8:10

My cellphone is chiming loudly. I open my groggy eyes, searching for the buzzing phone, unwittingly trying to shut off the irritating ring tone (I had kept it this way intentionally). I wouldn't say I hate it, cause it always means that I have another 20 minutes of blissful sleep in my  warm and snug bed, until I get up to prepare breakfast for everyone. So I doze off peacefully, floating in a sweet stupor until..

There is something warm on my forehead. "Maya, wake up darling", my husband says as he pecks me on the cheeks. I feel him taking my palm in his hand and curling up the fingers, touching it, his face smiling at me like a bright playful sun beaming down at my face from behind blue clouds. I look at him, with wistful eyes, hiding behind the quilt. "I love you", he says, the big brown eyes on his wide handsome face staring at me intently, serenely, lovingly. I lift my head and kiss him lightly, a whiff of his smell comes to me, a heady mix of warm love,  sea breeze and aftershave cologne. The kind of smell that breathes life into the dead as what happens in glorious tales of mythological love that we hear while we grow. 

"Yeah getting up, Avinash dear. Late ho gaya tu? Aww just take your bag and I will make you something quick to take along to eat". I rush to the kitchen, tying up my robe. I take out loaves of bread from the fridge. "Ok jaan, see you in the evening", he says as he grabs the egg sandwich, which I have wrapped in a tin foil, as he struts off towards the door, swaggering like a cute angry duck in a tearing hurry. I love him and love every moment being with him, near his caring presence, his constant doting and his completely foolish love for me. Avinash is everything I have.

I usually spend the mornings cleaning up all the rooms in our little forest hut of a house. It's located on small lush green hilltop, facing the beautiful Spiti valley. There's a winding stone road from the Manali old market which comes straight to our home. I like the dazzling sunshine here, the sweet aromas, the fresh smell of pollens, the labouring stream of smiling Himachali people who wave at me while I sweep my porch of the fallen chestnut leaves. I like sitting in the verandah upstairs overlooking the street and sipping freshly brewed tea leaves, as I watch the absolute peaceful stillness of the life spread across me. Sometimes I stroll down the road to the market and chat up with my friends, sitting and eating in the numerous Israeli cafes scattered across the streets. I also write, penning up my thoughts on a bright day, letting my head wander like a dove on the peaceful meadows, watching through its eyes, down at the small hillocks with houses which look like illustrations in a child's story book. Tired from my creative pursuits,  I usually take a nap until evening when Avinash comes home and wakes me up. Yes, with a kiss.

Life has been good, with Avinash also settling down nicely in his new job as the Forest Officer in the HP government. I sometimes feel that I am in the heavens, that this is the life, people in the cities and elsewhere, always dream about. A nice house, a nice husband, a nice peaceful town. What else does a lady's heart want? I can add kids later to the list. There's still a couple of years before we decide to have some. Maybe I will have a small darling of a daughter who will flutter, like a butterfly, all over the house, spreading joy or a mischievious son, who when caught stealing cookies from the kitchen jar, will look upto me with his sparkling, daring eyes and make my heart melt. Or both. 

It's been three joyous years since we moved to this place. Why had we moved you may ask? There was some sort of an accident..I dont quite remember. My head starts to split whenever I try thinking about it.

It's late in the evening today and it's not looking good. There are heavy winds and I can see a mass of black omnious looking clouds on the horizon, just beyond the mountains. Signs of an incoming storm. Storms worry me. They are like angry demons, filled with uncontrollable wrath, the destructive sweep of their clawed hands lashing out at everything that is filled with happiness before it, leaving behind washed out garbage soaked in despair and wrung of all hope.

I am worried where Avinash is. I hope he can reach me safely. I hope he can drive around the, soon to be muddied, mountain roads to be with me, cozy and safe in my arms. I hope.. I see headlights in the distance of a Jeep. That's Avinash's car! Oh thank god he's safe. The car is swerving a little but staying on course towards the house. I rush down from the verandah, jumping over stairs until I reach the door, as I hear the Jeep pulling over near. I open the gate and rush out towards the front entrance as I stop dead in my tracks.

The Jeep's door is open and I can see a body covered in mud from head to toe behind the steering wheel. The heart leaps out into my mouth as it starts to thump rapidly. Don't panic, I tell myself as I rush towards the seat. "Avinash? Avinash what happened?". It is him, his hands on the wheels but his head lying back against the seat, mouth open, white teeth shining from inside the muddied mouth, eyes watching the sky, motionless. "Avinash! Are you ok??". I grab his shoulders and start pulling him out of the seat as I slip and fall to the ground. It has started to rain. I can see the end of the street, with the water pelting down hard on the mud tracks. Avinash's body flops over me like a dead chain falling down from a height, lifeless. He's dead?

Is he dead? Avinash! AVINASH!

  ----------------

"Maya, can you hear us?".  Is it a voice inside my head? "Maya, can you hear us?". It's blurry, as if my eyes are filled with tears. There's a throbbing pain in my head. "Maya try to open your eyes." I can feel no sensation in my legs, neither in my arms. My eyelids feel like heavy iron traps. I try to open my eyes, with great effort,  to the ever increasing brightness. As my eyelids part, I am flooded with a blinding deluge of bright light which makes me wince out in pain. "Don't worry Maya, just open your eyes". I open my eyes very slowly. A blank white ceiling greets me. I look down and see a bearded middle aged guy, of medium height, in white overalls. "Maya, Welcome back!", he says with a beaming smile. "You just woke up after a very long sleep. I should call the other doctors too". I have no idea what's happening.

-----------------

Tears are rolling down my cheeks. "Yes Maya, it was terrible, as terrible a thing that can befall anyone out here," the doctor says, with a look of grave concern on his face. "Where's Avinash, what happened to him?" I cry out in agony. "Where is he?". The doctor gets up and walks to the nearby window. "Ive heard your story Maya. Avinash died three years ago".

"What?" A lump is forming in my throat.

"Yes Maya. You and your husband met with an accident near Manali. You were on your honeymoon trip."

"No! How is that possible?? Until recently, I used to wake up everyday, he used to eat breakfast, go to the office, we were living in the hills, it was so nice and..," I am crying, howling and crying.

"You were in a coma Maya. For three years. I have been attending to you in this special ward. You have never ever lived in Manali as far as your relatives tell me. You woke up after three long years and it took you six months, just to stand up from the bed. Now you are sitting here and talking to me."

I can't stand this anymore. "What was the accident? How am I alive?"

"You and Avinash were going in a Jeep towards Manali. It was raining heavily. The Jeep skid on a muddied turning, Avinash lost control and it fell in the gorge below. You were extracted by an army helicopter, while your husband was found dead in the Jeep."

-------------------

I wish I was dead. Really. Broken in heart, broken in mind and broken in soul. Is there any point in living like a walking carcass? I dread mornings. Empty mornings devoid of touch, devoid of love. The emptiness filled with deep sorrow, an aching longing for a caring kiss, a loving stroke of the fingers, a gaze filled with hope. I don't keep any alarms, I hate them. When it's morning, I still wake up at the same time I used to earlier, out of my imaginary habit. When I open my eyes I see my watch.

It's always 8:10. Always 20 minutes more of a blissful sleep.

Warmth

My breath is making the insides of the windshield foggy. "Pull down the window a li'l darling", says Mausam, my wife, as she brakes the car to a halt for the red light at a traffic signal. I roll down the windows of the rickety Maruti 800 as I am immediately greeted by a chilling gust of wind from the outside. Its an early morning of the middle winter season. "Brr.. It's so damn cold this time of the year", I remark with a shudder. "I am quite warm. You are a cold blooded creature", remarks Mausam with a playful nonchalant shrug of the shoulder as she eyes the motionless red bulb of the traffic light listlessly.

I look out from my car window, towards the footpath, at two playing street urchins. Both of them appear to be of the same age, two little 12 years olds. The taller of them is scraggy looking, with dirty hair and is wearing a brown muddy jacket with torn cargos. His shorter playmate is wearing a green sweater with tiny holes on the chest with dark grey dusty pants. The taller one is trying to remove some kind of ticks from the mottled hair of the shorter one with great interest and skill. Both of them are visibly shivering from the utter cold as the cloth they are wearing fail to keep in the warmth.

The mist is swirling around them, as if engaging in their play,  as careless in its freezing touch as their uncaring spirits. The mist laden air rains a shower of icicles up my lungs and stings my eyes. Pity smothers me as I watch the urchins play, unmindful of the fact that they have to beg and tap at the windows of the cars, with their palms and nose flat on the glass and cry for a few rupees. I remember the old jacket lying on the back seat, which I had brought along with good intentions just in case I happen to see such kids, as I do often. I would term it as being "primed up for charity" and also, I could put my old clothes for a good cause. "Ek minute Musu, just wait for me please."

"Arreh, it's a signal! Why don't you.." I leap out of the car, cutting her off in mid-sentence,  the maroon jacket tucked in my hand. "Aye, yeh lo, take this jacket", I call out to them in my chaste ruffian Hindi. They immediately stop fooling around and peer toward me. I extend my hand with the jacket, in their direction, "take this and wear it, yeh lo." As soon as I complete the sentence, the two scamper in my direction, their hands in the air, eager to grab hold of it. The taller one grabs the left sleeve and the shorter one, the collar. And they start to pull. "Mujhe de, give it to me!", the Tall-Boy shrieks,

"Nahinn, it's mine", says the Short-Boy,

"Get lost, you already got a new sweater from Maa today",

"Isme cheddh hai saaale, huge holes, I feel cold",

"My jacket too has no zip, its useless, give it to me"

"Nooo, I want it", cries the Short-Boy

The Tall-Boy lifts his right hand, palm extended, eyes enraged and gives a resounding slap across the Short-Boy's face. Short-Boy bursts into tears, beads running off his dirty cheeks, making two parallel, visible, paths through the soot on the skin, mouth wide open, crying like a baby but still clenching the collar of the jacket, as if his life depended on it. Tall-Boy starts to pull again, this time dragging the weaker Short-Boy towards him, as his knees grate on the concrete pavement, getting bruised by the second.

The lights turn green. Mausam shouts out, "Come back, we gotta go now". I stand there, watching with increasing exasperation as the two urchins continue their violent street-fight. I go to the Tall-Boy, giving him a corporal push. "Band karo yeh sab, stop it!". The sleeve slips out from Tall-Boy's hands as his eyes lock with mine, seething with a queer mix of surprise and anger. Loud honking begins, as a Ford Endevour standing behind my car tries to make my wife move. "Oye come back we have to move!", Mausam cries out. The SUV begins to turn right, with the intention to circumnavigate my car. I turn around towards my car and take a step forward, leaving the two brats upto their whims.

Theres a resounding metallic THUMP.

I turn towards the sound as I see the SUV speeding away. I see some people running towards my own car. I look down on the road and see Tall-Boy bending down over a bloodied mass of a child's body. "Arreh Maara gaya, he's dead", somebody amongst the rushing crowd screams. Suddenly it dawns on me. It's Short-Boy. The maroon jacket lies on his waist, squished in with trampled flesh, his head, lying limp sideways with a bloodied crack on the forehead, the body marked out by a small pool of blood. "Isne dhakka maara, he kicked him and he fell in front of the car, maine dekha", remarks a dark skinned labourer, pointing at the now whimpering Tall-Boy. "It was the big car which hit him, Badi gaadi", says another turbaned old man with a white moustache.

Terror rushes into my head as everything goes into slow motion. I look towards Mausam, sitting in the car, eyes wide with shock, hand on her mouth. I feel the warmth of the rushing adrenaline throbbing in my blood. My eyes sting and burn. My ears go deaf with muted shoutings. Somewhere a wailing mother rushing towards the gathering, a small infant in her arms, her mossy green saree scraping the road, trailing behind her like a robe of a paupered crazy queen. For a second, I begin to wonder if Short-Boy is feeling any warmer with my jacket on top of him. Suddenly realizing the oddity of my thoughts, I put my hands in my pant pockets, as a shiver runs down the whole breadth of my spine. The mist is swirling lightly over the road, wrapping and engulfing each person in the small gathering, like an icy vulture feeding on the warmth of the bodies. 

Wrapped in the warm blanket of Death, the boy sleeps. And I feel cold, very cold.