Kissaa Kahaani

April 17, 2013

Why Do I Love Malls!!!

I love malls. I love being there. It’s a colorful menagerie, vibrancy, people, life and what not! The lives in malls are always on move! And why do I love malls?? The other day I went to one such grand mall with my husband for dinner – allow me to narrate the beautiful sights I witnessed there, and you would know why love malls!

The moment we entered we were greeted with a welcome chaos, an organized anarchy. People skipping the queue for security check, being a weekend the whole place was crowded. I saw a daughter-in-law in traditional garbs, covering her head with pallu and her mother-in-law guiding her on the escalator. I saw a young pretty person in hot pants and hand-in-hand with her companion who was leaning in to whisper sweet nothings on the same escalator. I saw a tiny boy, scared and curious at the same time, he was trying to step on the escalator, cheered on by his father. The lad was soooo happy that when he actually stepped on the mechanical moving staircase,  his face reflected the victorious emotions as if he was the winner of the Mumbai Marathon! His father was equally proud when his miniature version turned and triumphantly shouted, “Dadda! I made it.”

And on the third floor, while sitting and whiling away time, we saw a super cute scene! A little girl (may be little more than 2 years old) was harassing her father. Let me try and recount the conversation verbatim.

Daughter to Dad, “Daddy I wanna ride a horse!” “No Kiddo, there are no horses in this mall, we will ride horse some other time.” Dad cajoled. With a tearful scowl and pouted lower lips, the daughter insists that she doesn’t care, “Be my horse no daddy! Juss for two minnets ride! Pleeeze, puhleeez, puhleez Daddy.” A resigned sigh resonated from the Dad’s throat and also the soft muttering, “You little blackmailing toddler, you take after your mother!” and then loudly, “Okies, common, just two minutes and no more!” The exuberance on the face of that little manipulative girl was a wonderful sight, she was jumping and skipping and laughing and finally the dad went down on his knees put the daughter on his back and was then on all fours. The horse and the rider started the chanting, “Chal mere ghode tic tic tic!” The two minutes went on to 10 minutes and both were unaware of the stares, smirks, wistful smiles and laughter of the fellow mall-goers.

As we sat down to have a pure vegetarian Rajasthani dinner (I somehow had the craving only for the vegetarian that day, though my husband believes that a Restaurant not having any chicken dish in the menu  is not worth being called a restaurant) and in come five, no. Ten, no. Thirteen people to have dinner. A Traditional Rajasthani family. Women in ghoonghat and men in kurtas and pagdis. Four tables were joined together and women sat near the wall, kids in between and then the menfolk.  The dinner commenced and criticism too. Eldest lady says, “I cook better, they call this Rajasthani Thali! I told you all not to waste money”.

A stroll to a home furniture store brought even more smiles.  Beautiful furniture assembled together to give a feel of one’s future dream home. Beds and sofas and dining tables and couches and night stands and kitchenware and furnishings. As we ooh-ed and aah-ed over various pieces, I saw one more couple doing the same in front of a display bedroom. They were looking at the stuff presented beautifully and I could see the beautiful desire in the guy’s eyes and dream in girl’s.

Yes I love malls. They sell not the merchandise but the dreams, the ambitions. Malls are not just a market place, an assembly of random shops; it’s a place where parents buy wedding trousseaus for their daughters. Malls are places where boyfriends buy a ring and propose to girlfriends. Malls are places where housewives escape cooking for a day and enjoy. Malls are place where break ups happen and make-ups happen. Malls are places where kids see the whole range of diverse colors- good and bad- and learn. I love malls, because I get to see so much of life there. I love malls, because I see so many emotions fleeting on the faces of mall-goers. I also love malls because I get to empty my husband’s pocket there!

September 13, 2011

Chapters of Life…

As she stood with clenched fist at the edge of the sea, watching it swallow the sun and spilling a splurge of wildly dark colours in the sky, she knew that one more chapter of her life ends today. Tomorrow she will be a different person…

As her hairs blew against the wind and fought with it, she untangled her strands with her fingers and thought about life’s new entanglement starting tomorrow, some more strands will be there to be smoothened and she will be a more matured person…

As she felt the seawater lapping against her feet, gently swishing around and tickling her sole, she was aware that tomorrow, someone’s hands will be caressing her feet and she will be a much loved person…

Tomorrow, she will change, her world will change, a new chapter will start… as she looked beyond the horizons, she was reminded of the past few chapters of her life, chapters which made her what she was today, chapters which nurtured her…

She has so much to do before this chapters ends and new one enfolds… she had so much to do, but so little time… So much laughter to share and tears to wipe, regrets to throw and anger to burn, love to do, hugs to give and kisses to lend, so many ‘I love you’s to return, so many wishes to borrow… she had so much to do… so little time…

As the sky turned into the colour of night and as the sea darkened, as the hem of her skirt flew around, and as she felt a few drops of tears down her cheeks, and as the moon light reflected against those tear drops, she knew that she missed many chances, many opportunities, she let go of many moments, she never tried to seize what could be hers, she never had the courage, she just could never dare…

But now it’s time for tomorrow, she opened her fist and let those moments go, she remained looking at the waves clashing against each other and listened intently for the sound of sea against the silnce of the night… she smiled through her tears… she mourned for her yesterday but now it’s time for tomorrow…

July 31, 2011

Bubbles…

It seems that my life has found new center for the stories to sprout from; Leelavati Hospital. And twice a week visit to this place gives me new stories to tell you. New wonders to share. The whole journey in detailed way will be a story in itself- from here to JB Nagar to the Highway and then a long stretch, the sight of Bandra-Worli Sea link and young lovers around the boundaries of the road- facing sea and snuggling- totally oblivious to the traffic around the them, kissing as if tomorrow they might not meet again- their own tiny rendezvous has a story. But my story today is not of a lover by the side of highway, nor is it about the lady in the car lost in her thoughts today’s story is about two little boys…

I was coming out of the hospital and was looking for an auto-rickshaw, it was 815 in the evening and after a long day I was tired- all I needed was to sit and relax, I just wanted to be home. It was raining steadily and incessantly since last 3 days. As I stood there waiting some sort of transport, there came this tiny boy- he looked 6 years old and he was without a shirt- his face and body was shining with water droplets and he looked squeaky clean. The streetlight made his bronze skin glow. Big eyes shone on his tiny face and he held my hands and said, “Didi khana khila do, mai paise nahi maangta par bhookh lag gai hai aur koi kuch de nahi raha” I looked down at him and saw that his beautiful face was so innocent and I saw the way his ribs were pushing against his chest. He needed food. And I thought I should be heading home, why don’t I give this guy some money and get it over with! And as I scourged my bag for some money I saw another little man of the same age nearby saying the same thing to some other lady and was totally snubbed by her. As if sensing my eyes on him, this fellow turned back and looked at me almost in tears. I beckoned him and asked if both of them are friends, he said yes. If it was possible this little guy was cuter that my half naked one and they both looked at me with so much anticipation and expectations. As I was about to hand them money, they said they want food and not money. They both took each of my hands and led me towards the road, there we saw a “Paani-puri wallah” Chandan, my little half-naked guy said that he wanted to eat some and I proceeded to that man and asked him to prepare two plates and sat on the curb with Chandan and Amish waiting for the delicacies to come. And as we sat, a constant chatter started. They spoke non-stop, finishing each other’s sentences, arguing, and what not. “Didi, ek gulaab chahiye”, “Didi aap icecream bhi khilaogi”, “Didi aap bimaar hain”, “Nai bewkoof, didi bimaar nai, wo to kisi ko milne aai ho gi, hai na didi”, “Didi hum waha park ke paas khayenge won a 40 rupaye mein ek thaali deta hai”, “Nahi didi ye pagal hai, waha aapko mehenga padega, wo peechhe wale road par 25 rupaye mein hi mil jata hai” “Didi aapko pareshaan kar diya na humne”…

Amongst all this chatter and bickering, my tiredness was lost somewhere. I thought that I should take them back inside, and have them fed at the hospital café- with good hygienic food. But I was not allowed to; these kids were not sick and hence not privileged enough to be in the hospital. I took their advise and took them to that place near that park. As we all three sat, once again on the curb, and ate some rotis and Sabzi, under my blue and white polka dotted umbrella, I felt complete and fulfilled. I felt that these two kids were God’s messengers to remind me that even if you have no umbrella, even if you have to tolerate rain and even if you have no money to eat your dinner; find a reason to be happy, laugh, talk, argue, and find someone who will be there. It may seem that they needed me- but it was other way round. I needed them and they found me, they knew that I needed them.

May 30, 2011

Imagination

I imagine, I need my imagination to feel free. I need my mind to travel to faraway lands so that I dont feel the stifling anymore… I imagine because the world seems unreal to me, I see and witness and experience things which are so untrue and so cruel. My imagination takes me somewhere which is all soothing, a place which seems to hug me and a place which seems to caress me and take my pain away kiss by kiss… I find that the people I idolized and worshipped are not the people I thought they are, I find that I live in farce, I have a facade on my face and and a mask on my heart I see and undergo what the world wants me to see… But in my imagination, I am surrounded by people who are unselfish, jovial, happy-go-lucky, without any mask- inside same as outside, no two faces, I am surrounded there by ‘people’ and note by ‘fake’… Imagination is a freedom, I dont feel the pain when I imagine.. Imagination is strength and it takes away my weakness… imagination is exhilarating I dont feel the sadness and gloominess … Imagination is the key to be happy…

Yes, it takes me away from ground reality… Yes, imagination is a fantasy… But I prefer it this way. Why? I dont want to remain hurting. I want to laugh- If I imagine, its easier for me to laugh… in imagination, I dont see my tears on my cheek, in my imagination I dont feel the sorrow and the pang in my heart…

imagination is freedom… imagination makes you walk on water… imaginations make you sleep on clouds… imagination takes you places undiscovered… imagination makes you look up at the star when you are down in the gutter… imagination makes you dance when you cant… imagination keeps you warm when you are cold… imagination is liberating, exhilarating…

April 20, 2011

I Miss You-3

Filed under: The Memories Unfogged — MK @ 11:18 am
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I will today remember my youngest sister. We called her Reshu.

Reshu

Reshu was our youngest sister. She was five months old when she died. I was 7-8 years old. Girls were a burden at that time. And My parents had three already. My parents loved us but secretly they also wanted a son. in her fourth pregnancy my mother was happy and glowing that it will be a son this time. But God and his jokes- this time also we were given a baby sister. My mother was devastated. But as soon as she laid her eyes on the Angel she was in love with her. All of us were in love with my little sister.

You would have loved her too. She was nothing like us sisters- though I will say that us three sisters may not be extraordinarily beautiful but we definitely are attractive and my parents are very good-looking (unfortunately we did not inherit their best features) But Reshu, my youngest sister was beyond all of us. She had this angelic look and such beautiful dimples on her fair cheeks. She would rarely weep, rarely she would create any tantrums. She would hop into the arms of anyone who would show affection to her. She had that toothless gummy chubby grin that would capsize your heart.

She would tease my mom. My mom would breastfeed her and Reshu wold play hide and seek with mom, she would look at my mom’s face give her oh-so-sweet smile and duck in to have her fill again after a few moments she would give that grin to my mom. I would carry her all around, holding her gave that nice feeling to me. We loved playing with her.

And then she fell sick. My mother had to do all household work- sweeping the floor of that huge house, cooking 12-13 people, cleaning, taking care of us sisters and my grandfather. And no one to help her. She first saw that my sister is sick when she tried to feed her milk from spoon- she saw that my sister was weeping but her voice was different and that her neck was towards one side and her whole body was limp. She ran towards my uncle- my dad was in Shimla and in Training- he was in 1992 batch of IA&AS. My uncle called the village doctor and the doctor gave his verdict- my sister’s lungs were filled with cough and mucus. And that my sister would need constant injections so that that mucus is dried. And daily her tiny body suffered not only the pains of her sickness but also the cruelty of that doctor. My mom wept and wept- but then she had no money of her own to take for second opinion. Nor was she able to contact my father, she just wrote a letter. No phones at that time in my house. Thank fully one of my Aunt’s husband arrived a few days later the moment he saw my sister he told my uncle and my mom to take her to Patna and get her admitted.

They left for Patna.

Once in Hospital, she was diagnosed with Meningitis. That tiny poor child suffered due to the half cooked knowledge of that Doctor, and she suffered due to my mother’s helplessness, she suffered due to that fact that my father was too far away, she suffered due to my uncle’s ignorance. She suffered. My mom had to be hospitalized as well. She couldnt bear it. And our Reshu died.

Before she died- she waited for our father. My dad tells me that when he entered the room, Reshu’s crib was positioned in a way that her head was towards door, God knows how she knew it, but the moment dad entered the room, Reshu twisted her body, looked at my father and smiled. The baby who was paralysed all over just moved herself to look at her father. And then she slept- never to wake up. She died.

In Bihar we celebrate Chhath- its above all festivals, everything. My mom, before going to Patna, begged my father’s aunt to pray for my sister in Chhath.

You know the saddest part? We dont even have her photograph, not a single one. All we have is the memories which are too few and far between. My mother couldnt tolerate the sight of all those baby dresses and toys and cribs. She gave it all away. We dont have anything which would show that we once had a sister. Just sometimes, we three sisters and my parents sit and talk about her. We just smile and we cry. Sh was an angel who gave us laughter, I think if she were alive today she would have been a delightful person. Wherever she is, I just hope she is happy and that her laughter still makes the heart go pitter patter.

April 19, 2011

I Miss You – 2

Filed under: The Memories Unfogged — MK @ 12:16 pm
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I told you all about my Nani now I will tell you about my Nana, my grand pa, my mother’s father.

Nana

My Nana was the handsomest man I saw, no bias, no partiality. He was the handsomest. Tall, Fair, lean, straight nose and a ready smile. His best feature? His bluish grey eyes which lightened further due to the old age. Those eyes twinkled.

My Nana wanted to be an actor. There is a legend in my mother’s family ( I can’t say how much of it was true but here ir goes). He was staying away from home for his studies, my Nana. And he aspired to be an actor. However working in movies and theater at that time was a taboo, it meant you are demeaning the family values. So he decided not to inform his father about his decision and ran away to Mumbai. It is said that he bagged a role also in a Hindi film called Aahuti i guess it was somewhere in late 1940s. My great-grandfather could not tolerate it and he schemed. He sent a telegram to my Nana stating that he is sick and has cancer. He said his last wish is to see his son before he dies. And my Grandfather came back home. And he remained in home. He lost his aspiration and his zeal.

One thing is for sure, my grandfather was a wonderful man. He was so polite all the time and he rarely raised his voice. I remember once my mother was visiting her parents, my grandparents lived in village- true village. My mother and her brother had some disagreement, mom decided to leave then and there with us kids and my grandfather was silent and sad. He did not anticipate this and had no gifts for us. Since there was no mode transportation available other than a bullock cart- my mom and us sisters were on that bullock cart going away. My Nana was standing there, his snow-white hair shining and he threw three packets of Parle-G Biscuits towards us. We squealed in delight and he laughed.

He loved my Nani so much. I have never such love between any husband and wife, such devotion for each other. My Nana was a handsome man and Nani was quite homely. My Nana was a learned man and my Nani was illiterate. It was a mismatch but what a wonderful mismatch! He would constantly tease my Nani. Once my grandma was talking to herself in an irritated voice, grand pa asked her about whats bothering her- she replied that even in this old age she has to wash so many utensils- my Nana said- don’t worry I will wash it next time for you. Another incident is that one of my cousins was getting married in Patna and all my maternal uncles are there. My Grandparents went to attend the wedding. However in the house of the uncle where the wedding was supposed to take place- there was not much space. So uncle asked my Nana to shift his base to another uncle and Nani would stay behind and stay with him while Nana would visit in the day. Nana was so angry! He scolded his son in a rare loud voice, “If you do not have space in your house, you do not have to separate us. My wife will sleep on the couch, I will take a rug and sleep on the floor- I don’t mind. Just dont make me go away.” People used to mock him and Nani that in old age they are so romantic- it was almost inappropriate. They would sit together, eat together, laugh together- 24X7.

My Nana was not able to continue his education but he was educated. He could defeat you in debate. He would dominate you with his knowledge in every field. He loved studying and his English was impeccable. My father said that Nana had memorized an Oxford Thesaurus and he had great command over the language- he would know the exact pronunciation, word root, antonym, synonym etc etc. My father preserved all the letter his Father-in-law sent him. He says these letters are beauty.

My Grandfather also wrote- by the pseudonym of ‘Adhura’ which means incomplete. After Nana death my father brought his manuscripts and his diaries. I am no expert, though I know now that my love for Hindu Mythology is not just because of my reading habits- its in my genes.

We used to call our Nana, Dada which means the elder brother or the father of the father. Why we called him Dada was because everyone called him so- even my mom. So I know him as dada.

Dada I miss you- I can see you with a newspaper and a radio on your front porch sitting in a hard wooden chair in your Grey Kurta and starched white Dhoti. Dada my mother misses you so much. She says that she is an orphan now. Dada I miss going to that Durga Mandir holding your hands and skipping around. Dada my father does not want to visit your home now- you are not there anymore. Dada we all miss you. I go to your photo there- hanging in my home and look at you- I see you smiling at me. And pointing to Nani “See there- our Granddaughter”. Dada wherever you are- wish us luck, bless us and help us in our hard times. I love you.

April 18, 2011

I Miss You – 1

Filed under: The Memories Unfogged — MK @ 6:29 pm
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Its so easy to see the the title above and to get an idea that I am missing my beau. But at this very moment, I am missing some very close people, some of my own. I miss them with a regret that even though I had many chances I was not able to spend time with them. I miss them with the agony that either I was too young to understand the meaning they had in my life or I was too self centered. This series of posts is my way of remembering them, my way of loving them… My both sets of Grandparents and my youngest sister.

Nani

My Nani my mother’s mother was a thin, frail woman, with kind face and cow-web wrinkles and a hunchback which she got after a terrible accident and could never recover, Full of energy and constant squabbling. What I remember about her is her fragrance- a motherly soothing fragrance; white crisp cotton sari; protruding veins in her hands which I referred to as earthworm; her cribbing over my grandfather’s teasing; her paan stained teeth; her thick spectacles; her constant talks…

Last time I saw my Nani was ten years back. Exactly ten years. I hate myself- I had a dozen chances to go and visit her but I never did. One thing or the other took precedence. Excuses. All excuses. After my board exams, I went to my Nani’s place and there only I got the board results out- my dad called to say I got 78%- highest in his family (I am not counting my cousin’s marks) and highest in my mother’s family too! The record is long since broken. The point is I saw pride in my Nani’s watery eyes. Yes, I remember that. I remember atleast 15 years back, when she came to visit us, she would take a bowl of Mustard Oil and make us us sit down and rub that oil all over our bodies saying that my mom was not good enough to be mom as she does not massage us kids with mustard oil!!

I remember that during our rare conversation phone, she would weep and say- “Mamta wont you come and see me before I die?” She knew her daughter gave her three granddaughters- she only remembered my name.

I remember the stories she told me- the way she told those stories- with animated hands and face she would narrate- she would lower her voice and she would tell us the most awe inspiring tales which sound ridiculous today but I love those stories as much as I love my Nani The stories of “Sindoor ka Pul”, “Naag Mani”, “Raja ki eklauti beti”. I am going to tell my grandkids those stories one day. For sure.

I no longer have my Nani with me. The lady who was better than my mom, the woman who was so fragile but wore 9 children and showed her strength in bringing up her kids- I miss that woman in my life.

Nani I know its too late, but would you smile down upon me? Would you please massage my tired shoulders once again? Nani my own story has become so complicated, can you please narrate that Bihari version of “Frog Prince” story and take my mind off from my issues? Nani I want to share that tiny piece of paan leaf, betel leaf with me because the lunch today was horrible. Nani I want to eat Dahi-Chuda with you. Nani I want to poke those protruding veins on your hands and see you laugh at my naivety. Nani just a sign I need that you forgive me for not visiting you, that you still love me. Because I do love you.

April 4, 2011

A Beautiful Story

I read this story a long long time back; years ago. I don’t even remember the author. The story was in Hindi. And I don’t remember much, I just remember the gist. I will try to present this story in my own way, since I don’t remember the characters’ names; I am using my own way here… Bless me.

There was a rumor (or was it a rumor?), that the village graveyard had a unique scent to it since last week, as if someone has put incense stick which was divine. The source of the fragrance??? No one knows, they just know that it was her grave which had this pious feel to it.

So much so was the effect of the scent that slowly and slowly, the whole village seemed to be washed in that scent. The Trees were scented, so was the fruits; the fragrance of the flowers were lost and instead these buds also had this divine scent, the rotis which amma cooked, and the sevai– everything smelled like that. And when wives swept the floor and their chunni’s slipped by, their bodies had that beautiful fragrance. The water in the Village well had that fragrant, and that laughter of the girls had that sweet essence as well. And when mothers hugged their babies, there was no baby smell- instead there was that redolence… Not a single person, not a single object retained their own fragrance, they were now one- the scent of that grave united them.

Days passed by and the fragrance increased in intensity. They wondered what her husband; Nadeem has to say about the whole scenario. And Nadeem’s soul was tortured over the happenings. He was sick, high with fever and lying on his cot, oscillating between past and present. His mind took him 21 years back when he first saw her; she was an angel, a fairy- so beautiful. And so many handsome people courted her. He, being of ordinary looks knew that he has no chances. His bhabhi saw him staring at her and asked if he would like to marry that girl, she is a relation only, two cousins removed. Nadeem was skeptical; he said that a girl so beautiful can never be a good wife. She will be flocked by the guys and she might be tempted to have an extramarital affair. But his sister-in-law and mother knew that his heart was set on her and they knew that the girl was virtuous. And with-in a fortnight Nadeem was wedded to her.

Was he lucky or was he lucky, the girl devoted her everything to Nadeem. Nadeem became her God, her Khuda, once she entered his home, she never bared even her nails to another man; she dedicated her being to him. Such selfless love, such unconditional love. And he was not even a good looking man. They said that she had a fault. She was Baanjh, barren. She could not bear him a child. Her mother-in-law said that her beauty, her virtue is of no use, she is fruitless. She never talked back, never retorted.

And after a journey of 21 years, she left him; she finally left that dull life she had. And she departed to the Home of God. She died peacefully in her sleep. And since then, Nadeem was never himself. He could not bear her death and was sick now all the time. Today, he was missing more so.

Syed came to meet Nadeem, he was curious as to what was the reason that Nadeem’s wife’s grave was so fragrant. He was not the only one curious. Whole village was. Syed was there to tell him that Village elders have decided to go to the root of the situation and with required permissions and authority they are going to dig her grave. Nadeem was out of his mind, how dare they disturb his beloved!!! He ran past Syed to protect her resting place, but by that time, it was too late. People were standing around the open, dug grave and some wiping tears, some praising Allah, some simply in shock- looking at what was inside. She lay as peacefully in the cradle of earth, as if she was a princess having her beauty sleep. One month ago she was buried, but there was no tell tale sign of that, she was 42 at the time of her death and she looked 18 in her grave. Wonder of wonders!! A most exquisite, most beautiful flower was sprouting from her mouth. And that was the source of the divine scent. People, apologized to Nadeem and to the departed one, covered back her grave and one by one left the graveyard. Nadeem who was shell-shocked remained their and remained there. And suddenly he broke down and wept and wept. The inhuman howl which he let out, forced Syed to run back to him, who held him and consoled him.

Once Nadeem was calm enough, he told Syed, that his wife was Goddess and Allah wanted her to be acknowledged as such and that’s why this divine intervention. As Nadeem said, “You see, she was with me for 21 years, and she was most beautiful one, she could have had anyone she wanted. But she remained with me, she never cursed her life, she never did raise her voice, she never strayed, she never complained. Syed, I was born impotent and remained so throughout her life and will remain so throughout my life”

March 20, 2011

Letter to a daughter

(I read a letter to a daughter by a mother in a Chhatisgarh daily, it was beautiful, here I present a modified version of that letter, I have added my feelings, my imaginations and my words here and there, I have tried to infuse what i would feel when i would have my own child to take care of and love, do forgive me for any mistake)

Dear Daughter,

I have always wanted a girl child, and then Lord Jagannath endowed me with you. A delicate, tiny beautiful child. He was extremely generous with me and I am obliged to pay my debts Eternally to him, he gave me more than a daughter, he gave me love personified, he proved that he exists- where there was not a slim or a fat chance of mine ever getting pregnant, and now I have you to declare to the world that see my devotion and my faith won over the super science of yours! Now that I look at your face, sleeping peacefully and with calm confidence that your mother is here to protect you, i feel a sense of pride in myself for harboring a life as precious as yours in my womb, of bringing you to this world as a new ray of hope. My darling angel, as I see your 6 months fingers curled around my thumb, I know that you wont be reading this letter for a long long time to come, nevertheless I have this urge to write to you, to convey to you what I feeling as of now, at this very moment. So the apple of my eyes, here is my letter to you…

Beti, the world has pearls of wisdoms to impart, and I also have a few advises for you, you may feel rebellious, may be defiance against these advises, all i want from you to be level headed while thinking over these advises. People say that mothers have an uncanny intuition about the whereabouts and well-being of their children, believe me that I will always know you better than you could ever know yourself- that does not mean, however, that I will always be right and I wont make mistakes. And also remember that I will also know when you will make mistakes and when you will lie- but being a mother I will forgive you- just like that. I will give you a tight slap for your mistakes, will make you stand for hours in a corner and will ground you- but I will also smother you with my bear hugs and kisses and chocolate shakes and oatmeal cookies. You know my child, I always remember the time I would fight with my Ma, I would call her rudest of names, say most hurtful things, and she would weep at my actions, I remember how repentant I used to be later on but it was a rare case I would ask for forgiveness… She would just say, “you will realize when you will have your own children”. How true, how very true. No, I dont believe in ‘tough love‘, If I scold you or if I am stern or If I act harsh, its just because I love you so much, and I want you never to stray from your path! I know we will have contradictions, difference of opinions, fights, disagreements, but its a vicious cycle- you will know when you have your own child.

My baby, dont let anyone in this world hurt you, dont give anyone the authority, the right to ever hurt you. Because they can do it, only if you permit them. You may encounter nasty, unwanted situations at some or the other corner of the road of life, dont let yourself caught unawares, dont let yourself compromise with that situation, be strong enough to face it, to fight it- after all you are my little tigress!!! But at the same time, my darling, be gentle and delicate enough so you never lose the beauty of your girlhood and later on your womanhood, of your softness. Be bold enough to ask questions, however stupid they mey seem and be meek enough to accept defeat. Smile. Read books. Respect Nature. Have integrity. I dont know what kind of human being you will turn out to be tomorrow, make sure that you are generous, forgiving, and sans jealousy.

No body is burdening you with future expectations, its your world, its open to you, look into nook and corners and make your own decisions, stumble, fall- I will be there to help you get up, I will dust you down and sooth your scraps. But make your own decisions. Follow your heart and whenever in doubt, think of Lord Jagannath and take a leap of faith. Things will always fall in place. Protect your heart and hand it over to the worthiest of man out there. Let your inner satisfaction be your guide. remember sadness and disappointments will as much be a part of your life as smiles and happiness, learn to balance.

Never forget that I and your father will be there for you. Always.

Love and blessings,
Ma

March 7, 2011

The Unfaithful

(The story i present here is based on the song ‘Unfaithful’ by Rihanna)

She was putting on her lipstick, a bright red one on her luscious full lips, sitting in front of the mirror. She was proud of her lovely looks; she was above attractive, if not extraordinary. Even at 37, she radiated a glow of youth. Her face was full and heart-shaped, perfectly arched eyebrow with widely set, midnight black eyes which were eternally moist. She had this adorable habit of teasing her lower lip with her teeth; she knew the devastating effect this had on men. And her best features were her jawline, sharp and perfectly angled. Her body was that of a heavenly nymph, at least if we believe her husband.

She was getting ready to meet her man, the man who made her feel alive; not the man who was her husband. This is her life, her story. She strove throughout her life to reach, to achieve, what was right. While she continued to feverishly pursue what she conceived to be ‘right’, it always eluded her. She did not have a ‘right’ set of parents, nor did she have ‘right’ and worthy siblings, never a ‘right’ and proper teacher… She thought she will at least marry right. Oh! He did seem right. He did everything in a most proper, most right way. Even his love-making used to be so right that it seemed methodical to her…

Wait! She reflected back at her reflection. She married him because he was, he is right. But after eight years of ‘right’ness and extremely boring life, she realized that it was actually ‘wrong’ which attracted her and to escape this ‘wrong’, she gravitated towards what she thought as ‘right’. She smiled sarcastically at her confusion between wrong and right.

He loves her so, her husband. His world starts and ends with her- the total Romeo Juliet Cliched love. He considers that colors of this nature are because of her, the days are bright and nights are dark because of her, the sun rises and sets because of her… And she is aware of this demand-less and unconditional love of his. But she just couldn’t be true to him, to his love. This love suffocated her; however grateful she was for his company, for his presence in her life, for his love, all and much more, he still stifled her. And she felt her eyes getting much more moist than usual. She wiped her eyes at the core; she couldn’t let her tears escape the boundaries of her eyes, can she? It will smudge the kohl and mascara.

She stood up and selected an Oscar de la Ranta for the evening- A short red dress with scooped neckline which will enhance her figure and give her an edge. She knew that she would look irresistible. She looked at her semi-naked body in the full length mirror and knew that her firm body had so much more to offer than any lithe teen goddess who could never match up to her. She smiled. And then she was sad. She knew that he knew about her misadventure and she knew that her unfaithfulness is tearing him apart, eating him alive, her actions were hammering the desolation, the death in his heart. He knew that even with his devotion, with his love, he can never, never make her happy as she could never be happy with him- She chose to be happy with her man, the ‘outsider’, that third member of their marriage. It was an open secret, and they both knew that.

She felt a prick of tear again and a pain in her heart. She never wanted to hurt anyone. She was not venomous. She wanted to free him, free him of their sham of a marriage and his love. But she was too dependent on him- not for her happiness, but for a balance, for stability. She knew that every time she stepped out of her home, he had this uncertain look on his eyes- was this the last time she was going out? Will she ever come back again to him?

She wore the dress and she decided to pull her hair up for this evening- a new hairdo; her lover loved to free her hair and play with it- an enticing hair fetish, he called it. She let a strand of hair lie just like that, kissing her left cheek. She picked up her handbag and slipped her delicate feet in Jimmy Choo. She headed toward the main door but paused to consider something and turned and smiled at her husband. She walked towards him, leaned and gave him a kiss which displayed her gratitude and her guilt. She brushed his cheek with her thumb and looked in his eyes and with genuineness still residing inside her she promised to come back home soon, she had to go out you see, she promised her girlfriends an evening of fun and frolics quite a long time ago and now she cannot back out, it won’t look good on her social credibility criteria. He smiled and nodded at her saw her turn away, it seemed that his eyes remained on the door for a long times as he saw his life going away.

He knew that there was no girlfriend. He knew that she did not want to hurt him, but she had no self restrain. He could never be angry at her. He was not sad, as long as she was happy. He just couldn’t bear to see her in dullness and nor could he tear their bond away. He was as dependent on her as she was on him.

He turned and administered his chair in the direction of balcony and wheeled himself toward the outer railing just in time to see his wife getting in car with that ‘outsider’…

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