in on him?

Donate

K & Inputs from Farrokh Jijina.

1/28/2014.