BOOKED TILL DECEMBER
True love is not about the time, its about the moments

“What is with you must vanish, and what is with God will endure.”

                                                                                                                       (Quaran 38:54)

PROLOGUE

The boy only realized his teacher was a Muslim when the latter shouted out his name. Yusuf Habib, the mathematics teacher. He opened a log book and started calling out the roll numbers. The boy was nervous. One of the immediate causalities of his father’s promotion was a transfer to the financial capital of India. He was in a new school. It felt strange. Everything around here felt alien.

“Roll number 43.” The teacher’s voice was stern this time.

When no response was elicited, the teacher stooped over to note the name of the boy. He first smiled and then frowned. He shouted, “Prakarsh Jahangir.”

Prakarsh woke from his day dream. “Present Sir” he exclaimed.

The teacher scanned the boy from head to toe.

“Meet me after the class.”

After the period ended, the boy followed the lanky teacher to his cabin. Mr. Habib sat down on a plush red leathered seat. He arranged his class notes on the table, switched on the obsolete table fan that took ages to gain momentum. Then he looked at the boy one more time.

“Sunni ho?”

The boy was perplexed at the question. Was it related to the subject he taught in the past class. He tried to recall the Pythagoras Theorem, but he didn’t think that was the answer to this question. He kept quiet.

“What sort of weird name is this? Prakarsh?  Its Hindu for God’s sake. You are a Muslim right?”

The boy had seen her mother perform the namaaz in the evenings at the call of the azan.

He nodded.

“What is the difference between the two texts Hadith and Quoran?” the teacher asked.

When the boy looked up at the blotched ceiling, clueless about the answer to the question, Mr. Habib’s lips curled into a stealthy smile.

“How many angels are there according to the quoran?”

The boy tried recalling all the stories his Amma had told him about Farishtey, the angels. But she had not put a number to the clan.

Mr. Habib kept shaking his head.

“Naamaakool, useless. Leave,” he barked. The boy tiptoed to the exit. As he passed he heard the final words from the teacher.

“Bloody kaafir.”

He didn’t know what kaafir meant. But he knew it was not meant to be a salutation.

He returned home crying. The mother cuddled him into her arms. When the sobbing stopped, the boy narrated the entire episode.

At night when his father returned, the three of them sat in the boy’s room. The boy was near his father. The father put his arm around the boy.

“Hmm, so he called you a Kaafir. Thats rude.” He didn’t escalate the matter. He had learned that religion should never be made a serious issue of contention for a kid.

The boy started sobbing. “All the boys will laugh at me. Change my name Abba .Please.” The sobbing intensified.

“Hmm…. Ok we will leave that decision to you”, the father said. He looked at his wife as if his expression would explain her everything.

“Do you know Prakarsh, how many angels are there in this world according to the Quoran?”

The boy shook his head. Strangely abbajan asking the same question actually made him inquisitive.

“1,34,000”, the mother remarked.

The father took the hand of the boy and moved to the nearby window. He looked at the stars and said to the child, “Do you like stories about angels, Prakarsh?”

The boy nodded vigorously.

“Then let me tell you the story of an angel. The 1,34,001th one.”

He looked at his wife and smiled. This time the wife understood.

……………………………………..

Part 1

Year -2011

Place –  Jay Prakash Narayan Airport, Patna

He looked at the boarding pass and crumpled it. This sucks. He uttered to himself. Prakarsh Tiwari was on an INDIGO fight on his way back to Kolkata from Patna.

“These guys have some nerve I tell you. Sending me to Patna for work in this heat.” he blasted. His friend Swapnil Dhar was calm. He knew Prakarsh hated flights, petrified of heights and of losing his life in some obscure plane crash.

People kept boarding the plane. Prakarsh grunted, “Crappy airline. I guess some people will also be standing on the plane and going.”

 He chuckled wildly.

One of the air hostesses closed the door.  Another one took the speaker and in her practiced voice blurted out “Indigo Airlines welcomes you….”

Prakarsh closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He knew that the moment the plane took off, the nightmare would begin again. The numbness of the ears, the panting of the heart, the sweating.

“There are 8 emergency doors…..”

The voice had changed. Prakarsh looked at the new attendant who was explaining them what to do if the plane did manage to crash. Prakarsh kept staring at the girl. He had never seen anyone so beautiful. Her hairs were meddling with her vision and yet she continued to describe the flight protocols ever so succinctly. She had blue eyes; the color manifested more because of the kohl she had so generously applied. When she smiled, her cheeks flushed with nervous energy. She was beauty incarnate. She was beauty herself.

The girl looked at Prakarsh and smiled. For once he could not believe it. He turned to Swapnil.

“Dude, did she just smile at me?” he asked hoping the answer would be in the affirmative.

“Boss, you are the only one to listen to her baloney.”

Prakarsh raised his eyebrow. Useless fellow passengers, he thought.

The flight took off. Prakarsh closed his eyes as soon as the wheels left the ground. He opened it only partly to see in the corner, the girl laughing over something with her co-flight attendant.

During the entire 50 minute flight course Prakarsh tried to locate the girl, but it was almost as if she had disappeared.

His disappointment turned into downright grief when the pilot announced that it was time to land. Few minutes later, the air hostess opened the door. Just as the passenger were about to get off, Prakarsh saw her. She came running from the rear to help her co attendant. As the passengers were exiting she kept smiling and thanking them for choosing the airline.

Prakarsh purposely decided to wait. He and Swapnil were among the last people to get off.

As he was nearing the exit, the girl smiled at him, “Thank you for using Indigo Airlines.”

Prakarsh was almost deaf. He was just seeing her. Only her.

“Thank you for joining Indigo Airlines mam.”

Swapnil wanted to bury himself. An assistant Brand Manager of Hindustan Uniliver was outright flirting with an airhostess.

The girl kept smiling but didn’t say anything. She looked over Prakarsh’s shoulder and seeing that no more passengers were there, she moved forward to arrange the plane for the next takeoff.

Prakarsh’s eyes fell on her hand.

“Hey before I leave, could you just give me something that belongs to me from today.”

The girl was slightly taken aback. She looked at Prakarsh with a disbelief that such one liners usually invited.

“Sorry?” she uttered.

Prakarsh pointed out her left palm. Just over it was a tattoo of a heart.

“Your heart….it’s mine from today.”

Both the flight attendants burst into peals of laughter. After a moment, the person of interest regained her composure and looked at Prakarsh.

“That’s the worst one liner someone has ever tried on any girl.” She remarked and then looked at her co-attendant for approval. The latter nodded, still trying to suppress her smile.

Prakarsh was not bogged down.

“Can I know your name?” he asked, almost like a child.

The co- attendant jumped into the conversation.

“She will be getting married next year. She is already engaged.” she said.

Prakarsh felt a twinge in his heart. Nevertheless, he replied.

“That’s ok. Untill the d-day comes, I will always stand a chance.” He winked at Swapnil expecting him to smile. He didn’t.

The girl with the tattoo, turned grave. “Now if you will leave, we can start with our work for the next flight Sir.”

As she said this, she untied her hairs that were in a bun.

Prakarsh noticed her badge and the name written on it. Swapnil pushed him ahead and the made it to the exit.

When they were on the taxi, no one talked. Swapnil looked at Prakarsh , “Buddy, you ok ?”

Prakarsh looked at him and gave a feeble smile.

Swapnil was still not sure, “You feeling bad because she didn’t tell her name or because she is getting engaged.”

“Aasman, that’s her name. It was written on her badge.” Prakarsh retorted.

No one talked for the rest of the journey. Swapnil got down from the taxi near his residence. The taxi was about to leave for Prakarsh’s home when Swapnil craned his neck through the rear window and stared at Prakarsh.

“Don’t harp too much over this. Consider it as a bonus. Anyways you will never meet her again, I am sure. Unless ofcourse ,if you are ready to risk losing your life in an Indigo flight one more time.” He giggled impishly.

Prakarsh kept looking at the lines on his palm.

“I know two things. I will be meeting her again, and yeah with her around I can never lose my life.”

Only time could have told Prakarsh Tiwari that he was right about one of those assumptions, but completely flawed about the other.

………………………………………………..

A year later.

Place – Woodlands Hospital

Alipore, Kolkata

“Congratulations, it’s a baby boy.” The doctor beamed at Swapnil. At times like these, emotions betray the best of those with a steely resolve. Swapnil was almost in tears.

Swapnil hugged his father. Then he turned to Prakarsh.

“I don’t know what would I do without you.” He remarked.

Prakarsh patted his shoulder.

“It’s ok.” He didn’t say more.

It was in the afternoon that Swapnil’s mother called him while he was preparing the sales figures for the eastern region.

“Her water broke. It’s serious.”

Prakarsh used his contacts to immediately arrange for a surgeon and register an operating theatre. He himself drove Swapnil to the hospital. The operation had lasted for 4 hours. Swapnil’s wife finally delivered a one month premature baby girl.

Prakarsh looked at his watch and frowned. It was already 8.30 pm. No point returning to office. Amidst the chaos, he hadn’t realized that he had missed his lunch. Nor his evening coffee.  Now, his head was paining like crazy. He decided to get himself a coffee at the hospital canteen before returning home.

He cared to hear the commotion only when he sipped the last of the coffee.

Prakarsh moved out of the canteen and saw a group of the hospital staff working frantically to get their logistics right. Somewhere a bearded gentleman wearing a sober achkan was wiping sweat from his forehead. A heavy muscular youth was holding a doctor by the collar.

“You don’t even have the operation theater ready. What the fuck?” he snarled.

The bearded gentlemen intervened. The doctor ran towards the registration desk and shouted animatedly at the receptionist. Amidst the clamor, Prakarsh observed an ambulance rushing into the portico of the OPD. The muscular man along rushed to the ambulance accompanied by several other young men.

“Who are these people?” Prakarsh questioned one of the liftmen.

It is at times like these that liftmen assume the importance they know their work will never offer.

“I don’t know much. Just that there was some serious trouble in a marriage. There was a fight. The girl tried to kill herself. They are bringing her here now. I don’t understand why they have to marry when they can’t do it right.” Then he went into a monologue of all the failed marriages he had seen in his life time.

Two of the ward boys pulled a body from the ambulance and laid it on the portable hospital bed. They carried it to the lift with great alacrity. The muscular man and the bearded gentleman were right behind the staff.

As the bed passed alongside Prakarsh, he noticed a white blanket covering the girl’s body. Prakarsh could not see the face.  But as it passed, Prakarsh saw one of her hands hanging on the edge. But it was not the hand that caught Prakarsh’s attention.

It was the discerning outline of a tattoo on her left palm. The tattoo of a heart.

…………………

A story by Pranay Tiwari

Part 2 next week.