katha corner-Garuda

The highlighted section was given and the challenge was to complete the story...read on!


I looked at my watch again. She had said 9.45. She was late. I looked around me. The mall wore a strange forlorn look. A cleaning woman mopped the floor. Her mouth drooped and her eyes stared at the floor as her hands moved pushing the mop this way and that.
What did she think of that entire she saw here? I wondered. The abundance. The greed. Hungry mouths. Grasping hands… I shuddered. Malls frightened me.
"Are you out of your mind?" I had said when she suggested we meet at Garuda Mall.
"At that hour, you don't have to worry about the crowds," she had said with a laugh. "Think of it as a social experiment. A mall at an unmall-like hour.What happens there? Bring your notebook..You can make notes..(anita nair)


(my insertion)
When you are thirteen going on seventeen and the most prominent feature on the landscape is an oversized bobbing apple a la adams, you do not think about blinking twice- you just accept your fate, roll on that underarm deodorant, splash on some aftershave you have carefully hidden among the Amarchitra katha edition of the “Vishnu’s Vahanas “and head for the door before the brat (otherwise known sister) and Chief (otherwise known as amma) begin their third degree interrogation.
After all, it is not every day that a slightly breathless voice (and female to add) calls you at midnight with an invitation to meet (with notebook in hand) at the Garuda mall. The mall at an unmall hour / social experiment angle gave the whole meeting a mysteriously intellectual dimension which suited my current state of sensibilities. Lately, my current sense of sensibilities to say the least has completely alienated me from my class mates, my family and even my pet tortoise-I find myself worrying about where the planet is headed to on the highway of disaster it cruises on-pollution, poverty , crass consumerism -and suddenly school, exams and algebra class just does not make sense. Externally, this manifests as a potent combination of indifference, glazed eyes and monosyllabic utterances. The chief thinks it is growing pains , the brat sniggers that it is a girl, or rather the lack of it.

I dread the nightmares-when I close my eyes, I see humming malls , headless torsos, neon lights and soda machines shriek.. Set us free ,, set us free…
The mall at 9:45 am is deathly quiet. The calm before the crowds storm. It is almost spiritual. The eerie glow of neon, the mannequins conversing in muted gestures and the swish of the cleaning lady’s mop.
It is 10:00a.m. A cruel joke. I close my eyes ,surprised to feel the first sting of saltiness..

“Yenn beku?” , a breathlessly raspy voice interrupts. I find myself staring into the eyes of the cleaning woman.
“Yennilla…” I tried to piece together my thoughts in chaste kanada.

It begins with a tinkle and then gurgles into the most delicious laughter I have ever heard. The mop falls to the floor shattering into a million crystal pieces. Tiny white pearls of wisdom. Dark brown tresses sweep the floor. Skin the colour of bittersweet chocolate clothed in layers of cloth of many colours. I cannot bring myself to look at her. Beauty can be frightening.
Relax…I normally don’t do the cleaning lady routine. Just a little fun..friends..?..Her fingers touch mine lightly
What am ..Who are …?..The thoughts speed ahead of my guttural utterances..
She smiles. Did you bring the notebook.? Good, record everything. You are going to make history. you are the chosen one.
And then she disappears.

I feel my palms perspire and my Adam’s apple bobs overtime. This must be the mother of all my nightmares. You meet a cleaning woman who turns into a diva in a mall in the heart of a city and names you,” chosen one”. Not you’re average Sunday morning.
And then the humming begins. Slowly it builds into a crescendo. one by one, the lights come on. Each store vying with each other .The escalators growl, the soda machines gurgle ,and trapped mannequins shatter glass. Transfixed, I watch as the headless torsos circle me, swaying their hands wildly-a primitive dance spelling liberation. And then the chanting begins…
Set us free…set us free…no more humans buying…no more. take us away…
I feel powerless. Why me? - And then I see her.
You care. You feel. You are real. That is your power. Use it, damn it. Her eyes radiate liquid fire
I close my eyes. I feel their pain.
I grow lighter .. The ground slips beneath my feet. Then I see the wings.
I am the protector.
You are Garuda, she says

I head towards the ground again. In one sweep of my talons, I carry a trail of swinging torsos, soda machines, neon lights but something is missing.
She looks tiny. I am coming back for you, I say.
“No. You and I have work to do. There are so many malls out there…”
Across the distance our eyes meet .And as I fly higher and higher , my wings breaking the multicolored glass ceiling, I look down again .I learn my lesson of a lifetime .
Two people can kiss without touching.

And I fly , past city scapes,hills ,mountains, until we reach the blue green ocean. As each mannequin dives into the water, my load becomes ligtehter.I feel their joy . and sing…

Monday morning and I am thirteen again. Headlines scream of an empty mall and sightings of an unusual bird. I turn to my notebook. It is blank. I feel small again. May be it was just a dream. A school boy fantasy. And then, I see it. A feather on my table. I hear the laughter of fallen mannequins. I close my eyes. I feel it. The kiss.
Like any other Monday, I head for school. Still the same but so different. I look at the mass of humanity and smile.

I am your protector, I whisper. I am Garuda.

katha corner- "ordinary hero"

Note:This story was written for a competition-It did not make the mark and hence is now part of my virtual collection...enjoy!-The highlighted passage was given to us and the challenge was to complete the story.


The Ordinary Hero

He sat on the bench and looked around. It was only 9.00 am but there were still a few people walking.
He opened his school bag and felt the inside pocket. Through the lining the rustling sound of the crisp notes made him want to take it out and count it one more time.
Just then a dog ran towards him wagging its tail. He wondered if he should feed it a biscuit from his snack box. But he had a long wait ahead. So he merely patted its head.
Mummy said he always came to Cubbon Park for a walk. It was a routine of many years. A walk and then a morning coffee at Koshy's.

He raised his water bottle to his mouth and drank deeply. What if this one day he decided to stay at home? He wondered.

There were two things that he looked for when his mind wandered like this. A sugar coated jam biscuit and his green notepad. Both made him feel secure. He knew that the notebook would hold his secrets safe while the biscuit was always sweet .He flipped through the pages and found what he was looking for .A sketch titled “Tea party # 45”. And in the faces that he had drawn, he saw him.
His superhero. His caped crusader. The Ordinary man

Every Sunday, mummy invited people home. He hated Sunday mornings at home. The day would begin with mummy barging into his room and drawing the curtains open.
“It is 9:00 ...so much work to do….No sense of responsibility…”-Hurry up, take Momo for a walk, clean your …

He often wondered why adults loved to do things they obviously hated. Everyone who came to the party wished they were somewhere else. His mother had an eternal smile fixed on her face. The people who came looked uncomfortable. They tried hard to say something funny or wise. Fortunately, he was required to be there only for the first three minutes. Different people, same questions. Sometimes they would squeal, “so cu-uute..”. Then mummy would give her signal, “ chweetheart, why don’t you go upstairs…..”

Ever since he could remember he loved the caped superheroes .There was something so exciting about nerdy guys transforming into saviours. Like superman saving a child from a burning bus or Spiderman trapping the neighbourhood bully in his net. Superheroes were always there. Only humans disappeared from your life forever. Especially on a rainy day. Like his father did, three years ago,

Last Sunday‘s tea party changed his eleven year old life forever.He had gone down stairs to face the crowd. The instant he saw him, it was like a light bulb moment in his favorite comic strip. He was the most ordinary looking man to have ever come to a tea party. He wore a long sleeved white shirt, coudry trousers, socks which did not match and a pair of dirty brown sneakers. During the three minute interrogation, he felt the man’s eyes on him. They radiated a quiet understanding that seemed to envelop him in a big hug.

“Bhasu, my son loves to doodle. Look at his sketches... gives him a few tips...”Mummy’s voice cut through the chatter.

He felt his face flush and turn cherry tomato red. Before he could stammer a reply, the ordinary man looked at him and smiled.

“I’ll come up”.

For the next ten minutes, the ordinary man and he sat next to each other on his bed and they flipped through his drawings. There were sketches that he had never shown anyone. His father getting into a taxi. A rainy night and a boy hugging his teddy bear.
Mummy sobbing. into her pillow. Momo on a leash. The three bullies in school.


“You have tremendous power..…”


That was the only conversation they had before the ordinary man left the room. No one had ever come into his room, sat on his bed and told him that he had power.
When he asked mummy about the ordinary man she laughed. “great artist but strange…My reporters tell me he walks everyday at cubbon park and then heads for koshy’s”

So, here he was at Cubbon park. The plan was crystal clear H e was going to run away and live with the Ordinary man. He would draw all day and then there would be no mummy, tea parties, momo, cleaning up, bullies in school and the ache he felt when he thought of daddy. He would be the Ordinary man’s assistant. .After all, even batman had Robin. Someday, he would even visit his mother and tell her he was sorry that he skipped school and return the two hundred rupees he had borrowed from her purse.

The park was becoming quiet. The walkers had gone. three squirrels played hide and seek. A few crows huddled by the footpath. He smelt burnt corn on charcoal

Still no sign of the hero. It was getting hot and his eyes began to water. For some reason he felt betrayed, tired and thirsty. He suddenly missed mummy’s smell and voice and even her tea parties .And who would take momo for a walk? What if mummy started crying again?

A little boy ran up to him and said “That uncle asked me to give
you this...”

It was the most beautiful sketch he had ever seen. The entire scene was there. The bench, the bag, the dog, and an eleven year old boy, all packed and ready to go. The eyes shaded with just the right amount of scary-ness. Scrawled at the bottom were the words “true superheroes lives ordinary lives”

It was so quiet you could hear the bamboos whistle.

He looked at the sketch again

With sudden determination, he packed his schoolbag and gave the dog his last biscuit. He knew what he had to do.

If he ran, he could still make it by recess and mummy would never have to know.
His first step towards becoming an ordinary superhero.

March 20008