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It was just a normal day that had begun with a cup of coffee and the 9 o’clock news. But then it turned out to be one of the days my mind is as agitated as The Thar desert in a windstorm. The reason – The news that the ‘Slumdog Millionaire’ child-actor Rubina Ali was to be sold for 200,000 pounds. The news made me sit up straight. Statements like “I have to consider what is best for me, my family and Rubina’s future,” “I’m not going to let my girl go.” and the little girl’s face was flashed across news channels, news papers and the internet. I couldn’t work all day. Whether or not it’s true, just imagine the state of mind of that little girl! She probably would have been flocked by journalists from all over the world, wanting a piece of her. Poor child!
As the day wore on, I couldn’t work and set to take my Dell Studio XPS 13 laptop along to Margret’s for a chat and may be a little bit of work later in the day. I drove along the streets of London with my mind still on Rubina – I crossed buildings, pedestrians, dogs in leashes, lovers kissing at a park bench, an old couple walking, fields, pastures…wait a minute! Pastures? I stopped the car and was struck by the sudden change in the landscape. I had driven myself to some strange place.
It was empyrean, that it inspired a smooth flow of words and I set to work right there. My words took shape of their own – some places have magic in them you know, they can inspire words fit for the next Booker. Rubina’s cherubic face, the innocent smile in her face, seemed to haunt me. Was she really to be sold? Oh God, If a father was to give away his beloved daughter for a sum of money, did it not reflect the conditions they were living in? May be Rafiq wanted his daughter to have a better life. Was it love for his girl that drove him to give her away to a wealthy sheik? Or was it greed? Or was he impeccant and the whole thing a drama staged by the media? Such thoughts rumbled like dark clouds in my mind that I actually mistook the actual darkening of the clouds overhead for a phantasma of my own pensive mind. Now, wait a minute, don’t form the impression that I envisage too much, for that’s my job- that is what a writer is supposed to do.
I drove off to Margret’s, for that place was unhinging my mind. Margret made me a cup of my favourite hot chocolate, and we sat in her garden next to a sweet-smelling bush of yellow flowers. Careful not to start a conversation on anything serious, Margret started off with her usual “Oh, how I wish Tyler ends that crazy expedition of his!” Her son Tyler was hitch-hiking across Europe to Asia, with meeting the Aghori tribes of Benares as his sole purpose. It has been seven months since he left and Margret spends days and nights thinking of him, hoping upon hope that he’s not smoking a joint with some grizzly-bearded man at the foot hills of the Himalayas.
I opened up my laptop to distract her, for she loves these modernistic gadgets. “Now this is a dandy looking laptop, Brig! Do you know what processor it runs on?” Now here we go again, thought I. Because Margret teaches electronics at a local college and I was sure she will question me in and out about my laptop. Anything to take her mind off Tyler. And so I said, “This is Tessa’s laptop Maggie. It’s the Dell Studio XPS 13. It has a 2.5GHz Intel Core 2 Duo P9500 processor– it’s quite fast.” “Mmmm, the screen resolution? It looks nice.” “It’s about 1280×800. Has a 4GB RAM, if you want to know. Has a 2 megapixel webcam, Nvidia GeForce 9500M for graphics, which does a fine job. Graphics is a stunner here, Maggie, it uses the Hybrid SLI technology.” “Oh, really? I’m sure it has Bluetooth, right?” “Ofcourse it has! And Wi-Fi too! And what else….yes, there’s a DVD-RW optical drive and the operating system is Windows Vista Home as you can see.”
Feeling the underside, Margret said, “Oh, I feel the heat. It gets hot quite quickly!” “Sadly, yes. And hey the keyboard and mouse are backlit, for which I’m extremely happy. Then there’s an HDMI port and two USB ports.” “It’s a good bargain, nice and thin, if you look over a few hitches that is.” The rest of the day was spent in nostalgia of our school days, when the both of us had a major crush on the same boy, David. We spent sunny days in the swimming pool of my parents’ house arguing about who David smiled at during the lunch break!
It was time to leave, for both of us had our work to get back to – I to my short story collection and she to a presentation on 32-bit microprocessors. At the juncture of opening the door and the quotidian ‘Come agains’, ‘good byes’ and ‘call me when you have the times’, Margret asked a little tentatively, “Some thing’s bothering you, Brig. What is it?” I hesitated. “Maggie, it’s just that…the whole set up…the whole world..I can’t seem to understand it.” Maggie’s brows furrowed and she smiled warmly, the crow’s foot near her eyes deepening. “You never change, Brig. Think too much, that’s what you do… listen now Brig. This is important. I cannot change the world, but you can. With your pen- it’s your sword. I really believe you can. You have a kind heart, have courage sprinkled in the right proportion. And strong words and convictions to back it. If not now, someday you will.” I left her without a word, her words lending me speechless. As I sat with my night gown, with my pen in hand at the workdesk, I heard the clock strike 11. I wrote about a little girl at the slums, I named her Chloe. The story evolved of its own. Chloe faces difficulties, yes. Life in the slums is not easy. But she tries her best to prevail, neighbours scoff and elders mock. “You’re a dirty cat” they say. “Look at your fur peeling off! Eat the remains and learn to starve. Do not strive to be someone you are not.” But in the end, it’s the dirty cat that rises above the world like a tigress. As brilliant and as magnificent as ever. She’s here to rule.
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