Cosmopolitan Curry

All is well :)

2011-03-11T18:28:00.001+05:30

If I had earned a little more, it would have been just perfect, though Sarfaraz as he drifted through his bank statement. Shekhar was buying a house, almost everyone else was too. The loan rates offered were high, yet the sheer joy of being a ‘home owner’ could not be matched. Sarfaraz looked around at his small one room studio apartment. In one corner was a washing machine with clothes overflowing from it. The bed could be described as a single cot temporarily acting as a dumpster. One fan could be seen in the ceiling with bundles of grit collected over it. The wall plaster was chipping and his posters had been ruined by the seepage of water. A small doormat lay recklessly near the entrance and on one side of it were his shoes – one formal, one sports, one casual and some chappals.

He went to the kitchen to make some tea to ease his early morning irritation. He didn’t mind the clutter and how the glasses lay around. He had stopped using utensils for eating, it meant too much of trouble washing everything. And he certainly disliked the stink when he left them unwashed. His cellphone flashed “Mom” and refused to stop. “Haan Mom” “Ya, I was just making tea” “Not again Mom, my life is very organized and I like it that way” “Ok, tea is done, I will call later. Bye.”

He felt his Mom was the most persistent person ever. He had always refused but she still insisted that he got married. Every week she e-mailed him the so called ‘finalized’ girls’ pictures and he promptly deleted it. “How was the first one?” his Mom had asked. “Which one Mom, what are you talking about?” “Arre, the one in the pink suit.” “Mom, she was terrible, ok! We are not talking about this.”

Nothing ever upset him or left wrinkles on his forehead. He was the typical happy-go-lucky, god-fearing guy who believed in making the most of everything he had. But there were times, he felt under privileged, as if God’s love was showered sparsely on him. It had been five years since he had moved to the city in search of a job. It had been a long time since then. He was now the team lead and respected well among colleagues. He worked in a respectable company and his only problem was his Mom’s nagging – or maybe not, life would be incomplete without that as well!

He couldn’t help his feelings when newcomers, who worked in his team, drove past him in Honda City. He was a car enthusiast and buying an SUV was definitely on his wish list. But till now, he had always had the aerial view of them from the bus. He always relied on his feet and the public bus system. It was satirical when his colleagues flashed their latest smartphones. He liked reading up and researching about the latest gadgets, even if he could not afford it immediately. He had a list of the best smartphones, their features and his secret wish list, which he updated with each new release. Shekhar showed him the latest Android phone. “Allright, this is nice man.” And then Sarfaraz took thirty minutes to explain him the features - in short, Shekhar learnt how to use his phone.

Sarfaraz was known for his quick wittedness, his sharp observation skills and most of all his dedication to work. He was the only guy in the team to have seen such a sharp rise in his career graph. But he never forgot the main reason he came to the city – his mother had sold her jewellery when his father had died. He had been in college. She had encouraged him to complete his graduation. Slowly, their funds had depleted and their house was mortgaged. He had asked his mother to leave the age old house and move to the city with him. But somehow, the emotional ties were too strong for her to leave. She would always say “This is where your father breathed his last, this is where I want to die as well.”

Every month, he paid a substantial amount towards the house debt, some towards savings and the rest for his rent and food. He could not believe how much he paid for a small place to live, where he barely stayed for a few hours of the day. He knew that getting his ancestral home was the priority, but five years of trying made him feel very worn out.

People took his opinion on everything, because he was the encyclopedia for everything. So all queries about buying cars, buying property, even electronic items – all requests came to him and he handled them all enthusiastically. But somewhere in his heart, he wanted a closure of things – he wanted a decent life, maybe a car, and maybe buy an apartment, and a smartphone – but he didn’t know in which order he would exercise his choices, if given a chance. Whether given a chance, or maybe never.

Sulking had never been the answer. He had encouraged his landlord’s daughter to take up fashion designing against the MBBS degree which the parents wanted. He had encouraged Shekhar to tell his mother about the girl he liked in office, and eventually got them married.

Seldom, when he sat down to sip his tea at his terrace, he opened his eyes wide to take in the view. He felt alive, and that was the best feeling, he felt a happiness within him, a sense of inexplicable euphoria. A sense of calmness which an SUV, an apartment, or a phone couldn’t have brought. His hand reached his small phone, where the key “5” was already broken and “3” had started dangling. He smiled, in fact, chuckled to himself. As the sun was setting, the whole terrace was showered with a golden glow of light. He dialed a number and waited. “Hello Mom, I love you a lot.” A tear trickled his eye and shone brightly along the setting sun. “I don’t want to get married, but can you please come to stay with me?”

Food for Thought...

2011-03-08T19:39:00.002+05:30

The pan flew in rage, banged the ceiling and flattened on the floor. Small bits of egg white and yolk flew across the kitchen and created a symmetrical design on the walls. Varun looked the mess and sighed, he wished he would close his eyes and everything would return back to normal. Had it been yesterday he had spent three hours cleaning just the kitchen? And today again, he had no patience!

Living alone was fun, but cooking definitely was a nightmare. How did it sound so easy when they showed it on TV – “Just add some onions, a pinch of salt and let it simmer…” and boom, the dish was ready to relish as if having cooked itself. The show hosts chatted more than moving their fingers – and projected that cooking was the easiest art to master. But he sure was missing home now, and more so, his mum!

He had braved hostel life when he was eighteen, but the food was served in a platter there, even though it had been hard to gulp it down. After college, he had had a good placement – the first thing he did was to get his own house and set up a life – one very different from his hostel or from his parent’s home two thousand kilometers away! He had wanted a “free home” where he could be himself – wake up whenever, sleep whenever, watch tv all day, not bother a shower or change of clothes – devil may care! He had put in a lot of efforts to setup this new home – he had purchased a flat screen tv, some great speakers, a nice fridge to store lots of beer and ready to eat stuff, a huge mattress and some utensils.

The first week had been great – he had collected all phone numbers for food delivery. Mostly, he had ordered pizza and had beer. The TV had showed ftv all day and he was glued. But slowly, as cash ran out, he switched to tandoori chicken and beer, the channel changed to mtv and loud singing. Further, he switched to mini meals, and the tv showed star movies. When he couldn’t bear the taste of the food nor the expense, some beer stock in the fridge was replaced by eggs, bread, mayonnaise and cheese and the tv showed a cookery show!

Eggs had been the easiest to cook, a matter of 2 minutes – easier than maggi noodles which he had been eating in a routine. He decided to go easy on the beer , his tummy had been signaling him for some time now. He decided to follow a regiment from Monday – woke up early, went for a jog, came back and had some juice, took a shower and toasted some bread from breakfast. He was ready to cook the eggs now – he had watched enough cookery shows and how they tossed the omlettes. And then the disaster occurred. He quietly ate the bread and shut the kitchen door.

Smoke had filled the house and was consuming him. He opened all windows and doors and went out of his apartment door. Till now, he had not explored beyond his house. He climbed the stairs and reached the terrace. It was a beautiful morning. His terrace had a small amphitheatre to sit and relax.

“Oh maa….” He heard a voice from behind. A lady in a yellow sari stood there, holding a pile of clothes and a hand on her back. “Let me help you.” He held the pile of clothes from her. She smiled. The lady must have been in her thirties, wearing a small red bindi on her forehead, hair tied in a bun and a small line of kohl in her eyes. She had a quiet calmness on her face and an angelic glow which he couldn’t decipher on the sunlight. “Thank you.” She said with a sweet smile.

“My back has been hurting since a few days. I live just downstairs, apartment 412.” “Great, I am in 414, just moved in last week. Let me carry these for you.” He kept the pile of clothes on her sofa – it was a neatly decorated living room, not cluttered with heavy furniture. He noticed a number of paintings on the wall. “Yes, I paint sometimes. Haven’t been able to give it up.” “Wow, you are actually good.” He started at the oil painting with the small pond and lotus, the colours stood out brilliantly. There was another one of Ganesha done in gold and black and it shone, even in darkness. "My name is Aparna. I stay here with my husband." "Mine is Varun, I have never lived alone, so just trying to be civil. If you hear loud music or whatever, just knock my door."

“Oh, today is Lakshmi puja. I made some kheer and aloo puri. Would you like some?” His heart screamed “are you kidding me!” at the top of his lungs. “Sure.” It was too tempting to wait till he got home but obviously he could not hog in front of this kind lady. He took it in his hands and slowly walked out of the door. As soon as the door closed, he sprinted to his house, and not even bothering to find a spoon, started gobbling the food with his hands. It was delicious! Reminded him so much of his mum, maybe it was better than what he had eaten at home. It was god’s answer to his prayers and most of all – his inability to exist in the kitchen!

The loud doorbell surprised him. Wiping drops of kheer from his mouth and his stubble, he opened the door. “I had forgotten to put almonds in the kheer so brought you some. Put them in before you eat, it brings out a great taste.” Her smile widened when she noticed the empty bowls behind him. “Would you like some more for lunch?” And they both laughed.

Everyday, when he returned from office, he found a tiffin by the side of his door. And he so looked forward to it, that he refused a dinner with colleagues and friends. The food had been heavenly – nothing like he had ever eaten before. He was mesmerized with the aloo bhaji and pooris and kheer, till he got the raving biryanis and the delicious mutton curry. He could swear that he was her fan!

But each day, he felt like a burden growing upon him. He thought about the lady – who slaved all day and still made extra food for him everyday. Every morning, he rang the doorbell to return the tiffin and thanked her with all his heart. He could not make himself offer money for it, it was too awkward. Nor could he be like the nextdoor lady, offering some great meals in return.

Often, when he reached home early, they sat down and had tea. “You should paint more. You have a great talent.” “Thank you, but there’s hardly any time left after all the household work, and now I have a back problem.” “Don’t find reasons, you just have to make it work. Get up, go get your brushes this instant. From now on, everyday you will paint from 4 to 6. If you need a danda – I will give you one!”

Every evening, they sat in the amphitheatre and she painted. He even brought a new pack of oil paints for her. “Gosh, you are so creative. Have you tried to approach an art gallery for a show?” “No silly, my paintings are very average. Who would want to see them?” “I am telling you, I am no connoisseur, but I can tell. Why don’t you try atleast.”

“Come to my house for dinner tonight with your husband.” She smiled “Allright, he has been eager to meet you as well. The boy who banged his pan at the ceiling.” “You didn’t tell him that, did you?” “You bet!”

The night after the pizza party, apartment 412 had a visitor from Glances Art Gallery. He was impressed and appreciated Aparna’s work. They signed a deal that very day for an upcoming art show. The husband was overjoyed. And Aparna, who had never thought beyond her house and household work, finally found her niche. From that day, the tiffin stopped coming to Varun’s house. Instead, he joined his newfound friends for dinner at their dining table. Maybe, the regiment and family he wanted to break away from had found it’s way to his heart. He had found a reason to come home everyday at an earthly hour. The beer and ftv were still there, but they could wait till late night – couldn’t they?

Mesmerizing love...

2011-03-01T20:00:00.000+05:30

The music played louder than ever. It was well past 11 pm and Rashi couldn’t make herself leave the dance floor. Dressed in a pink lehenga and silver jewellery, her hair open like waves of music, her bow shaped lips shining with pink gloss and her long earrings dancing on her neck. She didn’t care about the four inch heels she was wearing, although they pinched her like crazy. Just when she decided to sit and rest, they played her favourite number.

Mukul had been observing Rashi for a while now – her beautiful eyes and her gorgeous smile. His eyes refused to part with her. Eventually, he went and joined his gang on the dance floor, but his gaze kept gliding onto her. How her long hair moved with the music, and her tiny waist moved to the beats, making her lehenga swirl around her. He wanted to go and hold her, to dance with her, to hear her speak and laugh - she was beautiful when she laughed!

The music slowed down and he found himself alone on the dance floor. She was nowhere to be seen. Quickly, he went looking for her. He saw her at the place where the bride and groom sat and she was getting her pictures taken with them. She looked heavenly; it was like she outshone everyone around her, her luminous skin glowed in the stark lighting. He no longer had control over his senses. His feet took him right to the spot she was at. He watched her up close and wore the mesmerized look on his face. “Please come together for a picture.” The photographer said to him. He drifted closer to her and posed for a picture with the newlyweds. She smelled heavenly, and he wished the photographer’s camera would get stuck so he could linger a bit more.

“Mukul, you look so lost today”, the groom said to him. He looked around to find her but she was gone. He gazed around in the entire hall; she was nowhere to be seen. His heart sank deep and imprinted her images on his mind forever….the day he fell in love!

Mukul had never been the ‘girl chaser’ all his life. He had always been the sophisticated, quite and studious person. With a square spectacle frame resting on his nose, he was very tall – about six feet, not a very muscular frame but a sturdy one, his hair brushed neatly with a side parting. He had noticed the overly long glances made at him by the opposite sex, but he chose to be oblivious. It had been two years since he had seen Rashi and whenever he closed his eyes, he could see her bright cheery face and the pink dupatta. He had never been a fan of the movies, but the cliché happening to him made him aware of the substance in them.

It had been two years since the incident and he was a successful dentist now. He assisted Dr Dey at his clinic and had noticed the unusual increase in the number of female clients visiting him. He was overwhelmed by their charms, but always reacted politely. His mother had conveyed a few marriage proposals which he had been getting, but he didn’t seem to have any interest. But his ears were always open to hearing the word Rashi from her. He knew it was a long call and was never bound to happen.

He had glanced through the wedding album a number of times, whenever he visited the couple. He had even asked on one occasion, but they both seemed to not remember who she was. “I think her name was Rashi or something…” But no one seemed to remember. This had confused him, she did not look like the party-crasher, then why couldn’t he trace her? She had existed in the mist of that night and had vanished with the first rays of sunlight.

He kept listening to “Ajeeb daastan hai ye….” on his ipod over and over again. The more his mother pestered him for his wedding, the more he felt the urge to go and look for her. But fate had decided to play hide and seek with him. So he just hung on to his patience levels which rose and fell like the stock market.

Dr Dey had noticed his restlessness and tried to talk to him about it. “It’s nothing, mom is pestering me to get married and I am not ready.” “Take it lightly boy, this will go on, mothers always do that! If there is anything else, let me know. Don’t walk around with such a long face the whole day.” Dr Dey gave him a pass to go and see a dance show – “a patient gave me this, it is supposed to be all sold out and this is the last one I got.”

With a Sunday full of looking at pictures of prospective brides, he was way beyond fed up. He walked out of the house and closed the door behind him. After walking a few paces in the park, he decided to go to the dance show, least expecting a break from his psychological chaos.

He sat in the second row from front, it was a good view. The dance was breathtaking – a ballet with beautiful costumes followed by a contemporary. The music was from a live orchestra and was very engaging. The dancers moved swiftly with every beat and the steps grew faster with the music.

“Wow papa, she is doing great.” He heard a familiar voice behind him. It couldn’t be her – was fate at its best ricks again or was his overwhelmed mood playing hallucinations with his mind? He couldn’t focus on the dance, nor could he hear any music anymore – he was entwined in his own thoughts, curbing his urge to look behind him. He didn’t know what to say to her after so many years. Many thoughts encircled his mind, but none fit the situation he was in. He waited patiently for the performance to finish and rose up to go. He turned slightly and looked at her – it was her, after so many years! More beautiful than ever, the same charming smile, the same luminous glow.

“Are you Mukul?” the man beside her spoke to him. “Ya, do I know you?” The man smiled. “Your mother had sent a picture of you to us, and we were interested, but your mother said you were not interested in marriage right now.” He couldn’t gather this own thoughts and put together the pieces. “Anyway, meet my daughter Rashi.” “Hi Mukul” he smiled and his face turned crimson. “Hi”

They started to move out of the auditorium. This was the time. “So what do you do?” He had to break the ice somehow! “I am a flower decorator. I mostly work at weddings. I love doing that.” He chuckled “I bet you do and you do a fantastic job” “How do you know?” “Well, let’s meet for coffee sometime and I will tell you how.” “You think I will go out with a guy who rejected me without even looking at my picture?” she smirked and naughtily teased him. “I think I can rationalize that as well.” And they both laughed and gazed at each other in an ever-locking gaze, with fate playing with their minds and teasing them with Cupid’s silent involvement.

Love is it...

2011-02-16T20:40:00.000+05:30

She just couldn’t get over the song. Had played it over a hundred times already and yet, it sounded so fresh. Her roommate was on the verge of losing her nerves. But she understood. Why is it that she could instantly identity with the song – the tone, the music and especially the lyrics. To the extent that it became “her song”!

She was congruously hit by the identity bug and found herself surrounded by “her favourite book”, “her favourite dress”, her “favourite shoes”, her “favourite movie”, her “favourite episode of Gossip Girl” or “her favourite Blair dress”. She could not fathom to see herself beyond them, atleast after last year!

Ears plugged into her ipod, she was walking along the road when she saw him. Dark brown eyes, wind on his face, heavy breathing into the winter air, his hands tightly holding his overcoat, smooth backswept hair and a divine smile. She felt the bitter winter air cutting through her. She could not face him, and instantly turned around. She started walking as fast as she could, and curbing her body to run or shiver. “Hey, is that you.” The sound of his voice stopped her heart – as it was about to explode and beat with a rhythm she could no longer control. She turned around to look at him. She did not understand why after a year, she still missed him and the coldness within her was not due to the weather. She felt her emotions withering away as the last leaves on a tree. Yet, somehow meeting him had brought the most genuine smile on her face since the last twelve months.

“How have you been?” She just nodded and smiled, but could not help the flush on her cheeks and the tearing pain in her heart. She noticed he was wearing cufflinks today. She had never been able to convince him, buying them and pestering him all the time. “I don’t want to look like a suited up cold man. Let me be….I love my jeans.” And today, he was wearing a well creased suit, great shoes and cufflinks!

“What are you doing here?” They had parted, and assumed their own sides of the city. Not a strictly marked line of invasion, but precariously understood area of avoidance. “I just got promoted and my office is right here.” “Congratulations. Anyway, I have to go now.” “We will catch up again.” She didn’t reply back but just waved to him. Her feet started moving quickly and she left him far behind as she wanted her past to be..

The next morning was lovely and warmer; the sun was out bright cheering people into the Valentine’s Day. Red roses had always put her off, and she never understood the point – no one cared what happened to them after they exchanged hands from one lover to the other. If even one of them didn’t love the other – there was nothing a rose could do about it. But he had always found special ways to make her smile. Last year, just before they broke up, he had painted beautiful little roses on her stairs – so that she could always “walk on roses” when she stepped out. He had loved her immensely; maybe it had been too much for her. And now, she was afraid to admit to herself how much she missed him. How she had not been able to smile until today. How meeting him after a year made her feel like she wanted him back.

Had it all been a mistake? Breaking up with the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to her. She had always wanted her freedom, and now she had it. But just to wither away listening to songs or secretly sulking in the comfort of chocolate truffles! She had spent her entire saving buying her favourite shoes and clothes and even though her closet was cheery and full, she felt the opposite. Why was she searching so hard to find herself, when she had already found herself with him! Why did she choose late night parties and the dancing over a soft shoulder she could sleep peacefully on!

She had always hated Valentine’s Day and the over-agile depictions of it made her nauseous. But today, it was different. The feelings that lay dormant from the last twelve months were now enthralled. She chose her favourite lace dress and red pumps. All decked up and ready to go, she looked at herself in the mirror and smiled. The apartment door opened and her roommate stared in disbelief. She just laughed at her roommate “I want to be cliché today.” “Did I miss something?” “Will tell you everything when I come back. Happy Valentine’s day.” She rushed out the door and slammed it shut.

Outrageously opposite to her beliefs, but she was going to do it. She picked up a bunch of red roses, even if sold at a preposterous price – some things were worth it all! She remembered the building he had pointed to, and she knew her way well – yes, this was her side of the city! The frills of her dress flew with the gust of wind, but she didn’t care. She just smiled. Hope he understood her as well – if he truly loved her, he would. Why would he not, she was the one to leave him. How she remembered his pleadings and they played loudly in her ears. She would go and plead out her love to him today.

Hair in the wind, and overcoat barely on her, she did not care about the harshness of the winter air anymore! And that was the moment she saw him, when all her emotions lighted up again after a whole year. He was rushing to catch a cab, she rushed to surprise him. She suddenly stopped when she saw him kiss the lady who came in the taxi. She ushered behind a tree and watched. He planted on her the most passionate kiss she had ever known. She knew then, that he was never going to be her’s anymore. The girl smiled and handed him a small package wrapped in glittering paper. He held her in his arms and refused to let go. They both smiled and boarded the same taxi as she watched with the bunch of roses in her hand.

A tear trickled from her eye, and harshness melted. All along, she had been angry with herself and him, for letting go. Now she knew, he had truly moved on, while she had been stuck in the darkness of oblivion. Heartbroken and sad, she gave the roses to a beggar woman who was enthralled to see them, but failed to find a real use for flowers. Last light of the day took away with it all signs of hope and love. And lay beyond it was just another dark night and the day after Valentine’s Day – yet another day!

Sun tiptoes...

2010-12-13T16:03:00.000+05:30

A strand of hair played right above her cheek. With her hands full of clay, she twitched her cheek to stop it. But it didn’t, and neither did the wind do any favours. It was a cloudy day and she wondered when she would finish with the modeling. She wished there would be sunlight for it to dry out. A small dimple dug at her cheek as she smiled.

It had been two years at her job now, and the mundane schedule was fast getting to her. She remembered how she had enjoyed taking long walks by herself in the leisure time. She would love doing that now too. Two years ago, as she sat on her desk, she smiled and was delighted at her achievements. But now, she no longer felt the passion. She no longer relented to fixing herself behind that desk.

It had not been an affluent childhood. She would go ahead and save her pocket money when all other students had delicious candies in school. She couldn’t ask her parents for more as she knew they were doing their best to provide for her. It made her sad to see them struggle through their jobs each morning and night, doing double shifts. She knew they would buy fruits, but just for her. She never saw her parents consume any dairy products but always insisted she finish her glass of milk.

She had duly returned them her respect and obedience. She had never been caught cheating in exams, or speaking deceitful lies, or sharing goodies with her classmates. They called her weird, but she never retorted. She thought that sharing the lovely eatables with her classmates would shame her parents about not being able to buy them for her. So she knew God had a share of things kept away for her, so why ask for more!

She had finished shaping the pot now. It was a small one with a wide mouth. She had already decided the colour scheme for it. Pottery was a way of connecting the peace within. Her parents had always been preoccupied with earning the basic money; she had never seen them do anything leisurely. There were no books in her house, or music records, or an occasional dance. There was hardly any time for small talk. All they asked her was about homework and school. Every academic term, it was about her grades. They had always told her about white collar jobs, and how she would be perfect for them.

She washed her hands and removed the cool clay from her hands. Carefully, she took the sharp thread and looped it over the pot. Slowly, removing it from the wheel, she put it at her window sill. Suddenly, drops of rain splattered hard on the open window. She quickly latched the window. The sky started to roar and got all dark. “Maybe it is your fate”, she said it aloud to the pot. She wasn’t sure if she believed in luck, but she surely believed in fate. Or maybe so because her parents had already written one for her. She could never refuse them or argue with them. She felt indebted, and however she tried, she couldn’t change the feeling.

One evening, her decided fate had been announced to her. “We think you should be a Charted Accountant. You grades are good and we think you should apply to the prestigious schools. Don’t worry about the fee, your Ma has taken a loan for the forms and I will be taking one when you get in. I hear CAs are paid really well in today’s times.” She had just nodded. She never felt victimized, not that day, not today. She took life as it came to her. One lesson was absolutely certain, her parents had never smiled much, and she was determined to be happy – no matter the circumstances, no matter her profession, no matter what future withheld.

She stared at her pot at the window. The clay was still wet and could be moulded in any way required. And when she would colour it, it would determine its identity. It could be a fiery red, a passionate pink or a cheery orange. She could also make it a cool blue or a classic black. It was all in her hands. Just like she had been moulded to join the corporate world. The year she had graduated, she had started paying off her debts and taken an apartment on a huge loan, one where her parents could live in peace. They had often told her how proud they were, and she had felt gratified for being their daughter.

But other emotions, she found them hard to find. Now she knew the meaning of passion. She had taken up pottery with great interest over a year ago and had gone ahead to make some beautiful pieces. She had been asked to display it for a pottery show by one of her neighbours, who happened to appreciate them in her small garden. There was another show coming up, and she had been invited.

The more she fell in love with pottery, the more she resisted the desk in office. She had been a cage bird all her life, and it was time she found her wings. She had thought about it several times, but the EMIs and the loan swirled like a dagger in front of her. The pot was beginning to fuse at a few places, just like her emotions. “I wish the sun comes out soon and clears my dilemma.”

It was easy in the movies, where they took decisions and things turned out well. Nor was her life made of any bestselling novel, where after churning out of troubles, she reached her destination. She just wanted to be happy, to love what she did and never regret it. But would it be fair to her parents, who slaved all their lives to get her the white collar job? Maybe she had to be Santa all her life – she had the gifts but would never be gifted anything.

She sat down to eat her lunch at the small dining table. As she stirred her spaghetti, memories of childhood captured her. On Avik’s birthday, his mother had come to school to distribute pastries to all children. Everyone had eaten and wished him, and asked for more. She had just smiled and never asked for more. But the presence of a pastry in her hands had been delightful. Instead of eating it, she had carefully packed it in her lunch box. Very proudly, she had gone home and waited impatiently for her parents to arrive. They would all share it as a family. She was determined to see them smile that day.

When her parents arrived, she just passed on her lunch box to her mother, like every other day, for her to inspect whether lunch had been finished. “What on earth do you have here?” “It’s a pastry Ma”, she had smiled. As she looked into the lunch box, she could sense a foul smell. The icing had melted and was floating in the box. “Don’t get such things to the house, it smells so bad, I will have a tough time cleaning it.” She never did it again.

She could see the rain from her window, so beautiful and yet so forceful. It reminded her of her only wish - to be happy. Pottery was her passion, and not a desk job. Life would go on and people would always have complaints, but she did not want to grow old and look back apologetically.

The pottery exhibition was three weeks from now. If she worked hard, she could have a good number of display pieces there. She went to her handbag and took out the resignation letter from its front pocket. She signed on it and put the date. As she looked up, she realized that the sky had cleared and sun was out. She opened the window and let the pot get its due warmth. And the first time in her life, she felt the beam of exhilaration she had always longed for.

Twin bonding...

2010-12-01T18:14:00.000+05:30

I sat beside the phone, waiting endlessly for it to ring. I would have made the call myself, but they probably had not got a connection yet. I went to the balcony again and looked at the adjoining house. The grass was still green but had overgrown since yesterday. The door of the house still had the imprint of the nameplate as dust was urging forward to cover it. The garden seats looked dull and the parking space missed the grey Volvo sedan. The emptiness stretched all the way from the closed garage door to the terrace and the black cast iron gate.

My whole life had been about this neighborhood. Ever since I can remember, me and the twins used to ride our bicycles on the golf course road. As we approached the downhill slope, we used to let go of the pedals and the handle and let gravity win the race for us. Whoever lost used to buy the ice candies for the other two. Then we used to sit at the golf lawns and tear the grass apart till the keeper came and shooed us away.

School was just a mile away from our houses and we used to walk together each day. Arpita and Anandita always wore the same clothes as each other, the same shoes and even the same ribbons. No one in school could tell them apart, but I always knew. Arpita had a smaller left eye and Anandita had a mark near her eyebrow. But even if my eyes were closed, I could tell from their voices.

They always got away with homework trouble, as they used to start blaming each other in class and start a huge fight. The teacher gave up after twenty minutes of shrieking and wailing. They had mastered the art when we were in first standard. But when they actually fought, they kicked off their shoes and messed with each other’s hair. But the best part was they never used to fight around me. I was the mediator, but secretly I thought I was the queen and they were my two clergies.

They hated their home food and always hopped into my house for dinner. They refused to go until their mother came and dragged them back. We were inseparable for life!

When we were twelve, we tried to drive their father’s car once. Arpi had got the key and we all slipped in together. “Press on the accelerator” “No, changed the gear first” “Oh god, put it in key at least” And she had pressed on the accelerator so hard that we had almost banged into the tree. We had been grounded for a week, no outing and no meeting each other. But in the afternoons I sneaked up to the terrace and climbed over to the terrace next door. Then I sneaked into their room and we all used to eat chips and fries. Those were some lovely afternoons.

I always knew we all would be separated when we had to go to college. Arpi wanted to do a course in Psycology and Anny and me were hell bent on becoming Engineers. We had decided the colleges which we would go to and charted out a plan how we all would meet once a week. We had made pacts on how we would write to each other every week if we went far away and how we would always buy 3 souvenirs from whichever place we were in so that we always had identical pieces from around the world.

And now, they had to leave so suddenly. Even before college started and even before we got our first dates together…

A month passed since they moved, and not even one call! Mom sat me down and explained to me an hour over how people forget and we remain just people they once knew. I did not want to agree, and I still kept waiting. School was not the same anymore and my life certainly wasn’t. I sat down to fill my college forms and I thought of them, I would still apply to the same places we had decided, no matter what.

And as I went to the post office, little did I know a parcel awaited me. I opened my post box and in it was a blue envelope and a small box. In the box was a tiny replica of a bicycle and in the letter they had written – ‘We got three of these as soon as we reached here. You cannot imagine how much we miss you. Getting a telephone connection here is a nightmare; they say it will take another 3 weeks. We are going nuts here…why don’t you come down for a vacation? We will fill our college forms together. Come soon, as without you we will pull each other’s hair out. I had no idea Arpi was so annoying around you. I feel she is turning more devilish every day. Take care yaar, we miss you tonnes…’

A tear trickled my eye and made an impression on the envelope. As I walked home, I could sense how different life was going to be without them, but the essence was to keep them close to my heart, always! I looked at their house, where wild bushes had started growing now. The door was open, I stopped to look inside. A little girl rushed out screaming “I love the house. Let’s move in Mamma.” She turned around and smiled at me and I smiled back.

At life's disposal

2010-08-27T17:12:00.000+05:30

“Stop playing that song.” Geetali fumed and turned around to see the six faces staring quizzically at her. She had just started doing her Thermodynamics assignment, but they could never leave her alone! “You are so weird. This is the latest dance track.” Geetali had known them since the beginning of college; they also stayed in the girl’s hostel, like she did.
“We are going for a movie, you want to come?” “No, I have to finish some work.” “You are so boring Geetali, you never make it to any of our lunches or the movies. Have some fun, college is the only time you can!” And she gave a high five to the others. The lecture hall roared with their laughter and it withered her ears.

She picked up the pile of books and adjusted them in her bag. “There goes the book worm.” Geetali was pretty to look at, big brown eyes and sharp features. A pair of black square rimmed spectacles resting on her perfect long nose, shoulder length hair which she always tied up in a ponytail. But one look at her and the emptiness was apparent. Not just the bare ears or the absence of any piece of jewellery, but the sad face and the missing zeal for life.

She had not been like that in the first year of college. She had been the stereotypical spoilt brat. When her trunks were brought into the hostel, everyone had come out to stare! The enormous pink trunks had carried her clothes, accessories and shoes. She had made friends instantly. They frequently borrowed her handbags or shoes and gave her all the admiration and attention in turn. She thought she had found true friends at last!

But then things changed course, and she stopped taking them out for big lunches, throwing them parties or lending her clothes. The hostel mess food, which she had sweared never to touch, was her staple diet now. Gone were the high heels and in their place came the chappals. Gone were the fancy clothes and out came the ordinary ones. People were quizzical, aghast but not at all invasive. They asked her questions, but she withdrew. She stopped speaking to anyone. Studies became her focus and one could always find her either in lecture halls or the library, her nose buried in the books.

It was only at night, when she ate her food, locked the door and switched off the lights at 9, did people hear a sobbing sound. Was it real or imaginary, nobody knew. One day, Meeta had knocked at her door several times. But after ten minutes of rejection, she had given up. Nobody had ever tried again.

It came as no surprise when she topped the result list and was nominated for the President’s gold medal. But she didn’t respond to the endless congratulatory messages. People had cut her out too, now she was on her own! But the fact that she had barely passed in the first year, and she was the topper now was a cause of concern to some. She had stopped sharing any emotion and was careful enough not to allow it to creep into her face in any form.

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It was the second time in the day she heard that song. But she could not run away from it or ask them to stop playing it. Holding back her tears, she looked at the men that surrounded her – middle aged, balding men, with pot bellies and drool which was starkly visible; even in the darkness of the place with disco lights beaming at her. She adjusted the piece of jewellery on her forehead which sparkled in the light. Drops of sweat broke on her face where soft skin had been smeared with heavy makeup. She had always imagined a grand wedding with couture wear, in the presence of hundreds. But she never knew that reality would make her dress up as a bride every night, in the presence of a drooling audience, whose eyes were bloodshot and full of lust! Who were her father’s age but did not shower blessings or even a pinch of sympathy. Who were ready with bundles of money to shower on her skirt as she danced to the same song…..

She was tired today, but she knew she had to do it each night, at least for the two years to come. She had tried to offer tuitions to juniors, but she had never had time during the day, and the pay was too less to cover the costs of her studies. Her parents had always wanted her to be an engineer, even when they had boarded the cursed flight. They said they had only found the burnt bodies, she couldn’t even see them for the one last time. She had not understood why they had taken away their house, and sealed it with a red tape. The assembly of people had bid large amounts to buy the house. She had turned away before she could see someone else walking on the floors of her childhood memories.

A fat man tugged at her skirt. She looked at his two missing front teeth. She snatched away her skirt and started following the beats. There were others like her on the stage, but she had never spoken to them. The fat man climbed the stage and held her waist. She tried to push him away, but he gripped her closer. Her screams were lost in the loudness, and it was ages before the security guards came and took him away. She looked at her arm in horror. He had scratched her skin so hard that it looked like an animal attack! She rushed to the green room and locked it.

The next morning when she woke up, her arm ached excessively. She wiped some iodine on it and covered it with bandage. She carried her bag with her left arm now. She wore a full sleeves top to cover up the wound, but the pain was bitter. Late in the afternoon, she took another pain killer tablet. She had no money to go the doctor. She had been saving up all her income for her fee and hostel charges. She had minimized all other expenses, she always walked to travel, always ate what they served at the mess. She had given away her belongings to a store which sold women’s shoes and clothes on the Internet, for a decent amount. She had no family now, and her only goal was to become an engineer, like her parents always wanted!

Her head burned with fever. She dosed in the last lecture, trying hard to keep her eyes open. At night, as she climbed over the wall and paid money to the hostel watchman, she felt dizzy. As she dressed up for the dance, she could barely find strength to stand up. She took an energy drink and went on to face the lights and the ghastly men.

A minute passed before she fell. All felt numb and she felt nothing. When she woke up, she was in an autorickshaw with her fellow dancer. She had been asked her to drop Geetali home. The rickshaw stopped at her hostel gate and she climbed out. “Thank you so much, I will manage.” “Take care..bye.” The security guard rushed to her side. “I will never let you go out now. I will lose my job. I don’t need the money.” She could not answer him. He helped her to the stairs and left her there.
Meeta saw her, struggling to climb up. She ran down and took her by the arm. Geetali gave out a cry and tears poured from her eyes. “What happened to you? What’s wrong with the arm?” “Please don’t tell anyone. They will not let me stay here.” Meeta quietly took Geetali to her room and helped her lie on the bed. She uncovered the shawl to see the bright and sparkling attire. But to Geetali’s surprise, she said nothing. She helped her change and bandaged her arm. She bought her some food from the mess and gave her medicine. She sat by her side the whole night, checking her temperature at small intervals.

When Geetali woke up in the morning, she saw Meeta asleep by her side. She didn’t understand why she was helping her. Was she not like the others who had been by her side when she had money! Meeta awoke and said “Don’t you worry, we will go to the doctor today.” “No Meeta, I will be fine.” “Geetali, look at yourself. I won’t hear a no.” The sobs could not be held in any longer, “but I have no money.” “Don’t worry, I am here for you.” “But why are you helping me? I mean nothing to you.” “You remember the time when I asked you for money? And you said take it from my purse. My mother was unwell and it really helped a lot. I will never forget that.” And the hug Meeta gave her brushed away her emptiness and gave way to a long lasting bond.

The wait....

2010-08-17T13:30:00.000+05:30

The sun was about to set. The traffic had increased. The honking reverberated in her head. The auto rickshaw in which she sat jerked into a pit. “Please be careful.” She shouted to the driver. “Sorry madam, the roads are really bad after the rains.” Her heart was beating fast. Her greatest fear had come alive, what if he never showed up….

She touched the vermilion on her forehead and a grain of rice fell on her lap. She picked it up and held it in her palm. How affectionately her mother had smeared it on her forehead after the puja. Her parents had known it was a special day, but they could have never imagined the turmoil in her heart.

A gust of wind blew her hair and her clothes fluttered. Dark clouds gathered over the sunset beams and prevailed even after the onset of complete darkness. Was it her mind playing games or was the universe trying to give her a sign? Whatever it was, she could not interpret it. She had made her decision; in fact, they both had...

Big drops of water came down and dripped on her shoulder. She zipped open her bag to look for an umbrella. She remembered having put it just under the crushed pile of clothes. Her finger touched a solid edge and she turned it to see. The photo frame stared right at her, as if they could still see her and know what she was doing. Her parents were perfect; the ideal ‘made for each other’ couple.

The green umbrella had always been special. From the day she had pointed it out to her mother in the big store, she had never understood how she had saved up enough to get for her birthday. She had always frowned at the black ones that hung in their closet. She took out the umbrella from her bag and held it in her hands. The auto rickshaw jerked and stopped at the Central railway station. She paid the driver, opened the umbrella, held her bag in one hand and climbed out. The rain poured heavily, almost growling and fighting with her, as if accusing her of the crime she was about to commit.

She was almost drenched when she reached platform 10. She stood under the big clock, as they had discussed. It struck seven. She wanted to sit down, but the bench was a few paces away. She did not want to risk the chance of missing him. She held her duppata and used it to wipe her wet face as the corners of her clothes dripped with water. She bit her nails as she looked around anxiously at the unknown faces. She tried calling his cellphone, but it was switched off. She still kept trying. The clock struck eight.

The heavy rain had led to water logging at the tracks. She could no longer see the tracks, but only ankle deep water. The platform was almost full now. Their train was due at eight fifteen. Her trembling hands redialed his number, but it was still switched off. She brushed away her tears. Maybe he was stuck in a traffic jam, maybe water seeped into his phone and it stopped working, maybe there had been an accident. She took out the two tickets she had purchased and looked at them -Karan Nagesh, age 24 and Kiran Prakash, age 23. “The train to Jammu has been delayed and it will now depart at 9:20”, the announcement in all the three languages enforced some calmness in her. She walked upto the bench and sat on it.
Karan had visited her house almost 3 weeks ago. Smiles and cheers all until his job status was made known. If only, her parents had not considered unemployment as a vice. If only, he had not strongly reacted to their dislike. If only, the pitch of their voices had been low. If only, he had not walked away banging their door. It had been the greatest humiliation her parents had ever faced.

Maybe, she would have forgotten him. Maybe, time would have healed her wounds. But these hopes were crushed when she came back from office to see a houseful of people. A tall and lean guy had been introduced to her as her prospective groom. “This is the best thing for you”, her parents had said. “We have seen your choice, it didn’t work out. Now, you must comply with us.”She had been in too much of a shock to retort. So when Karan had suggested shifting to Uttaranchal, she had agreed. He had promised they would get married there. She had resigned from her job the very next day.

She held the bag close to her body; it had all her savings and Provident Fund money. She fought back her tears. She no longer knew right from wrong. What if he never came tonight? What if he had just done it to take revenge for the insults her parents had flanked at him? She sat there, her clothes dripping and her hands crossed tightly across the bag. The clock struck nine. The train stopped and stood in front of her. Twenty minutes was all she had left. She dialed his cell phone again, still not used to the disappointment!

Could she turn back and go home? It wasn’t an option. Could she board the train alone? But where would she go, what would she do there? The train started moving. She stood up and looked at it. Happy faces flung out waving at their loved ones. She stood up and watched it, move away from the platform. Her heart sank, and tears flooded her eyes.

She did not know how many hours had passed, but her mind had stopped responding. The numbness had taken over her completely. She just sat there and stared at the floor, as the clock struck twelve.

She woke up to the sound of a cleaning lady, asking her to move. She woke up and rubbed her eyes. She looked at her phone, there were 38 missed calls. She looked quickly, all were from her home. He never called. She dialed his number again, it was still switched off!

Her phone started ringing again, it was her mother. She switched it off. What could she possibly do now, where could she go? At the corner of the post, she saw a lady begging for food. Wrapped in her arms was a frail child. She held the child close and wrapped her sari around him. How desperate she looked for food.

She lifted her bag and rushed out of the station. As she rang the doorbell, she was still at a loss of words. Her mother opened the door, and she flung into her arms. “I am sorry Ma, I am so sorry.” And her mother took her inside the house and closed the door shut.

The stride is mine......

2010-08-10T15:49:00.000+05:30

The loud music helped her get away, even in the midst of honking, and in the middle of a traffic jam. She checked her phone for any new messages, there were no one. She hated crowds, and people in general. If she had her way, she would move out of the city and live in the hills, in the quiet and serene! But the traffic was nowhere ever near serene. She couldn’t even drive at 20 kmph on these busy Delhi roads.

She saw the signal go red and stopped her car. A beggar woman knocked on her window. Her clothes were tattered and a baby clung to her chest. The infant was frail, as was she. Her eyes met the lady’s for a moment, then she suddenly increased the music volume. The car speakers vibrated loudly. She pretended to focus on the car dashboard. When she glanced at the window again, the lady was gone.

She had never joined group dance classes as a child. She had learnt tango and salsa, but only from a private tutor. She wanted home tutoring, but her parents didn’t think too much of it. Sticking to the last bench in every class, she made sure she had a reason ready not to go for school trips, functions, or picnics. She just stood and listened, how congruously people chatted away, all the time! While eating, studying, playing. It was like an addiction. She could bet none of the people around could be quiet for even an hour.

She reached home and left her car in the driveway. She looked at Caramel, her Spaniel running in the lawns and tearing all the rose bushes with all his gut. She laughed, “Yes Caramel…come on!” She hated the lawns and the perfect flowers in them. She hated her picture perfect Jorbagh bungalow with her father’s name inscribed in gold. As a child, she had often scribbled on the furniture and made sure they saw it. But they had said nothing. She wished they said something. But the silence had been terrifying. That was the time when she took it as her sole accomplice.

It had happened everyday for the past 22 years. All she heard was a “Hi beta.” No more, no less. When she was five, she had asked her parents for skates, they had got 5 pairs home delivered. When she turned 13, she was given a valuable plastic card which she could use like a magic wand to get anything. When she turned 18, a convertible was waiting for her in the driveway, ready to be driven.

She removed the bandage from her back, it still hurt a little. She had to cover it for a few more hours. At the end, she had decided on a fiery mask design, and it looked great. She had got it done near her shoulder blade, the pain was piercing but fun at the same time. She ran upstairs and closed the door. She kicked her shoes and jumped on her bed. Caramel followed her and climbed on the bed.

It was at that time she saw the green envelope. She tore it open and began to read the most shocking revelation. By the end of it, she was as much in shock as she was in disbelief. The address mentioned had been scribbled off. She looked at the envelope. It still had an imprint of the letter. She took it near the lamp and shaded it with a pencil. She noted the address on a piece of paper.

*************************************************************************************

It was night when she returned. It was raining heavily. She had bumped into a lamp post and almost gotten herself killed. “Come amma.” She opened the door for the old lady to step out. The lady was plump and short, a round face with a mole on her forehead, and small lines of age now showed on her face. She wore a white saree with kolhapuri chappals. She held her hand and climbed out of the car.

“It is not right. I should have never written to you.” “Come inside, you will get drenched.” Reluctantly the lady held her hand, and followed her into the mansion. “Radha, get fresh towels please.” The housekeeper was surprised, more by her name being called rather than the presence of a stranger.

She guided her to the staircase, leading to her room. Caramel followed quietly, without any barks. When they sat down, she looked at her in disbelief. Amrita had been just like her. The same round face, the same almond eyes, the same flashy smile! “Where were you both? Mom and Dad don’t even let me mention you. I have been trying to trace you all these years.” “After her father passed away, we could no longer live in this neighbourhood. You girls were just five and too young to understand. Your parents refused to help us. Jammu was a difficult place to live in, but it was the only piece of property I had in my name.” Tears streamed from her eyes and stared at the stark shallowness of the room, the house! She knew her father had taken over their property. When she had asked where Amrita was going, they told her they went to another country to settle down. They never answered any of her other questions. They pushed her to Radha, who took her up in open arms and sang long hours of lullabies. But that was years ago.....

“Amrita is really sick. She has leukemia. She wants to see you. Amrita said you were her only ….” And words could not sprout from her grieved heart anymore. “Amma, I am here. We will fight for Amrita. Nothing will happen to her.” And she held her in her arms, consoling her and protecting her, like a tigress ready to protect her cubs from any harm. Amma had loved them both equally; she had called them her two angels. The only form of love she had ever known, the only motherly care, the only voice to tell her right from wrong, had been Amma. She had been devastated when they had left. Running away to their empty house, she used to sit at their porch and cry all day. And no one had come to take her home…

“Hello, is that Dr Bedi?” She held the telephone for twenty minutes, after which she booked three flight tickets to Jammu. “Dr Bedi will be here soon, he is coming with us. Don’t worry Amma, we should not leave her alone for too long.” She packed warm clothes, for Amrita and Amma. She opened the big cupboard where she had saved up gifts for Amrita each year. Whenever she had bought something for herself, there was a counterpart for Amrita. She had always purchased two of everything. She stared at the skates, and the golf clubs and the clothes. She had always kept the cupboard locked, but she knew this was the time to open it!

“Let’s go Amma. Radha, I am going with Amma, take care of Caramel.” “But what do I tell Sir and Madam when they return.” “Don’t worry, they won’t even notice I am gone.” She opened the safe and took out all the money. She packed her plastic cards well. And as they set out in the car, she looked back and a strong feeling to never return took over her. She felt free and alive the first time in ages….

Matters don't matter

2010-08-06T01:19:00.000+05:30

I hated it ever since they scolded me and asked me not to touch it. “It’s your grandfather’s. It’s a collector’s item.” At five years of age, I adored the wooden carving, the black and white keys and the grandeur! It was really old, not sure if it was older than my grandfather - dadaji, but he once told me he had brought it from a British officer in pre independent India.

Dadaji loved me the most, and I was certain of this fact. I was ready to trade anything for a few minutes of being with him. After school, I used to sit in the courtyard bench looking out for him. My grandmother often scolded me to take my afternoon nap, but I was adamant. I made sure I tried my best to run around and ask her to catch me, or chuckle at her when she waited and caught her breath! But she had her winning card – “I will tell your father what a menace you are and how you trouble me.” That one liner made me go to bed, and lie there for a few minutes.

As soon as I could hear her snore, I knew that I was free again. And one day, it was at that time, when no one was around, I decided to sabotage Dadaji’s prized possession. Did I have another choice? The evenings when he would have played with me, he was at his piano. We always had friends or neighbours around to hear him play it. And how wonderfully he played it!

I climbed downstairs, whisked into the kitchen and ran across the courtyard. Faster and into the forbidden room. They had always said mean things to me like “Finish your homework.” “Don’t make noise.” “Don’t play near it.” “Dadaji is busy.” It was the root of all causes. I could not take it anymore! I uncovered it, and sat on the table by it’s side – just like dadaji. It was grand and huge. The keys shone in stark contrast highlighting the black and savoring the white. It felt real and mesmerizing. I put on dadaji’s old spectacles and winked in the air, just like he did before each performance. I softly placed a finger at the first key.

“What do you think you are doing young lady?” “Dadaji, I was just…ummm…..covering the piano for you.” In a nervous wreck, I adjusted his large old spectacles on my tiny nose. It didn’t sound believable. He flashed a big smile and winked at me. “Want to learn how to play it?” “But I am not allowed to touch it. Dadi says it is precious. Is it dadji?” “Not more precious than you darling. I will give it to you when you grow up. You promise to take good care of it?” And I nodded.

Twenty years passed with a manifold turn of events. I had moved to the city and sunk into the city lifestyle. Preoccupations swirled me into the craziness of mere existence. After Dadaji’s spacious five acre house, I had forayed into a small studio apartment on the fifteenth floor. Late nights and late mornings had permanently moved into my life, erasing all signs of discipline which my grandmother had tried to push into me. Life as you know it, had been blatantly blown out of proportion.
It was a long day after work when I came back to find his letter at my doorstep. I don’t remember exactly what he had written, but I could not read past the first few lines. “The house is being auctioned and I am going to live with your parents now. They said my debts could no longer be withheld. After your grandmother, this house had been my only companion. But it’s too big for me to maintain.” He had written a few lines about his plans at my parent’s house. But very feebly, at the end was written “I could not fulfill all my promises- to you or to my family.” An overall happy letter, but dripping with tearing pain!

He had been a landlord, renting land to farmers. His respect and kindness had been known across villages. Recently, the government had announced land free holdings, and he had to give up all his land. To clear his debts, he had to auction whatever had been left with him. I could sense the feeling of loss in his letter and the emptiness in his life.

The weekend when I visited him, I found him sitting at the porch, waiting for me. “Your grandfather refuses to sleep, he kept waiting for you”, mom said. I smiled at him. Déjà vu it wasn’t, but the feeling wasn’t alien either! I could sense from his eyes the yearning for something… something he had left behind and had no more. “I am sorry about everything, I couldn’t bring you back the piano.” He smiled and looked at the ground. “I cannot play it anymore, my hands shiver a lot. But all I wanted was to give it to you.” And he heaved a big sigh. “I have beautiful memories of it, and of you playing it. What else do I need. And it won’t fit into my apartment either!” A tear left his eye and dripped on the dry grass. It shone in the sun.
“I wanted to meet you. But they say mean things to me like ‘She is busy’ ‘She has work’ ‘She has important things in her life’”. I laughed. “Of course not, nothing is more precious than you Dadaji.” “So you promise to come to see me every weekend?” “I promise. And we will go to the church, and you will play your favourite symphony for me.” His face lit up and he engulfed me with his big warm hug. Losses are traded, and life comes full circle, but till this day, whenever I go home, the porch is never empty…

The last Mango season

2010-05-26T12:09:00.000+05:30

The thrust of wind disturbed the white curtains. She lay in her bed, ready to welcome another morning with dullness. She took her glasses from the side table with her wrinkled hands and slowly put them on. With trembling hands, she took the framed picture from her side table. It had been ten years since he died. Promising to be by her side always, he had betrayed half way and left. Neither tears nor words could describe the emptiness in her life now.

She put on her slippers and walked towards the door. Hiru tweeted from a distance in his cage. “Alright, I am coming. You don’t like your cage do you?” She set the bird free. Hiru flew around the whole room, spanned the courtyard and came back to his cage. She put some food for him in his cage and filled his small cup with water. Hiru was the only one who managed to bring a smile to her face!

The door bell rang. It must be the gardener, she thought. “Newspaper bill Madam.” “Why have you come so early today? Where is today’s paper?” “Here you go.” “Oh, is it 1st June already”. She smiled sheepishly. She gave him the money and rushed in. Quickly, she grabbed the phone and speed dialed to 1. “Hello, beta it’s me! Call my grandson, I want to wish him.” “Ma, I am getting late for office. Have to take him to school and also distribute sweets to his friends. Can you please call later.” “Ok” Her voice saddened. “Why don’t you all come here in the evening? I will bake a cake for him and make fresh pudding. He loves that.” “Let’s see. I really have to go now. Bye.”

And the phone line clicked shut. The gardener had arrived, she instructed him to pluck out fresh mangoes. Meanwhile, she went to the kitchen window from where she could observe him working. He had often slipped a few mangoes in his bag, but she had never said anything to him. When he had been going out, she had smiled and said, “Ramesh, take some more mangoes for your children.” He had just shied away and smiled. She had always kept some mangoes aside for him ever since.

She took out the dough and heated the oven. She took the eggs and beat them. She stopped short gasping for breath. It felt a bit drowsy and heavy. She opened the windows and tried to take in some fresh oxygen.

When the cake was ready, she laid it out at the table. Fresh mango pudding by its side, and little candles for her grandson. She had slaved the whole afternoon, forgetting to eat anything herself. Second time in the day, she felt dizzy again. She went and opened all the doors and windows to allow some ventilation. She picked up the phone again. “Hello beta. Is Abhinav around? I want to wish him.” She could hear sounds of children singing Happy Birthday. “It’s ok. I am waiting here. Do come over for some time when his party is over.” “Ma, I can’t really promise.” “At least can I speak to him once?” “I will call you later Ma.”

She started looking for her diary where the address was written. She put on her spectacles and tried to read the small handwriting. It was almost a two hour drive. But she craved for the sight of him, the way he sat on her lap and pulled her cheeks, and how he loved when she fed him the fresh pudding. She had to see him, hug him and be there. Carefully, she packed the cake and pudding in a box. She dressed up in her brown silk sari and put on her pearls. She closed all the windows and locked the door.

As she got out in the courtyard, her head started swimming. She could no longer feel anything beneath her, as she gasped for breath. The cake fell down and sloshed on the grass. The yellow colour of the pudding spread itself on the green grass. She lay there, waiting for breath, waiting to see her grandson, waiting for life to revive. Hiru tweeted from a distance. She could see him through the glass of the window, trying hard to break out. She remembered her husband, who had bought her the sari, how he liked playing with the pearls. She remembered her grandson’s smile, how he screamed and hugged her.

She looked up at the vastness of the sky. She could see the blue being slowly covered by the darkness of heavy clouds. A silent prayer left her lips.

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A yellow day

2010-04-26T20:28:00.000+05:30

The bus stopped and was unusually crowded. He was trying to stand still but the rash driving ensured that he tumbled on a few fellow travelers. A laptop bag in one hand and holding the bus rod in another, it was difficult to maintain his balance. A few people got into the already crowded bus. That is when he first saw her. She was wearing a yellow salwar kameez, bright dark eyes lined with kohl, a bindi on her forehead and dark wavy hair falling on her gentle face. Her soothing skin glowed with the lights in the bus. Her dupatta hung loosely over her shoulders.

She struggled to climb in.

He did not consciously try, but he could not keep his gaze off her. She was so pretty, this crowd was just not right for her. Frail and gentle as a lotus bud, she should have had a chauffeur drive her home. She held the bus rod with one hand trying to balance her dupatta and handbag from the other. “Ticket please” the conductor approached her and tried to get as close to her as possible. She steered away from him, in turn brushing a shoulder with another man leaning on her. It enraged him.

At the next stop, many people climbed down. The seat next to him was vacant now. She was a few steps away and still standing. He put down his bag on the seat, but did not understand how to gesture to her to sit there. He sat down himself. How pretty she was, her little dangling earrings and her cute little smile. He had always been shy, getting cold feet while talking to girls.

The bus suddenly jerked and she fell – her bag flew open and the things in it scattered. He immediately got up and rushed to her side. Helping her by the elbow, and gathering the things on the floor, he indicated for her to sit down on his seat. She lifted her dupatta from the floor which had fallen, and sat down. The bus jerked ahead. The nearby passengers helped him in gathering her things. She gave him the most rewarding smile and said a polite “Thank you”. He could say nothing.

What should I say to her? Should I ask her name? Should I tell mine. Should I say how pretty she is? He blushed profusely. He looked at her, she looked back, after a few seconds of silence, she gave him a quizzical look. Words failed him, he was so awed by her charm that he feared staring at her for too long. He looked away and blushed. She started adjusting the things in her bag.

I have to make a move, I have to speak to her. Had he ever spoken his heart to a girl? He remembered how in primary school he had liked a girl, but she had stomped his foot and torn his notebook. He had been always skeptical to talk to girls. They were so pretty, but why did they have to be so complicated. Why couldn’t guys tell them how pretty they were without fearing any consequences? Back in college too, he had really liked his lab partner Rajee. He had always wanted to ask her out, but was devastated when his roommate had asked her our first!

He couldn’t let it happen all the time. He had to speak to her. He realized he had looked away from her for too long, and hoped it wouldn’t be taken as a rude gesture. He turned around to face her and assumed preparedness for speech.
She was nowhere to be seen. He looked around. He saw a flash of her yellow dupatta at the bus stop. The bus had already started moving. He saw the bus go past her, and further away. “Please stop the bus. Please stop.” He rushed to the driver. “No sir, we will only stop at the next stop now.”

Cursing himself all the way, he kept looking behind, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. The bus stopped. He got down. Not knowing where to go, he called for the nearest auto rickshaw. He climbed in and asked him to go to the previous bus stop. Anxiously looking around, he pleaded the driver “Please go faster, this is really important.” This was a first for him, chasing after a girl who he had just met. Had he ever chased after anyone? He shook his head and smiled. Was he on a wild goose chase? He had no idea what he was doing but it felt so right!

“Where to now Sir?” He got down from the auto and looked all around at the bus stop. She wasn’t there. He looked at the roads – one was going right and there was a small one bending away to the left. “Which way Sir?” Everything would be based on what he chose now, it could change his life!. “Go right” he said intensely.

The auto rickshaw driver was driving at a slow pace. He had guessed the rider had no idea where he was going. Each time the driver turned back to look at him quizzically, he saw him almost hanging out from the vehicle, searching crazily all over. Now the driver was curious to know the story too. “What are you looking for Sir?” “I don’t think I am going to find her anyway. Please turn back.”

It had been a wild goose chase after all. It was fate, or was it just him, he could not comprehend. “Sir, you want to eat paani puri? This place has the best one around.” He smiled and put a hand on the driver’s shoulder. “Sure man, why not?” The rickshaw turned around and took him to a very small stall. He stepped out. And that was the second time in the day that he felt so mesmerized.

A flash of yellow dupatta, rustling in the breeze, the same earrings which had tickled her face. It could not be true. He had to say it now. Suddenly she turned around and saw him. They looked at each other. “Hi, thanks for helping me in the bus.” He smiled. “Hi, I am Pankaj.” “Hey, I am Preeti.” And she held out her hand. “You like paani puri?” “It’s the best.” “There must be a nice coffee shop around here, we can go if you like coffee as well.” And her reaction was a nod and a smile!

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Chocolate and figs...

2010-04-15T16:40:00.000+05:30

The lights flickered first and then gave way to darkness. Can’t say it was petrifying, but all sounds died away with it as well. No more noise of the refrigerator or the air conditioning, or to top it all, the television. It was summer vacation time and most of the neighbours were out holidaying – either hiking or beaches. I had applied for leave, but the same old story was retold.

I had been so preoccupied with work and gadgets, absence of electricity made me realize the pin-drop silence. I peeped out the window, most of the houses were locked. Could not even hear the night guard patrolling.
The summer heat reverberated from the floor. I opened the windows and sat down on the floor lighting candles. I spaced the candles throughout the house. The dying battery of the laptop made me sigh. And I was going to miss today’s “How I met your mother” episode!

My cellphone beeped and sounded rather loud in the silence. It was a forwarded message sent by Anand. As usual, I was not even going to read it. As I deleted the message, I started scanning through my inbox. So many unread messages. Had I been that busy? There were several messages from Sheila –

“Hey, wassup? My wedding is round the corner. Get your dress ready. You will be the maid of honour.”
“Where are you? No response, no calls! Don’t you want to meet my fiancé?”
“This is absurd, I called you days ago and left so many messages. Why don’t you call back? My wedding is around the corner and there is lots to be done.”
“Mummy was very upset today that no one is there to help me with the wedding stuff. She has asked her friend’s daughter to help out. Why do you disappoint me yaar? At least call me!”
“I wish you were there at the engagement ceremony. It’s a solitaire with a platinum band, a beauty. I won’t tell you what I wore. But you were not even there! I don’t think I want to be friends with you anymore!”
“No reaction, I wrote such drastic words last time. Do you remember no times of joy? How we talked about our first kisses, our first moonlight dances, our first jobs. Remember how we talked about our kids growing up together to be best friends. Forget best friends, I don’t even think we are friends now!”
“This is my last message to you. I will never talk to you ever again. I am really sad on the most happy day of my life. Today is my wedding. But why would you care.”

Tears streamed from my eyes in the most continuous fashion. I kept staring at that last message. Where had I been? What had I been busy with? Work and hectic schedules. I remember having seen “1 message received” a couple of times. But I did not remember ever checking them. What had I done? Was I so engrossed in the race for success, that I had left my life behind?
I picked up the phone and dialed her number. Instantly, I disconnected it. What was I going to say to her?

How was I ever going to face her? I checked the date of the message, almost 4 months back. 4 months…she must be married already. Oh, how much she will hate me for what I have done to her. Best friends for life – we said to each other locking our little fingers together. “I like this dress.” “You take it” And she had given it to me. I always ordered chocolate icecream and she ordered fig icecream. But she always took a huge bite out of mine! It had been ages since I ate ice cream, it had been ages since I saw her.

I redialed. “Can I speak to Sheila.” “She is not here, you know after the wedding they have moved. Let me get the number for you.” I breathed heavily into the speaker, unsure of what to say. “Thank you.” I thought a lot about an apology or what I was going to say to her, but at this point I was blank, I had no idea.

“Sheila” “Yes, who……who’s this…” I was silent “I am sorry Sheila.” Again…silence! “How are you? Where are you? Can we please meet? I can never forgive myself for betraying you like this. I am so sorry.” “Why have you called today? Do you even remember who I am?” “I do Sheila, you are my best friend. But I am not your best friend. I am a terrible friend. I have no explanation. I am just dying to see you right now.”

As I entered her house, I could sense her smell. She had always loved Chanel No 5, and I could say she had worn it recently. The drive to her house had been crazy. Coming out of my house, I had slipped once in the darkness, tumbled almost on the staircase, and the freaking haunting silence of the night had been devilish. I drove like a madman. And I was still in my pyjamas!

Her maid had answered the door. It was almost midnight, I realized how I would have bothered her and her husband. She appeared in a pink nightgown – her favourite colour. Her face was blank with no expressions. She rushed towards me and hugged me. I hugged her. It was a defining moment of sorrow, joy and insomnia.

“Oh my god, you are pregnant?” “Yes, I have been dying to tell you. Put a hand here and you can feel the baby.” “No, I am too scared.” “Oh come on” She took me hand and placed it on her belly. We both smiled. “Hey, guess what I have in the freezer?” “Chocolate ice cream and fig ice cream.” And we both broke into fits of laughter. And so we went on talking and rebonding and relishing the ice creams….on that miraculous day when the electricity went off….

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Cheers to life....

2010-03-06T21:03:00.000+05:30

It was a blank picture. I stared and stared at it but could not make any sense out of it. “Oh, this one is masterpiece. The dots symbolize life in its different forms.” Was it just me or no one else could make sense out of it. I just stood there and smiled. Was I ashamed to say I could not understand? Or was it classy to say yes?

“This one is sold.” And they put a dot on it. Is everything in life always conceived by its marketing value? Why are there norms in everything? Who decides these best cuisines, the haute fashion, the best cars, the best manners? I always felt that these cultivated loss of individuality in a way.

It was eight in the evening. I took the bus from office. Another hour to reach home, I pulled out a novel. “Oh I see, you are reading Arundhati Roy. Masterpiece.” I looked at the lady and smiled. Was I following another norm? I had taken the book because it appealed to me. But I did not understand being judgmental.

“Excuse me!” I said when a lady stomped my foot. She looked back at me. “I am so sorry. Oh wow…you have a Prada bag. It’s gorgeous!” Well, talk about Déjà vu! Not complaining about the remarks, but what if I had been reading Vikram Seth, people would start calling me the prose queen! Or what if I had been just carrying a jhola, I would still be the same person.

I stepped out of the bus and ran to get a sandwich. I was really very hungry. And some Soda and ice-cream? I winked at myself, why not? I ordered and the bill was hundred and twenty. I put my hand in my bag and searched for my wallet. Suddenly this funny feeling came over me. I snatched open my bag and started searching eagerly. Could not find it. I remember I had taken it out to buy the bus ticket. Where could it possibly be?

“Mam, please pay up.” “I am sorry, I changed my mind. Could you cancel the order please? I am so sorry.” As I stepped away from the counter, random panicky feeling overtook me. My credit cards, my cash, my ATM cards, I kept so many dry cleaner receipts in it, and my house key! It started pouring very suddenly. There was no place to hide.

Although, I knew my house was a few paces away, I did not know what to do. I had made a separate key and kept it inside the house. How very intelligent of me! Something beeped in my bag, the phone battery was dying. What a fine day, I was out of luck, out of money, a home and an umbrella. I walked in ankle deep water with my best heels. And I certainly cannot explain how that felt!

I looked inside the Bistro I was passing by. Warm hot soup was being served with bread. People were eating yummy chocolate mousse and crème Brule. Was it about the names? I figured how much more desirable the things seemed when I had no money. I waded to my apartment. I sat near the door at the staircase and yearned for some warm tea.

I sat there and reminisced about my mother back home and the amazing food she made. I wondered around thinking of the chocolate chip cookies made by grandma. I wish I could order a pizza right now. The yummy hot pizza, with mozzarella cheese dripping from it, with oregano seasoning and onion crispies. God, I almost wanted to cry.

“Excuse me, could you tell me where is house 401?” I could not believe it, it was a pizza delivery guy. Was god testing my patience? It was 9:30 pm already and I had no solution to food or shelter! “It’s upstairs.” I said stopping my drool from falling. I decided to go and check if my nice neighbours, who had ordered a pizza, were around to socialize with me. The pizza guy had left. I climbed the next floor but decided not to.

I looked at the door of 401. The pizza box lay at the doorstep. Why doorstep? I did not understand. Even after massive repulsion, my feet took me to the door. The rain was still dripping from my clothes. There was a note on the box. “Had a good party, sending you pizza. Love Marty.” I sensed the door was locked and nobody was home. The smell of fresh pizza filled my nostrils. I stood there thinking.

Suddenly, there was a noise of an opening door. I have no idea what prompted me to do it, but I picked up the pizza box and ran the flight of stairs. When I reached near the door, I wondered what had gotten into me. Was I insane to sneak into people’s food? I couldn’t. But seemed like the upstairs people were not at home. The pizza would get bad anyway, and there were a lot of sentiments sent with the box. I grabbed a slice and took a bite. It was heavenly!

In no time, the pizza was over. I do not remember when I slept but a torch light woke me up. “Madam, why are you on the stairs? Are you hurt?” I snapped open my eyes to see the watchman of the building. In no time, I was tucked in bed safely and was sound asleep. And I slept like a baby.

In the morning it all seemed like a nightmare which had passed. I had slept with my wet clothes on. Not that I could remember much. I looked around me. I was so used to the comforts of the home I had created for myself, and I loved it. I loved my wardrobe, my lifestyle, the cuisine etc. Who did not like luxury? Who does not want a Ralph Lauren or Gucci in their closet? Who would complain about a Cruise holiday? Maybe the onlookers were not judging, but admiring and longing for things.

Maybe, I was being judgmental by not taking comments the right way. Maybe I was too smitten with my life that I took it for granted. At the end of the day, I loved my home and my family, and obviously wanted to add the luxuries and definitely not feel guilty about it. I picked up the phone and dialed, “Please deliver a thin crust pizza with extra mozzarella cheese and onion rings to house no 401….”

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And she lived...

2010-02-25T12:34:00.002+05:30

It had often rained pink cotton candy. And perhaps tarts, sweets and chocolates. Who could forget the occasional pastries and cakes? And mom’s chocolate date pudding. And could she ever keep her hands off the raisin stained kheer?

Then the world turned around. Suddenly, the buzz word was sugar-free, fat-free, cholesterol-free. The focus on ‘the body’ as if we were all turning into show-stoppers in fashion fiestas. The word fit had a completely transformed meaning.

I saw Meeta grow up. We were great buddies. She had always been chubby. But the cries of fat-baby and St Bernard never troubled her. I called her Chubs, and she hated me for that. And I secretly envied how pretty she was – almond eyes and silky brown hair. Her skin reflected everything around, and was glowing as ever. And the best part – she had an angelic aura on her face.

However hard she tried, she could never lose the fat! But from deep within, it never bothered her. When we went to college together, she ended up getting guys fall head-over-heels for her, while I just looked on. Nobody could escape the charm of her beauty, and above all, her angelic soul.

She always helped people, going out of her way sometimes. Once, she had travelled twenty kilometers in a bus ride, when it was raining cats and dogs, just to give notes to her classmate who had left them on the desk and had an exam the following day. She never cared for political correctness. But that was not expected out of her, as she was always warm and nice to people.

When I walked with her in the college corridors, I felt like I was with a celebrity. Everyone starting from the garden keeper, to students of all classes, to the Principal and lecturers greeted her with such affection. She was indeed the star.

I am sitting in the hospital today. Holding Meeta’s hand. As I hear the sound of the drip, I am reminded of her laughter. They say, she was very brave. They say, she saved many lives. I don’t know what they say, but my friend here in the hospital. Her mother stood nearby, her eyes full of tears, her sari covering her face, and a bowl of kheer in her hands.

When Meeta opened her eyes, I held her hand. She just smiled. She called her mother by her side and tried wiping her tears with her shaky fingers. Then she put her mother’s hand on her head and said “I am going Ma, bless me.” She looked at me and gave her mother’s hand in mine. I knew what she meant.

As the doctors pulled the sheet over her head, I was still in shock. Her mother was hysterical weeping out her woes. “She had seen blind children crossing the road. She had got out of her car and helped them. A drunk driver was racing, and she saved the children, but..” I could imagine how it would have been. How Meeta had been brave. How she did what she wanted to in life. She gave this for you and in my hand was placed a sheet of paper.

“My dearest friend, you have to take care of mummy now. And never disappoint her with your fad diet plans, just eat the kheer she makes for you. I was diagnosed with cancer last year and I don’t know how much time I have left. But I would not want to die sulking in bed. I have refused the medication. I have no regrets in life, I have seen smiling children, people and done my part. I have donated my inheritance to blind school. I never told mummy about this, but I am sure you can explain it to her.

And don’t ever undermine yourself, live life to the fullest. And you are very beautiful, inside out, and I know it. Have a happy and fulfilling life.”

She had never really lived for herself, she never cared much about how she looked or what she ate. But she cared about the people around her, every single being. She often told me, she owed a lot to this world. Her mission was to spread happiness around. Anyone would have laughed that away, not understanding what she meant. But there are some people who are ‘God’s own’ and she was perfectly just that!

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Celebrate....don't worry

2010-02-10T08:58:00.000+05:30

Was I going to celebrate Valentine ’s Day? I had not yet decided. For me, love was never ‘out there’ for display. Nor did I ever advocate the PDAs (public displays of affection, if you might call them that). But that does not mean I will ever allow myself to suffocate in the premises of my own thoughts.

I liked seeing love around me, rather than the ill-fated hatred that bound the hearts of millions with undisputed agony. We do not realize what a disgrace we allow ourselves to do, when we agree with mass inhumane behavior. And even if we don’t oppose it, it is as good as succumbing to it.

Richa liked Richard. I always saw them as two lovebirds, who were ready to take a full flight to their new destination. I used to see them everyday, standing at the bus stop, holding hands. Many days I saw a bright yellow sunflower accompanying her books, or even a rose. But what was unmistakable was her smile, when she was with Richard.

I was rather late to office that day. It was raining heavily. As I stood at the bus stop with my umbrella, trying to escape the darned wetness, they both waved at me. They were both half wet, soaking from their shoulders but cuddling under a single umbrella. The umbrella could hardly keep up with the rain, but the warmth still kept their smiles. They both waved at me. I could not help but smile, and waved back at them.

With people like Richa and Richard, I am sure each day was a valentine’s day. They seemed so perfect together, they way their eyes locked up, the way he waited for the bus with her and waved her goodbye, or the way he walked her back home. You could clearly see that they were too happy together to be bothered by external circumstances.

“The political leaders are going frantic about 14th Feb.” “I don’t know when will they ever stop this ridicule and do some ‘real’ work”. “I do not understand, when there are riots and killings, then nobody comes forward to protect the people, and they are ready to fire swords for these minuscule things.” I could just about agree, but what could be done. We were too busy running our own lives to allocate some time for social well-being.

When the day arrived, there was love in the air. Not literally, but the smell of roses had not left any gaps unchecked. The rose petals on the walkway, the over-hyped meeting of lovers, it was all a fascination being celebrated. But whatever it was, it was lovely to look at!

I could barely get to the bus stop. There were long queues at the florist’s shop for roses, being sold for 50 bucks, when the usual price was just 8 bucks! But it still did not deter people from waiting for them. Candy wrappers, chocolate boxes were to be seen everywhere. It looked more like a dozen birthdays being celebrated together.

I was waiting for the bus to come and made sure I wasn’t wearing any shades of pink or red. Somehow, I could never stand clichés or hypes. If I loved someone, I would rather hold his hand than the rose. What wonderful thoughts, the valentine season was getting to me now.

I saw Richard and Richa. She had a beautiful bouquet of red roses in her hands. Richard must have planned way ahead for this. They held each other’s hands. I noticed, it wasn’t just me smiling, but others like Mrs Gale, Mr Alok and all people of my neighbourhood who stood there.

Suddenly an auto-rickshaw came and stopped near the bus. It was too sudden to exclaim or understand. A few people jumped out with flags which read – “Condemn Valentine’s day. Save the culture.” They headed towards Richard and Richa. Richard moved her behind him and prepared himself for them. But there were too many of them.

I can never explain what got into me at that moment. I rushed to Richard’s side and shouted “Stop this nonsense. I have called the police. They will be here any minute.” “Don’t interfere lady, we aren’t concerned with you. We just want to teach a lesson to these lovers, who can’t respect their own culture.” Mr Alok was quicker in thinking, he actually dialed the police while Mrs Gale came up to me and confronted them. “Don’t you teach us about culture. Creating havoc isn’t our culture. Nor is this spread of violence.” “We cant let this happen.” As it happened, Mrs Gale came forward and slapped the speaker. It was so sudden that everyone stopped speaking. Staring open mouthed at Mrs Gale, who was way above her sixty years of age, the mob stopped abruptly.

We could hear the police sirens in a distance. They got into the auto-rickshaw and made a head-start, but the police caught onto them. Mrs Gale noticed the stares from strangers and she retorted “ My husband was in the army you know. A very brave man, I got it from him.” People roared in laughter at her statement.

Richard stepped out and said “Thank you Mrs Gale, and all of you.” “Oh, don’t worry about it” said Mrs Gale who was still basking in her fame and adulation. “I am planning to marry Richa. I proposed today and she said yes.” “Wow…congratulations.” “But again, I am a Christian and she is a hindu. Her parents will never agree.” “Oh Richard, let me talk to her parents.” And that statement from Mrs Gale made their day.
They say all is well that ends well. But does it ever end? In a world that advocates freedom of thought and expression, was love – the basic human expression, so gullible? But I could not argue it accurately, because this is life, and we have to keep fighting to get it ‘our way’. Who said it was going to be easy, but the least we could do is not burden other people’s problems! If each of us dealt with together, we were sure to succeed. Happy Valentine’s day to all!

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The meaning of joy...

2010-02-03T22:31:00.000+05:30

Twenty four was not a milestone age, nor was it the joyous early twenties indicator. All it brought with it was the announcement of the mid twenties arriving! Did it really bother me? I wasn’t sure!

Our greatest anticipations and fears are actually a repercussion of public opinion or rather hype. To think of it, it was just another milestone. But to argue the same, it was a new chapter in life. No college, no bunking, getting serious with work! I mean come on…serious with work? I advocate dedication but never seriousness. I don’t know how people can consider both these as the same. For me, life was going to be fun, as it always had been!

Tomorrow was the D day. I had not made any plans and anticipated it to be yet another day. Of course, in the morning Ma called, then my sister. Then the usual…getting ready for work. And to tell you the obvious, I felt like bunking! Tell me one person who feels like working on their birthday!

I got dressed and reached office. My friends wished me, then my colleagues. Lots of phone calls and lots of emails. But it all seemed like such a routine. When I received Gautam’s call, he asked me the usual. “What plans for today? We all can meet tonight and celebrate with our group. Everyone is in town”. I smiled and said I have work to finish. I suggested meeting on a weekend when it’s more relaxed and we have time on us. As the call ended, these thoughts started circumferencing my mind.

“Happy Birthday! Hope you are having a good time” said my colleague. “Listen, I have a family function tonight, can you cover up for me in the meeting?” I didn’t know what to say! I wanted to tell him that it was the height of insensitivity, and why the superficial wishes when you don’t even care! Analyzing my silence and the ‘blank’ shocked look, he smiled his widest at me. “Thanks yaar, you are so dependable! Have a nice day”. I was wallowing in the significant brutality when it struck me.

What am I trying to do? Be a pillow for people to cry on? Ignore my friends and postpone meeting them? Not wanting to celebrate my birthday? I had become exactly what I detested most. I always told people to live lives as they wanted to, not be pushed and dragged in the crowd. Was all that just mere philosophy? Was I light years away from what I was advocating?

I dropped all work and went home. As I was unlocking the door, I heard someone. “Hello there, how are you. It has been months since I moved in, I have never seen you.” “Oh, I have long working hours I guess” I said unsurely. I wasn’t the kind to socialize with the neighbours. It came with a lot of contribution of time, and food delicacies, so I chose to stay away. Sundays had always been the lazy ones, or friend’s night out.

From where I could see her, she seemed very old and frail. “Come here, I made something special today!” “No, thank you I have something to finish.” “You people never pay heed to us oldies. Now come here at once.” I could not refuse the directive, and something within me struck a chord with her.
As I moved closer, and the rays of the sun touched her face, her wrinkles shone and smile widened. She put a delicate hand on my back and welcomed me into her house. I was amazed to see the colourful interiors. I could surely never invite her to my house, knowing how shabby it seemed now!

There were hand embroidered cushion covers with beautiful dancing folk on them. There was an old rosewood bookshelf with various classics. The dining area had been carefully arranged with beautiful small pots containing pickles; the aroma could be felt from a distance. The balcony had a neat arrangement of plants and vines, which slightly hung from her balcony. I had often looked at it from outside and praised it.

“What thoughts worry you now? Please sit down.” She sat down next to me and adjusted the spectacles on her nose. “I moved in last year, my grandson helped me. He is a darling boy, but his busy life keeps him away from me. His parents passed away years ago, and he lived with us. But that time I was young and he couldn’t move a finger without me around.” I could see her eyes moistening. I did not know what to say or do to comfort her.

“He lives in the other side of the city, you know. He is a fine theatre artist, very dedicated. I used to go regularly to see his performances. But then I had my knee problem and I can’t move around much.” I felt unhappy for her. I could never imagine myself being stuck at home all day. Here I was, trying to break free from my monotonous job, while this lady had to spend almost her entire life indoors.

“Today is his birthday. He promised he would come to see me, but I guess he has plans with friends. I made some kheer for him. Let me get it for you.” Was God just playing his usual games? I did not understand. I never had a grandmother who adored me and prepared delicacies just for me. “Here you go. I hope you like it.” And it was true; it was the most amazing kheer I had ever tasted!

“I have a special gift for you.” She took out a beautiful off white shawl. On it was embroidered the vines in her balcony, and the small bright flowers. It was very artistic to gaze at. “It is beautiful, thank you. But I can’t…” She did not let me finish my sentence and pressed it into my hands. “It is for you.”

We started talking about my family, my job and how I lived alone in the huge city. “You must be very brave for living alone. I used to be a mouse when someone even knocked at the door.” I couldn’t stop laughing at that comment. And suddenly I felt at ease with her.

We talked about books and food. She took me to the kitchen and started to teach me how to cook. In no time, we were giggling and eating lunch. Then we sat in the warmth of the sunlight in the balcony. Her transparent skin made her look angelic. I felt wonderful and blessed.

“Today is my birthday too. And tell you what, I couldn’t have had a better day than this.” She smiled and put the shawl around me. “This is what grandmas are for.” I hugged her and a tear tickled my eye. “Now don’t you start crying missie. Or I won’t give you anything else to eat!” And we both laughed at the statement. I couldn’t have asked for more on this day. The job and my life would anyway go on. They would be mundane sometimes, and fun at times. The essence was not to get carried away by life, but to carry life further. If I believed in soul mates, I was sure I had found one…as for other things, time could wait!

Readers...need your opinion

2010-01-31T13:20:00.002+05:30

Hi Readers,

Planning to move to http://cosmopolitancurry.weebly.com It gives more space, flexibility and also allows me to customize the layout of my posts....so check it out and let me know what you think!!

Hope you like the new design....

With Love
Cosmopolitan Curry Author!

I don't succumb...

2010-01-31T13:13:00.003+05:30

It is strange how if you buy flowers, they don’t stay with you even till the next day! There is the attempt to provide them water and minerals – you can put salt in the water, keep them in sunlight, but they fail to prosper. The freshness in them is lost with time….

Sometimes I wonder if we are like flowers. Starting out with ecstatic smiles in childhood, why do they wither away with age? As you grow up, you find yourself engulfed in the idiosyncrasies of life, being slowly torn apart from the simple ecstasies which existed. And strangely, we tend to build the same past environment we have always known. The meaning of joy changes; some look for the reflection of luxury, while some feast on the comforts of a family, and some just materialize their worlds as if there is no tomorrow.

I am a perfect example of the flowers you keep - maybe on your desk, or that window sill, or in your hallway. I started out happy - nice job, nice house, an energetic outlook and a positive viewpoint.

All until I came across Sushma. She was the apple of everyone’s eye in office. They looked up-to her as she could get any work done; yes ‘any’ work. I was mesmerized when I first saw her. Envied looks, a perfect body, perfect sense of dressing which left you wondering if she had inherited Princess Diana’s closet!

You could never miss her cheerful “good morning” and her bright smile. How I wished I was so bright and bubbly. She engaged into instant conversations.

“Rody, how is your dog now. Did that Vet help whose number I gave you?” “Oh Seema, you look glowing today, I am sure you are getting a lot of proposals lately?” How did she manage the upkeep of so much data? I could not even keep my daily appointments!

My Manager was not far behind in mentioning her. “Have you seen Sushma today? What a fantastic presentation she made.” “She has great PR skills you know. She even helps our sales department. What an all rounder!” You could not miss it even if you were eating lunch. “She helped me fix the flower arrangement. She has great taste.” “She even suggested a good plumber to me.” What a multi talented persona I was around!

My first presentation in my office was due that day. I had fixed up the slides, but could not manage the sales data. I thought Sushma would be the perfect one to ask for help. I would introduce myself to her, maybe she would even know my name. I went up to her cubicle. She was having a rather flamed conversation on the phone. So I turned around and waited. After five minutes she looked at me, “Nice to finally meet you. I have heard so much about you. You have a facebook account? Hey, this is my number, what is yours.” She was very sudden for me, but I managed.

I described my situation to her and asked for her help. “You know dear, I will instantly talk to the folks in the sales team and fix up the data for you.” I was overjoyed and ready to take on the world. I came back and waited for her email. Four hours passed. I called her but I got a busy tone. I sent her reminders, but no response. I even went to her cubicle but she was busy talking to someone. She gestured that she would send the data in five minutes. I came back and waited.

“What is taking you so long. Come to the meeting room.” I trailed my manager to the conference room. I still had my inbox open, but no mails. What was I going to do? Suddenly, in walked Sushma with her laptop. I smiled at her and she smiled back. It was going to be a great one!

I started slowly but picked up pace. “Why don’t you have any sales data to back up your idea?” “I have it, I will share with you just now.” I looked at Sushma, but she looked away. I didn’t know what to make of the silence. “Sorry, we cannot absorb this idea without relevant statistics.” I kept looking at Sushma, my eyes pleading, but she did not budge. Then Sushma said, “I don’t quite agree with the presented idea. With your permission, I will show you the pitfalls and the sales data.” What? This could not happen. She was the ideal woman- kind-hearted and helpful. What was happening?

Her presentation confirmed my shocks. She had taken the slides I had mailed her and highlighted the negative aspects by making cross-references. She had bullied and ridiculed my ideas and I could not say anything. I felt like the world was crashing on me and it was all my fault. When it ended, people applauded and left. Noone even noticed I was standing right there!

I took a tissue and rushed to the restroom. The day had been devastating. I wondered why she had the misleading public image? Had I been swooned away by the cover and failed to see the book contents? Had I missed the undertones and sarcasm in people’s voices when they praised Sushma? Was the flower arrangement “fixed”? Or was the plumber sent to repair some “damage” already been done? Had I been wrong about life altogether?

I did not want to be the plastic flower which always shone! Even if I could not retain the freshness, I was not going to let myself turn plastic. In this world of artificial projections, the hardest thing to do is maintain your integrity and I could take up challenges for sure. So even if rains the heaviest, or snows, or leaves wither away, I am going to survive....not like the flowers on your desk that blossom and fade away...but like the ones which stick on to their plants...and even if they die....leave behind the fruits to cherish!

Shh...its ok

2010-01-17T18:51:00.005+05:30

Had been a couple of times Ma called. She was pestering me to come home. And I had the same answer yet again, “I am too busy with work”. I knew how she would have felt, but it was hard to explain how I couldn't rush home thousands of kilometers away. It had been a while since I had seen my parents. But life kept thrusting me forward and I could not really look back.

Another busy morning passed when I was checking my messages. “My dear daughter, I have a surprise for you. We are catching the very next flight to Bangalore. See you soon.” It made me furious. This means almost a week of leaves of absence, lots of sitting at home and eating fatty food and talking about the same old things. Did I have time for the chit chat sessions with obviously the same routine talk about life, marriage and career. I sighed.

Left a voice mail to my boss about the leave, sent him an email for records and set out to go to the airport. Had to clean up the house first, else Ma was going to be furious. Noted down the flight details on a post-it and rushed to catch a taxi. As I climbed into one and conveyed the destination to the driver, the sequence of talks started playing in my mind. “Look at you, you look so dull. You don’t take care of yourself at all. We have been so worried. You look so thin. Do you eat at all? I got almonds for you, have at-least 5 everyday.” Usually irritating, the thoughts brought a smile to my face.

The ringing phone alarmed me. “Where are you? The meeting just started. You have to make a presentation to the client today.” “Oh god, I completely forgot. Damn, I have taken a leave from today till a week. Can you please schedule a call for next week?” “Why couldn't you have told this earlier. This is atrocious. I will make sure I report this.” The phone clicked shut. Oh no, I had forgotten to charge my it. Damn, I was going to miss making my presentation today, which would have been the deciding factor for getting the deal signed and also my promotion. Why was I dooming my own career?

My phone beeped louder for battery and I could do nothin! How was I supposed to contact my parents? I looked for the charger in my bag, but could not find it. A lady will carry everything in her purse did not hold true with me. I was the absolution of necessity. What a fine day this was turning out to be. Everyone’s parents understood, why not mine? I had seen my friend’s parents encouraging them to work longer hours, to wear what they liked and also to let them follow their own lives. They were the so called “chilled out” ones. I for one, had to explain each outing, meeting, office environment, colleagues, roommates, late dinners and food habits. Was I ever going to be able to grow up?

The taxi jerked to a halt, and I saw three masked men standing in front of it. I could see police cars on the road following them. Oh god, no, not this. I quickly closed the windows and locked the doors. But I guess it was too late. The driver was already being dragged out at gunpoint. One big punch and he collapsed. The bearded guy closed in on me. “Open the door”, he yelled. I sat there, frozen, not knowing what to do. Begging my mind to think. He had already slid his hand and unlocked my door. “Get out”, I was too shaken to react. He held my arm and hurled me out.

“Lets take the Princessa with us.” I could see policemen chasing them. He held me at gunpoint and squeezed it hard to my neck. “We kill her if you try to fire. Put down your guns.” The police had no other choice. I tried to break free, but the guy was too overpowering.

I slid my hand through my bag. There has to be something. I sensed a bottle. What was in the bottle? My mind raced. Ma had given me a pepper spray to ‘tackle’ hooligans in case I encountered any. "Too many anti-social elements nowdays. This is a necessity for all girls. Keep it in your bag." "I dont have any space for it, and I always take a taxi! Dont be ridiculous Ma." But she had slipped it right in and I was noticing it today.

If I did it quickly, I could cover all of them. One man held my arm and neck and the other two behind us were guiding him. They had some full bags with them. I thought of my plan, and slowly took a deep breath.

I counted till three in my mind; I slid the spray from my bag and sprayed as hard as I could at the guy who held me. He yelled, and the other two turned to look at us. I did not waste even a second to spray at the other two. They both fell.

I leaped away from them to let the police take over, who wasted no time to nab them. Catching my breath, I just sat there on the road recollecting what had just happened to me. “Are you alright maam?” “Yes, fine, thanks.” “You need any medical help? We will take you to the hospital.” Take me? Oh, I have to go the airport. With shivering hands, I helped myself stand up. I shook my head with a no and turned around. My heel was broken. I limped to call a taxi and rushed to the airport.

As I saw them coming, my tears came too. All my emotions bundled up and flew out of me. “What happened dear, you are a mess. What happened?” But I could not say anything. I just held Ma and cried…for how long, I don’t remember. And she held me, for as long as I wished. “Lets go home.”

We reached home. She said nothing about the dirty house, or my health, my clothes or anything. She sat me down in my bed, removed my shoes, and gave me a blanket and a glass of warm milk. “Just go to sleep.” And I held her as long as I remembered, till I fell asleep. Thank god I had her. And I knew I was going to be safe with her!

Frozen Lips

2010-01-15T15:19:00.003+05:30

I was sitting at the same old workplace doing the same old form of work. It's funny how enthusiastically we start working and then it fades away to random mundane chores. Not every day does life give you a chance to smile; you have to find it eagerly. But it gives you a chance to sore away…so it depends on you if you give in or not!

I was casually standing at the lunch counter where they served the buffet in office. “Excuse me”, a rather arrogant voice cut through. Had I heard the voice before? Maybe not, I was not even interested. It was my lunch hour and I sure wanted some peace of mind!

“Oh my god, is that you?” I looked up, holding my plate with some salad and curry. “I am sorry…” I began to say but stopped abruptly. Was it really him? Had it really been two years? It seemed like ages, but he had not changed a bit. “You look lovely.” I could just manage a smile. What was I supposed to say? “Come, join me for lunch. I am sitting right over there.” I wanted to say no, my friends are waiting right there, but I could not make myself say it. I had dreaded seeing him and being with him. I did not know what to say to him. Still, I joined him for lunch.

“Hey, how have you been? When did you join work here? I just joined yesterday.” “About six months”, I spoke and immediately packed my mouth with food. I could not even look at him straight. Something still hurt right there in my heart. “It is so nice to see you. I swear, this is a strange city. The people are so uptight. No one wants to talk. I am going to have a bad time adjusting here.” I swallowed what I was chewing and realized I could not eat more. “I have to go, have a meeting now.” I stood up abruptly.

“Hey, give me your number. I am going to need a lot of help around here. And it is always so nice to talk to you.” I could not smile. What was I supposed to say – “No, I don’t want to.” Or was it “I don’t remember my phone number.” Gosh, I could not say those things, they were too lame. I was taking too long to think. I had a brain freeze situation. “Here it is.” I gave him my number and almost hurried back to my desk. Was I hit with a thunderstorm or was it the Tsunami? I could not decide which was worse.

Two years ago we were having dinner in a fancy resturaunt. I was sure it was love. We had made all the promises and the customary devotional statements. Maybe twenty one was not the age. Or maybe he was not what I was expecting him to be. Not when I had found him in drunken state kissing my batch mate from college. I had never called him again. Why should I even give the respect of breaking it off? I had decided, I was never going to see him again. That is when I moved to this city. And after all these years, had I forgotten how he broke my heart?

Why was he important anyway? I had better things in life to worry about. If I had decided he was a loser, I was going to learn to treat him like one. But there was a just a little problem – my brain freeze situation. I did not know how I was going to overcome it.

I was just taking some print outs when I heard his voice again. “Hi there, where have you been? I was looking out for you at lunch time. Let’s go for some coffee in the evening.” Was I a tissue which he could use and throw away anytime? Why was he doing this anyway? I looked at him quizzically. “Hey, I know what happened years ago, but let's put it behind us. Let us be friends. It was so childish anyway.” Yeah right, now he was going to make the rules! I did not know what to say. Friends? Would being with him not remind me of his atrocious deeds? My heart was in no mood to be gregarious and even if it was, it was not going to be this guy. “I don't think we can be friends.” “Hey, grow up yaar, what's wrong. We were in college.” “My friends are individuals with some dignity and substance. And strangely, you do not fit the post! So, no thank you.” “You are overreacting. I know you haven't been able to get over me. You still like me, don't you?” I was not going to be a tissue this time. I had had enough of him. I smiled. “I know you have never had the mind to figure out what a relationship is. Trust me; I don't want to stare at the biggest mistake of my life every day. Now if you don't mind, I have better people to see and be with!”

It felt good. Why should I settle for being amiable and politically correct? I looked around. If being polite was the norm, I was playing with the rules. But if the rules changed to frantic dishonesty sugar coated with blatant lying, I was not going to be a part of it. Why should I be apologetic about what happened? I was going to live my life exactly as I wanted to, sans the losers of course!

Dance with me

2009-12-20T18:30:00.005+05:30

It was not everyday that I decided to tap my feet. I put the CD I had brought and the beats started flowing. It had been a long time since I danced and I could feel the panting but it did not seem to stop me.

I went on for about twenty minutes and then decided to take a shower. Outside my window, across the street, in the opposite apartment, I saw a little girl, about six or seven. She seemed busy trying to do the exact dance steps I had done. I stared intently, she really was trying hard. Suddenly, she looked at me and showed her tongue and drew back the curtains. It is strange how children behave, at one moment they seem like angels, and at the other, you don’t know who took the angel away!

Next day when I came back from office, I again decided to continue pacing my steps. I deliberately drew away the curtains and started dancing. But I could not focus fully. Every few minutes, from the corner of my eye, I used to look at the window…nothing! Was I dancing for her, or was I dancing for myself, I really did not know. I gave up trying after a few times, wrapped up the last couple of steps, and then went for my shower. As I came out of the bathroom, I noticed the same girl dancing. She lifted her foot and tried to turn, and then she fell. I could not stop laughing. She saw me , and again showed me her tongue and ran inside the house.

It was weird, why she could not just dance with me, and why was she showing her tongue. to me. I wanted to end the suspense. I took a box of chocolates, wrote a little note – “from your dancing friend” and dropped it at her doorstep. I could have gone in, talked to her, but I decided to play on. After many days, I was actually looking forward to something.

I waited near my window that evening. She came, I tried to gesture about the gift, but she just stared at me and showed her tongue. Again! This girl was impossible. I did my dance, but she did not dance with me today. She just drew in the curtains and vanished.

Next day, I decided to visit her, to ask her why she apes me. Maybe she disliked my dance, or maybe she thought it was funny, so she tried to do it, then fell and then laughed. Maybe she was anticipating more gifts, so she tried to be mysterious. I could not decide.

After coming back from office, I changed into a suitable dress, picked up another box of chocolates. I peeked at her window, the lights were on, but there was no one to be seen. Suddenly, I saw a lady with the girl. The lady was scolding her and the little girl was crying. The lady shouted something and went inside, and the girl came and sat beside the window. Big tears rolled down her cute pumpkin cheeks. I kept looking at her, in hope that she might look back. After some time, she looked at me. I smiled. I tried waving out to her. And she waved back. I gestured the chocolates and she nodded her head. I went across the street to her apartment, but did not venture inside. I just kept the box at the door and turned to go.

The door opened, it was the same lady who had been shouting at the girl. She said, “Have you come to meet Reenya?” I nodded. She invited me in and offered me coffee. “Where is Reenya?” I asked, “I brought here these” and I gave the chocolates to her. “Reenya, come out beta, someone is here to see you.” She peeped from her room, with the look of fresh tears wiped away. As she walked into the room, I almost choked. She dragged her foot, which was amputated and walked towards me. I was shell shocked. I did not know what to say.

“She is not allowed to run or dance. And she has been trying to dance for a few days now. She had severe pain today and we had to take her to the hospital. She is ok now, unless she tries the dance.” The lady said this and went in to get the coffee.

“Hi, remember me? I got chocolates for you.” She came to my extended hand, took the chocolates and sat a bit further away. She unwrapped the golden foil and started eating them. “You want some?” she asked reluctantly. “Sure” I tried to sit beside her. “You dance very well. I really like it. I wish I could also dance like you.” “Sure dear, you can come to my place everyday and I will dance, and you can tell me which steps are good and which ones are bad. We will also make Maggi and listen to music, and even eat chocolates.” “Really, how many chocolates do you have?” “Oh, I have lots for you in my house.” “Ok, I will come tomorrow. But I should not dance, or they might give me injections.” I could not stop myself. I went and sat next to her, giving her a side hug. “Wont you share the chocolates with me?” And she took her pink little tongue out and made a face!

Look for it!

2009-12-20T13:41:00.004+05:30

Blogging after a long gap today. Can’t say life has changed significantly, let me tell you how. Everything around influences us, be it the clothes we wear, the shoes we wear ( oh, this is my favourite one), the people we are around, the atmosphere, literally everything. But mostly, it is what you do. But I wonder sometimes, if only I make up my life, what are the other things doing around me then? We do ponder over, but eventually give up and carry on with our lives.

I love to plan, but my planning is restricted to tasks and goals. It has never been how I would live, or eat or travel. I love spontaneity there. Like last week, when I had this wonderful idea to trace my childhood crush. He could have been a childhood sweetheart, if I had not thrown my tantrums around! But anyhow, I set out by thinking how difficult could that be, he could be on any of the social networking sites.

Plan 1 : Facebook – the solution to all the world’s social identity. I went on to facebook, and searched for him name, and whoa, you can’t imagine the long list I found. Further, I ran up a search on my High school group, but didn’t find any results. This was definitely not what I had anticipated. I thought facebook was the answer to all my questions! I searched in my High school year of passing out, I even looked up the friend lists of my school friends. This was not going to work

Plan 2 : Orkut – well, I never liked orkut. There is something about the interface that repells me. I mean User Interfaces have come of age, its high time orkut changed the way it looks. Anyway, if he wasn’t on facebook, you bet he wasn’t on orkut as well. I smiled, thinking, obviously we had similar tastes.

Then suddenly I wondered what he looked like now. Did he wear his hair the same way as before, did he tuck his shirt and leave his tie hanging loose, did he have the same expression of “full of himself” attitude. Oh god, memories of his image eroded me into acceleration.

Plan 3 : Google of course, why did I not think of it before! I immediately wrote his full name, carefully checking the spelling and hit enter. And of course, I got a whole big list of results, what else did I expect to happen. Going through each of them was going to be a marathon which I just could not finish. I tired combinations – name + school name, name + city name, name + area where he lived and so on. I found many results. But scrolling through image results, my heart stopped, I saw a familiar face! I opened up the page and saw him receiving a Charles Scwab scholarship award for his academic performance. Wow, I felt proud, obviously with no contribution and being away for so many years, but I felt happy for him. But the concerned article had been deleted, all I got was the picture. Tried searching repeatedly, but no results.

It was a tiny picture, but one look at him and I was jumping. I cannot really answer why, because I was obviously not in love with this guy, but because I realized how special he was to me, and how his picture made me feel. I blushed extensively.

Now that I had tried all my plans, maybe God had some for me! Sometimes, we try all we can and yet don’t find what we are looking for. But other times, all we need to do is look, and it is done for us. So I let life play this game with me, either it was going to make me wait, or it was going to find him for me. I have my eyes open!

My Orange Buddy

2009-11-19T23:02:00.006+05:30

Poosh had never been this crazy. He used to instantly start ahead of me and catch his favourite Frisbee. Ever since I had been twelve and ever since he was a puppy!

Poosh does not like strangers, and it’s an understatement if I say that he makes friends easily. But once he makes friends, they are the forever type of friends. I don’t know his favourite colour but I always assumed it would be orange because as a pup, he only attacked orange stuff – Orange slippers, orange doormats, orange Frisbees and so on.. So maybe it was orange, or just his teething phase, I don’t know. But according to the conclusion I drew, I got him an orange collar which suited perfectly with his silky short golden hair. No, I wasn’t going accessory shopping, but I made sure he had orange eating bowls, and an orange leash, although he took an offense if a leash was used when he was enjoying his freedom.

Somehow Poosh was never the pedigree eating, tail wagging, smiling dogs (look carefully if you haven’t seen dogs smile yet!) Poosh was the adventure minded, dal-chawal-roti eating, happy-go-lucky chap, who just happened to be in the right company!

He ran to catch the frisby, almost stopping in mid-air so as to pose for a typical ‘Kodak moment’. He loved children, he would want to surprise them by wagging and going near them, but eventually ended up scaring them. He would never even budge if a child pulled the hair out of his tail.

It wasn’t long ago Poosh was diagnosed with stomach infection. He no longer relished his dal and chawal, he no longer ran as fast as the wind, he no longer looked up at me to pester me for a long walk. All he did was sat in a corner on his orange rug. He didn’t even complain if we put the leash on him. His smile disappeared. The doctor said it was bad, I did not believe it. He said there was no scope for operation, and if they tried there would be a 50-50 chance of survival. I cried the whole night that day. My lovely little pal was suffering and I could not help him. I woke up at 1 am and sat till the morning caressing his fragile body. He didn’t cry in pain or make any noise, all he did was put his chin on my leg and his paw in my hand.

I sit beside the place he was buried, and the ground still feels warm there. I always take orange flowers to him, knowing he would like them. And I look in the park, when a dog catches a Frisbee, but not in the grand manner as Poosh did!

I stand by you...

2009-11-19T15:17:00.003+05:30

I didn’t quite expect another face at the door when I rang the bell. “Oh, here she is!” People were actually waiting for me to arrive home from a long day at work. I folded my hands into Namaste but couldn’t quite wipe the quizzed expression from my face. Twelve hours of grueling work, facing people, endless meetings and I come home to this! I looked around for mom to fill me in about the people swarming around me.

I noticed a middle aged couple and a young boy of about twelve. I could tell he was in as much discomfort as I was, with no choice of running out of the door, given the chance! I sat among them, looking for some familiar face to appear. “How old are you beta?” Now that definitely is a gunshot question, whether you are in your early twenties or beyond! I could just manage a smile. “When did you come? Beta, meet the Malhotras, they are relatives of your aunt Seema. They just dropped by to see us and meet you specially.” Now on that statement, one can’t really ask “Why do you want to meet me? Or what did I do to deserve this hijack?” Anyway, the sweets were served and the snacks and people started eating. I couldn’t decide when to break away to at least go and wash my face!

The lady had almost surrounded me with her questions while the man was busy talking to my father. I so wanted my mom’s assurance that this is going to end soon, and I could change into my nightclothes and sleep in my heavenly bed..how I longed that.

I ignored most of the words which fell on my ears but one visual caught my eye. It was a picture of a guy, not really a usual picture, but like the one where you pose and force out your most made-up smile. “You like him na…I knew it”, the lady said. What? This isn’t happening to me. It happens to a lot of people I know..but not to me..ever! Do my parents hate me so much as expecting me to marry a complete stranger. “You are so pretty, and tall and lovely hair…just right for my Naresh.” Ya sure…physical aspects decide everything.. after all its never my own life or my own decision for that matter. I felt claustrophobic, as if the room was closing in on me. No, I couldn’t cry because I wasn’t made of substance that snaps apart at each problem. And I couldn’t be rude to these strangers; they were in my house and in front of my parents. Neither could I be polite, as I didn’t know what to say at all. I couldn’t even manage a smile.

“We like your daughter. She’s beautiful. Naresh loves her picture anyway. Consider a yes from our side.” I have to speak now..now is the moment…why can’t I find any words? God..please help me! The lady took out a gold bracelet from her handbag and took my hand. “As I give this to you, I accept you as my daughter in-law”. “Please wait Mrs Malhotra, we really haven’t discussed this. We need to know our daughter’s opinion before we can commit.” I looked in my mom’s eyes and sensed the reassurance. She smiled at me. “But we as parents make this decision, why do you have to ask her.” “Because she’s our daughter and she has the right to live her life on her own terms.” And a self-assured smile took over my face.