Civilisation

By Seema Jha

What is enough? When it comes to human emotion enough is a bouquet of feelings and behaviour born out of complex interactions between socio- cultural milieus and basic human emotions. Seema has once again dazzled with her penmanship. No praise is enough for Enough.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504991964

Seema Jha

Seema Jha is a prolific novelist who lives in Boston, Lincolnshire, UK with her husband and their son.

Book preview

Chapter 1

As Sheela and I stood before the entire class, I felt slightly nervous. Having been asked to write a poem on any subject as homework, I had just told our class teacher ours had been a joint effort. Sheela would say something and then I would and so on. Slightly hesitant at first, Miss Rosemary gave her consent. It was a novel notion but she didn’t mind.

I’m not happy, Sheela said. I knew she was a bit anxious whether our poem would be met with approval but her confident tone showed no sign of her doubts.

"Better make it snappy

Announce the reason for the gloom

In our classroom," I said. I couldn’t help feeling a trifle excited. The conventional method would have been to write our own separate poems but I wanted to do things in a slightly different manner.

I am sad, Sheela said. Her voice had shaken a little. Perhaps she was as thrilled as I was and equally tense. I did not know.

That is bad, I said. The class was completely quiet. Pin drop silence. That was a good sign.

It’s because I didn’t come first, Sheela said. I looked at her nervous smile and felt like reassuring her that it was going to be alright. If truth be told, I was shaky myself. Miss Rosemary was not easily satisfied and I was afraid our poem would not meet with her approval. But I told myself to persevere.

And for the top position you’ve got a thirst, I said. I liked my pal Sheela. We had prepared the poem during lunch break the previous day. It had been enormous fun. I looked at Sheela’s pony tails. She looked both brave and vulnerable as she stood before the class. We both read so many novels that this sort of thing came naturally to us. If I came across a word that I thought Sheela would be unaware of. I would flaunt my knowledge of it till she admitted she did not quite understand its meaning. We would then enthusiastically look up the word and I would smile smugly as Sheela verified if I was right and found out I was.

That is true, Sheela said. One of the boys of our class let forth a giggle and Miss looked at him sternly. I was glad Sheela and I had made the poem together. I looked at Sheela’s school uniform, a white shirt and navy blue skirt, navy blue socks and black shoes with a navy blue tie and then at my own, the same things with shorts instead of a skirt.

I hear you, I said. It hadn’t taken long for us to become friends. We both liked writing poems, essays and stories. We both read novels by various authors and we both liked nature. The fact that she was a girl and I a boy didn’t seem to matter.

"It might have been just a spoon and lemon race.

But the rank of second I have to face," Sheela said. The hesitation with which she had begun had evaporated now and it seemed to me she was enjoying herself thoroughly. No longer timid, she was splendid, confident.

"I wish you’d get over it.

And not mind it a bit," I said. I thought of the first time Sheela and I had spoken to each other. I had asked her what her favourite colour was. She had said blue and I had said so was mine. After we had found out that the fruit and vegetable we considered top of the hierarchy also happened to be the same, there was no looking back. We were pals and told each other we always would be.

"That is easier said than done.

I haven’t really won," Sheela said- I glanced nervously at Miss. She had a tiny smile on her face which told me she approved of Sheela and me. I was relieved- Sheela and I always offered to carry her class work and homework exercise books, a fact which she no doubt appreciated. Sheela had been extremely anxious as the sports day approached. I don’t mind admitting I was too but I had tried to calm her. I had dismissed my failure to win the two races I had taken part in with a shrug. It wasn’t that I wasn’t sad but I had not let the emotion linger.

You got the red water bottle as a prize, I said. Miss looked pleased. There was a soft expression on her face which indicated she did not dislike our effort. I was glad she had not seen our new notion of working together as insolence. She had not scoffed at our idea and I was grateful for that. All said and done, she wasn’t a bad sort.

It does not suffice, Sheela said. There was a smile on her lips which she was trying to conceal. No doubt she was conscious because everybody was staring at her and listening to her, but at the same time she appeared happy she had everybody’s attention.

So it was the instrument box you were after, I said. At lunch break a crow had made Sheela’s head dirty and she had wiped the muck with a wet handkerchief exclaiming she found that sort of thing quite disgusting. If truth be told, so did I. But I suppose the birds had to do their business somewhere and did not have the cleverness to understand where it should not be done. Birds would be birds, I thought to myself.

Yes, I can’t get over the disaster, Sheela said. Our display of intelligence seemed to be bothering a boy in the front row who looked quite envious it was not he in the midst of it all. I tried not to look at him. It irked me to see we had aroused jealousy as was evident from the boy’s disapproving wrinkled nose. But there was not much I could do about it.

"Be that as it may

All I will say

All said and done

It doesn’t matter who won

All that counts is you took part

The sporting spirit is an art," I said.

I had wanted the poem to be longer but had been unable to think of anything else. Miss began to clap and so did the entire class. Sheela looked slightly uncomfortable with all the applause we were receiving but a tiny smile acquainted me with the fact that she was also happy. If truth be told, I too had the same mixed feelings that Sheela did.

Chapter 2

Words excite me. There seem to be so many of them, I said. I wasn’t lying. My constant perusal of novels was generating in me a yearning to absorb more and more. There was nothing I did not read. And I knew Sheela did the same. She had told me often enough.

Same here. Yet, my ambition in life is not to be a writer but a doctor. If I do do any writing in future, it shall have to be just a hobby, not a profession. Which is just as well, I suppose for you can’t guarantee a regular solid income in this field. You can’t persuade people to buy your books if you write any and it is quite a gamble. Whereas if you opt for medicine, there will never be any dearth of people getting sick and hence you are always assured of stability, Sheela said. I was a little surprised. Sheela seemed to be talking like a businessman. I wasn’t sure I liked this side of her. It was as if all she was thinking of was the monetary aspect of things. But I knew I couldn’t blame her. Money was important, nobody could deny that.

I want to be a doctor too but simply because it is a noble profession, I said. I felt like I had put Sheela in her place by declaring my reasons were more lofty than hers. It had not been my intention to do so but I had done it all the same. I thrived on our little conversations and it seemed to me that Sheela was probably repeating what her Mom or Dad had said about the medical profession. Still, I was happy that if we tried hard enough, we would both be in the same field in future and there would be no great need to say good bye to our friendship. Not that one could not keep in touch even otherwise but it would make things easier.

Let’s hear what you’ve written. Easy subject, I suppose. My ambition in life, Sheela said. I wondered what she would think of my poem. She was my friend and it mattered to me what she thought of my so-called literary prowess. I think she too sought my approval for whatever she wrote considering the fact that she read it before me to see what I felt before embarking on making the class and Miss her audience.

"I see the gleam

Of a dream

Will it turn into reality, I know not

Perhaps if I do what I ought

Pour over my books with zeal

Possess determination of steel

A doctor is what I wish to be

The poor patients shall be treated free

To be perfect I do not claim

But that is my life’s aim

I see the gleam

Of a dream," I said. Sheela was quiet for a moment or two which made me feel that perhaps some criticism was on its way. I knew it wasn’t Shakespeare but it was better than nothing. I did not consider myself the greatest of poets and hoped she would not judge me too harshly.

It’s not bad, she said. I flinched. It was a bit disappointing that Sheela had not been gushing with praise on hearing my poem. I had hoped she would. Anita, my other friend gave me a smile as if to say silently she had liked it. Anita seemed to follow me everywhere like Mary’s little lamb and although a little irritated by her constant presence, I never said anything rude.

Let’s hear yours, Anita said. I was sure she had a poem up her sleeve which she was dying to share with us. There was something very clingy about Anita. I looked at her. She was my height. Whenever I looked at her, I got the feeling that God had planned to make a boy and had changed his mind half way. She happened to be as good a student as Sheela and I were and that was the reason I let her accompany us wherever we went.

"It is quite ordinary really. I shall be a doctor, of that I’m sure.

Each of my patients, I shall cure

Typhoid, malaria, cough and cold

I shall tackle with steps bold

That is more or less my plan

I shall do all I can

I shall treat the poor for free

I shall be a soothing breeze

That is my ambition in life

The health of my patients shall be my prize," Sheela said. It struck me that both our poems had one thing in common. We would not take money from the poor. But that was scarcely unique. Almost all our classmates said that whichever profession they would happen to choose, they would be kind to the poor. I thought of the initial years of my childhood when I had been well acquainted with poverty.

Would you like to hear what I have said on the subject? Anita asked. If truth be told, I wasn’t really interested but I was nothing if not polite. And since she had endured our efforts, it seemed unfair not to hear what she had to say. I just shrugged in order to indicate she could go ahead.

Yes, we would, Sheela said simply. She had a lost expression on her face and I realised that like me, she was merely being civil. She raised her eyebrows as if to say she couldn’t care less what Anita