January 8, 1981

Ashish Anand, 27 – born and brought up in Patna working as sales manager with a pharmaceutical company… He’d been living in Bombay for the past 9 years leaving behind his home family and the quirks they shared. But, there was one habit he still followed – the early morning cup of milky tea. Dipping those sugar sprinkled biscuits ‘Nice Time Biscuits’ just long enough to save them from breaking away by a whisker - the little joys that came with his daily tea ritual. Ashish glanced at the newspaper and made a mental note to tune in for the India v/s Australia match that afternoon as he hoped that Kapil Dev would weave his magic yet once again. Ashish truly believed that by keeping his moustache perfectly trimmed just like Kapil Dev, the player would perform well. His wife often made fun of this, she even called his moustache and attitude “peculiar”, Ashish didn’t care as long as India was winning matches, he knew he was the only lucky charm. It was 7:30 AM and he had to get to work soon, as he tossed the newspaper away he glanced through a headline “Missing 21-year-old Jennifer Soares found dead” and said a small prayer for Jennifer.

“Dear Lord, Please take care of my child and forgive me if I have was unable to protect her”, said Monica Soares, 45-year-old History Teacher as she woke up that morning. On a typical day, Monica would be up by 6:30 AM, finish her morning exercise while appreciating the sea from the verandah of her flat in Bandra. Today she was unusually late, it was 9:30 AM and the sea looked stormy, just like the bewildered state of her mind. She didn’t know why her only daughter was dead. The pain was numbing. Jenny was like any other 21-year-old who recently spoke about getting a job and saving money for that small car which the newspapers were discussing. If Jenny were around, she’d be listening to John Lennon on the radio or planning her next shopping escapade at the flea market in Colaba Causeway. Now her daughter was a mere memory. Monica shuddered at the thought of the pain Jenny must have felt in the last moments. She had last seen Jenny two days ago when she left for college and never returned, Monica wondered why – why did Jenny visit her friends, why did that boy carry a gun, why didn’t they try to save her instead of dumping her on the side of a road and why was her daughter destined for this? Tears blinded her eyes and her neck choked up; Monica knew that she couldn't be weak in front of her husband and son. Even though she was devastated inside, she decided to go on with life as if nothing happened. She walked to her desk and looked at the answer sheets which came in a day ago. Though nothing registered, she stared at them - the names, the questions and the school logo – St. Augustus High School.

“… This is not the admission time, Sir. Please call February 15 onwards,” said 52-year-old Mehboob Sikander as he hung up the phone. This was the tenth phone call he received from parents seeking admission in St. Augustus High School, - Mumbai’s premier English medium school. Mehboob was only man at St.Augustus who knew the name of each and every student of the school. After all, he had personally admitted each child since the past 27 years. However, today Mehboob was absorbed in a different thought. as he stared at the two tiffin boxes standing on his table.  One was for him and the other was for his sister’s son, Mansoor who worked for the car company whose office was across the road from the school. It was a fairly large building and Mehboob was always slightly intimidated by it. All these men dressed in sparkling white shirts and ties, blabbering away about some Japanese cars seemed strange. He didn’t want to go but he promised his sister that her son wouldn’t go hungry that day, the poor boy worked too hard anyway. At 12:30 PM Mehboob, finished watching India’s dismal performance against Australia and decided to finish the task at hand. As he walked to his nephew’s office he wondered if Australia would perform worse and score less than 63. Amidst the anguish of the Indian cricket team’s lost cause and visiting that office full of frightening people, Mehboob worked up the courage to walk over to his nephew’s office and handed over the tiffin box to Mansoor. Once done, a smiling Mehboob turned to return to his school where he would wait for the final bell announcing the end of yet another day, but was petrified by the scream behind him. “I don't care what he wants, you can tell Mr. Swaminathan…”

Ajay Swaminathan, 36 and successful mechanical engineer turned Region Head of the soon to be largest car company in the country.  He was spearheading the automobile revolution in India and was to introduce the small family car that his company was developing. The entire world, except that ruddy receptionist Anita was elated at the future prospects of the company and his growth in the corporate world. Every thing was perfect, except a deep fear. Ajay had felt a lump in his arm for a while now. He had known that lumps and growths of such kind were deadly and he was scared. At 5:30 PM he decided to face his fears and visit the doctor suggested by his friend.  Ajay felt a surge of emotions all this while, he analyzed several outcomes in the span of a few minutes – He was going to die soon, he was going live and have 3 children, maybe go for a holiday to Bangkok like his friends did. He realized how ephemeral life was – just this morning he read about the young girl who died of bullet injuries. He wondered if his life was meant to be short too. At 6:30 PM, Dr. Mehra, looked at his lump and as Ajay’s breathe fastened, the doctor said, “Nothing’s wrong with you Ajay, it's a slight inflammation and will get fine with medicines. I’m writing down some medicines, take them and come visit after a week.” Ajay was overjoyed; it was as if he was reborn. He laughed at himself for stressing too much and decided to take that trip to Bangkok soon. As he stood at the chemist's counter outside the doctor’s chamber he noticed the man standing next to him. The fellow next to him was skinny and had the most peculiar moustache Ajay had ever seen. The lanky fellow was munching on some ‘Nice Time Biscuits’ and offered some to Ajay, which he gladly accepted. As Ajay and the man happily gorged on the sugar coated biscuits, another thought came by his mind. He wondered if he knows the man, do they share a common connection or they are two strangers who just happened to buy their medicines from the same store? He laughed at himself for thinking too much yet again and looked at the man's peculiar moustache - it was then that these two strangers just smiled at each other.  

Writer’s Block: Noted author Isabel Allende worked as a journalist in Chile, South America. On January 8, 1981 she received a phone call informing her that her grandfather was on his deathbed. On this day, she began writing a letter that eventually evolved into her famous book named ‘The House of the Spirits”. From then on, Allende went on to write several books, all of which were started on January 8. Write a story with the title 'January 8, 1981'.