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@nsitharaman

@nsitharamanoffc

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Ra_Bies 3.0

@Ra_Bies

Jun 25

THE FADED MARK

Shiva, in his late-twenties, works as an electrician in Dubai. His hands are tough and hard, his brown eyes sharp. Sweat clings to his forehead fixing wires in the under construction buildings under the relentless Gulf sun. He left Salem, Tamil Nadu, chasing better wages to build a house for his family and arrange a good marriage for his younger sister, Jaya.

In Salem, his father Suresh, a wiry man in his late fifties with streaks of grey in his hair and a tired but proud face, works in a leather factory run by Usman Ali. Suresh’s skin is darkened and rough from years of handling hides. On his waist, half-hidden under his shirt, is a faded water pot tattoo, an old village tradition. The factory is grim, with peeling paint, stray dogs outside, and the stench of chemicals and blood inside. Usman, a stout man with a thick mustache and cold, sharp eyes, runs the place with greed. He illegally slaughters animals, including cows, for cheap leather.

Suresh’s wife, Sudha, in her mid-fifties, keeps their small rented house clean. It's a two-room home with a tiny kitchen. A single bulb lights the space, and a small shelf holds a clay Ganesha idol. Sudha wears cotton sarees, her eyes always tired, her voice quiet. Their daughter Jaya, 19, is bright-eyed and slender, with neatly braided hair. She studies commerce in college. Her books are old but well-kept, lined up neatly by her bedside. The family is poor, but they manage with Shiva’s earnings and Suresh’s wages.

Then, one humid night, Suresh doesn’t come home.
“Where’s Appa?” Jaya asks the next morning, looking worried.
Sudha, already pacing the living room, replies, “He never came back. I waited all night.”
At dawn, Sudha rushes to the factory. The guard, a lean man chewing paan, shrugs.
“I don’t know anything, Amma. He didn’t come here today,” he says, spitting to the side.
Sudha, heart pounding, borrows a neighbor’s phone and dials Usman.
“Madam,” Usman says curtly, “he left early. Don’t bother me again.” He disconnects the call.

By afternoon, Sudha is knocking on shop doors, asking fruit sellers, cobblers, and tea vendors, but no one has seen Suresh. She returns home, clutching her sari at the waist, her face blank.
The next morning, she walks to the local police station, a cramped yellow building with a creaking fan and lazy flies. The inspector, pot-bellied and uninterested, flips through papers.
“File a report,” he mutters. “We’ll look, any identification mark?”
Sudha hands over a grainy photo from Jaya’s school function.
“He has a water pot tattoo here,” she says softly, pointing to her waist.
The police visit the factory but return empty-handed. Usman, in a white shirt and gold rings, simply says, “I already told his wife. He left early.”
Sudha, with trembling hands, calls Shiva in Dubai.
“Shiva… Appa hasn’t come home in two days,” she says, her voice cracking.
“What?” Shiva sits up in his shared room, the fan above buzzing loudly. “Did you call the police?”
“I did, they are not doing anything. Come home, please…”
Shiva’s heart sinks. He books a flight and lands in Salem three days later. Dust clings to his work boots as he rushes into the house. Sudha and Jaya fall into his arms, crying.
“Don’t cry, Amma. I’ll find him,” he says, holding her tight.

He storms to the police station.
“My father is missing! Do something!” he yells.
“We’re trying,” the inspector says, not meeting his eyes.
Shiva visits the factory. In Usman’s office, the air smells of leather and cheap perfume.
“He argued with me,” Usman admits. “Refused to skin an animal. I scolded him. Then he left.”
Shiva doesn’t believe him, but there’s no proof.
One day, Usman comes to their home.
“This is Suresh’s last salary,” he says, handing an envelope with three thousand rupees to Sudha. “Take it and move on.”
Shiva watches, fists clenched. Sudha accepts it with trembling hands. No one says thank you.
1/2

For a month, Shiva searches everywhere, bus stands, hospitals, police stations. He pastes missing posters. Nothing comes. No calls. Jaya stops attending college. She keeps her books in her cupboard. Not torn, not touched.
Sudha prays every evening before the small Ganesha, whispering his name. Shiva’s boss from Dubai calls.
“If you don’t come back this month, your job is gone.”
With a heavy heart, Shiva returns to Dubai, promising, “I’ll keep looking, Amma. I’ll send money every week.”
Back in Salem, Sudha starts selling vegetables at the market. Jaya resumes college. She tries to smile.
In Dubai, life moves on. Shiva works longer hours, sending money for groceries, rent, and Jaya’s future.
One evening, his friend Prabhu calls out, voice full of excitement.
“Shiva! Come to my room. I have news!”
Shiva visits. Prabhu’s apartment is cheerful, walls covered with movie posters, a half-cooked curry bubbling on the stove.
“I’m going to India for a wedding!” Prabhu grins. “Mine! She’s from Kollam.
He opens his suitcase. “Check this out!” he says, pulling out shiny shoes and shirts.
Then, he lifts a brown leather jacket.
“Stylish, no?” he asks, holding it up.
There he notices a faint but unmistakable a water pot impression on the back of the jacket. His heart races. He grabs the jacket and turns it.
On the tag, it says: Usman & Co.
Shiva stares at the faded mark, his hands trembling.
The room suddenly feels too quiet.
2/2

Please read it patiently specially the ending part to get the essence of the story. Thank you

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Ra_Bies 3.0

@Ra_Bies

May 22

Many years back, I too worked in SBI branch in a village in TN. I never tried to be complacent and always cooperated with local customers. To gel around with local Tamilians and to be one of them, I used to stay in that village it self and the first thing I started was taking bath everyday morning with Sambhar

It was only because of my stay in TN that my myth was broken and I came to know that Idlis are grown on Trees

After taking bath with Sambhar every morning I used to put red chills surma in my eyes like any other male in the village for eyes to look blood red in color. It was only then I used to wear lungi and rubber chappal

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Ra_Bies 3.0

@Ra_Bies

Jul 2, 2023

Blood is Thicker Than Water (A thread)
Not all the twins are identical. Sometime around 1960, a Saudi Arabian woman gave birth to twin male babies. One of them was dark in complexion, other was wheatish. 5 years later their dad took both of them to Mecca 1/n

Both were happy, one with dark complexion had curly hair & other was fairly good looking. Roaming in streets they saw people getting tattoos made. They told their dad “Abu tattoo banwa do”. Dad asked tattoo maker to make allah sign & their names tattooed on their shoulder 2/n

After getting tattoo they took their shirt off & danced “Wayi wayi hum allah ke bande hoti humko khush hoti”. Suddenly a sand storm surprised all, sky was filled with sand & very high speed winds started blowing. It devastated e’thing. People were running directionless 3/n

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Ra_Bies 3.0

@Ra_Bies

Jul 1, 2023

Generally I don’t pick phone calls from unknown numbers but today morning I picked it, as I said Hello, I heard sobs from other side. After couple of minutes sobs turned into loud cries. Then while crying he said “Aami French President Emmanuel Macron bolche” 1/n

I asked about his health & how is everything. He said “Sir ji, main te phas gaya, saade Paris nu barbaad kar dita hai mdrchd muslmaan refugees ne, mennu samj nayi aa reya ki karan, pulas vi kuch nayin kar pa rahi”. I asked him to drink water & take long breaths” 2/n

Then Mac (I call Macron Mac or Macu) turned the video on, his eyes were swollen, he was sipping whiskey, it was late night there. He then asked “Paji koi te upaaye hoyega, de libegaandus destroyo Cointreau (Libegaandus have destroyed the country)” 3/n

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Ra_Bies 3.0

@Ra_Bies

Jun 19, 2023

अति पूजनीय सर श्री शिव मूर्ति तिवारी की फ़ेसबुक पोस्ट: (थ्रेड) अवश्य पढ़ें

आदिपुरुष या इत्यादिपुरुष!!
आखिर दोष किसका है?
प्रसून जोशी से लेकर मनोज मुंतशिर तक और कुमार विश्वास से लेकर म्यूजिक कंपनी के तुकबाज लफ्फाजों तक को यदि हम शंकराचार्य मान बैठते हैं तो दोष किसका है!? 1/n

मुरारी बापू से लेकर जग्गी वासुदेव तक को यदि हम श्रीकृष्ण द्वैपायन व्यास मान बैठते हैं तो दोष किसका है?
जागरण में पीताम्बर ओढ़े नाचने गाने वालों को यदि हम श्री चैतन्य महाप्रभु का साक्षात् रूप समझ लेते हैं तो दोष किसका है?

राधे माँ से लेकर निर्मल बाबा तक के दरबार में यदि हम अपनी अपनी बुद्धि घर में छोड़कर जाते हैं तो दोष किसका है?
भगवान के दशावतारों से इतर मजार से लेकर कृत्रिम एवं प्रत्यारोपित देवी देवताओं तक में यदि हम अंधस्थ हो जाते हैं तो दोष किसका है?

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Ra_Bies 3.0

@Ra_Bies

Feb 13, 2023

भोला हूँ, सीधा साधा हूँ, मासूम हूँ, चालाकी होशियारी कभी समझ नहीं आयी इसलिए सारे मेरे को मूर्ख बना कर मेरा परिहास करते हैं, मेरे भावनाओं से खिलवाड़ करते हैं, मुझे लूट भी लेते हैं। और शायद यही कारण है ट्विटर पर मेरे को फॉलो भी नहीं किया जाता। हैशटैग वही पुराने वाला ही है

इतना भोला हूँ की कुछ समझ नहीं आता लोग क्या कहना चाहते हैं। स्कूल में था तो ख़ाली पीरियड में गन्ना चूस रहा था। विज्ञान वाले शर्मा सर आये और कहते मेरे चूसेगा। एक तो उनके पास गन्ना नहीं था और जब हम अपना चूस रहे हैं तो तेरा भला क्यों चूसें,हमने मना कर दिया और उन्होंने विज्ञान में फेल

विज्ञान वाले शर्मा सर ग़ुस्से में चले गये, थोड़ी देर में नाभि से नीचे साड़ी बांधे अंग्रेज़ी की अध्यापिका रोज़ी मेम आयीं। उन्होंने पता नहीं क्यों दायें बायें देखा और धीरे से कहा “प्यासी हूँ, अपना गन्ना चुसवा दे भोले” हम बोले “बग़ल में नल है वहाँ से पानी पी लो”,अंग्रेज़ी में भी फेल

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