Based On A True Story. Part II.
Revathi's eyes had some kind of a charm in them. Every time he looked at her, they shone brightly like the summer sun. Over the next few weeks, he often went to her house. He was even doing errands for the family. He had become his boss's favourite. And whenever he was there, he couldn't concentrate on the work until he saw her. Revathi too used to wait for him to come home. All she needed was an excuse like serve water or get a file, for her to meet him. They communicated with each other in a way which didn't involve words. Her smile had a thousand different meanings which only he could decipher. His eyes told her many stories which only she could hear. Both of them loved each other in a language which only they understood.
While all of this was going on, none of the others in the story had even a faint idea about it. Except for one. Revathi's mother. Brought up in an orthodox Zamindar family, Revathi's mother isn't someone who would get along with the changing times. She wanted to marry off her daughter into a wealthy family soon after she turned 16. But her husband went against her decision and sent their daughter to Chennai to complete graduation. She wasn't going to give up easily, now and then when her daughter was home during the vacations she talked her into quitting college and marrying the suitors she'd chosen. Almost always, these conversations ended up in an argument. Revathi was tired of explaining her mother that she wasn't interested in marriage. Adding to that, her mother had never liked their new manager. She objected to him coming home time and again to help her husband with the theater. She sensed that something was not right with her daughter's behaviour when he was around. It was only a matter of days until she started despising him.
It didn't take much time for them to realize that they were in love, but when the time came for them to confess their feelings, they hesitated. Nothing was unusual about that Friday, a new movie released in the city and crowd was bustling around the theater for the tickets. Well, there's this thing about the people in Hyderabad, watch the movie on the first day, get the tickets for the first show, else you'd miss all the fun. He was busy taking calls from the distributors and bellowing out at the security to control the men at the ticket counters. A phone in the owner's cabin rang loudly, he ran and answered it. On the other side of the line, his boss had informed him that his daughter was coming down with some friends to watch the movie. He knew what he had to do. He put down the receiver and turned back. She was already waiting outside the cabin for him. Revathi. He exhaled in relief. Every Friday she would watch the new movie with her friends and the manager had to block the seating in the box over the balcony for them. On that day, she asked him if he could join her. And he dared to, for the first and last time in his life.
When her mother slapped her that evening Revathi was in a daze. She didn't seem to understand why her mother was crying and what wrong she had done. Her father's face turned red with fury. Her mother had constantly spied on her since the last couple of weeks. She had forced her daughter's friends into spilling the beans on manager's relationship with her. Intimidated by the power and money, the friends had told her everything. Revathi begged her parents to listen to her. She tried convincing them in vain, told them he isn't a bad person and would be happy with him Her mother went on with the status, salary, caste and class debate. Her father hated to imagine the reaction of the society if it gets to know that his daughter is in love with his manager. They had already taken a decision. Revathi was going back to Chennai immediately. And him, they had something else in mind.
Unaware of the the storm that was coming, he was happy to see the bonus cheque from the Indian Airlines. His mother noticed his grin was a bit wider and his face reflected satisfaction. Her son had hid something from her, something that was the reason of his happiness. He was oblivious to the world now that he knew for sure she too liked him. The next day he was called at the owner's house, his mother asked him to leave early from work. He wore her favourite shirt, but to his disappointment, there was no trace of her at home. The house maid had served him food and later bought something. "Fruit juice", said the boss. As the liquid slipped inside his throat, it burned his insides. He didn't complain, thought better of it and finished the drink. After five minutes he clutched his throat and was struggling to breathe. It was like someone was strangling him to death. He could see his mother's face in a blur, his father, Revathi and then nothing. He opened his eyes to the blinding sun three days later, not able to recognize where he was. He could barely stand on his feet or utter a word, his insides still burned. He couldn't even remember in the first place how he got there. It was all so confusing. He couldn't recollect anything, just stood in between a road staring into the void. A bus almost killed him there, but he didn't care. Since then, his name was 'mad person', his address was the pavement on the road, his family, no one and Revathi, was just a name. His mother sat near the door, waiting for him. "My son will come, he knows I'll be waiting."
If you're someone from Hyderabad and familiar with the surroundings of the YMCA, Secunderabad, or might have waited in traffic for the signal to turn green near the temple, there are chances that you might have seen him. Yes, he's still alive. What he drank was supposed to kill him years ago, but it had a severe effect on his memory and crippled his mind leaving him go, what we call as mental.. His untidy appearance will make you frown and wrinkle your nose, but he too is a human being, like you and me. Surprisingly, whenever I've noticed him on my way to college, he sat at the little dargah near the signals and read The Hindu or took a pen and scribbled something on it, yes, in legible handwriting. Or scrawls the words 'fire and ice' on the dusty window mirrors of the cars. Not once I've seen him begging for food or money. Everyone of us has a past, crushes, first loves, so did he. And today what he is, is his life. Read the newspaper, roam about the roads. This was his reward from the fate for loving someone and being loved by someone. Here's the story of a man who was left on the streets to die, for in our society love is listed a crime, and even before you're given a chance to speak, you're dead. Also, I've added some points on my own here. (isn't that what all the story tellers do?)
Love hurts.
Soumya Inavilli
While all of this was going on, none of the others in the story had even a faint idea about it. Except for one. Revathi's mother. Brought up in an orthodox Zamindar family, Revathi's mother isn't someone who would get along with the changing times. She wanted to marry off her daughter into a wealthy family soon after she turned 16. But her husband went against her decision and sent their daughter to Chennai to complete graduation. She wasn't going to give up easily, now and then when her daughter was home during the vacations she talked her into quitting college and marrying the suitors she'd chosen. Almost always, these conversations ended up in an argument. Revathi was tired of explaining her mother that she wasn't interested in marriage. Adding to that, her mother had never liked their new manager. She objected to him coming home time and again to help her husband with the theater. She sensed that something was not right with her daughter's behaviour when he was around. It was only a matter of days until she started despising him.
It didn't take much time for them to realize that they were in love, but when the time came for them to confess their feelings, they hesitated. Nothing was unusual about that Friday, a new movie released in the city and crowd was bustling around the theater for the tickets. Well, there's this thing about the people in Hyderabad, watch the movie on the first day, get the tickets for the first show, else you'd miss all the fun. He was busy taking calls from the distributors and bellowing out at the security to control the men at the ticket counters. A phone in the owner's cabin rang loudly, he ran and answered it. On the other side of the line, his boss had informed him that his daughter was coming down with some friends to watch the movie. He knew what he had to do. He put down the receiver and turned back. She was already waiting outside the cabin for him. Revathi. He exhaled in relief. Every Friday she would watch the new movie with her friends and the manager had to block the seating in the box over the balcony for them. On that day, she asked him if he could join her. And he dared to, for the first and last time in his life.
When her mother slapped her that evening Revathi was in a daze. She didn't seem to understand why her mother was crying and what wrong she had done. Her father's face turned red with fury. Her mother had constantly spied on her since the last couple of weeks. She had forced her daughter's friends into spilling the beans on manager's relationship with her. Intimidated by the power and money, the friends had told her everything. Revathi begged her parents to listen to her. She tried convincing them in vain, told them he isn't a bad person and would be happy with him Her mother went on with the status, salary, caste and class debate. Her father hated to imagine the reaction of the society if it gets to know that his daughter is in love with his manager. They had already taken a decision. Revathi was going back to Chennai immediately. And him, they had something else in mind.
Unaware of the the storm that was coming, he was happy to see the bonus cheque from the Indian Airlines. His mother noticed his grin was a bit wider and his face reflected satisfaction. Her son had hid something from her, something that was the reason of his happiness. He was oblivious to the world now that he knew for sure she too liked him. The next day he was called at the owner's house, his mother asked him to leave early from work. He wore her favourite shirt, but to his disappointment, there was no trace of her at home. The house maid had served him food and later bought something. "Fruit juice", said the boss. As the liquid slipped inside his throat, it burned his insides. He didn't complain, thought better of it and finished the drink. After five minutes he clutched his throat and was struggling to breathe. It was like someone was strangling him to death. He could see his mother's face in a blur, his father, Revathi and then nothing. He opened his eyes to the blinding sun three days later, not able to recognize where he was. He could barely stand on his feet or utter a word, his insides still burned. He couldn't even remember in the first place how he got there. It was all so confusing. He couldn't recollect anything, just stood in between a road staring into the void. A bus almost killed him there, but he didn't care. Since then, his name was 'mad person', his address was the pavement on the road, his family, no one and Revathi, was just a name. His mother sat near the door, waiting for him. "My son will come, he knows I'll be waiting."
If you're someone from Hyderabad and familiar with the surroundings of the YMCA, Secunderabad, or might have waited in traffic for the signal to turn green near the temple, there are chances that you might have seen him. Yes, he's still alive. What he drank was supposed to kill him years ago, but it had a severe effect on his memory and crippled his mind leaving him go, what we call as mental.. His untidy appearance will make you frown and wrinkle your nose, but he too is a human being, like you and me. Surprisingly, whenever I've noticed him on my way to college, he sat at the little dargah near the signals and read The Hindu or took a pen and scribbled something on it, yes, in legible handwriting. Or scrawls the words 'fire and ice' on the dusty window mirrors of the cars. Not once I've seen him begging for food or money. Everyone of us has a past, crushes, first loves, so did he. And today what he is, is his life. Read the newspaper, roam about the roads. This was his reward from the fate for loving someone and being loved by someone. Here's the story of a man who was left on the streets to die, for in our society love is listed a crime, and even before you're given a chance to speak, you're dead. Also, I've added some points on my own here. (isn't that what all the story tellers do?)
Love hurts.
Soumya Inavilli
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