Expressions

Shadow

2012-02-02T21:52:00.000-08:00

"It" waddles across the room,
stumbles and fumbles for words
ordering, insulting, abusing Its authority
while the Shadow stands still
listens, does what It says,
muttering curses under its breath,
half hurt, half angry, ravenous for revenge
sun calms It down,
The Shadow is grateful in the day, counting its blessings,
Respect is respect not fear or submission
only moon awakens It, with spirits It rises,
stumbling, fumbling and waddling
foolishly blind to what It really is
Pitiful, Shadow thinks, Pitiful indeed!
Foolishly blind to what I am too.

*****

2011-06-16T04:21:00.000-07:00

What a strange reunion this is,
Seasons tumble over each other as she waits
Spells of wait is all it takes.

Sure, steady feet lead the way
Questioningly, into the mirror, she gazes
Scanning a tangle of nerves, tears and fears
In the mesh there’s happiness too, somewhere…

Which knot can she untie, to make lucid
Her thoughts, her feelings, her beliefs and values?
The door is half open, she explores
For once, she rushes to the door
Shuts it tied. Locked inside
She gathers pieces from around.
Some are missing, some she found.
Is she a one, a whole again.
Or did that stranger take some away?
The friends she had, her parents too
Some foes she collected walking through.

What has she to offer now.
Only present, not the past.
Tucking her dreams far away, carefully, that they don’t dispel
Covers the confused tangle, veiled beneath the unmarked
Now there’s a knock on that door,
Theres another, impatient this time. She implores for some more time
Silently, she prays, forgives, forgets and regrets.
Lightly she steps on the old floor, making her way to unlock the door
Hundred questions buzzing, a hundred dreams astar
A hundred No’s and a hundred Yeses
A hundred years more to live.

A Splinter on the Edge

2010-01-16T04:47:00.000-08:00

To others it seemed outrageously inane for a grown man to keep something so “positively girly” as Jem put it; a little heart shaped box made of china clay with a picture of a couple holding hands in pink ink.

Though not expensive now, that box carried some pretty expensive jewels. More expensive than the jewels themselves, were Sharad’s memories of them. He remembered a particular a pair of ruby earrings- red cubes, he called them. She had laughed her silver laugh when he announced that she was wearing “ruby cubes” one day when he returned from school. They had just learnt about cubes in geometry and he was showing off, because Aaji hadn’t been to an English school and he figured nobody in Marathi schools knew what cubes were.

It had been a keepsake that Maushi had got from her first job at The Afternoon, to Aaji too, that box seemed to be precious. “Be careful, Sharad, if you break it I will break your head”, she had warned him when he was trying to carry it only on his index finger. Sharad knew that Aaji could never hit him, she never had, though Ma and Maushi kept saying that she was quite capable of giving a good thrashing. She used to be quite strict, they complained, but Sharad had never seen that side of her.

It amazed him how a little thing like that could bring so many memories back, rich and vivid. Like that day when he and Baba were playing cricket with a broom and a rubber ball; Baba was bowling and Sharad deftly struck it right on the bedside table where Aaji kept her knickknacks, including the heart box. Some things tumbled into disarray and a pointy little thing pierced the box. A whole week, Aaji was cross with him, she didn’t even give him the usual peppermints, which would years later be permanently linked to his Aaji memories. The cover of the box was marred forever with a little splinter on the left edge.

There were smells too, distinct Aaji smells… like lemon sachets and peppermints. When he entered Aaji-Baba’s house, he stepped into the hall and breathed in; lemon sachets, his summer smells. Holidays for Sharad meant long stays at Aaji-Baba’s- long walks with Baba in the morning to the nearest National Dairy, another walk, later, with Aaji this time, to the fish market where he first learnt to bargain. There was never a dull moment at Aaji-Baba’s; they did everything they could to keep him content. He could live for days there without even talking to Ma and Papa on the phone. In the kitchen he helped Aaji with cleaning the fish. Afternoon naps were compulsory and at nights they watched video tapes that Maushi had bought like Blue Diamond or Glo Friends while eating Malai and Pista kulfi.

Now, sitting in his office, holding the box, all those things came back to him with some smiles and a solitary tear. Aaji, Baba, the house, had all ceased to exist years ago. He caressed the only remainder; a piece, seemingly meaningless… to Sharad, a proof of a part of his life, some people, a house that once existed with a splinter on its left edge…

Ladies' Night

2009-10-15T10:39:00.000-07:00

I walk in and about twenty faces beam at me… they’re busy doing their own thing, but they appreciate that I came. I smile back to each of them. Like one person we all stare back at ourselves, trying to locate spots to work on, with whatever weapons we have. If we need to share, we just have to ask, this is probably the only state in which we could share hairbrushes or glosses. Still, I try to make up with whatever I have in my little Gucci.
“Lovely bag! Gucci?!” someone asks.
“Yep! The perfect birthday present” I respond not really taking in the blond with a fun bob. What a friendly place!
The sound of the flush going makes me turn around. The scene I behold numbs me for a second. I am speechless. A child-woman- I say so because she looks like a child, say about fourteen-fifeen, but dressed like a very-how do I say- painted (?) woman; is standing on the commode and peeping into the other cubicle. Half a smile pasted on her face. Another of the same species is looking on from outside of the open cubicle, with curiosity. Like sizing the one standing on the commode, thought she was thinking what I was- of calling- umm i dunno- the asylum?? So I ask- “What’s happening here? What is she doing?”
Girl 2 turns around to face me- “My brother thinks, she is hot, do you?” The poor dear seriously seemed confused. So, I answer – “Umm… the one standing on the commode?! Yeah, sure… I mean, she is dressed to kill, right?”
“That’s what I thought, just her stupid, skimpy outfit...”
Hmm… friendly place, I wonder.
She tries to explain some more but the girl on the commode starts screaming, I rush into the cubicle, since no one was undressed I didn’t feel as awkward.
“What happened?” She must have understood what I ask but somehow only keeps pointing to the cubicle she was peeking into and then the floor. I trace the pointer- and there they are- a hand and a leg lying limp show up into the cubicle I stood in.
Maybe they belong to someone, I pence. As the girl confused by her brother’s choice of attraction yells “Oh my God, she passed out!!” major water works emerge as the girl on the commode, now climbs down and rushes to pacify her.
Maybe I should call someone… but I have to do what I came here for. I begin fishing in my loyal Gucci again- tada, my gloss finally decides to show up. I do the needful and pout. The girls with the passed-out friend clap, I look around and wave and kiss the air, and the girls cheer. I go out find the security guard- “Someone passed out inside a locked cubicle”
He is looks unperturbed and maybe a little bored- “Your friend?”
“No, her friends are in the washroom trying to coax her to get up”
Now he looks interested “Locked in the same cubicle?!”
“No!! They’re outside! Jeez!” and I walk away from where the muffled sound of Shakin’ Stevens was coming... and there it was my favorite place on a Thursday night! Thank you God, for Ladies' Nights!!!

Closed Doors

2009-10-11T03:15:00.000-07:00

How many times does it happen?
While walking through the corridors,
Our own winding lanes, or the trodden ways
A room rests somewhere,
Obvious, yet obscure.
No signs on the knobs to declare,
Yet the closed doors make it obvious,
Obvious, yet obscure.
They want to remain shut.
But do we want to go in?
Do we wait for them to decide,
To light up the within?
Or does the within light outside?
Which side do we stand on?
Outside the door?
Or the inside of the other side?
Nervously we reach out,
Then pull away with a shudder,
We don’t want to know.
We don’t want to know the obvious,
Obvious, yet obscure.

Thinking...

2009-06-23T12:21:00.000-07:00

A lone hour, a sole hour
Looking into the emptiness of the Creation,
Is it there, is it really there
Or is it just an illusion, all this?
Waking thoughts and silent dreams
Ambitions and destinations,
Like fork in the road,
Run parallel, never meeting;
Do they every converge?
When The Calling calls, the clock opposes
-biological, logical, all explanations.
Do we ever answer?
Is it an illusion, all this?
Some fascinated ideals established,
Always elusive?
Questions and more questions,
Time answers some, others pile on.
Yet we live, we move on,
Or do we really?
Is it an illusion, all this?

To BT

2008-12-23T22:13:00.000-08:00

If life is a journey,
I want you to be my companion.
If life is a game,
I want you to be my team.
If it is a lesson,
I want you to be my ink, my partner, my teacher.
If life goes on,
I want you to stand by.
If there's another life,
I want you to return with me...

Seventeen Missed Calls

2008-12-23T06:03:00.000-08:00

The house of full of smells; of pickles, saffron, spicy curries, fresh marigolds, henna, raw turmeric… Everyone is dressed well and bustling about, busy with their own things, Everyone is in a hurry. The only person who isn’t dressed well, or bustling, or busy or in a hurry or even interested is supposedly the most important person of the event.
She cannot move, there she is, sitting near the window, an orange-ish lazy afternoon highlights the browns of her hair. The mehendi-wali keeps doing her job, carefully creating intriguing and delicate designs on her unassuming hand, the other one rests at the window sill as if heavy with the dark brown intricate, pretty snakes which are now dry. She keeps staring outside the window without registering, when a sparrow flies out of nowhere on a branch, holding a twig.
Every now and then her mom or one of her aunts keep coming to her and asking her if she needed anything. She denies all the time. They keep kissing her cheek; and when that happens she shuts her eyes tight and an eyebrow goes up. But when she faces them, she smiles and turns her face towards the window again. The sparrow has gathered enough twigs and kindling, yet she keeps at it. Flying away again after arranging the newest twig on the clump, only to return with a blade of dry grass or weed.
There is a plate full of delicious sweets, munches and glass of lemonade besides her. To her right is her cell phone, it says “17 Missed Calls”. She knows who they are from. The screen comes to life every now and then flashing only one name. Its weird, she thinks, the name which never failed to bring a smile to her face only drops a small lump in her stomach and engulfs her beating heart into oblivion. Only the number of Missed Calls keeps increasing. Her eyes start itching, “Not again”, she moans softly to herself. Then, without wasting another thought to that, she tries making amends in the mehendi being applied, changing a leaf or curving a flower petal.
After sometime, the sparrow stops flying out of the clump that is now a nest. The sun is about to set, a pink gold hue sprays the sky and reflects on the tree tops. Only for a moment, nature flashes an exotic scene of beauty and completeness. And, then, without another warning, disappears behind a navy sky… then rapidly, shades keep darkening, and as if someone has spilled ink, it’s inky black. For a few seconds, there is nothing- only loss and regret. As if someone is pulling a string of her heart out, she feels a numb pain in her bosom. Just as her eyes start itching again, stars peep out and twinkle a brilliant pallet of red, silver, blue. Her eyes moisten, a quiescent silver but there is a smile on her lips, her eyes smile too.
The door bell rings, there are loud heys, hellos and hugs. There is a loud chatter and a girl of her own age appears in front of her. Both smile at each other. They hug and have tears in their eyes. Just as she is letting go, her best friend whispers into her ear, “It’s a right decision. You will move on”. And she knows, she will.

At Every Step

2008-12-23T05:23:00.000-08:00

At every step there is a turn,
Every road has a bend.
Every shrub has a different root,
Every leaf is a different green.
With every night a different moon
Shines against the inky sky,
Each morning brings a different sun
Spraying different reds and golds.
Each season has its own song,
Sometimes chilly, sometimes warm.
Everyday a different hue,
Paints the canvas of life.
Everyday I mould myself,
Discovering, learning, remoulding,
For better or for worse I still tread along,
Changing, at every turn and every bend.

Blasted Normalcy

2008-09-13T21:17:00.000-07:00

After a long day at college, I came home thinking of all the assignments I have pending and how much I have to do when I saw the computer. Its times like these I wish I didn’t have a P.C… like hypnotized I went to it and sat myself facing it, switched it on. It had been ages I hadn’t logged into my Yahoo messenger. I did just that, not even a second later a friend who was already online pinged me, and we were chatting away to glory when he mentioned something gave me the “greatest news of the day”- Delhi Blast.
“God! They have been showing that since centuries now… the news channels… don’t they get bored?”
“What’s the news they’re ranting about now… aliens kidnapping cattle, again?” I asked.
“No… haven’t you heard, blasts in Delhi… 20 dead… atleast they say its 20!”
I was horrified! I received the Abhi-Ash wedding news in a much serious way!! The next day it was of course, all over the papers: Blasts in Jaipur, Hyderabad, Ahemdabad, Surat and Delhi. What shocked me more than the news of the blast is the way in which it is told! It’s almost like a routine, bomb blasts in India are. We are so accustomed to hearing things like that, its NORMAL talk when we’re talking about it. That is what bothers me no end! How can we get used to things like that? Adaptability is one thing and downright shameless apathy is another… and I am not sure where our reactions lie between the two.
Its not just bomb blasts… floods, starvation, train accidents, corruption- NOT NORMAL! I think it’s because of the attitude like this that it’s as if nothing is being done. There were articles written all over about The Survival Spirit of Mumbaikars: right after the blasts, people resumed their lives; work, schools, colleges went on like before. It was not much the survival spirits than the hungry stomachs that had to be fed that made us resume our “normal” lives. We need to rethink what is normal… maybe knowing what normal is will help us be aware of our subnormal existence! To change the behaviours, attitudes and thoughts need to be changed… that is entirely in our hands. If we want a change, it should start with ourselves.

2008-05-03T19:16:00.000-07:00

I never thought I’d be one of those Desperate Housewives who nag at their husbands without a reason. It was the third month I was at home after Niksy’s birth. It was our decision that we’d keep the baby happy without any compromises, which meant I do all the compromises. I quit my job, which I more often than not loved, by the way. The only places I had been to after the hospital were- the kitchen, the bathroom and the two bedrooms of our apartment. Motherhood was tiring and sometimes frustrating.

Niksy was paid attention to and showered with baby talk and talcum powder but her mother went ignored and without a darb of kajal or gloss or anything to do with beautification. It was obvious I wasn’t used to it, more obvious that I didn’t plan on to make a habit of it. Ashok had taken a week off before the delivery everyone went ga-ga over him being so sweet and thoughtful. But only I had to go through 20 hours of labour pain and hair loss that followed it.

Unwittingly, I frequented into long stupors broken only by Niku’s cries of hunger- for food, love, play... She was so lucky, I thought, she would wail away to glory without even a drop of tear in her eyes and the whole house came to see what she needed, at any given point in the day or night! I wasn’t jealous of Niku… I was, well, tired… In my defense, I was cranky, sore and fat and my hormones were hell bent on practicing a weird kind of ballet all the time! Whenever I spoke to Ashok about it, which was almost always at night on the bed with his laptop on and the clicking sounds which made me wince and eventually cry softly so that he wouldn’t hear. It was all terribly pathetic!

That was the end of my sob story I promised myself as I dropped Niku off at my mother’s place. I changed into an extremely pretty off-shoulder kurti that I had for years, it was the only thing that saved me from looking fat. I wore some lipstick, some eye liner and a soft eye shade, too dressy to go to the mall, but hey, try having 20 hours of labour and a husband who never bothers to look at you after that! I was about to check if retail therapy really helps, I am not proud of it, but that’s what happened.

So, I enter the mall, looking all high maintenance and chic for the first time in a year!! I went straight to the biggest store with the most expensive clothes, one of the places about which I always promised myself to check one-day which surprisingly never came. I picked up their designer basket and was going through their Autumn collection when I heard someone call my name softly right behind me. As I turned I came face to face with one of my worse nightmares- Rajiv! He was standing right there smiling at me, crows feet forming at the corner of his eyes but still extremely handsome. I opened my mouth to say something but there wasn’t any sound coming from there.

As if watching a bioscope, I went through all those moments with him standing there in that big store at the mall closest to my house- the day we first met, his poems, his letters all those beautiful words that formed ever so beautifully at his mouth… all those promises, his stars and the moons. It was infact the picture of his last letter that snapped me out of the bioscope… I don’t remember all of it, but some words still cling on to my brain and though they are meaningless now, they sometimes pain.

Sorry, leaving you, forgive me, forget the promises, you should have the stars and the moon at your feet, I’m not worthy of you, going without saying a Good Bye because I don’t think I can make it with your blackberry eyes brimming with questions boring into me.

I found myself at a coffee place inside the mall. Rajiv was talking about his new book, still in the manuscript stage. How passionate he was about his writing! He hadn’t changed apart from the branded clothes that he now wore, he still looked like a wandering nomad with a caravan of only dreams and words, those are his words of course, don’t expect me to be half as lyrical as he was! Without realizing I blurted out, “I have a daughter!” sounding like those 4 year olds that fight over who has a better toy. I tried damage control in a softer tone, “We named her Niharika and she is indeed a bundle of joy!”.

“That’s such wonderful news! I always knew you’d be a great mother… Niharika is lucky indeed.”

“Thank you! It means a lot to me, especially when it’s you from whom it’s coming”, he looked a little embarrassed after the first seconds of satisfaction, I aimed for damage control again, “What’s happening with you on personal front?”, trying hard to sound like an interested friend.

“You know the loner me… still searching! There was only once that I felt that it is the thing but I blew it up. But it was a long time ago.”, I felt the water drain in me. “You look stunning, as ever!”, he added in the most delicious tone ever.
I looked away and tried to sound nonchalant, “Really? Ashok tells me I have put on weight; I am trying to get back in shape. You know how it is, motherhood, gets you!”

“No, not you, I remember how much you wanted to have children!”

It was years and years ago, that we had talked about having our first child. He had promised that he’d be there inside the labour room holding my hand. He had also promised he would understand the mood swings and morning sickness and still love me. He promised to write poems for me even if my feet were swollen. He had promised he’d send roses from his office even when my belly was the size of a large pumpkin. I knew he would have done all of it. I believed all of it… the holding hands in the delivery room, sending roses, the poems… all of it! Apart from all the other differences, this was the biggest in Ashok and Rajiv. Rajiv promised things that are fit in a fairy tale and Ashok never promised anything!

That’s what it was- Rajiv’s promises never realized and Ashok did things without promising them. This wasn’t a fairy tale that seventeen year old lives in… this was the real world where real things mattered and the present is more important than the past! And if I could turn back time, I would want to like my engineer husband says, shift+delete all those moments with Rajiv because they weren’t meant to happen.

Why was I letting this man bother me, who really meant nothing to me!! I interrupted his speech on how wonderful motherhood had made me (I laughed inwardly when I thought of all those times when I was so jealous of my baby!) and told him, “Rajiv, it was such a pleasure meeting you again but I am so sorry! I promised to pick Niksy up in time and I really don’t feel like breaking that one. Have a great life ahead! Do come over sometime.”

While at Mom’s I hugged and kissed Niku so much she got irritated and started crying. I cleaned the house and made Ashok’s favorite dinner. I put Niku to sleep and had a shower, wore his favorite dress and some makeup. When Ashok came home, he was all impressed and pleased. In bed, the laptop went on again thankfully Niksy started yelling her lungs out at the very moment. While cajoling her to stop I pushed the envelope a little further.

“Ashok, I met Rajiv today at the mall. He has become a writer, you rem— “

“Rajiv? What?”, he sounded so bewildered I turned around to see the look on his face. The laptop lay abandoned aside, that, right then was the most triumphant moment in my entire life. I must have grinned too much which made Ashok take on a more subtle tone, “You mean that Rajiv? What did he say?”

“He told me I looked stunning as ever and that motherhood brought a new colour to my personality… but I couldn’t talk to him too much, because I had to pick Niksy up. I have invited him over too. It’s been a long time, no?”

“Invite? Really? Umm… why? I mean, we… I don’t know him that well. He wasn’t even in the gang, you know…”, Ashok sounded so dumb when he made excuses! I went up to him and kissed him for a long time. It had the desired effect, the stuttering and stammering stopped and the laptop was switched off.

Ashok had to leave for Delhi the very next morning. In the afternoon somebody was at the door. I opened the door and there it was- a cutely decorated wicker basket with fresh lilies, my favorite and strawberries! Where the hell he got strawberries in that season, I wondered. I didn’t even have to read the little letter in it to know who it was from. Told you, Ashok did things without promising them!

2008-04-02T10:25:00.000-07:00

“I am not going, that’s final! She has ruined my life, Ma! Everyone is going to laugh at me and mock me wherever I go… you have to change my school if you want me to complete my education.” Her nostrils never flared before, this was really some big trouble, O Boy! Tara thought.

“You cannot not go and we’re not moving you to any other school. Now, you have some problems with your friend sort them out… talk to her and return to normalcy, please! I know it is very frustrating and seems like there can be nothing worse but believe me, things can get worse, and right now you’re in paradise compared to what could have happened. You’re not a child anymore Jo, four years and you will be in a college, are you going to run away like that when the stakes are high then too?”,

It was all funny but Tara knew how important all this seemed at Jo’s age. “Now, shona, go and wear that uniform of yours and move, if you miss the bus, you’ll have to walk all the way.”

“Oh! How can you be so insensitive! I don’t want to wear that uniform, never! The dull grey colour reminds me of how ruined my life is now… what is Rajiv going to think about me?”

Tara was quick to react, “Who is Rajiv?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Nobody! I’d better get dressed if I don’t want to walk all the way to that darned school…”

Tara could have laughed out loud, but she knew it would only beckon her little drama queen at her best again. How cute all this was… did she herself have so much trouble back then, she thought, not really! She had still kept her last school uniform neatly at the back of the cupboard; she decided she’d check on it after the drama queen leaves the building.

She was still thinking about her own school days when it was late afternoon. Jo had her Annual Day practice so she was going to be late. Tara took a break from her never-ending chores and opened her cupboard… she neatly got all the clothes out of the shelf-

There it was… her last uniform. How she hated it when she had to wear it! Now she could only wish to fit into it. She had cried at her Farewell in school, many did. Behind where the uniform hung, was a wooden box, she reached for it. There were old photographs neatly stacked-

Her class in VII Standard… she was right in the middle row grinning-

“Don’t make me laugh, Ritu! I will kill you if you spoil this pic-“, Tara muttered under her breath.

“What am I doing?! Gosh! Look at Priya, does she think the photographer is going to ask her for a professional photo shoot!”

“Shut up! Oh My! Look at Sayli I can count all those thirty two yellow ones! Doesn’t she ever brush?”, it took all her might to not burst out laughing there. She was so jealous of Ritu, how in the world did she manage to keep from laughing… she could actually giggle all that she wanted right under the teachers’ nose without anyone coming to know about what she was upto. But Tara, whenever there was a joke was ever a secret joke between them, heaven help, she would always get into trouble with the teacher in the class at that time. She had made some commendable enemies in the staff room in the past three years.

Somehow both of them had managed to keep their laughter in check, yet, both of them had the biggest grins. They were inseparable… well, for a long time, they were. It’s weird how things that seemed so important once are only vain and silly later, she thought. They had pledged to be friends forever.

The next picture was that of a stage where some kids around fourteen or fifteen in Elizabethan costumes with painted faces stood in elaborate poses. It was a play that both had worked in, “Lady Windermere’s Fan”. She was Lady Windermere and Ritu, Mrs. Erlene. It was during this time that things went terribly wrong. Ritu liked the boy playing Lord Windermere.

“You are such a lucky B-I-T-C-H! I wanted to be Lady Wind-in-hair!”, sighed Ritu,

“Ritu! Spelling the word out doesn’t make it less sinful. You might as well use the word! And it’s Windermere… honestly, why do you even like him. He’s such a geek and he can’t even speak properly. You know, the other day, he couldn’t even pronounce ‘lovely’!”

“Oh please! He is one of the brightest students in his batch… and he is so cute!! He looks like Clint East-"

“DON’T even say it… he doesn’t!”, Tara asserted with such disgust she might as well have gotten herself purified in the Ganges.

It was one of their last conversations. The day they had to perform the play, Tara unwittingly told Roy about how Tara had a huge crush on her… all that was kind of hazy in her head now. She’d rather forget about it, she regretted telling him that. She didn’t even remember why she did it now. But she remembered clearly how Ritu started ignoring her and never spoke to her again. They did have a show down once, at the camp that year. It was all so painful that Tara didn’t think she could ever forgive Ritu for calling her such names with so many people around watching!

A smile crept on Tara’s lips now, sitting cross legged on the floor with her school uniform on her lap and old photographs in her hands. With eyes shining she tucked away all the photographs back into the box and the uniform at the back of the cupboard. She went to the kitchen for some hot lemon tea.

They ended up in the same college with different groups of friends. They were enemies now, ofcourse. The cold-war eventually spread throughout the two groups. Ritu’s was the chic chicks and Tara’s the Boho ones and then there were snide remarks, comments and gossips flying in all directions. Things change!

She was flicking the channels without the slightest interest. She was feeling restless, she hadn’t felt like that since high school. It was all so silly to think of all this now. Where was Ritu now? She had changed her college in after the junior years. Last heard she was working at a well known magazine. She’d knew Ritu would make it well in media, she was the creative one. They always went with her ideas when they got into trouble. The thought made Tara giggle and then she sighed. What wouldn’t she give to know what would have happened if things were still good between them. Would they still be friends? Both of them were so fond of babies, Tara knew she would love to spend time with Jo. She would have liked and approved of Ajay for a husband. God! They used to tell each other about everything, didn’t they?

-Sigh- This has to stop! She was thirty four! Hardly the age to sigh like a teenager… Gosh! She now knew where Jo got her drama queen talents from. That’s that! She opened the telephone directory and searched for Daljeet Saran, Ritu’s father.

“Hello? Uncle, I am Tara, Ritu’s friend… is she around?”, this was the craziest thing Tara had asked since the time when she had asked the doctor at the maternity hospital if there was any way he could suck the baby through a hose to stop the pain. Well, at least then she was half demented due to the pain!

“No beta, she is married now, don’t you know? It has been six years now!”, Tara now knew why Ritu made so many jokes on Punjabi accents.

“Oh! I didn’t know, we kind of fell out of touch. Uncle, can you give me her contact number?”

“Sure take it down…”

About half an hour later, Tara picked up the receiver and punched the number. She waited with bated breath till someone picked up the phone… no one did. She sighed for like the thirtieth time since morning and returned the phone to its cradle.

At around four, Jo came in hopping.

“You know what! Forget whatever I said in the morning… I love this school and I love you!”, she hadn’t bear hugged her mother in months now. “I love you too, sweetie! Now, go and freshen up, I’ll get you something to dig in!”, Tara drifted to the kitchen, at least someone was happy.

“Ma!! There’s a call for you…”, Jo yelled out. She had to get her ears checked, Tara thought to herself as she picked up the receiver.

“I am sorry I called you a mean, back-stabbing bitch! I really didn’t mean it… but I was ang-“

“RITU! How are you? And I am sorry I told Roy what’s-his-name that you had a crush on him… I don’t even remember why I told him that!”

“I am great!! And, we’ve been jerks… how are you? Are you married? What happened with that geek you went out with in the college?”

“Oh! Long story… I am married and I have a daughter, Jyoti, she is in the sixth now… gosh! It’s been years! I was just going through my old snaps-“

“Oh! You have them! I think I kind of misplaced mine!! I am so glad you still have them. Jyoti… that’s a lovely name, Tara.”, her voice cracked a bit.

“I am sorry I used that one… I knew you wanted to keep your daughter’s name Jyoti too!”

“No, that’s alright… I have a three year old son, Kaeyur… It was Rishi’s choice ofcourse…”

“Oh my God!! Rishi! That’s him! Rishi Roy! You’re married to Rishi Roy! I cant believe it!”, it was weird laughing and crying at the same time but she loved every minute of it.

“Long story...Tara, can we meet please? There is so much to tell… so much catching up to do!”

"Of course! Five? The Café near Lokhandwala?”

"Yep! On my way... can't wait!"

All Over Again

2008-03-01T10:22:00.000-08:00

It got better with time. I still thought of how some months back, I could wake up to the smell of brewing coffee. I was horrible at making tea. He preferred making it himself, at the same time, he made me my first coffee of the day. A phone call from the hospital one rainy night stopped it all. I now made my own coffee. No one needed tea at home now.

The first few days were worse I would sleep for almost ten hours yet hardly could walk out of the bedroom. I could hardly breathe when his clothes would come for washing sometimes or when they aired ‘Friends’… how he used to hate it when Kay watched the sitcom! She wasn’t a child anymore, almost 16! How they fought! He deserved it all, I used to say; she gets it all from him, the bullheadedness and all those crazy arguments!

I knew Kay was in an equally bad condition. She had always been his Princess… I used to be that till he couldn’t stop mooning over the violently pink creature in his hands. It was the day she arrived. He had found ‘perfect-for-a-princess-name’ for her- ‘Keya’. He was so utterly irresistible and so cute, talking to his new Princess. He used to brag about how smart she was and how she looked exactly like him!

All those images kept on playing inside my head only to laugh uncontrollably before helplessly bursting into pathetic tears. I would wake up in the middle of the night when sometimes, I could smell him on the pillow beside me… rush to the toilet to get sick. Come back to the bed and stare into nothingness thinking of how he slept through all my morning sicknesses... was he watching at least now? Hope once again that it wasn’t painful for him in those last few minutes. They ‘assured’ me at the hospital that he didn’t suffer much.

I was so caught up with my own grief; I couldn’t look after my baby. But she was such a rock, a toughie! I wished I had her strength. Silence crept over the house which was filled with shouts, laughter, brawls, cheers and all kinds of noises. No discussions happened at the breakfast table now. No one fought over the remote. I drove Kay to the school in silence every morning. Everything seemed to move in a slow motion. As if, it was all a long miserable dream sequence in a movie.

Three months passed away like that… seemed to take forever! The only time I could smile was when I though of him. He was still alive in my head. I kept his closet door open, wasn’t sure why! I brewed tea alongside my coffee, even though no one needed tea at home now. I still called up on his cellphone thrice a day (almost a tradition, I gave him three missed calls everyday, at least because he HATED it). I kept doing all the things I did for him everyday, to keep him alive, at least in my head. It was all so pathetic! Thankfully Kay had no clue about all this. Wasn’t sure how she’d react if she ever found out. I hoped she wasn’t doing the things I was doing… that would be so regressing!

I had taken a half day (again) from work. I had read in the paper in ‘Movies Today’ section that ‘Die Hard’ (his favourite movie) was going to be aired at 5 pm. I couldn’t understand what possibly would make me want to watch that movie that very day! Or maybe I did, nothing quite made sense. I felt like I was living through my adolescence all over again. When I got home, I found Kay sitting at the table, sobbing! Something happened inside me that very instant- I walked to the table and sat on the chair beside hers. She looked into my face, tears shining in her eyes. I put my head on her shoulder. For a long time, none of us talked (which was quite usual these days). Finally, she calmed down and said- “I am going to fail, Ma!”

“That’s alright, sweetie! I think I failed too. But you know what- now we’re going to try and get to the top of all this, ok?”

“He will hate me for this, wont he?”

I felt my nose and throat choke, “Baby! You know he could never hate us! He would want us to learn from our mistakes. Remember the time when he was teaching you to ride that ridiculous pink cycle you made him buy (I could see a little smile on her pink face now); he told you never to get tired to falling off the cycle, because, the more you fall the better you get, he said, remember?” She nodded a bit and mumbled, “I am not sure if that works…”

“Sweetie, I wasn’t sure either! But something happened to me just now, and I know he is right. We’ll get better. I promise!”

“I really want to make this work, Ma! I don’t want you to be alone in this.”

Oh! I could feel the heat off my face! How selfish I had been! “Yes, baby! I want it to work too. I wasn’t sure how to handle it though. We have each other, right”

“Forever!”

“Promise”

She turned to me and hugged me tight! It was like- coming home to my family after a long time in the cold.

That night, Kay came to sleep beside me in the bed. ‘Love Nest’, he used called it! I used to hold my child tightly, she was all I had; the only proof that I once lived the perfect life that people only dream of. She had her daddy’s curly black hair. Thank God, she had his nose, I smiled to myself. As I watched her breathing peacefully in a deep slumber, I felt I had a purpose now- that finally I would be able to get out of bed feeling- ‘capable’.

We are a family and we’re in this together. We are going to get through. I kissed her and slept a sleep- deep and complete.

***

A year and a half rolled away, not exactly smooth as butter, but better. I missed him, terribly. But I wouldn’t want to not-miss him because missing him was a part of loving him. I have always been and will always be in love with him. Yesterday, I was cleaning his closet and found a photo-frame. It was a very pregnant girl on the phone, smiling widely. I see happiness shining in her eyes! The simplicity of that picture blew me away! It was me! I felt that I looked like the most beautiful woman living her most beautiful moment… when I turned the frame over- my heart skipped a few beats- it was his lazy scrawl saying -“You will always be my Princess”. I felt a lump growing in my throat. Even after all these years, he had managed to make me fall in love with him all over again!

When I showed Kay the frame, she was quite miffed initially, and then very peevishly said, “There are two people in that picture!”. I was blown away by her logic. It was her daddy talking in her… I laughed lustily and hugged her - “You’re right! It’s a tie then?”

Before It's Time

2008-02-26T07:00:00.000-08:00

It was by chance indeed

That it came there

A tiny seed full of hopes

And dreams and promises

to come out alive someday

To burgeon and thrive with the greenest green

To blossom in all its glory

Waiting for the spring to come

Only if the rains had showered

Only if promises were kept...

But then,

Winter arrived.

Other Woman

2008-02-26T06:45:00.000-08:00

She doesn’t have his name,

Doesn’t need it

And doesn’t know if she loves him

Or hates him for this

She has things, possessions

Expensive and exquisite

Better than what his ‘better half’ has

He doesn’t posses her

He knows it too

It was always her way or the highway

He prefers it her way

Always in the dark

She speaks from the shadows

(When she does speak at all)

No one knocks on her door

No one calls in for a visit

There wouldn’t be any kitty parties for her

No homework to be helped with

And doesn’t know if she loves him

Or hates him for this

He goes to his ‘home’ almost every night

But makes sure she is kept well

She is… she is

And doesn’t know if she loves him

Or hates him for this.

Eve

2008-01-18T20:50:00.000-08:00

She nourishes, she heals
A nurse, a doctor
She is both and still so much more
A teacher and the pupil,
The learner and the learned
She's a princess, a hermit
And all thats in between
The Virgin, The Martyr,
The Saint and the Witch...
A dreamer, a realist
The wanderer and the woods
She's a woman, a girl
A mother, a child...
The healer and the wounded
The soldier, the sacrifice
A pen, a story... a mystery indeed...

So much for Salsa!!!

2008-01-04T22:10:00.000-08:00

I had to admit, how much ever I said that it didn’t bother me that Raj was all over me… it did; it so did! I never really felt any romantic feelings towards him, but since I knew how he felt about me, he was my ultimate back-up plan. God! I could curse myself for being such a bitch! I deserved where I was, all my best friends either getting engaged or on the family way… and me, as hopelessly single as Edith, the woman who played her worn down guitar for some change. No, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t that big a bitch to be actually jealous of them…I was happy for all of them, very happy, just sad for myself… actually, mini-depressed for myself. I had always had the most entertaining love-lifes in the history of love lifes! Not in the sense that would make girls go ‘Awww!’; but in the sense that would make anyone go, ‘Whoaa! Where did that come from?!’.To put it simply, I am not a nymphomaniac and what’s more, I am terrible at commitments; which to urban understanding is- I was bound to be single for a long long time!
My idea of fighting depression was walks, long walks in places I have never seen. I wandered aimlessly for hours. My favorite haunt was this little place near the beach. It was a bunch of hutments near the beach, the roofs were red and blue fishing nets hung on the door. The doors were almost always open. There were crude wooden racks in the front yard, obviously improvised, where fish were hung to dry. Right below the rack on a white sheet prawns were set to dry which would then be salted and pickled or stored at home for special recipes. These people had a life of their own! Even the air smelled different, that may have to do with the freshly caught fish… but yet it was peaceful being so close to the city which never sleeps, this place almost always day-dreamed and napped. Often I got lost walking through the little by lanes and had to ask the locals directions to civilization.
It was a Tuesday, as boring as Tuesdays could get… and I decided to walk to the beach and then to my discovered place (I visit this place often but I didn’t yet know its name). As usual I set out to wander around without purpose, when I noticed a little lane which I had never noticed before and took of that way. There were fewer houses here. I could see a lot of buildings at a distance but nowhere near. There were sparse houses and another lane which was cobbled and cute, but visibly artificial and new. I was curious and took off along this cute roadette, (it was small, I am used to make words of my own). It ended at a gate which stood in front of a cute duplex, red-roofed house. It was painted white and was the cutest house I had ever seen! But I knew somehow it wasn’t a house. The door wasn’t locked, either ways I didn’t knock.
As I opened the door, the sound of the Spanish guitar filled my ears… it was that song from Dirty Dancing 2 ‘Guijira’. I hated the movie but the songs would make me sway my hips in a way that would scandalize my mother. The music came from this huge room whose enterance I could see, slowly I made my way to the door. I could here people laughing and someone shouting “5, 6… 5, 6,7”. There were colorful skirts flying gracefully in one direction. There were couples, girls in skirts and stilettos and guys in shirts and flat shoes. It was some kind of ballroom dance which whenever shown on T.V would become a part of your ‘Things To Do Before 30’ list (I had one). I was mentally highlighting the part in my list about the dance I was going to learn before I am 30 when the person who was giving instructions loudly to all the dancers stopped yelling and looked in my direction. He was tall and well-built, with a Puerto Rican tan and had sea-green eyes!! His shirt was unbuttoned up till his first set of abs (yes he had a 6 pack!). I almost lost my breath when he smiled and waved at me to join them! I stepped unsurely towards the dance floor when he took my hand and yelled, “5,6…5,6,7, back basic… crossbody...” and some other words which I wasn’t sure of because he was dancing with me! When I didn’t even know what dance it was! Yet, I tried to follow his lead; since he made distinct hand movements and gave me slight pushes for me to know where my hand should be and where I should go!
It was the best dance I had ever danced!! Well, atleast I wasn’t mini-depressed now… I had found a new stress buster. Now, I mentally ‘checked’ my ‘Things To Do Before 30’ list, I would be learning this dance well before the big 3-O strikes… my saviour was Salsa and ofcourse, Juan!! Wish me luck!! ;)

Growin' Up

2007-11-08T05:25:00.000-08:00

What is growing up?
They say, when you grow up,
You know what the right thing to do is
Who knows what’s right anyways?
There isn’t any rule book that I know of…
Yes, there’s the Bible, the Koran, the Geeta and all of those sorts
But which one to believe in?
They claim that they say different things altogether
Though I see no difference,
They sure don’t agree...

What is growing up?
Becoming hairer and bleeding four days a month
Or being capable of reproducing?
That makes people with a 100 children real grown-ups!
They would know what is the rightest of all things to do
Whether it’s blowing up towers or bombing the cities…

If not, what is growing up then?
Knowing what to say when?
Knowing when to stop playing?
To quit exclaiming loudly when you see a rainbow?
Or is it when you stop believing in fairy-tales?
Is it when you stop crying in company of others
Even if you want to do it the most?
Or to laugh when you don’t really want to?
And say things you don’t really mean to?

Wow! I can’t wait to be a groan up!

Kind of an Ode to Monotony

2007-11-08T03:31:00.000-08:00

Monotony, my enemy
Ruins life
It cuts the living soul with a cold-blooded knife

When things don’t change for good or bad
The world becomes boring and sad
Cant stand when life goes just the same
Don’t like it when the world isn’t a bit strange

Life’s a broth which needs spices, salt and a wee bit o’ tang
Without these the feast is indeed quite bland

Life needs ‘em all; whiskey, rum and gin
Add in also, vodka, tequila and a beer tin
Imagine what it would be to drink only water!?!
The world will go mad if it didn’t get a quarter

Just like plain bread n’ butter ain’t no good enough
We need Italian, Chinese and Mexican food stuff

Can’t go on with just black and white
We sure as hell need other hues
The reds, the violets, greens, yellows and blues!

The difference makes a difference all the time
Life needs a kick of cloves and a dash of lime

Why should there be only one husband or one wife?
When variety, my dear, is the spice of life!

Narcissus... ashes of roses

2007-11-08T00:57:00.000-08:00

Flashback, breathtaking-ly handsome young man named Narcissus enters the woods of a beautiful nymph called Echo. Yes, that’s right, Echo can only repeat what people say, she doesn’t have a voice of her own yet has the last word. She chases him throughout the dark woods without managing to woo this divine youth, who most certainly has left a long trail of broken hearts, men and women alike! However, Echo is bursting to say things that would melt his heart and make him hers forever… the poor dear cannot do anything about it. So, she is crying her eyes out behind a large tree by the lake when who should bend over and bring his heavenly face to the waters, but Narcissus himself. When he sees his reflection in the water, apparently for the first time (uh huh!), he is so mesmerized with his own beauty that he says, “I love you!” Now was the only chance Echo had and she said “I love you!” with all her heart.
But Narcissus who wouldn’t even look at anyone but the young man staring back at him with thick curly locks, deep blue eyes and a handsome physique, asked her to get lost. Apparently, Narcissus kept beckoning his beloved to him, who obviously wouldn’t budge. When he would put his hand into the water to touch this young man, the reflection would get disturbed which would break Narcissus’ heart! So, poor Narcissus quit food and drink and withered away in self love, yup, he died! However when Echo came in to fetch her beloved’s remains, where he lay by the lake, was no body to be found… instead there were a bunch of the prettiest flowers she had seen. Well… at least, all this tragedy had a good outcome in form of the flowers which are still called narcissus.
That was Narcissus, probably the pioneer of the cult we call 'metrosexuals'; but what about the young men who pretty much follow his footsteps? Most of the guys I know are quite taken with themselves and spend hours in the bathroom and in front of the mirror! Their hair are longer and better maintained than the girls (ouch!). Straight or gay, the men have taken over our stereotypically inherited domain of beauty. It’s no longer, gyms for men and salons for women… well equality among the sexes is one thing; and well, narcissism is another! Poor Echo and her feelings still remain quite neglected. I do feel sorry for Narcissus and all, but I can’t help thinking that he was such a jerk! And I am no Echo to be with a man like him… I’d much rather just move on!

Besides, which girl'd want a man who is prettier than her and gets manicures more times a month than she does! So guys, if you think the chicas will like you any better if u hit up the salons... you're wrong, cause we would rather have a badly dressed rugged looking hunk than a pretty guy dressed and looking better than us. It isnt for nothing that John Ab, cut off his locks and is hotter than ever! O and, keep that stubble, it suits you and works wonders! ;)

Dusk

2007-11-06T01:00:00.001-08:00

Isn’t night yet
Nor is it day,
But the sky shines bright
With a kiss of night’s ardor
A touch of ecstasy
Of deep crimson passion
To the wide blue of the innocent sky
The birds fly homewards at the brilliant sundown
Stars peep in to announce
The arrival of the moon maiden
She isn’t her diamond self,
But a pale dove with a promise
At dusk… it isn’t night yet,
Nor is it day,
Beginning of the end or the end of a beginning?

Twenty on 20!

2007-11-06T00:55:00.000-08:00

It was the dream final that left cricket enthusiasts pinching themselves to snap back to reality. Pakistan was 152 down for 9 wickets, 6 runs to go for 4 balls… a target quite achievable. What a nail biter! People were jumping around muttering curses, mantras, prayers, resolutions anything that could make them win.
After ages, the family came together to watch the titans battle it out… no one ate but there was enough food around. The chilled beers started losing out on the fizz, but nobody seemed to bother. Grandma and Grandpa had their malas in their hands… Mum left the kitchen unattended for the first time in years, Dad came home early. The phones were switched off, the teen queen wasn’t watching ‘Friends’ today, the rocker was home before time! It was drama at its best! Even SRK couldn’t resist flying all the way to the stadium.
It seemed everyone had lost interest in cricket after the whole ‘match fixing’ drama happened. Cricket had become too predictable until Zimbabwe, India and Pakistan beat the then World Champions one after the other. Twenty20 was a real hero for cricket in India; people loved the short matches, new players and of course, the cheer leaders! Young talent from all the teams got the perfect podium in South Africa, they won many hearts too. The finale was to die for, what better entertainment than India v/s Pakistan!!! Both teams as usual gave eachother a tough fight throughout the match, now however it was the final judgement, the last over. Anything could happen.
Joginder Sharma bowled and Misbah aimed for the obvious full toss, the ball went straight up in the air looked like he had it! But Sreesanth caught it… it was the catch that would be remembered forever. India did win the T20 WC but Cricket emerged as the ultimate winner, winning fans all over the globe it became yet again… a passion, a religion.

damn those columnists!

2007-11-06T00:52:00.000-08:00

A huge number of articles were printed following the recent rape and murder of another BPO worker in Pune. One of the leading newspapers in India boasted of another such article which I came across, which blamed victim for her own condition! This columnist claimed that ‘these young girls throw caution to the winds’. His case, she agreed to get into the bus without her male coworkers, her big mistake, to be remunerated for with her life. The driver of course, isn’t to be blamed for if his victim is kissing/hugging her male counterpart in the parking lot; which he most obviously assumed as his right to partake! My case-- just about a week back, two girls around 20 of age were walking back from the very famous Inorbit Mall, Mumbai, at around 11pm; when suddenly a biker, blind-drunk, stops near them and tries to grab the one of them, cat calling very loudly; loud enough to stop a car or two. There were many people on the road, everyone looked on, did the absolute nothing to alter the scene; excellent audience, I’d say. Now, how safe, I ask, would this BPO chick be even if her male coworkers were in the bus that day, any guarantee she’d be alive today?
I haven’t the slightest idea how any newspaper can print such utter non-sense. Don’t they realize that they are almost sympathizing with these rapists and murders and promoting crime against women? Is this the price to pay if a woman is capable of earning a livelihood for herself? Does this columnist mean that women should be home back by 7 whereas men can dog the city whenever and however they would please? Why should women be subject to this curfew if men aren’t! I am sure this BPO worker’s male counterpart reached home safely and had a good night’s sleep. Why then, should women be a victim to the narrow outlook of such men? Even if this particular driver was drunk (which he shouldn’t be on duty, by the way); why should he feel comfortable coveting this delicious pie, as the columnist put it. Is he inwardly applausing this killer driver to teach this girl a good lesson for being independent and alive?!?!
It’s the age old tradition of looking upon women as objects of possession. If yours, keep her safe and secured and in picture-perfect condition; if not, get her to be yours! Probably this is one of the reasons people think reopening dance-bars would reduce crime against women, it’s pathetic! With the million changes happening in ‘modern’ India, this much needed change of looking at women as more than just objects of pleasure and as equals fails to manifest itself. If this is the condition in metro-cities, I wonder, what it would be in the more rural regions.