Michelle D'costa: The Newscaster

When Dai was young she would stare awestruck at the news channel, in love with the newscaster’s confidence. How they relied on their memory to announce the news! She was bad at remembering lines. Even though later she did learn of teleprompters, the magic of the newscasters didn’t fail to awe her.

“Dad have you noticed ‘Priya Mirza’ is no more reading news for DTV.”, Dai said this and looked behind her shoulder at Mr Rathore who was having his evening tea, the tea cup precariously balanced on the teapoy.

“Yes I have. Why do you think she left?”

“No idea. Maybe she got poached. Anyway, Let us google it. I’m sure others have noticed it too and are wondering about it.”

‘Former newsreader of DTV, Priya Mirza is keeping a low profile nowadays after she left the leading news channel. We wonder why.’

Dai frowned, she had missed her so much already.

 ‘What could have happened to her?’, she asked her Dad who was now peaking over her shoulder, at the mobile screen in her hand.

‘For all you know she’s doing it for publicity, making others worry for nothing.’, he said and shrugged.

‘She is famous Dad,’ Dai rolled her eyes. ‘Besides she didn’t do anything controversial…. she just disappeared. And that’s a big risk. You can get easily replaced and forgotten nowadays.’

‘You think she will be replaced so soon? Not if people like you keep her alive through media.’, he winked and left to change for work after glancing at the grandfather clock they had in the living room.

Dai’s brother, Jayant, was a regular viewer of Priya’s show. He missed her too.

“ She had a pleasant face. It was easier listening to her. Her replacement sucks.’’, he said.

A day passed….then two….Priya was forgotten…she was occasionally remembered by her loyal fans…like Dai…

 Dai was at Kol’s- her favourite ice cream parlour.

Its blue and white exterior reminded her of Twitter’s theme and she felt at home there.

Dai got out of the parlour with a strawberry scoop dripping from the cone, snaking down her fingers.

She had her eyes fixed on a group of people crossing the road approaching her side when she saw Priya or she thought she had seen her...

She had heard that Priya lived nearby.

Priya crossed the road cautiously and the veil from her face slipped just enough for Dai to spot her tarred cheek. Dai recognised Priya from her thick fringe and cloudy eyes right below the veil’s hem. She didn’t look very different from TV except for her cheek.

But before she could shout out or say anything Priya slipped into a car and disappeared from sight.

Dai cursed her fate, on days when she had to reach somewhere urgently, the traffic had a stubborn match with her but today when she had just spotted her idol, she had been betrayed by it.

But she didn’t give up, her eyes couldn’t have played tricks on her, could it?

She hailed an auto rickshaw and on the way she tried to digest what she saw.

She was so pre-occupied with her thoughts (Priya’s tarred cheek kept flashing in her mind) that she forgot to pay the rickshaw walla and sprinted off as the rickshaw halted by her house.

The driver came out of the vehicle cursing about how customers were always ungrateful for all that the drivers went through, a long list.

She had almost reached her gate when she heard him, she wasn’t in the least embarrassed as she was still pre-occupied, paid him and said, ‘Have a nice day!’

He stared at her as if she had just apparated from thin air.

She reached her main door and slipped her slender fingers into her pocket when she realized her pocket was flat, where was the bulge that her key bunch created in her pocket? Oh damn!

She must have forgotten it in the rickshaw?!

But she didn’t run after the rickshaw.

Her fingers were itching to find the truth about Priya.

Atleast she still had her phone with her.

She sat down on the stairs, the sun rays fell directly on to her eyes, she rose a bit and parked herself on the step above.

She checked for the wifi connection. It was on. Thankfully, once when she didn’t regret not switching it off before leaving.

Her weapon-Twitter was accessible to her. She immediately tweeted

#Priya#DTV#reasonforhousearrest#supportresumeofduty

She instantly received various reactions from her numerous followers who enjoyed media as much as she did or even more.

So no one knew the real reason. Was she attacked with acid by a jealous viewer? If not what had happened suddenly?

Maya started a twitter campaign to force DTV to reveal the real reason for her resignation and that her supporters wanted her back.

After millions of followers and appeals, DTV arranged to have a live session with Priya just for her viewers.

Live On air,

‘What is the real reason for your resignation?’

The planned answer was ‘I suffer from a skin disease and I wish to stay at home.’

Instead she said, ‘I was asked to leave as I look hideous now.’

‘Excuse…Oh…Uh….’

‘I would love to continue to be a newsreader as long as I’m allowed to.’

This brought out a cheer from her fans as they didn’t mind her scarred face. She was the best at her work.

However the rest of the world protested, ‘How can she? She’s so ugly..’

Anyway thanks to social media she resumes duty.

People got used to it or they didn’t. Life went on and Dai realized the change that she had created.

She thought it would be the right time to send her C.V. to news agencies to apply for a newscaster role.

She did and one agency replied, ‘You need to be good looking for this role. You will be the face of our agency. Sorry you do not fit the criteria. Maybe consider using a fairness cream or maybe a surgery, that is if you really want the job that much.’ 

Michelle D'costa has had her work published in journals such as The Bombay Literary Magazine, Hackwriters International Magazine, The Commonline Journal, Big River Poetry Review among many others. She blogs at pikoomish.wordpress.com

Michelle D'costa: Memory

His tongue in her mouth felt like an intrusion of privacy. Yet she didn’t mind.

First she let him into her soul. Slow and steady wins the race. Her mother always said. Love need not be rushed. It should be a steady stream not a gushing waterfall if you wanted it to be everlasting and that's what she had wanted- A Happily Ever After Ending.

So Preeti waited like a faithful devotee for her prayer to be answered. She had almost come to believe that she was meant to be alone forever. She had killed her expectations. A slow poisonous death.

But as she closed her eyes all she could see was his face. She had read in romance novels that a kiss could take you to unknown heights. She was flying. Not that she ever flew before to know how it felt. She hadn’t been privileged to be lifted off the ground leaving all her sorrows behind in the land it was born(although temporarily). She had dreamt of flying though. Leaving bits of her dreams suspended in clouds and if God willed they would rain on her someday making them come true.

Every experience has its own ingredients of discovery. No two moments can be paralleled. Nothing in the world could have prepared her for her first kiss.    

Adam knew that Preeti couldn’t forget that moment ever. As he was the first man to kiss her. He knew because he had unlocked her lips full of secrets and her tongue that tasted freedom with the gratitude of a prisoner set free. He was happy to be her rescuer.

It wasn’t his first kiss though but he knew it wasn’t his last. He wanted more. Only from her. He would kiss her on places he knew existed on the female anatomy but was yet to discover for real. He felt her fingers creep into the spaces between his fingers and at that moment he felt complete. Like a scissor is complete only with both blades.

*  *  *

Now he wants her to do the same. He pleads. ‘Hold my hand Preeti. Please.’

But she doesn’t. The events of the night flash before him.

He had decided he would do something special for her. Just to see her smile. Special people deserved special treatment. Not on their birthday or valentine’s.

Any day, every day.

He opened the car door for her. She hesitated. She was chided before for trusting too soon. ‘Can’t we just walk it down?’

He sensed her discomfort. He wanted her to take the ride with him. The car was part of the surprise. But he reminded himself she wasn’t like other girls. To gain her trust in itself was an accomplishment. He wouldn’t dare to jeopardize that.

So he shut the car door and bent his left arm so that she could place her palm in the crook of his arm.

‘Sure ma’am’

She smiled, relieved and held his arm firmly.

They had to cross the road to see the surprise. They had to.

Crossing the road is just one among other routine acts we do without much thought that could prove to be fatal some day.

Routine acts like forgetting to light the gas ring or using the hair dryer in the bathroom or crossing the road.

If only they had taken the car…

*  *  *

Now he held her limp fingers to his tearing eyes. His grip slippery. ‘Please respond darling.’

‘Mr. Adam, you are wasting your time.’, the doctor stood behind him in the dimly lit room.

‘Her brain has severely suffered from the trauma Mr. Adam. She won’t remember anything. Even if she survives, she will just be a vegetable.’

The doctor’s words seemed to be coming from one end of a dark tunnel.

Questions hijacked Adam. His own voice very loud in his ears.

If not for the amnesia post the accident, would she have remembered me forever? Would she have treasured our first kiss? If not for the accident, would she have liked the surprise?

Her reaction will remain a surprise forever. He thought.

No. She will remember. She has to. She will see what I have done for her. And she will love me back. Am I selfish to still expect her to love me?

Isn’t it because of me she’s here in this condition?

If only I had insisted on taking the car.

The beeping of the heart monitor got louder. It reverberated in the small room.

It pierced his thoughts. Brought back to reality he clenched her fingers with all his might. ‘Don’t leave me’

The line on the machine went flat.

Putting full stops to all his old questions and giving birth to new ones.

The doctor reached for his shoulder with one arm and with the other arm he switched off the machine.

‘Whenever you’re ready Mr. Adam’

The silence that followed engulfed Adam.

He longed for the variations in her heart beats.

When the monitor was beeping it had annoyed him but now he knows that that was better than silence. At least it meant that Preeti was around.

He realized how lonely silence could be. She loved to talk. And he loved to listen.

Michelle D'costa: The Escalator

When escalators were first introduced in India, women nagged at its inconvenience. They had to be careful of their saris, heels and children. Ah! Children! Now if only children ranked first on their priority list.

Sheela stood facing the escalator that headed downwards, towards her. Now, was that convenient? Not for the people who were heading her way. They felt conscious. Why was she standing there? Who was she looking for? Who was she looking at? They murmured to their partners. She’s nuts.

Sheela could see her son Gopu taking faltering steps on the top of the escalator. She smiled a smile of a mother seeing her child taking his first steps. And then her eyes glazed over, ‘Nooooo!!!!’

Her blood curdling scream stopped the escalator in its track. But Gopu repeated what he had done that day. Only difference was Sheela watched him do it now, again and again.

She watched as he stumbled for balance. He was in the right direction. He was supposed to come down. Unlike other kids who are blessed with intelligence yet find themselves at the wrong end of the escalator, at the dangerous end.

Despite being in the right direction, he slipped. Her Gopu. Yes he did. If only she had noticed in time.

And tumbled. And then. Only then had Sheela turned around and noticed that her son was missing.

How ironical life is? The whole process began so gruellingly slow. From conception to gestation to childbirth. But death came without that wait. So sudden. At least for Gopu it did. Not that a death which is asked for is less painful. Death is like whisper only meant for the dying but arouses curiosity of the survivors.

As if Gopu was conjured from thin air. No he wasn’t. He was her flesh. He had her eyes. Too big for his face. She could see only innocence in them. His admiration for her sparkling in the drool which escaped his lopsided mouth. No one knew his smile like she did.

She had prayed so much for a child, for Gopu. Why then did God give her a child if he had to take him away anyway? That is if God exists.

People say, ‘Don’t be sad for it is over. Be happy for it happened.’

Move on. Two simple words, Sheela told herself every day since Gopu…

But how could she have been so careless? Sheela asked herself again.

When she knew he wasn’t like other kids. That he was special. That he couldn’t handle himself. But could any kid of that age? Even a normal one?

And now he was tumbling and coming towards her.

She stretched out her arms.

‘Come to mama, boy! Come!’

Yes he had heard her. He came forward hugging her. Pushing her. Handcuffing her.

‘Ma’am we cannot allow you to scare our customers away. Please go where you belong.’

The guard saying ‘please’ a little too reluctantly when he actually felt like screaming back at her ‘Go to an asylum you bitch! You will get me fired’.

She stood fixed to the spot. In her past or present? No one could say.

The people descending the escalator stared at her terrified.

‘Ma’am no one will come to our mall if you continue your drama. Please go home.’, he managed in a low tone again.

Home…It rang a bell..

‘Yes, I must go home. I must. Gopu must be waiting for me. I had put him to sleep. I told him I’ll be going to the mall. He must be awake now.’, Sheela stuttered.

But her legs didn’t move. Her mind did. To what? Home?

Of course not! Home was home sweet home before Gopu…

Her mind slowly crawling, creeping up the escalator against the tide until it reached the top and there was Gopu.

Taking his faltering steps all over again. His eyes pleading her to end it all once and for all. To take him home.

Author Bio: Michelle loves to write. You can follow her work here pikoomish.wordpress.com