Ridima Sharma - End-Term Assignment - Prompt 2

Fiction: Using 2000 to 2500 words, write a short-story in which there is a substantial co-presence of English along with one or more non-English languages. In case these non-English languages happen to be other than Hindi (in Devanagri or Roman script), Urdu (in Nastaliq or Roman script) or Punjabi (in Roman script), do provide the translation of the non-English passages as footnotes.

निज मन की बिथा

I.                    4^th April 2018

Brij Mohan Vaidya
1853, Kucha Pandit, Lal
Kuan Bazaar, Chandni Chowk,
Delhi – 110006.

रहिमन निज मन की बिथा, मन ही राखो गोय । सुनी इठलैहैं लोग सब, बांटी न लैहैं कोय ।

You always knew when to say the correct Sher or an apt Doha at the right time. If I ever needed a solution or an answer, for anything, you were always there to my rescue with your 1000TB memory of classical poetry and जीने का फ़लसफ़ा- as you used to call it.
If it wasn’t for you, I would have never understood the importance of words. Which is why, instead of starting the letter with a Pranaam Daadu, or a Dearest Daadu, I chose this Rahim ka Doha which perfectly sums up my current state of mind. I know you will consider this more respectful than my touching of your feet.
I remember earlier when you used to strictly make me learn a new poetry every day. Of all the Ghalibs, Faizs and Mirs that you introduced to me, the adolescent girl inside me used to only focus on those few ones who wrote some ‘relatable poetry’ on love and heartbreak because that’s what is normal, right?! But today, as I write this hopeless letter as a 20-year-old, I feel a certain sense of regret for not focusing on all your thoughts and philosophy which were wrapped-up in the poetic words of legendary Hindi and Urdu poets.

It’s been 1 month and 6 days since your physical-self left us for the unknown world forever… but I still (try to) feel your presence all around me, especially when I encounter words – while reading, while writing, while talking, while listening, even while thinking in silence.
Because that is the only thing left with me as your legacy, Daadu!
But let’s come back to the point of needing some answers and solutions.
Look, this is in no way an emotional blackmail or an exaggerated account of things. If you can watch from wherever you are, by now you must know that I am struggling to soak in that void which you have left inside of me. A void which I never felt, even when mom-dad separated from each other, I still had you. The empty house didn’t affect me at all because I always knew they were not meant to be together. I always had you. But now I don’t.
Knowing that there is no solution for this pain, I can bet that you would have provided an answer with your poetic genius for this problem too. Only if it could actually reach you!  ‘Because nothing shares your pain better than words’, I remember how you used these lines to encourage me to write, when I had my first heartbreak.

I know what I am doing is just a coping mechanism. Posting this letter on your ancestral home’s address will not return the conversations that I used to have with my best friend. I do realise that my words in any form, might never reach you in any way. But I need to do this Daadu. A diary entry won’t do this time, इस बार नहीं।
Please find me, Daddu. 

Your ‘Kaddu Dehlvi’ misses you badly.

P.S. - I also used a stamp from your favourite stamps’ collection for this letter, please don't get angry!

Kadambari Vaidya
D-503, Sarita Vihar,New Delhi – 110076.

6 days later, Kadambari received a letter which had her deceased grandfather’s name and her ancestral address written on it. Shocked and speechless, she doubted that she is asleep, and all this was happening in a dream. She thought that it was all her hallucination.
‘I am not going to let this person enjoy a single bit of playing this prank with me in my late grandfather’s name!’, she sighed. But a part of her still hoped and wished that it was actually a response from Daadu, and so she decided to read this letter once.

II.                  10^th April 2018

Kadambari Vaidya
D-503, Sarita Vihar,
New Delhi – 110076.

“dard minnat-kash-e-davā na huā

maiñ na achchhā huā burā na huā”

Brij Mohan Vaidya
1853, Kucha Pandit, Lal
Kuan Bazaar, Chandni Chowk,
Delhi – 110006.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as Kadambari read those two lines from Ghalib’s poetry. A distant memory quickly surrounded her thoughts after reading them. She remembered the time when she was 6 and her grandmother died. This was the time when Daadu used to play Begum Akhtar’s cassettes on their Panasonic tape-recorder, and these were the exact same two lines that he used to rewind and play repeatedly. She realised that most of the poetry which was his favourite of others, was all about absorbing the pain.
It was too heavy of a shock for her to take.
She then came back to the letter and continuously looked at it again. It was the exact same Daadu’s style of a typed-letter in italicized Times New Roman font. She couldn’t believe her eyes.

She knew it couldn’t be her grandfather. She posted the letter to her ancestral home in Puraani Dilli deliberately because she knew that the unoccupied property belonged to them and the letter would lie there in the aangan of 1853 along with hundreds of other letters. It was the Diwali of 2013 when anyone last visited that house. She thought she would go back there after some time and then she would find these letters there as a memory.
This must be a heartless prankster taking the advantage of her situation. But the two lines made her furious and restless at the same time. It’s certainly not someone from the family because no one lives there. How can this devil of a person know Daadu’s favourite poetry and his style of typing a letter? Can it really be a coincidence?!
Struggling with her thoughts, she decided to write another letter.

III.                11^th April 2018

Brij Mohan Vaidya
1853, Kucha Pandit, Lal
Kuan Bazaar, Chandni Chowk,
Delhi – 110006.

I don’t know who you are, but you are definitely not my grandfather.
Even though both the sender’s and receiver’s addresses mentioned in the letter, belong to me and my family, I am sure that the postal department has made some mistake in delivering my letter. And an insensitive, irresponsible and completely inhuman person like you is trying to take the benefit of this, which I won’t let you take in any case. Do you really think it is normal to not only read someone else’s letter, but to even respond to that as an imposter? Don’t you have a conscience? Even after reading my letter, how can you think that you have the liberty to man-handle with someone’s pain?

I really hope that this time the postal services don’t mess things up and deliver the letter to the right address. However, if the same thing happens with this letter too, and your pathetic self receives this letter; next time, and it will be the last time too, please respond with your own name and address, explaining about the situation. This is the least of humanity you can show in this situation, Sir/Madam, whoever you are.
I won’t delve deeper into it if you clear the mess that you have created, by yourself. Otherwise I will have to contact the authorities, and trust me, I will not let you get away in peace if you do not end this horrible prank immediately.
DO NOT forget to write your own NAME and ADDRESS in the response of this letter, if it fails to reach the right address again!

Kadambari Vaidya
D-503, Sarita Vihar,
New Delhi – 110076.

IV.               14^th April 2018

Kadambari Vaidya
D-503, Sarita Vihar,
New Delhi – 110076.

dillī jo ek shahr thā aalam meñ intiḳhāb

rahte the muntaḳhib hī jahāñ rozgār ke

jis ko falak ne luuT ke barbād kar diyā

ham rahne vaale haiñ usī ujḌe dayār ke

Brij Mohan Vaidya
1853, Kucha Pandit, Lal
Kuan Bazaar, Chandni Chowk,
Delhi – 110006.

Typed Italicized TNR font.
Address - 1853, Kucha Pandit.
The same lines from Mir’s poetry, which Daadu used to repeat every single time people asked him about his address.

Now Kadambari was in utter shock. But she figured that this is not a prank done by any stranger nor it is a coincidence. She understood that the person responding to her letters is familiar with her family, knew her grandfather quite well, and also had access to their ancestral home. This was alarmingly suspicious so she right away drafted and sent an email to the India Post customer service to register her complaint. She asked them about the person’s details who responded to her letter and received an auto-reply from the service assuring her that ‘they will get back to her shortly’, which was not enough for her curious self.

The next day, she took the keys of her ancestral home from Daadu’s cupboard and left her house at 7 in the morning. She took a metro on the violet line from Sarita Vihar station and reached Lal Qila station at 8:20 AM. It was the first time that she travelled to her ancestral home through this route. Chawri Bazar Metro Station used to be the earlier stop.
Stepping out from Gate No. 1, she started moving towards the main road of Chandni Chowk. Rickshaw-pullers and e-rickshaw riders surrounded her the way paparazzi surrounds celebrities walking out of the airport. Although the distance between her ancestral house and the main road was about 2.5 kms, this time she decided to walk because the roads were emptier. She crossed all the places she used to visit as a child with her grandfather – Gauri Shankar Mandir, Gurudwara Sis Ganj, Famous Jalebi Wala, Paranthe Wali Gali, Ballimaran, Town Hall, Famous Nimbu Lemon Wala, Nataraj Chat Wala, The Chhole Bhature Wala, Chuna Mal Ki Haveli, Chaina Ram Sweet Shop. She reached the end of the road at Fatehpuri Masjid and started thinking about how Daadu used to take her with him on his evening ‘Shatranj Ki Baithak’ which used to take place in an old men’s club behind Khari Baoli main road, when she was really small.
She took a left from the T-point and continued to walk towards the Lal Kuan Bazaar, noticing the closed shops and how they looked completely different when she last visited her home years ago. While walking down the memory lane on the narrow lanes of Lal Kuan Bazaar, she thought about the letter she wrote to her grandfather. She thought again and again about why she wrote what she wrote, what was she thinking when she posted it to her ancestral home. She realised that a part of her really wanted the letter to reach to her Daadu and she unconsciously hoped for a reply of that letter exactly the same as the one which received from an unknown person. The only difference is, the reply made it worse for her to ‘embrace her loss’ - like her grandfather used to say.

‘dil nā-umīd to nahīñ nākām hī to hai, lambī hai ġham kī shaam magar shaam hī to hai’

मशहूर शायर फैज़ अहमद फैज़ के जन्मदिन की 107वीं वर्षगाँठ पर,

चाँदनी चौक यूथ एसोसिएशन
सबको आमंत्रित करती है,

मुक़ाबला-ए-बेतबाज़ी में

 दिनांक – 13 फरवरी 2018…

Kadambari’s eyes quickly fell on this old half ripped-poster stuck on the entrance wall of the Kucha Pandit locality. She couldn’t help but smile on the irony.

As she finally reached 1853, the house in which she grew up as a kid with one happy family, she didn’t realise that it was already half past 9. She checked the post-box hanging outside the main gate and found it empty. Her eyes went on the local postman delivering a letter to the neighbouring house. She crossed the street and ran towards him, and finally stopped the man who was probably in his early 50s.

Kadambari: Chachaji! Namaste. Main Brij Mohan ji ki poti hoon. Saamne 1853 mein jo rehte thay…

Postman: Haan Haan Beta Namaste. Kitni badi hogayi ho! Kya kar rahi ho aaj kal? Shaadi huyi ke nahin? Aur kaise hain Brij Mohan ji? Kitne saal huye tumhare ghar se koi dikha hi nahin.

Kadambari: Ji main toh abhi final year mein graduation ke. Dadaji ab nahin rahe. Ek mahina pehle hi unka dehaant hogaya.

Postman: Arey rey, Sunn Kar bahut bura laga. Uparwala unki aatma ko moksh de. Kitne ache insaan thay woh… Kam se kam tumhara byaah toh dekh jaate kitni jaldi chale ga…

Kadambari (cutting him): Aap bata sakte hain ke pichchle kuchh dino mein agar koi chitthi aayi ho humaare ghar toh… aapne kisi aur ke ghar galti se pahuncha di ho…

Postman: Arey nahin beta.
(takes out Paan from his pocket and offers it to Kadambari)

Kadamabari: Nahin uncle shukriya.

Postman: Arey Meetha Paan hai, tambaaku wala khana chhod diya… chhote bhai ko cancer hogaya tha mara munh ka, tab se tumhari chachi peechhe padd gayin humaare bhi. Isliye gutkha bhi band ab toh. Meetha paan kha kar chala rahe hain. Aajkal toh waise bhi cancer…

Kadambari (again cutting him): Uncle aap chitthi ke baare mein bata rahe thay, humaare ghar par…

Postman: Achchha haan, beta Dilli 6 mein pichchle 31 saal se chithhiyaan deliver kar rahe hain, aankhein kamzor hogayin ho bhale hi par ek-ek ghar ka pata ab bhi andhere mein dhund sakte hain. Kya hai na bijlee toh waise bhi aadhe se zyaada galiyon ki lighton mein aati nahin hai… humko achhi tarah yaad hai, zamana hogaya 1853, Kucha Pandit, Lal Kuan mein chitthi daale huye. Aakhiri shayad pichhle se pichhle saal Diwali ke aas-paas daali hogi, jitna humko yaad hai. Jabse aap log gaye ho aapke Dadaji aur Papa ne sab jagah naya pata de diya hoga tabhi yahan koi chitthi nahin aati.

Kadambari: par chachaji koi aur post man bhi toh daal sakte hain…

Postman: Beta Lal Kuan, Sitaram Bazar aur Sirkiwalan teenon mohallon ki post humaare alava koi aur nahin daalta. Baki ilaakon ka keh sakte hain par yahan toh koi matlab hi nahi kisi aur ki duty hojaye. Agar tumko lagta hai koi chitthi aayi ho aur na pahunchi ho to beta head office jaa kar pata karna hi theek rahega…

Kadambari: Theek hai chachaji. Bahut Bahut Shukriya aapka.

Postman: Jeeti Raho!

She didn’t find anything in the ancestral house. Just more nostalgia and memories of her childhood, of Daadu. Clueless and agonised, she resorted to visit the local post office the next day.

Kadambari reached home and found a hand-written note on her bedside:

Kaddu,

I asked the Post Office to re-direct all the letters reaching our old house to my office, three months ago. I was the one who tried to tell you what Daadu would have probably told you. I am sorry on behalf of myself and your mother for not being there for you when you needed us the most. I miss my Dad more than anything today, but I am sorry for not realising that he was your best friend too, and that you are going through a lot even when you show that you are over it. You have been like that since childhood, and I never realised that it was us, who made you like that.

Before you, it was me who used to be my father’s poetry partner, and I didn’t realise how much I missed that until I read your letter which was addressed to your late Daadu. I am really sorry for trying to be your saviour all-of-a-sudden when I know I had never been a constant for you.

I know I can never turn the time back, I can never bring back those years when I wasn’t there for you and I can surely never take even an inch of Daadu’s place in your life;

But I want you to know that from now on, I will be there for you, no matter what. I hope you forgive your father. I Love You more than anything in the world, beta.

ik tarz-e-taġhāful hai so vo un ko mubārak

ik arz-e-tamannā hai so ham karte raheñge

Your ‘Papa Dehlvi’ misses you badly.