Fictional curry

Riding on a Pony

“Madamji we’ve reached,” the man on the wheel said.
With my head reeling and eyes shut, I whispered, “Accha, utarti hoon.”
I was feeling nauseated when the jeep had begun moving up the hill in spirals. My stomach churned and I wanted to throw up, I had also asked the driver to halt, but he refused saying it was not safe to stop at such a height. Heights scared me, but I wanted to visit Matheran, there were too many stories told, too many to still unfold.
We had lost few and gained some here…They have all become part of our lessons learnt in Matheran.
I got down from the jeep, but I couldn’t hold footing on the red sand. “Madamji paani,” the driver asked. I refused as I knew I would be fine in sometime. We were still at the foothills of the hill. I tied my laces, wore my back-pack. The driver again courteously, asked, “Would you like to ride the pony uphill or do you prefer walking.”Matheran is the only pedestrian hill station in the state of Mahrashtra. Motorists stopped below, after which only a mini-train, ponies or your feet could take you to your destination.
“My journey begins here and yours ends. Thanks,” I replied in a rudely-soft monotone as I walked to climb the hill. My mother hated this habit of mine. If I did not like a person or was too disinterested to get into a conversation, I would end it on a very sarcastic note. She said, it was offensive, yet very pleasantly put. Dad to be more precise described it as sarcasm.
Yes, I did not like the driver, simply because he did not stop driving when I was uncomfortable. I could hate and like people easily and this is all I liked about myself. I was coming to love Matheran and had already begun to hate the driver. A balance I have maintained, right from birth. If there ever was a void, I knew how to fill it. My trip to Matheran was to fill the same space created in our lives 21 years ago.
After paying the toll, I began my trek. It would be only 20 minutes later that I’d reach the hill station. It was mid-January and the temperatures were freezing at around 7 degrees. My cardigan kept me warm, but my hands were still cold.
I had just passed a hawker selling cucumber spices with pepper, when my cell phone beeped…after already two messages of the same kind while walking my way up the hill, I wasn’t expecting anything different, “Welcome to Airtel Maharashtra, you are now on Airtel roaming. Your call rates will now be….” Nuisance!! I thought, the same message thrice.
Few minutes later, I received another SMS. I opened it irritatingly.
“Hey sweetheart, give us a buzz when you reach Matheran…already missin u, tk of u r self, i hope v can trust u.”
I replied to the SMS,
“rchd matheran…it’s a nice place…but won’t send more smses…on roaming…will talk ltr..bye.”
I switched off my phone. Staying off contact helps connect better with the place you are in…
As I was walking uphill, my eyes suddenly fell on the Matheran signboard; I was finally here.
Twenty-one years ago, I had come here, as a three-year-old. It is strange; my heart skips a beat when I think of coming here as a baby. We lost him in an accident the last time we came here. My parents never traveled after this. Today, they allowed me, but on one condition… I won’t ride on a pony.
The one-day trip to Matheran begins…
My best friend Payal stayed here, so it spared me the hassle of checking into a hotel. Payal and me are good friends from college. Incidentally, we bonded in college on boys, as our respective exes were brothers, later we bonded on Matheran, her native and my fairy tale land.
She knew everything about me, right form me wearing diapers till four to have never been kissed even at 24.
As I entered ‘Navya restaurant,’ I saw Payal, waiting anxiously. She rushed towards me and gripped me tightly by the hand; her eyes suddenly began to water. “Seeing you after two years,” she said. Payal had taken up hotel management in senior college while my interests lay in the social sciences. Payal had been handling her father’s restaurant ‘Navya’ for three years. “How long will you be in?” she asked, as she moved her arms forward to gather me in a tight embrace. “10 hours, Payal, that is all I have,” I replied.
“Then we must get going,” she said.
She pulled my hand forward and took me inside the restaurant kitchen that led to a small cottage. This is where Payal lived with her “ma”. After her father passed away, she decided to move back to Matheran so that her family business continued. I remember her telling me, “To see ‘Navya’ pass on to another hands would be sending my dead father an invitation to hell.”
Payal treated me to dosa for breakfast, after which we went shopping for chapals and chikki. Ponies passed me as I crossed the road, I trembled. “Payal,” I said, “This fear needs to run down.” After a long pause she said, “Wait till evening comes.”
Shopping, gossiping blew time like dust…it was 4 pm and already late. I shook Payal who was lying on my lap. “Lets go now,” I requested. She was tired, but got up and slipped into a good fitting pair of jeans. “Levis…Rs 5,000…hows it?” she asked. “Great…but lets go…I have a train at 6.30,” I answered. She had tried to put a damper on my object of coming to Matheran but I managed to get my way.
We came only at 5.45 in the evening. Her mother, by then had packed all my shopping items in a bag. Payal again had tears in her eyes, “You should have stayed,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said with a smile. I was planning to drive down to Neral station in a cab.
“How will you go down to the cabbie, do you want me to give you company?”
“No,” I said, “I’ll go alone….I shall ride the pony”

As I rode down, I hummed,
“Yankee Doodle went to town
A-riding on a pony
Stuck a feather in his hat
And called it macaroni….”
I couldn’t see Payal now, but i know she was smiling.

Mumbai 11.45
Dear diary,
I am back home. Mom and Dad really missed me today… But I am happy for reasons I have longed to find an answer to. You know I sat on a Pony today. I can’t believe I did that, but, yes, I did. This wouldn’t have been possible without Payal. I rode the entire Matheran stretch while she behind me. She reminded me of Abhay, my 10-yr-old brother. He was sitting behind the last time, I remember. But then he slipped and fell. What happened after that was strange? I remember riding alone, then, my parents had looked at me with eyes of desperation, fear and pain.

Not the loss of my brother, but the fear I saw in my parents eyes while riding the pony had been eating me from inside.
Today, as I got down the pony Payal gave me a broad smile.
Later, she smiled again as I rode the pony down, alone. I no longer fear the pony…but I miss my brother and Payal. One I lost and the other I found in Matheran… and yes my parents never knew that I had been riding on a pony.
Gud Night


Advertisements
Standard

21 thoughts on “Riding on a Pony

  1. Sohini says:

    a moving and beautiful story….unpleasant memories always haunt, but this “safe” pony ride has hopefully wiped off the unpleasant…!!!! Heights won’t give jitters…

    Like

  2. woah… gal… i love ur genre of writing… there is a relevant roald dahli-shness to it… i’ve always loved the flow with which certain writers take u till the end – when u presume – ok, this is how the story is gonna end… but lo, no… it is a painting apart…i think u found a new fan…loved ur simplicity, authenticity, description (of all that was there)… this is truely a gem of a work… i wish u all the best…and last, but not the least… keep writing… 🙂

    Like

  3. Sivaramakrishnan C N says:

    well… such a well written story!! .. gud use of language and vocabs… provin to be sharmine mam’s student…. it left ripples in my heart and i also feel longing to see that place…. vry well portrayed…. gud work.. keep carryin on… u ll leave miracles in the pages of google!!!!!

    Like

  4. “Oh i wish i had a writer as my friend………Oh how i wish i could read stories of people fascinating enough to keep me glued till its end……Now that i have see you weaving stories as if from da finest of thread………..All i want now is you to always remain my friend….” Jane, you are turning out to be a grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr8 writer i n the making….. this piece of story seems out of gud novel…….The best thing abt this story u know was that it seemed as if its actually a real incident from ur life… u felt the characters while narrating purrrrrrrrrrfectly……..hallmark of a gr8 writer…….. i actually came to know its not abt u wen i read abt da age :P……… anyways wonderful story naration… for heaven sake gimme a signed copy of ur 1st book…….!!! keep up da gr8 work!

    Like

  5. TJ says:

    wud u mind if i criticize?to begin with, u mentioned u had an ex in the first half…and then that your age is 24….how can a girl who’s had an ex never been kissed?i mean u dont live in the age of shakuntala!secondly, i think there was a noise in the narrative…a little more than what was expected…if u know wht i mean… The turmoil in her heart should have been brought out with a lot more silence And i think there was a lot of self-description…and those few lines were quite disjoined. It was self description one moment …then the present and back to the self-description all in the same paragraph…the story otherwise was nice though u could have mentioned a little more of the effects and emptiness of losing your brother…u dun have to mention him…..but show the emptiness…samjha?Sorry for the criticisms but since eeryone else cudnt stop praising u i thot i might bring out the loose ends to ur notice…u know i love u!

    Like

  6. Rayyan Rizvi says:

    a really touching story…… its wonderful…….. u definitely need to write a book coz its somewhat like very emotional and suspense as well… You don’t know what had happened… Its only after reading the letter does the story uncover…. BEAUTIFUL…..

    Like

  7. ok let me answer for all the criticisms out there… (if u don’t mind jaaney… and yes tess i am pointing at ya…)your first ‘find’… why can’t someone not survive without a kiss in today’s worldyour second ‘find’… if u would have read through the story, u can find that silence is what plays the adhesive of the entire story… and within that silence… lies everythingyour third ‘find’… i clearly mentioned in my earlier comment… descriptions are not much… but where they are… they are apt…finally ur final tippanni… the writer wished to contemplate on the success of her victory (over fear) rather than the sadness of her loss (her brother)hope things are cleared for at the moment… tess… 😉

    Like

  8. Thankyou friends for reading the story…I needed this feedback…though I know I have pushed some of you into reading it…Tess have taken your criticism with a bag full of sugar…yeah will try and tigthen loose ends where needed….But I don’t agree with the “24 and never being kissed” idea…if a “60and still a virgin,” tag could exist then I am sure this cud too…and if i am not mistaken the gal and Payal were close friends in junior college…they had exes then…I don’t really think that when you have a boy friend you get kissed..you dont share initmacy with everyone…do u…u need to think deeper on this plot….And abt the loss of my brother…it really didnt matter to a three-yr-old…did it..I more wanted to overcome the fear of riding the pony..or to be simpler…I was waiting for ppl to see me differently..when i was on the pony…yes i did miss my brother…but more because he made me loose something…(the loss wasn’t him in real)my sense of peace and…I found it in Matheran again with Payal…so u see loss=brother, gain=friend…but go deeper…it means somethin else

    Like

Leave a Reply to nishath Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s