He Says

I wanna talk to him but I don't wanna talk unless he replies to my questions. There are so
many of them, left unanswered.
He's being so strange suddenly, sometimes soft sometimes  hard - on me and himself as
well. He says, he was always this way but I know he wasn't. He says he cares, but I
never see him care. He says he loves me, but I never feel his love. He says he'll try but I
never witness him trying. He says he's always with me but when I am low and I need
someone to talk to, he's never around. He says he doesn't mind me talking to other guys
but when I do, he gets angry. He says I fight with him but its always me who tries to
massage his ego. He says I am immature but he's the one who wants to be taken care of
like a child. He says he always speaks the truth but there were times when he lied. He
says who else will he share everything with but I see him sharing his life with others
more than with me. He says he never forces me but all I ever experience is doing things
forcibly. He says he understand and he'll never do it again but "again" doesn't seem to
mean anything to him. He says he's interested in my life but when I think about it, am sure
he knows nothing about the on-goings in my life. He says he wants us to be together but
he drifts himself apart. He says he feels like talking but it's always me who initiates.
He says I don't understand him but I do.


And
He says he knows me but does he not know what I am going through ?

He says so much that now am unable to believe him. Only because all he ever does is
SAY.

The Banyan Tree

Everyday, every few hours, I heard a new story – a story of love, sorrow, deception, hatred, life, marriage, divorce, lust, etc. Mostly, they were the sad ones, by people who had the violent urge to narrate their stories, their feelings, and their expectations. It gave me immense happiness, to know I was offering to them more than I had to offer. They took shelter in me, in my silence to utter their own words.

Their stories shouted, with grave silence, narrations of the sufferings they had gone through. Their tears washed away with them the pain their little heart beheld. And I heard with patience.

They would sit down in front of me, peacefully and carry on with their work – eating, resting, and other petty things to do and narrate their tales. They touched the roots of my heart, their tales.

Sad ones were many, mostly rather. People loved to grieve, I used to wonder. Until, one day, I heard a tale of a young girl. She told the story with such innocence that I doubt she understood the immensity of love her story possessed.

She came towards me, walking with slow steps, looking at the ground and sat beside me. After being quiet and playing with the mud for sometime, she broke the silence. She said, “But why? Why should father do that? Maybe I shouldn’t complain so much. He has too much to do and worry about already. Hmm. Oh, I can ask big brother to get it for me. But only father can provide the money. But it’s sad. I want it. It was so beautiful and everyone in class will have it soon. I want it before they do. But again, father stays so tense all the time. He scolds me too, for no reason sometimes. You know Bannu, I cry in nights because father shouts at me. He even hits me at times. But I know he does that only because he’s upset and my acts hurt him more. He stays worried; the frown lines are always visible on his forehead. He has a lot of work to do and a lot many things to take care of. I am also a kid though, I too get hurt. Its okay, I guess. I know father loves me the most, more than big brother too.”

She started playing with her hair.

After few minutes, she continued again, “or, I can ask Reena aunt to give me some work and in return, I’ll ask her to buy that beautiful Barbie doll to me. That way, papa won’t have to spend a lot of money on me and he wouldn’t have to worry. He works so hard and if I get the Barbie myself, he’ll be happy. And in the next grade, 5^th , I’ll have the best one with me.”

She got up, smiled cheerfully and hugged me. And went back happily jumping on her toes.

The purity in her eyes and her love for her father, made me realize that in this world of sorrows where people only like to share their pain, there are innocent ones like her who unknowingly spread happiness around.

Who am I? I am Bannu, the Banyan Tree.