Betrayed by Time(Saket) It was a tall, very tall building, one among a cluster of six. The orderliness was distinct, and the glass panes of the buildings reflected bright against one another. It was a hot afternoon in the mid of May, and the summer was as unkind as it was likely be. Few people lazily sat about on the platform, a mixed gender group, smoking. The Sun was bright, almost angry, and the cars stood in the open parking, unmoved by the fury falling from the skies. Except for a few office staff taking a walk in a desperate attempt against their burgeoning waistlines, and some guards in a desperate attempt against burgeoning inflation, the streets were largely empty. The large glass doors of the buildings stood passive, but for the occasional unlucky few forced to step out in the harsh sun.

He stepped out of the large, glass paned door. He looked unperturbed by the sun. He was tall, had a head full of unruly hairs, which fell on the forehead. He wore a dark trouser and white shirt. He had a linen jacket over it. He disliked wearing the Jacket, and the heat of this unfriendly summer did not help much. But then, that was an unsaid rule for the formal meetings. He rued at times being in sales for many reasons, having to wear a Jacket was one of them. But today was different. He did not mind it at all. The linen suddenly felt light and soft and cold today. He took out the sunglasses, with the deftness of a western hero taking out the gun and walked to his car, parked towards the gate of the office premises.

He was not attempting to hide from the Sun. He walked with the rhythm of a victory march. It is not every day that one gets a multi-million dollar deal. He did it, and he did it single-handedly. He did it by being the friend to his customer, by being there. The ordeal went on day after day, month after month, for close to half of the year. At times, he felt like an idiot, humiliated, a stooge, a minor cog in the interaction between two large organizations. It was such a deal, such negotiation, in which individual was incidental. But no, today, he did not want to believe it such. There was certain deftness with which he closed at a number much above what was mandated to him by his management.

He looked at his phone, the swanky Smartphone, though with a crack in the screen. It looked wicked with all the rich features and a crack running right through the middle of the screen. A sudden thought brought a shiver, in the middle of sweltering heat, as he stepped in the sun. His phone resembled his life, it was full of all the riches, a beautiful home, a lovely child and a committed spouse, but the fault line ran through the middle, just as his phone. The crack in the middle needed some serious looking, was not visible to the casual observer, same as his own life.

A familiar sound came from the phone, a message; he looked at the screen, which kind of shouted back at him in the bright sunlight. “Congratulations, great job. Do ensure the purchase order is in place before 15th”. He smiled and immediately felt stupid for he understood the underlying message. There was no rest, no pause. The machine was wound before it could slacken. He was to travel next week. He sighed. He wanted to travel to the mountains, a long drive. He wanted to lie down in the cold weather, with his five year old daughter playing and waving at him from near the brook near a bush.

He wanted to watch his wife run after the little one and watch in silent satisfaction. It was only last week they had a fight. He did not want to think of it. It was painful, incisive. She complained how little time he was giving to the family. It was even hard to bear because it was true. It is hard to bear when the denials are too farfetched even to the person who is hanging on to them.

‘Do you even know, which play school she goes to?” she said.

“I know, I make the cheques” He was packing his bags for the travel and for a moment didn’t move.

“I am not asking the name, I am asking if you have ever been there. Do you know the teachers?

“How many times you have been there? I am sure I have been there more than you?”

He hit where he knew it would hurt. She had her own office to take care of. She sought for the elusive glass ceiling to break. He could not see the reason why. He worked because he needed money for the family; she worked to define her independence. He did not understand it. He remembered when they were young and freshly in love, he told her that each man and woman needs to find and define his or her place in the world at large and the gender has no role to play in the same, not as a leverage and not as a hindrance. She believed in him. These days, he did not believe much in himself. Therein was the problem.

The kid looked at both of them, lost, sad. He looked at her and could feel the sadness. He felt for her. He had waited for long to have her, they had waited long for her to come into their lives. He at times would think for her, many times wrongly. Kids probably do not have the idiotic sensibilities of the old. But could he sense disgust in the way, Mauli, the little one, looked at both of them. They used to tell her they went around praying to the gods that were to be blessed with her. Now they are not fighting to get more time with her, but are trying to justify the little they can do without being burdened with guilt.

No, she wasn’t disgusted, merely confused and worried with their loud voices. He smiled at the thought of the little one. She always brought a smile to his face, even when he was sitting in negotiations of the worst kinds.

He felt sad. He thought of the time when as students they would sit in the coffee house for hours. For hours they would just sit, and look at the people. At times, they would not talk. It was odd to people who looked at them. They would not even hold hands. They would soak in the company of each other. It was beyond words, the silence would wrap them in a blanket which they would share in the winter sun. They would distribute the cups of coffee which their meager resources could afford across the hours they spent together. That was true prosperity. He would speak about things people with strange names said, Nietzsche, Schopenhauer- he quoted them often, she heard him mesmerized. He was such a different man. She would watch him speak about life, the meaning of it with such rare passion, when others his age would be looking at the latest fashion to wear in the season. Sometimes he would write a poem, and read it out to her. The longing, the love was so subtle yet so well pronounced that she would hug him if the times were not so conventional. Moved, she would sometimes reach out for his left hand lying between them like an invite on the white table, next to the ash tray. At such times, he would look at her and smile with the corners of his eyes, and she so wanted to hold the moment from moving past them.

He thought of those times, and an unruly and audacious drop of tear hung on the corner of his eyes. He dismissed it as a sweat. He swore to himself, he will make it up to her, make it up to both of them. All great philosophers he read when young spoke about the ephemeral nature of time. Actually it was confusing, was it eternal or ephemeral. Time stays there always but it lives on the moments which keep on dying with every passing second. Those which are dead never come back. He felt stubborn; he will turn the clock back, and forgive the bitterness. He is going to get a good amount of incentive, he felt like a mercenary on the verge of splitting the loot. He will take her to a nice resort, the one near the mountain. He will take a leave of absence from work for two weeks. There will not be any rush, they will go there and float in time, reminisce about the past. The past which was so kind and full of love will revisit them and bring back their youth. He still had a head full of hairs, unruly as then, falling right on the eyes, though silver had sprinkled on the sides. He will write for her and read out loud to her and their daughter will know for years to come, how much in love her parents were. She will know for her own life a love like that is not merely a matter of fairy tales, it can happen, and it happened so close to her. She will grow up believing in love.

“I will make it up to you, up to both of you.“ He muttered.

He had parked the car too far. He could see it there in the middle of other cars. It was a big car, a SUV. He bought it, as he wanted to travel to mountains, to steal the moments of tranquility on weekends which thundered past them.

He also wanted to go home. He remembered he had not spoken to his mother for such a long time. A couple of times she called, he was in meetings. He had to put the phone to silence. Was it the phone he silenced or the caller? He felt sad; he felt he betrayed his upbringing. He could not call back, out of sheer embarrassment. His father had called at night, told about how his mother was waiting for the call to be returned. Something hung again on the corner of his eyes. This time he knew it wasn’t sweat.

After the trip to the mountain, he planned; he will travel for four days to his parents’. He will have to cut down out of the two weeks he planned for the hills, but then it should be manageable. There is still time to plan. He will do that. He thought of the time when he was five years old and hurt his foot, in the wheels of the bicycle. Pa came back from office, in his Air force uniform. He looked so handsome in that, and had a very expressive face. He saw his pain reflect in his face as he sat down holding his hand and told him the story of “Androcles and the Lion”. He reflected on how they drifted so far away, how they could not bring themselves to talk to each other. Whenever they met, awkwardness wedged between the two of them. He had thinned down in last few years, and would sometimes lose words when he spoke. He thought of the time when he would recite poems to his colleague in Air force in younger days and they would listen to him awestruck. Time is so cruel, only love can make it bearable. He thought of him and a lump rose to his neck.

He cleared his throat and his mind was clear. He knew what he had to do. He knew precisely how to turn the clock back and to forgive the long drought which he brought in his own life. He had it sketched in front of him; his life was charted for a renewal in front of him. He will dig deeper in the arid earth and get the water out of it. It will once again be green and beautiful and lovely. He felt like a young man again, and he muttered, just like the old days, as he opened his car,

Phir se ek baar, har cheez wahi ho, ki jo hai
Aasmaan hadd e nazar,
RahGuzar, Raahguzar
Sheesha e mai, Sheesha e mai

(Once again, everything will be what it is,
Sky to the limits of the vision,
The path, once again the path (to you)
And a glass of wine, once again –a glass of wine)

He started the car, and elated at his plan, changed the gear. He was going to turn the clock back. The parking assistant ran towards him, he opened the window slightly and handed the parking fee. The step went on the accelerator. He felt in control. The car moved forward with a roar. He was pleased with the car, though some days back he got the steering gear repaired. Now it was smooth. He moved forward, and straight moved out of the parking lot. A huge truck moved in from his right, he swerved to his left. The gear would not work; the car would not listen to him. He did not know what to do. He had nothing to do, there was not time or space to slow down. The truck came at him like a monster. The sound of impact was deafening, his head hit against the pane. Something was flowing from the forehead, right above the eyes. It was not sweat and it was not a tear, it was blood. He tried to open the door; he looked at people who stood around the car. He wanted to call for help, but his voice failed him. He looked up, he knew he was dying. He thought of his wife, his daughter, his father and mother, and he thought of his own dying. He was by then resigned to death, he accepted it, with a sense of betrayal. He thought that a moment back he had all the time in the world to correct everything that was wrong in his life, and now he felt he had nothing, and after that he felt nothing.

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