Trishna
Slowly he opened the door and peered inside. It opened quietly, as he would have it, without a creak, unlike the door at home. He tiptoed cautiously for he had been told that hospitals were for sick people and they didn't like noises. He walked purposefully to his left and drew apart the pink floral curtains, his hands trembling a little with the knowledge of the enormity of the task he was about to perform. For a few seconds he stood there and stared unblinkingly at the pink, crinkled face wondering if there had been a time when he too had been that ugly. Holding its little hand in his own; he reached in to his pocket for a pen. He scratched out the letters printed on a white band bound around its tiny wrist with a circular curly movement. Drawing in a deep breath he began to write in big block letters, his face screwed up with concentration and his mouth opening and closing, silently enunciating each letter. There was no sound apart from that of the pen moving on rough paper and the ceiling fan on a low speed. He spelt T-R-I-S-H-N-A. And then there was silence, for I had been named.
My grandfather believed that the child possessed above average intelligence, had begun to walk several months before normal, in fact was known to dart across rooms, exceptionally well kept, for their painted glass and china. But my father, taking a quick sip from his glass, didn’t quite agree. "That boy didn't even know how to write, back then; the nurses had a role to play… But yes he was a bright child your brother and had been following 'Trishna' around the world for quite a while..."he said, more than willing to talk about his son, who hadn't done anything quite as substantial in 18 years.
I saw him sitting there at the edge of a hospital bed, his legs tapping rhythmically against its ledge. And a crumpled bit of newspaper in his hand that read ' fourth month at sea.'
"It seemed a little strange at first; a four year old naming a child. But then we began to see it" said my mother." Here's to the boat and its sailors! Here's to the spirit of adventure...” she said, raising her glass.
A magnificent red and blue striped sail flapped in the breeze and a White Sea gull rested on her wooden prow. As lightening struck the darkening sky, a sudden gush of wind produced a giant wave that crashed noisily against her sides, the smell of salted sea filled my senses and the white gull took to the air with a shriek.
"It means 'desire' "she told them. And later to me she hastened to explain, "A desire for knowledge."
My brother first heard the name in 1986 when he was sitting on his high chair and refusing to eat. The story of this small boat, crewed by a handful of men that sailed 30,000 nautical miles around the world captivated his imagination and made him eat. It became a childhood dream that was later lost amongst chocolates, aeroplanes, computers and rock; lost, but for the name.
I once met a woman who proclaimed her self to be a Sanskrit scholar. She told me that my parents had made a mistake. "Trishna" was a terrible thing to call a child. It meant an unquenchable thirst, an all consuming desire, ever obstructing the path of salvation." You'll never be enlightened,” she said. I informed her that Trishna was a boat and that there was nothing terrible about it. The idea of being up in the sky, all alone, a hundred thousand light years away from the nearest star, didn't much appeal to me.
The sun shone brightly, warming the deck, now almost dry after yesterday's storm. The men lay about lazily on its top, peace and restlessness reflecting on their weary faces. The White Sea gull had reinstated herself on her prow …
Trishna Senapaty completed Literature from Miranda House, Delhi University. She took this year, a gap year, to learn about and work in the development sector, and now plans to resume her studies. And all the while-she writes.
Slowly he opened the door and peered inside. It opened quietly, as he would have it, without a creak, unlike the door at home. He tiptoed cautiously for he had been told that hospitals were for sick people and they didn't like noises. He walked purposefully to his left and drew apart the pink floral curtains, his hands trembling a little with the knowledge of the enormity of the task he was about to perform. For a few seconds he stood there and stared unblinkingly at the pink, crinkled face wondering if there had been a time when he too had been that ugly. Holding its little hand in his own; he reached in to his pocket for a pen. He scratched out the letters printed on a white band bound around its tiny wrist with a circular curly movement. Drawing in a deep breath he began to write in big block letters, his face screwed up with concentration and his mouth opening and closing, silently enunciating each letter. There was no sound apart from that of the pen moving on rough paper and the ceiling fan on a low speed. He spelt T-R-I-S-H-N-A. And then there was silence, for I had been named.
My grandfather believed that the child possessed above average intelligence, had begun to walk several months before normal, in fact was known to dart across rooms, exceptionally well kept, for their painted glass and china. But my father, taking a quick sip from his glass, didn’t quite agree. "That boy didn't even know how to write, back then; the nurses had a role to play… But yes he was a bright child your brother and had been following 'Trishna' around the world for quite a while..."he said, more than willing to talk about his son, who hadn't done anything quite as substantial in 18 years.
I saw him sitting there at the edge of a hospital bed, his legs tapping rhythmically against its ledge. And a crumpled bit of newspaper in his hand that read ' fourth month at sea.'
"It seemed a little strange at first; a four year old naming a child. But then we began to see it" said my mother." Here's to the boat and its sailors! Here's to the spirit of adventure...” she said, raising her glass.
A magnificent red and blue striped sail flapped in the breeze and a White Sea gull rested on her wooden prow. As lightening struck the darkening sky, a sudden gush of wind produced a giant wave that crashed noisily against her sides, the smell of salted sea filled my senses and the white gull took to the air with a shriek.
"It means 'desire' "she told them. And later to me she hastened to explain, "A desire for knowledge."
My brother first heard the name in 1986 when he was sitting on his high chair and refusing to eat. The story of this small boat, crewed by a handful of men that sailed 30,000 nautical miles around the world captivated his imagination and made him eat. It became a childhood dream that was later lost amongst chocolates, aeroplanes, computers and rock; lost, but for the name.
I once met a woman who proclaimed her self to be a Sanskrit scholar. She told me that my parents had made a mistake. "Trishna" was a terrible thing to call a child. It meant an unquenchable thirst, an all consuming desire, ever obstructing the path of salvation." You'll never be enlightened,” she said. I informed her that Trishna was a boat and that there was nothing terrible about it. The idea of being up in the sky, all alone, a hundred thousand light years away from the nearest star, didn't much appeal to me.
The sun shone brightly, warming the deck, now almost dry after yesterday's storm. The men lay about lazily on its top, peace and restlessness reflecting on their weary faces. The White Sea gull had reinstated herself on her prow …
Trishna Senapaty completed Literature from Miranda House, Delhi University. She took this year, a gap year, to learn about and work in the development sector, and now plans to resume her studies. And all the while-she writes.
