The doorbell rings.
A small mirror hangs on the wall, pimpled with bindis - all of different sizes and colours. She hurries toward it for a glimpse and panics at the surma that has begun to sneak out of place. She runs a delicate palm over the carefully arranged folds of her new Kanjivaram saree. A few moist buds of jasmine drop to sit pretty on the red granite floor as she scurries to the door, her anklets jingling in unison. With lissome grace, she opens the door and then follows him to the sofa.
Her eyes remain lowered as she hesitantly seats herself next to him, smiling to herself in sweet anticipation. She feels the warmth of his gaze... Will he just keep looking at her? Does he find her that beautiful? Is he about to gently adjust the strands of hair that dangle hopefully at her temples? Or is he going to say those sweet nothings she'd been dreaming of the whole of last week during the marriage proceedings? Will he... Did he just whisper something... She looks up to find him staring idly at the black and white TV set, "What's for dinner?"
Monday, October 01, 2007
Dont Mention It!
In deep blue funk, don’t we often think of how it'd be if we die? How our dear ones would shed tears and remember us for what we had always stood for, how the people who’d caused us grief would repent and wish we'd lived to listen to their heart-felt remorse, how we'd never really die for we'd forever dwell in the hearts of those who've known us...
Perhaps; but well, with women - you never know. An old relative passed away the other day. Come noon, and my mother, my aunt and both my grandmothers were sitting around our dining table, a grave silence engulfing their long faces. I clothed myself in dull cotton lest I should be declared heartless and managed low pitched 'Vanakkam's before I joined them in their walk down memory lane - the old days, what a wonderful person she had been and how she had stayed strong when her mother died. "Yes, yes", one of the ladies nodded, "She was, despite her family's usual traits. Do you know, her second cousins were always busy pretending loss of consciousness in funerals!”
A half hour later, I sat dumbstruck at the guffawing women - "And in Ganapathy maama's funeral, his daughter-in-law hugged his wife so tight, she died on the spot!" Roars of laughter. Well, lets face it. We die. And we're better off not discussed!
Vanakkam – a way of greeting elders in Tamil Nadu
Maama- Uncle (usually maternal)
Perhaps; but well, with women - you never know. An old relative passed away the other day. Come noon, and my mother, my aunt and both my grandmothers were sitting around our dining table, a grave silence engulfing their long faces. I clothed myself in dull cotton lest I should be declared heartless and managed low pitched 'Vanakkam's before I joined them in their walk down memory lane - the old days, what a wonderful person she had been and how she had stayed strong when her mother died. "Yes, yes", one of the ladies nodded, "She was, despite her family's usual traits. Do you know, her second cousins were always busy pretending loss of consciousness in funerals!”
A half hour later, I sat dumbstruck at the guffawing women - "And in Ganapathy maama's funeral, his daughter-in-law hugged his wife so tight, she died on the spot!" Roars of laughter. Well, lets face it. We die. And we're better off not discussed!
Vanakkam – a way of greeting elders in Tamil Nadu
Maama- Uncle (usually maternal)
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Tissue Issues!
Thanks for paticipating in the opinion poll. It will help me immensely with my research work...
However a wise man once (I hope) said “There are three arguments to any issue – yours, mine and the right one”.
If you have better answers to “How best could one misuse toilet paper” than the ones listed in the opinion poll, fell free to leave them here as comments!
However a wise man once (I hope) said “There are three arguments to any issue – yours, mine and the right one”.
If you have better answers to “How best could one misuse toilet paper” than the ones listed in the opinion poll, fell free to leave them here as comments!
Of Pages and Penseives
It’s more or less the same every evening; the front seat, the pencil, Paulo and me. When I’m not reading, I look ahead at the world rushing at me head on, pondering on what Paulo Coelho and I have just exchanged through his book, “Like the Flowing River”.
He feels that every book must be allowed its journey. Reminds me of an American artist cum advocate I’d once made friends with. I’d lent her a book by an obscure Indian writer - with every intention of taking it back. As Murphy would have it, I couldn’t.
Parting with a friend’s gift had been painful. But looking back, this book had embarked on a journey its siblings had probably never managed. It would now be in the hands of established artists as against an engineer who could draw perfect circles in Paint Brush.
I nod in agreement with Paulo and add, in pencil that books are like memories we carry in our penseives*. Some make it to the paperwala*, some to the garage and others to old cartons in the store room. A few decorate the shelf until they move to the other locations.
But where is that book you loved the most? In the hands of a person who might appreciate it as much – with or without your sign on it. The book travels – because it decides to; it deserves the honor. Some day though, it might fall into your hands again – a new relationship, a new journey…
I walk back home, lost in thought. And only when I reach into my bag I realize that Paulo has decided to travel. I chuckle fondly and wish him luck, reaching for “Veronica Decides to Die”. Now why would she do that...
*Penseive: Harry Potter lingo: A basin steaming with swirling white mist. Used to move excess thoughts/memories from one's mind by leading them into the penseive with your wand. Harry Potter fans might like to correct me if I'm wrong!
*Paperwala: A guy who pays you in return for used newspapers, magazines and other stuff made of paper. The heavier the book (as in C++, Computer Architecture), the greater your profit ;) Some variations also collect plastic and glass items.
He feels that every book must be allowed its journey. Reminds me of an American artist cum advocate I’d once made friends with. I’d lent her a book by an obscure Indian writer - with every intention of taking it back. As Murphy would have it, I couldn’t.
Parting with a friend’s gift had been painful. But looking back, this book had embarked on a journey its siblings had probably never managed. It would now be in the hands of established artists as against an engineer who could draw perfect circles in Paint Brush.
I nod in agreement with Paulo and add, in pencil that books are like memories we carry in our penseives*. Some make it to the paperwala*, some to the garage and others to old cartons in the store room. A few decorate the shelf until they move to the other locations.
But where is that book you loved the most? In the hands of a person who might appreciate it as much – with or without your sign on it. The book travels – because it decides to; it deserves the honor. Some day though, it might fall into your hands again – a new relationship, a new journey…
I walk back home, lost in thought. And only when I reach into my bag I realize that Paulo has decided to travel. I chuckle fondly and wish him luck, reaching for “Veronica Decides to Die”. Now why would she do that...
*Penseive: Harry Potter lingo: A basin steaming with swirling white mist. Used to move excess thoughts/memories from one's mind by leading them into the penseive with your wand. Harry Potter fans might like to correct me if I'm wrong!
*Paperwala: A guy who pays you in return for used newspapers, magazines and other stuff made of paper. The heavier the book (as in C++, Computer Architecture), the greater your profit ;) Some variations also collect plastic and glass items.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Ke Bas
In this country, where respect for women and children once bordered on reverence…
I wonder - while there are vans scanning cities for stray dogs to grab and sterilize; people have the right to reproduce like it were their life’s only mission and then send the bi-products away with a price tag.
I’m at a signal now, seated in my car trying hard to ignore the lady who’s banging on my window, child in hand; I steal a glance at the creature that lies within, crumpled and quiet; hardly breathing.
I have seen them before - babies hung on shoulders, stung by the scorching sun; young children breaking bricks with hands that can write construct and create. And that’s if you’re lucky enough to be born male.
If she’s not thrown into the lake or strangled or poisoned the minute she is born, if she hasn’t died of sunburns before she can say “ma”, if she hasn’t had a leg torn off for effective begging, she is prone to the worst kind of damage.
Dance bars must be licensed – prostitutes have the right to pursue what they want to. When you were 5 wasn’t your greatest ambition to be a postman? These incorrigible illiterates – these heartless people - this absolutely irresponsible Government. Pah.
I shake my head in absolute disgust. But then there is this meeting to attend – I have an assignment to complete before my clients return from their holiday at the Bahamas. After all I contribute to the country’s GDP; I help the country through technology and progress.
And so I urge the driver to speed up, away from that miniature hand dangling lifelessly out of a bag.
PS:
The Government of India through the Indian Council of Child Welfare, Tamilnadu (ICCW), the Don Bosco Anbu Illam and four significant working partners: World Vision, Nessakkaram, Guild Of Service and Asian Youth Centre, has established Childline 1098.
Call 1098 or 04426260097 to help a child in any form of distress (folks from out of Chennai can do a Google on Childline.) Every call is handled with tremendous enthusiasm; false alarms are attended to - and forgiven. Most importantly – your presence/signature is not required once you’ve reported an issue.
Let’s make liberal use of it – it’s the least we can do.
I wonder - while there are vans scanning cities for stray dogs to grab and sterilize; people have the right to reproduce like it were their life’s only mission and then send the bi-products away with a price tag.
I’m at a signal now, seated in my car trying hard to ignore the lady who’s banging on my window, child in hand; I steal a glance at the creature that lies within, crumpled and quiet; hardly breathing.
I have seen them before - babies hung on shoulders, stung by the scorching sun; young children breaking bricks with hands that can write construct and create. And that’s if you’re lucky enough to be born male.
If she’s not thrown into the lake or strangled or poisoned the minute she is born, if she hasn’t died of sunburns before she can say “ma”, if she hasn’t had a leg torn off for effective begging, she is prone to the worst kind of damage.
Dance bars must be licensed – prostitutes have the right to pursue what they want to. When you were 5 wasn’t your greatest ambition to be a postman? These incorrigible illiterates – these heartless people - this absolutely irresponsible Government. Pah.
I shake my head in absolute disgust. But then there is this meeting to attend – I have an assignment to complete before my clients return from their holiday at the Bahamas. After all I contribute to the country’s GDP; I help the country through technology and progress.
And so I urge the driver to speed up, away from that miniature hand dangling lifelessly out of a bag.
PS:
The Government of India through the Indian Council of Child Welfare, Tamilnadu (ICCW), the Don Bosco Anbu Illam and four significant working partners: World Vision, Nessakkaram, Guild Of Service and Asian Youth Centre, has established Childline 1098.
Call 1098 or 04426260097 to help a child in any form of distress (folks from out of Chennai can do a Google on Childline.) Every call is handled with tremendous enthusiasm; false alarms are attended to - and forgiven. Most importantly – your presence/signature is not required once you’ve reported an issue.
Let’s make liberal use of it – it’s the least we can do.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
3D
I am lying down on the tiled floor, gazing into the Television. Jassi is in tears for being called ugly. She is being treated real badly by everybody. Her looks don’t even get her the designation she deserves. And the man she loves is a handsome, rich and well educated Casanova who’s engaged to a diva, is her boss and finds her revolting. And here I am, totally insensitive to her pain – to those tears gushing into those thick glasses. Do I want to have children?
At a point of time I would have wanted to. Not anymore. Nope. Not with my nephew making his daily rounds - slowing down as always when he is positioned between the TV and me - on a cycle, like a fly you can’t afford to swat. My nephew... I look back at the day he was born. A stormy night, like in the movies… How I had wanted to be there for my sister. How I had, by the moonlight, a poem that soon turned out to be both beautiful and true... I smile ruefully at the television (‘is baar us chashmish chidiya ki chutti ho jayegi… heehee’)
The whizzing gets louder; he is now sprinkling water along his path for extra adventure the next time around. I fondly look back to the days when he’d just lie in that ruddy cradle and for goodness sake, stay put. I’d wash his bulls-eye like nappies several times a day, humming happily. I’d go back to the bundle of joy that gurgled and cooed in the cradle and sing songs with a tenderness I can’t muster for nuts anymore, now that the water is being sprinkled right on my face – by mistake of course. It’s always by mistake.
Have children? It’s a laugh really. First I am to marry. Then I am to spin out some healthy babies so I can spend the rest of my life chewing the cud on my dreams and aspirations, not to mention having them buzzing around you in cycles, sprinkling water on your face (God I hope it’s just water) while the man who becomes father walks out unburdened, free to go wherever he wants, see whatever (and whomever) he wants. (“Armaan Sir, kaash aapse mai ek aur bath keh paati…”) My mission in life is not to merely add to population, thank you very much.
I have lot of other work to do – I have my own ladders to climb, my own feats to accomplish. The last thing I need is a man I’ll have to work on looking dumber than and a bunch of pesky kids tugging at me, feeding on my freedom, on my life for their own. I have worked hard to get where I am and I have a long way to go and the least you could all do is leave me alone (“Naheeeeeen!”) “Varun – I said STOP IT”! He drops his cycle, runs over and takes me by surprise with a cuddle. And as I give in I wonder whom I’ve been trying to kid.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
ekaL ehT
It couldn’t rain today. The clouds were white and clearly defined; the breeze, paper dry yet strong enough to make the leaves flutter, like a million butterflies trying uselessly to detach themselves. The lake sat by me, deftly weaving rays of sunlight into a plethora of abstract patterns like she were doing the world a favor.
I had been there for hours now, gazing at her; at her conviction on doing something that would come to no effect with such intensity, day in and day out. And she had been weaving all the while; blissfully unaware of the power I exercised on her this very moment, of what I could do to her – if I wanted to. At long last, I flipped a pebble into the lake and watched as the ripples spread out.
I smiled, amused, as she struggled with this new found disturbance to her tender equilibrium. A startled bird skidded out of her nest and then settled on a neighboring branch, alert. I turned back to the lake; she looked almost impregnable – all I could see was a distorted reflection of the skies – and yet there was a vulnerability, somewhere beneath that tacit surface.
Was she startled at me, at herself, I wondered. Was she staring back at me indignantly – in shock of sudden betrayal? Or was she titillated, excited at the change I was invoking in her uneventful existence; Perhaps both?
Or had she suddenly wondered if she was growing into an ocean, her waves swishing about wildly, crashing down on the shores that held her – restricted her – for years now. Had she begun to believe that she was free at last to respond to the voice of the wind with ardor? Was I doing her a favor by letting her feel something she could never experience or was I making her yearn for something she would wait for with all her heart – and never have.
Slowly, the ripples settled and she grew silent. Calm and Thoughtful; or disappointed, heartbroken; I wouldn’t know. All I did know was that she looked beautiful – just the way she was. Calm and serene – reflecting, traveling within with no sign whatsoever on the surface. Letting that sheath of green moss gain over her like forest fire like she knew nothing could do anything but add to her grace. I looked down at the coin that had been glittering through slits here and there in my clenched palm.
As I tossed it into the shimmering lake, I looked up and let the rain absorb her silence – and mine.
I had been there for hours now, gazing at her; at her conviction on doing something that would come to no effect with such intensity, day in and day out. And she had been weaving all the while; blissfully unaware of the power I exercised on her this very moment, of what I could do to her – if I wanted to. At long last, I flipped a pebble into the lake and watched as the ripples spread out.
I smiled, amused, as she struggled with this new found disturbance to her tender equilibrium. A startled bird skidded out of her nest and then settled on a neighboring branch, alert. I turned back to the lake; she looked almost impregnable – all I could see was a distorted reflection of the skies – and yet there was a vulnerability, somewhere beneath that tacit surface.
Was she startled at me, at herself, I wondered. Was she staring back at me indignantly – in shock of sudden betrayal? Or was she titillated, excited at the change I was invoking in her uneventful existence; Perhaps both?
Or had she suddenly wondered if she was growing into an ocean, her waves swishing about wildly, crashing down on the shores that held her – restricted her – for years now. Had she begun to believe that she was free at last to respond to the voice of the wind with ardor? Was I doing her a favor by letting her feel something she could never experience or was I making her yearn for something she would wait for with all her heart – and never have.
Slowly, the ripples settled and she grew silent. Calm and Thoughtful; or disappointed, heartbroken; I wouldn’t know. All I did know was that she looked beautiful – just the way she was. Calm and serene – reflecting, traveling within with no sign whatsoever on the surface. Letting that sheath of green moss gain over her like forest fire like she knew nothing could do anything but add to her grace. I looked down at the coin that had been glittering through slits here and there in my clenched palm.
As I tossed it into the shimmering lake, I looked up and let the rain absorb her silence – and mine.
And Poetry...
Sunshine…
I see us walk-
Hand in hand,
Along the breezy shores
Feeling the warmth of a drowning sun...
I see your eyes glitter
Reflecting the light
Of long, slender candles...
And on a cold winter night,
I see us near the fireplace-
Not looking into each other’s eyes,
But into the distant future,
Our hearts filled with hope.
I see you on that rock-
Lending me a hand
To help me cross the river...
And with all my trust, I reach out.
I see you sweep me off
My feet, as we dance-
For hours with splendid grace,
Across the drawing hall.
I see us giggle and laugh
In the rain, all wet- and yet,
Your smile, like the sunshine
Beams into my heart...
I see me old and meek...
And I see you by my side-
Cribbing as to what a mistake
You'd committed years ago!
I smile to myself
And then wonder with delight-
What wonderful things I see
With my eyes so gently closed....
A step into this world…
Tiny toes, like scoops of the moon,
And tender feet so small…
Oh! Tiny hands, Oh! Shiny nails,
That clutch when he’s to bawl…
Ruby lips, Oh! Cherry lips
Reveal a toothless smile-
A twinkle here, a dimple there -
Hearts stop – a little while!
Oh ears are they, so small and cute?
A small protrusion – the nose!
So pink, so supple, his rosy cheeks,
As delicate as a dew-studded rose.
More soft and shining than anything else,
His hair - an angel’s dream…
A smile, a glow, a glossy brow
That widens as he beams.
A “miniature me” smiles back at me-
My lovely baby boy.
He might grow, but he’ll always be
His mother’s bundle of joy.
I see us walk-
Hand in hand,
Along the breezy shores
Feeling the warmth of a drowning sun...
I see your eyes glitter
Reflecting the light
Of long, slender candles...
And on a cold winter night,
I see us near the fireplace-
Not looking into each other’s eyes,
But into the distant future,
Our hearts filled with hope.
I see you on that rock-
Lending me a hand
To help me cross the river...
And with all my trust, I reach out.
I see you sweep me off
My feet, as we dance-
For hours with splendid grace,
Across the drawing hall.
I see us giggle and laugh
In the rain, all wet- and yet,
Your smile, like the sunshine
Beams into my heart...
I see me old and meek...
And I see you by my side-
Cribbing as to what a mistake
You'd committed years ago!
I smile to myself
And then wonder with delight-
What wonderful things I see
With my eyes so gently closed....
A step into this world…
Tiny toes, like scoops of the moon,
And tender feet so small…
Oh! Tiny hands, Oh! Shiny nails,
That clutch when he’s to bawl…
Ruby lips, Oh! Cherry lips
Reveal a toothless smile-
A twinkle here, a dimple there -
Hearts stop – a little while!
Oh ears are they, so small and cute?
A small protrusion – the nose!
So pink, so supple, his rosy cheeks,
As delicate as a dew-studded rose.
More soft and shining than anything else,
His hair - an angel’s dream…
A smile, a glow, a glossy brow
That widens as he beams.
A “miniature me” smiles back at me-
My lovely baby boy.
He might grow, but he’ll always be
His mother’s bundle of joy.
The Final CountDown
--IV--
“Can anyone ever look this gorgeous!" my aunt exclaimed, and I smiled. “Karan and you are a match made in the clouds”. True, we had been good friends for years now. Charismatic, witty, intelligent, he was every girl’s dream come true. When the offer came, I did not hesitate to agree.
“Fine, I’ll get going. Take care, you. Diya will be landing tonight, she’ll call you as soon as she reaches”. With a nod, I closed the door and walked upstairs. Dad and mom had gone to a relative's place and I'd stayed over to give my aunt company. I’d always been very fond of her. I drifted back to the days her daughter Diya and I would swim in the cold waters, climb trees till our joints ached, fight over sweets, run backwards across the dry sands, what fun we used to have. Now here we were, all grown up. She was soon to land with her husband and son to attend my wedding. One week to go…
Was that the phone? I walked across the room, wondering if mom was calling to say she was on her way back. I picked it up and the measured “Hello” made me tremble involuntarily. “Oh, hi!” I managed. Four minutes dragged by, one second at a time. Things had changed, and yet, they hadn't. I placed the receiver back and left the stifling room as soon as I could, to the balcony.
I opened the door and a pleasant breeze brushed my face… I closed my eyes. The same soft breath of fresh air; it had been years now… I could distantly see him, sitting on his porch, that weird smile drifting across his pearl white face. I opened my eyes and looked up at the moon. Sohrab… As the palm trees’ leaves swayed, I saw his nimble fingers weaving magical words that could make one chuckle, laugh, ponder, cry…
Years had gone by, but somehow, he’d managed to stay right where he’d always been – in the very depths of my heart. He wasn't every girl’s dream come true, but he was something much more significant. Sohrab was a senior in college - quite well known, but not quite liked by everyone. We’d met at the college’s Editorial Board and in time, we were real good friends. Weeks became months and I found myself falling deeply in love. Behind mischievous eyes and a devilish smile, I saw a spirit unlike anything I'd ever seen.
The doorbell rang. My parents had arrived. My father left to the drawing hall to catch up with Star News while my mom and me walked to the kitchen to make dinner. “Come dice the tomatoes. And wash the Rajma to your left”, she continued, “My God, your cousin has been up to such nonsense lately. You know what she...” she went on for an hour so. He loved Rajma. We never made it at home. And she had to ask me to wash them today. After all the pains I’d taken for years now, here I stood, still trembling, with that voice ringing in my ears…
Those were the days… We’d meet up for silly reasons and call up for no reason at all! He’d dress up for every date and I’d feel flattered at the very thought. He’d surprise me with the most unusual gifts; like a bag of tea that he picked up from Kerala while he’d picked one up for his mother! Our conversations, they’d go on for hours with lapses of silence that would fill my heart with unheard melodies. He’d fill in my insecurities with hope, let me know how to go about things the logical way; and now and then he’d surprise me with bouts of immaturity that would remind one of a dreamy-eyed school boy. It often felt like a roller coaster ride; and yet, with him, I felt cared for - and safe. And I thought it would last forever…I was so wrong.
I recalled the day I let him know that my insecurities were taking over. He told me he did not want to lose a good friend – and it seemed like the whole world collapsed as he said it. ”You don’t love me, do you?” There was a pause and then he said,” You want to know the truth?” “Yes”. Yet another pause, and I let my eyes close as he mouthed the word “No”.
“Are you crying? Oh my God! She’s crying! Don’t worry love… Karan will take good care of you. And we’ll always be there for you”, my mother hugged me. “I know mamma. Thank you”. With that, I washed my face and started chopping the mushrooms…
--III--
“You must be feeling on top of the world, Karan is a definite catch”. “Very funny! Frankly speaking Karan, I sometimes wonder why I agreed to get married to you in the first place”. A chuckle, and the voice on the other end of the line softened,” I love you “.
Sohrab… The number times I’d dreamed of how he’d tell me that he loved me. I’d hear his voice spelling out those three words and tremble with delight. “Feeling shy, wifey? Well then, wait till tomorrow. Once we're married, I'll have you repeat after me - all life long”, Karan’s voice crackled over the phone. “You wish!” I managed.
--II--
I woke up with a start, leaned over and reached for the light switch. That was when the phone started ringing. “Karan has a strange sense of humor” I mumbled, as I picked it up, “Hello”. Two minutes later, I lay on my bed, wondering who this silent caller may have been. “A member of your fan club, I suppose”, Diya giggled. “Diya, I’m still in love with Sohrab”, I blurted out. “That creep? What’s wrong with you?” She had been the only one to see me cry over my pillow every night, and knew how shattered and bitter I’d felt for years after.
“Karan is a great guy. Don’t let your foolishness ruin your marriage. Could this caller be him?” I shook my head, “I don’t know… Most probably not.” “Has he called you recently?” “Yes, a week ago”. Her eyes narrowed, “So that smart ass is trying to ruin it for you”. “Diya”, I interrupted,” He doesn't know I’m getting married. I did not tell him”. ”And thank goodness you didn't. Did you see the way our mothers danced this evening? They love you and they are happy. Good night sweetie”. With that, she went to sleep. She was right. Even if she wasn't, it was too late now. A sigh escaped my lips as I let the real world fade away…
--I--
The clock struck eight and the groom's procession arrived. “You're so beautiful, my brother is blessed”, Shweta chirped. I let my cheeks go pink and muttered a “thank you”. Soon, people were taking turns to say hello, to complement the bride as they should as I thanked them, wearing my wedding-smile. Maybe Karan and me were meant to be. Maybe Sohrab was just a passing cloud. He never did feel strongly enough for me. Our relationship wouldn't have survived anyway. Maybe… “It's time! Bring the bride to the mantap”.
I sat, my garlands and jewelry weighing me down. As my parents sat beside me, completing their customary rights, I could see flashes from the past – grandma's macaroons, playing with Diya, school, college, Sohrab! I stared ahead, shell-shocked. There he stood – near the last row of seats, his arms crossed, a stern look clouding his radiant face, tears welling up in his lovely black eyes…
“Can anyone ever look this gorgeous!" my aunt exclaimed, and I smiled. “Karan and you are a match made in the clouds”. True, we had been good friends for years now. Charismatic, witty, intelligent, he was every girl’s dream come true. When the offer came, I did not hesitate to agree.
“Fine, I’ll get going. Take care, you. Diya will be landing tonight, she’ll call you as soon as she reaches”. With a nod, I closed the door and walked upstairs. Dad and mom had gone to a relative's place and I'd stayed over to give my aunt company. I’d always been very fond of her. I drifted back to the days her daughter Diya and I would swim in the cold waters, climb trees till our joints ached, fight over sweets, run backwards across the dry sands, what fun we used to have. Now here we were, all grown up. She was soon to land with her husband and son to attend my wedding. One week to go…
Was that the phone? I walked across the room, wondering if mom was calling to say she was on her way back. I picked it up and the measured “Hello” made me tremble involuntarily. “Oh, hi!” I managed. Four minutes dragged by, one second at a time. Things had changed, and yet, they hadn't. I placed the receiver back and left the stifling room as soon as I could, to the balcony.
I opened the door and a pleasant breeze brushed my face… I closed my eyes. The same soft breath of fresh air; it had been years now… I could distantly see him, sitting on his porch, that weird smile drifting across his pearl white face. I opened my eyes and looked up at the moon. Sohrab… As the palm trees’ leaves swayed, I saw his nimble fingers weaving magical words that could make one chuckle, laugh, ponder, cry…
Years had gone by, but somehow, he’d managed to stay right where he’d always been – in the very depths of my heart. He wasn't every girl’s dream come true, but he was something much more significant. Sohrab was a senior in college - quite well known, but not quite liked by everyone. We’d met at the college’s Editorial Board and in time, we were real good friends. Weeks became months and I found myself falling deeply in love. Behind mischievous eyes and a devilish smile, I saw a spirit unlike anything I'd ever seen.
The doorbell rang. My parents had arrived. My father left to the drawing hall to catch up with Star News while my mom and me walked to the kitchen to make dinner. “Come dice the tomatoes. And wash the Rajma to your left”, she continued, “My God, your cousin has been up to such nonsense lately. You know what she...” she went on for an hour so. He loved Rajma. We never made it at home. And she had to ask me to wash them today. After all the pains I’d taken for years now, here I stood, still trembling, with that voice ringing in my ears…
Those were the days… We’d meet up for silly reasons and call up for no reason at all! He’d dress up for every date and I’d feel flattered at the very thought. He’d surprise me with the most unusual gifts; like a bag of tea that he picked up from Kerala while he’d picked one up for his mother! Our conversations, they’d go on for hours with lapses of silence that would fill my heart with unheard melodies. He’d fill in my insecurities with hope, let me know how to go about things the logical way; and now and then he’d surprise me with bouts of immaturity that would remind one of a dreamy-eyed school boy. It often felt like a roller coaster ride; and yet, with him, I felt cared for - and safe. And I thought it would last forever…I was so wrong.
I recalled the day I let him know that my insecurities were taking over. He told me he did not want to lose a good friend – and it seemed like the whole world collapsed as he said it. ”You don’t love me, do you?” There was a pause and then he said,” You want to know the truth?” “Yes”. Yet another pause, and I let my eyes close as he mouthed the word “No”.
“Are you crying? Oh my God! She’s crying! Don’t worry love… Karan will take good care of you. And we’ll always be there for you”, my mother hugged me. “I know mamma. Thank you”. With that, I washed my face and started chopping the mushrooms…
--III--
“You must be feeling on top of the world, Karan is a definite catch”. “Very funny! Frankly speaking Karan, I sometimes wonder why I agreed to get married to you in the first place”. A chuckle, and the voice on the other end of the line softened,” I love you “.
Sohrab… The number times I’d dreamed of how he’d tell me that he loved me. I’d hear his voice spelling out those three words and tremble with delight. “Feeling shy, wifey? Well then, wait till tomorrow. Once we're married, I'll have you repeat after me - all life long”, Karan’s voice crackled over the phone. “You wish!” I managed.
--II--
I woke up with a start, leaned over and reached for the light switch. That was when the phone started ringing. “Karan has a strange sense of humor” I mumbled, as I picked it up, “Hello”. Two minutes later, I lay on my bed, wondering who this silent caller may have been. “A member of your fan club, I suppose”, Diya giggled. “Diya, I’m still in love with Sohrab”, I blurted out. “That creep? What’s wrong with you?” She had been the only one to see me cry over my pillow every night, and knew how shattered and bitter I’d felt for years after.
“Karan is a great guy. Don’t let your foolishness ruin your marriage. Could this caller be him?” I shook my head, “I don’t know… Most probably not.” “Has he called you recently?” “Yes, a week ago”. Her eyes narrowed, “So that smart ass is trying to ruin it for you”. “Diya”, I interrupted,” He doesn't know I’m getting married. I did not tell him”. ”And thank goodness you didn't. Did you see the way our mothers danced this evening? They love you and they are happy. Good night sweetie”. With that, she went to sleep. She was right. Even if she wasn't, it was too late now. A sigh escaped my lips as I let the real world fade away…
--I--
The clock struck eight and the groom's procession arrived. “You're so beautiful, my brother is blessed”, Shweta chirped. I let my cheeks go pink and muttered a “thank you”. Soon, people were taking turns to say hello, to complement the bride as they should as I thanked them, wearing my wedding-smile. Maybe Karan and me were meant to be. Maybe Sohrab was just a passing cloud. He never did feel strongly enough for me. Our relationship wouldn't have survived anyway. Maybe… “It's time! Bring the bride to the mantap”.
I sat, my garlands and jewelry weighing me down. As my parents sat beside me, completing their customary rights, I could see flashes from the past – grandma's macaroons, playing with Diya, school, college, Sohrab! I stared ahead, shell-shocked. There he stood – near the last row of seats, his arms crossed, a stern look clouding his radiant face, tears welling up in his lovely black eyes…
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Poetry...
Come – to stay…
People touch our lives
In many a different way…
Some of them come and go,
Some of them come - to stay.
Some of them just manage
To make you raise a brow,
A lucky few become
The one’s you’ll always adore.
Some of them will leave.
And they’ll haunt you no more.
The people who matter are those
Who stay even after they go.
You think of them time and again,
Of sweet memories, they become a part.
These people can’t go afar-
A part of them stays in your heart.
Life may take them through
Roads that are far away,
But then, they’ll be back,
And this time, they’ll come to stay.
So smile, laugh, and walk ahead,
Don’t look back and moan-
Walk with hope in your heart,
And you won’t be walking alone.
When duty calls…
Born into a beautiful world,
We have so much to see -
So much of colour, so much of joy,
Of love, of ecstacy…
All day, we can bask in the golden sun’s warmth,
At night we can paint the stars,
We can let those melancholy melodies
Add magic to lonely hours.
We can splash around in the lovely rains,
Till monsoon bids adieu.
We can wake up with a smile, oh! Everyday,
And live our lives anew.
We can chuckle and laugh with closest friends,
Dancing around bon-fires,
Or lose our selves in the deepest love,
And drown in the sea of desire.
But then, we have to answer, with a smile,
And with verve when duty calls,
And then, we can stand up – tall and straight
When the world around us falls.
The pleasures offered by leisure are great,
But those of hard work are no less,
The rougher the roads, the tougher the climb,
The sweeter the taste of success.
People touch our lives
In many a different way…
Some of them come and go,
Some of them come - to stay.
Some of them just manage
To make you raise a brow,
A lucky few become
The one’s you’ll always adore.
Some of them will leave.
And they’ll haunt you no more.
The people who matter are those
Who stay even after they go.
You think of them time and again,
Of sweet memories, they become a part.
These people can’t go afar-
A part of them stays in your heart.
Life may take them through
Roads that are far away,
But then, they’ll be back,
And this time, they’ll come to stay.
So smile, laugh, and walk ahead,
Don’t look back and moan-
Walk with hope in your heart,
And you won’t be walking alone.
When duty calls…
Born into a beautiful world,
We have so much to see -
So much of colour, so much of joy,
Of love, of ecstacy…
All day, we can bask in the golden sun’s warmth,
At night we can paint the stars,
We can let those melancholy melodies
Add magic to lonely hours.
We can splash around in the lovely rains,
Till monsoon bids adieu.
We can wake up with a smile, oh! Everyday,
And live our lives anew.
We can chuckle and laugh with closest friends,
Dancing around bon-fires,
Or lose our selves in the deepest love,
And drown in the sea of desire.
But then, we have to answer, with a smile,
And with verve when duty calls,
And then, we can stand up – tall and straight
When the world around us falls.
The pleasures offered by leisure are great,
But those of hard work are no less,
The rougher the roads, the tougher the climb,
The sweeter the taste of success.
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