Dreams.

"Why are you so happy Kishore? You still don't seem to realize that had it not been for this silly girl, you would have lived this dream ages back."

All Kishore could do to that punch was, smile.
He was driven back to time.

"Neelu! Where are you?"

He looked everywhere in that tiny shed, searching for his wife.

"Neelu… Neelu?"

He found her lying on the bed with a thick quilt on her body.

“Neelu, are you okay?”

Neelu smiled shyly. Kishore knew what it was but he wanted to listen in the sweet voice of his beloved.

"I am pregnant!"

"Oh Neelu! This has to be the happiest day of our lives! I just got the estimate of the land near the village. We can save money to buy it and then fulfil our dream. This baby has bought with it only good luck Neelu," he almost screamed in joy and hugged his wife tightly.

Kishore was a junior clerk in the primary school of a small village. Earning a meagre income that hardly kept him above the poverty line, he was thankful for whatever he had in life. Its hard to believe that someone can be happy in such limited means. But to Kishore, money was not the ultimate happiness of life. He had a dream, one that would make him the happiest person on earth, and would wash away the stains of a dark childhood, perhaps, the dream he lived for.

Kishore had no one while growing up. He remembered being on his own ever since he started his life. Who fed him when he was a toddler, who taught him to walk, who taught him words, it was all unknown to him.

There was too much of turmoil in his growing-up years, he was always ridiculed whenever he left the space for parents' name empty in any form that he filled, and faced problems that one can't imagine.

That day, when the beautiful girl from the city he was married to had finally conceived a child, he could not thank his stars enough. Though deep down, his heart bled drops of worry. He knew how hard it was going to be for him. Raising a child was not that difficult but the dream that Kishore had was too big and he knew that the child would be facing a lot of financial problems.

But that was not where his sorrows came to a full stop. Kishore had a graver reason to weep in agony. His social circle would have never accepted the child if it bore a female tag. It was that very morning that he had heard about the head panchayat kicking a girl child in the well. All he did during his wife’s pregnancy was work and pray for a male child. He told his wife that he, of course, would be equally happy if it was a boy for he knew it is all God’s will. But somehow, his heart still wanted a daughter, his princess, his pride.

They say that nature always worked in mysterious ways, keeping a balance intact, a balance that is unbeknownst to the world.

It was a rainy day that his wife had gone into labour, and rains never go easy on people who hav1e little roof over their heads. He vividly remembers how difficult it was for him to get her to the government hospital, how much pain his wife was in during the whole bumpy ride, and how the doctors had looked at her when they finally made it there. He was not a very religious person but in those 2 hours, he remembered all the Gods he knew, did all the prayers that he could remember, and promised God of quitting all his bad habits, not that he had many.

Kishore had settled himself on a cold bench with closed eyes. He was just busy thanking heavens to have made him safely reach the worn-out walls of the hospital, when a doctor came searching for him in the corridor with a droopy face. Kishore drove his brains to the wildest of imaginations but never did he imagine losing his Neelu. The doctors had termed a 'stroke' to be the reason of this loss. The doctors also told him how Neelu, albeit to much hatred of the villagers, had given Kishore a last gift, his baby girl. Their baby girl.



The moment he lit the pyre of his young wife, who he believed died to fulfil his wish of having a complete family, that very moment he affirmed himself to devote his life for the girl. He knew he would have to fight the world for this girl's survival. The first step he took was to sell the land meant for his dream. He didn’t care that it was the only way to fulfil his dream; all he wanted to do was to give his child the best he could.



They moved from the suburbs to the town, where Sapna, his daughter would know nothing of his father’s past, the horrible intentions of his villagers, or the memories of the place her mother breathed her last. Kishore always told her about Neelu, and loved her so much that Sapna never felt that he was being raised without a mother. She achieved all the success that she could or could not, getting scholarships, making it into the lists of the top college of the country, and then getting hired by the topmost employer in the campus interviews.



All this while, Kishore never thought about the dream he had. His reason to live was now a long-forgotten thing, and he never discussed it with Sapna as well, saving her from an unnecessary guilt of making his father lose his passion.



Or maybe, that is what he thought.



Kishore always maintained a diary wherein he scribbled his emotions venting out the pains and occasionally, some tears. One fine day when 'appa' was at work, the little girl found this alien object lying on the floor. Kishore, unknowingly, had left the diary home that day.

In the dead hours of night, Sapna used to fake sleep and look at her father sighing away huge pains with a pen and that diary in hand. Human has always been an object of curiosity. Sapna, justifying the saying, had already read about her father's dream and passion of building a charity home.



.



It was not by chance that she had got all this success. She had worked for it, for the dream that her father had forgotten for her sake. She had gotten into the best college and the best office because of this dream. This dream was what had kept her going.

And today, this dream was fulfilled. Pitrachhaya Anathalaya was the unusual name that she had come up with, as opposed to 'matrichhaya' suggested by her team, because she knew that though mothers are the one associated with kids and love, fathers do no less.



Today, Sapna stands with her head held high and looks at her father's dream. It is her birthday the next day. As proposed by Kishore year's back to his wife, the orphan home would be inaugurated on the day of her birth. She booked her father's ticket who is flying to her that evening. Kishore has already packed his bag and is waiting for a taxi on his door with a grin he cannot suppress. He can see his fellow neighbour walking up to him.



"Why are you so happy Kishore? You still don't seem to realize that had it not been for this silly girl Sapna, you would have lived this dream ages back."



Kishore replied with a cosy smile "Have you ever lived a life for someone else?"

"No."



"Do you have a daughter?"



"No."



"Exactly."



The taxi honked at the turn.

Clock's gimmick.

I am a sixty two year old lady who is about to turn sixty three in a few hours.



It has been two years since I retired from the post of Head of the Department at a renowned college in my state and now I am in Seattle, living with my daughter. I did not really want to come here and intrude in her personal space but my dear daughter doesn’t think so. She loves me a lot; she had forced me and booked my tickets. My son, who lives in Ontario, is coming over to celebrate my birthday as well. I am not supposed to know about it, though. They have planned a surprise. My husband, and her dad, is here with us too. With a good job, a perfect husband and successful loving kids, I do not have much to desire for.

At sixty two, my hair has grayed. People tell me to dye, but I find this very ‘sexy’, to use a modern adjective. My face has wrinkles and it has started to sag.I am supposed to either turn into an absolutely boring, dull and pesky woman or get some facials in order to lift my skin, dye my hair and look a tad younger. They don’t let me be. Life was mayhem earlier, but now I have adapted myself. Aging has given me a lot of gems. Age has provided me with such intellect, that you don’t find in books or religious texts. I know I have become physically weak and the pain in my knees forces me to use a stick at times; but internally, I have become very strong and full of might. Life has given me a lot and now that death can swallow me any moment, I don’t repent because I have lived a full life. A good job? I got it. Married into a good family? I got it. See my children kiss success? I got it.

I am lost in my thoughts, but I can sense my daughter approaching me from behind. I know she will close my eyes from behind like she has been doing since childhood and then give me a tight hug, humming the birthday tune for me. She does the same, but along with it, she flashes two tickets for the cinema. With undue excitement, I agree to go along. I am standing near the long queue for popcorn while my daughter is still deciding what to buy. A strange man shoves by me from my side. I have seen him somewhere. I know him, but wonder who he is.

*

“Sorry,” he mutters.

He has a French accent. I think I know him. Well, I know him pretty well.
Peter. I know he will not recognise me. Peter. This man, here in Seattle? After all these years? Peter. I know him pretty well. Peter. He is the man I had first fallen in love with. Peter. He used to live across the church I visited every Sunday with my grandmother. Peter. We had a relationship of almost three years. Peter. He told me one day how he had to leave me because he could not focus on studies. Peter. I came to know later on that he had fallen in love with some other woman. Peter. After I got married to Paul, he got married to Zara as well. Peter. I can see him fighting with the guy in a distant candy corner. Peter. He smells of alcohol. Oh, Peter!

*

My daughter and I had a good time at the movie. I almost fell asleep on my daughter’s shoulder and she stroked her fingers through my hair like I always did through hers’. I am lying in my bed, next to my husband right now and the clock says it’s three in the morning. Aging doesn’t let me sleep properly. I absolutely forgot about Peter, but now he seems to be on my mind again. My husband turns and pulls me in his arms, making me rest my head on his shoulders. He plants a slight kiss on my forehead. He has been doing that every single day since we got married. I love him and he loves me. I can hear my son whispering to my daughter in the next room. They are planning me to surprise me in the morning with his presence.

But, Peter.

And suddenly, my elder sister’s words resound in my head. She was wiping my tears and questioning in her hoarse, heavy voice.“With a good job, a perfect husband and successful loving kids, will this break-up matter forty years hence?”

Well...

Demanding Little Sister.

Ever since my little sister was born, I have been very jealous of her. Until my mother’s tummy protruded, I was the only subject of attention for everyone but thereafter, everything changed. My mother suddenly started to ignore my talk about the happenings at school and told me that she wanted to sleep because the baby in the stomach tired her out. My friends at school told me that she was doing so because I may have been adopted. Whenever daddy came home from work, my mother would only talk about the baby and it seemed that she had absolutely forgotten me; this somehow convinced me even more that my friends were right.

My sister was expected to come to this world on the sixteenth day of June, back in 1997. But she, being the restless kid she turned out to be, decided to come into the world almost a fortnight prior to the expected date. The clouds had poured the entire day and night. It seemed to be a battle between the demons and the angels. The thundering clouds well mirrored the storm inside me. I was already planning how I would never let her sleep in my bed and how I would choke her.


Several years of her childhood had passed and my attitude towards her did not get better. My mother would spend the entire day making faces at her, feeding her, changing her nappies bathing her and to sleep. The only hope on which I would face the day would be my daddy’s return but it seemed to me that he too would enter the home just to hug my little sister and offer her a bunch of balloons. I used to feel as ignored as the orange marigold among a bunch of red roses.

*

It was an odd afternoon when she came back from school and despite my evident indifference towards her, hugged me. I tried pushing her away but then I noticed some warm liquid oozing out of her eyes.

‘What happened, Piya?’ I was concerned.

She tried explaining the problem to me but as always did not succeed. This was another problem with Piya. She was always very strange with her actions. She could never put her worries into words. We always had to make an estimate and decipher what it would be. Had it been any other day, I would have told her to stop disturbing me.

But that day was different.

Piya was crying a lot. The sister inside me was worried for the first time. I started noticing her hands and expressions to understand the complication. Just when she was about to give up, I saw a strange mark on her hand. Somebody had hit my little sister. I was suddenly filled with a sense of anger and rage. I called up my mother and she came back home immediately from work. We had put Piya off to sleep, and decided to visit her school for further investigation. The kindergarten teacher told us how she had ‘accidently’ hit her because Piya would never be able to differentiate between M and W.

We obviously wanted to report her; but then, that was not what my mother was concerned about. Our priority had to be Piya.

*

“Your daughter is diagnosed with PDD-NOS and ADHD,” the lady in white coat declared. My mother and I looked at each other with question marks on our faces.

“Piya is suffering with autism. Autism is a lifelong developmental disability that affects how a person communicates with, and relates to, other people. It also affects how they make sense of the world around them. People with Asperger syndrome are often of average or above average intelligence. They have fewer problems with speech but may still have difficulties with understanding and processing language.”

Everything had become very clear. “Piya stares for too long and expresses too little” “Piya is not able to draw a straight line” “Piya always hums songs and is least interested in listening to others.” Every complaint, every imprecation had become very clear. We knew what was to be done.My mother, as I thought she would, should have started shedding tears but she did not.

Appointments for the therapy sessions were taken even before I could realize.
Piya would obviously demand more attention now, but that did not make me jealous anymore.

*

Today is Piya’s seventh birthday and she has improved by leaps and bounds..

I have left home to pursue higher studies.I never thought I would miss Piya so much until I moved away to the university. I can speak to most of my friends and family when I miss them, but my sister Piya doesn't like the telephone. She would only be able to manage 'Hello didi' and 'I'm good' when I ask how she is, before dissolving into a fit of giggles and running away. It breaks my heart when my parents tell me that she asks spontaneously if she can see me, as she doesn't quite understand why one day I was there and the next day I wasn't. I try to make sure I spend time with her when I'm home. I just hope she doesn't think I've abandoned her or that I'm not ever coming back.

My heart aches to see her struggling with things we don’t even notice. Though, whenever I meet her, she never fails to put an instant smile on my face by pointing towards the poster in her room which reads “I am not dumb, mad or deaf. I am different and different is good.”

Finally.

“Where are you? Have you packed everything? Do not carry those useless dresses... Give some of them to a needful person and get rid of extra baggage... Are you sure you will be able to carry so many suitcases alone?”

“Maa, please stop it now; I need to take a bath before I leave for the station. I am busy. I am hanging up now!”

“No, no wait! One last thing. Did you eat properly? Did you ask that person at the mess to pack some lunch for you?”

“Yes, I did. See you,” I sounded irritated and hung up.

I belong to the old city of Hyderabad and had come to Bombay for my studies. My college got over last week and now, I am going back to live with my maa before I begin with a job. I still remember the first time that I had travelled alone. It was four years back, when I had come to Bombay for college. Maa asked exactly the same questions back then, too. I don’t understand why it is so necessary to treat me like a little school-going kid always. I mean, I understand, she is my mother and everything, but still? Well, whatever I say, I know that at the end of the day, if I do not get a call from her asking me about my dinner, I would not attain a peaceful sleep.

I have packed up everything and now it is time to leave, finally.

Hostel was mayhem. Such gross food, enemies in disguise, long lonely nights and the boiling rooms. I missed my welcoming and cosy room so much. I am so excited thinking about the after-hostel-life. Maa’s food, air-conditioned rooms, no shortage of money, I can watch television whenever I may; such bliss! At the back of my mind, I feel guilty already for hanging up so rudely, but it is okay. I will make up by calling her after I reach the station or maybe, when I board the train.

I am going back, finally.

I take a bath, for one last time and leave for the station. It’s 1:30pm by my watch and I have to board the train to Hyderabad which arrives at 3:30pm. It will hardly take an hour to reach the station, but Bombay and its traffic, you know?

“Taxi!” I scream.

The roads are always shinning with yellow rooftops, but I can never manage to find a taxi when needed the most. The baggage I’m carrying is now a pain in the palms, perhaps, maa was right. I should have left some of the dresses. I am not going to wear them anyway. Finally a cab stops by me.

“Mumbai Central?”

“Get in!”

Letting out a heavy sigh, I struggle myself and the bags inside the taxi. I plug in my earphones and play my second favourite playlist.

So I am actually leaving these streets, finally!

“He is the painkiller, this is the painkiller, faster than a lazer bullet, louder than an atom bomb,” Judas Priest’s ‘painkiller’ buzzes in my ear, exactly where I left it at and exactly the part I like the most. I put it at repeat and rest my head on the window. Somebody knocks the glass. I feel the urge to open my eyes and check, but I am too tired already.

“Must be a beggar, ignore,” I say to myself.

My phone vibrates and I am sure Maa is calling me again. I decide to ignore her call and talk only when I board the train. I feel a slight tap on my shoulder.

“With mankind resurrected, forever to survive, returns from Armageddon to the skies, He is the painkiller” the song continues.

I take off my ear plugs to look at the flushed face of the cabbie. I knew I can never complete a journey without a thrill. I urge him to speak but he stays mute. I can see him trying to gather words, finally.

“There’s a bustle ahead,” his voice shakes.

“Any idea, why is it so?”

“Might be a rally. I don’t know. We cannot go ahead.”

I get down from the cab, even more irritated and walk towards the movement. I fumble for my phone in the bag to turn off the song.

“1 unread message. 26 missed calls: Maa,” it reads.

I have no clue when I put the phone on silent. Before I could read the message or respond to the calls, I see people running around with their faces reading evident worry. My sixth sense tells me to get away from this place. I can feel a sinister in the air. I can smell a pungent smell; melting plastic, wires, what would it be? I am pretty curious. I can see some distant smoke.

“Move, there’s a bom.... !” a man screams and I feel a burning sensation even before I could react. A deafening explosion blurs my vision to a dazzle and everything disappears in less than a minute.

I understand what it is, finally.

*

I remember my mother’s womb. I was just a little sperm who had randomly succeeded to win the race and was rewarded with a nine month spa. All I had to do was to float and occasionally kick to make maa smile. I remember her hand-cooked food, how she cared about me, how she always held and helped me. But now that I am not there, I start to realize how comfortable everything was.

Though, here, things are pretty much the same. When in womb, I floated in the sweet fragrance of the spa and here, I float in the middle of the skies. The hot spa has changed to a pleasant breeze. Just that now, I do not make my maa smile. I am now the reason of occasional tears which I cannot wipe, perhaps, will never be able to wipe.

I realize how things would have been had I answered her last call.

I realize, finally.

Permission

She sprung up from sleep for the fourth time that afternoon which was very unusual for a typical housewife for her, who used to wake up in the odd hours of morning and work like a magic machine till noon. It seemed as though her cell phone had buzzed and granted her a reply, perhaps, an answer to the question she was struggling to put up to her husband.
But the screen just flashed the time and now, a sign which indicated the low battery.

-

Bani was a very traditional and wonted lady, whose husband went for a nine-to-five job leaving her by herself at home to spend time with the television set. She hailed from a middle-class family of Gujarat and was married to another middle-class family in Cuttack.

Her mother had taught her, when she was very little, that women were not supposed to work and how they were put on this earth with the one and only motive of serving the husband with a head bent down. And Bani, some because of the background she was brought up in and some because of the introvert nature she instilled, had followed her mother’s teachings and thought twice before speaking anything in front of her husband even after two years of marriage.

Her conversations with her husband were confined to that of the food to be prepared and the grocery items to be bought. Sometimes they exchanged shy smiles on the dinner table when her husband would compliment her for the delicious food, and that was it. Shlok, her husband, would try getting all romantic and mushy with his wife, but Bani would always give him an uncomfortable look and suddenly remember an important household chore to be completed.

But today was different.
Today, mustering up all the desired courage, Bani had fired her husband with her dream. But Shlok, unlike the regular, had not replied to the message and this was killing every inch of Bani. Her thirst seemed to quench due to repentance and body seemed to collapse due to fear.

-

*Buzz buzz*

She woke up again*

*Battery critically low. Connect to a charger*

She opened the last text message sent to Shlok and re-checked the delivery report, just to be sure.

“Why would Shlok not reply? Didn’t he read my message? I hope he is not offended. Why did I even think of writing that silly question to him? Have I lost my mind? Ma had told me not to be so selfish,” she almost slapped herself.



On not receiving a call by Shlok like every day when he started for home, she was sure she had disgraced her husband. She decided to prepare his favourite dish as a token of apology.

Just when she entered the kitchen, she heard the lift stopping at her floor.

“The neighbours are not in town. The maid has left already. Who would it be? Shlok?” she almost skipped a beat.

When she felt a key entering the keyhole and turning in the ideal motion, she was sure her husband was back home. Her face was flushing with fear and guilt. Shlok entered and brought with himself, a sweet smell.
Roses, she wondered.

He directly moved towards the kitchen for he knew his wife would be busy with the dishes. Even though they had barely exchanged heart-to-heart conversations, Shlok had observed his wife enough to know about the tiniest of details about her.

Shedding away all the shame and awkwardness, he spooned his wife from behind and presented her a bunch of roses.

“Relax your heart beat, baby.”

“Why didn’t you reply to my message?” she fired.

“Because I wanted to look into your eyes and tell you that even though we are a married couple, you are not shackled to me. You are free to make your own decisions and choices. You don’t need to seek my permission.”

“So, does that mean.....”

“Obviously it means that you can work at the bookstore!”

“Please say that again?” she almost screamed.

“You can work at the bookstore, my love. Whatever you do is going to benefit us in the end.”

“Benefit us?”

“Yes, obviously. You will shoplift...” “...Jeffery Archer for you,” she completed him, with instant tears oozing out from her eyes. For the first time in their two-year old married life, Bani hugged her husband in broad daylight without a slightest hint of discomfort.

“How do you know roses are my favourite?” she whispered.

“Just like you knew Archer is my favourite,” he whispered back kissing her forehead.

They had found their day of love.

Jinxed Fate

*Hey there Delilah.. what's it like in New York City?* buzzed her phone for the seventh time. She could sense something vibrating but was too lost in the smoke and bitter taste of liquid to respond. She opened her eyes slightly to find blurred red and blue laser lights, and her friends in shimmering dresses, lying next to her on the same couch.

*Hey there Delilah.. what's it like in New York City?* sang the phone again.

It was quite late in the night, and most of the people in the city were fast asleep, tired of their day-long hard work; but for Zara, her night had just started. Like always, she was out partying with her friends, if you put her disc companions who used to enjoy on her money in the category of friends. Liquor was flowing like water, white powder was served in platter, and the new generation of the country was celebrating another successful day of doing nothing.

Some heavy vehicles with sirens were sensed by these unconscious teenagers when they all stood up with a jerk and set themselves in motion. It was Diwali the next day, and since the police needed Lakshmi to invite Lakshmi to their homes, they were on for a raid.
Of all the people present in the pub, Zara was of the most concern to them, since she was still in her 17th year and had not hit adulthood.
Or maybe, because she was the only source of money for her friends and, the only source of red notes for the club manager.

After greasing their palms with her ancestors’ hard-earned money, Zara started her journey back home. She had no control over herself, and like always, depended upon one of the boys in the bar to drop her home, who did so in return of a handsome tip.

Usually, she did not care if her family was asleep or awake, but today, there was something unusual. She sensed more than required people in her house, and at this time, it was unexpected. She thought she heard people crying, she thought she heard someone shouting, but she was used to of hallucinations. She was still half conscious and smelled like rotten eggs. Her mind was still blurred but she forced her vision to sharpen, but not to much result. She struggled through the people, some of who looked keen to grant her a death sentence, and reached her bedroom. She realized the presence of some people midway too, but was too bottled up to look for the reason.

Seconds, and she had gone to sleep a peaceful sleep.
Perhaps, her last peaceful sleep.

The sun dawned earlier than expected.
She woke up to continuous banging on her door.

''Why are you knocking mumma? Come in, no?''

Some more banging followed.

''Who is it? How many times do I have to tell you idiotic servants not to wake me up? Come in whoever you are."

The door opened and she saw her brother standing there, in anger, which was highly unlikely of his usual calm and composed self.
He was clad in a white Kurta Pyjama, which was again, highly unlikely of his usual suave business suits. With a spinning head, she saw his face. He had red eyes, and looked like he had cried all night.
He burst in and slapped her hard across the face.

Sakina, her sister-in-law stopped her husband with a shrill in her voice but anyhow, Zara knew that this echo was under the influence of that lady standing next to her, in a draped white suit.

''What is wrong with you bhai? This woman asked you to slap me right? I don't know why she is so jealous of me. Why didn't you go for work? Let me tell this to mom. Enough of you both now.''

Another slap.

''You are asking me what is wrong? Mom is no more you spoiled brat. Mom is no more,'' his brother replied with a hiccupping sob.

''Whaa..at? Mom... mom is no more? What are you saying? I am sure I saw her last night. I am sure. If this is to make me realize how bad a daughter I've been, don't bhai, don't. I apologise. I profoundly do. Come on, say that you are kidding and this is plotted... say it bhai?,'' she screamed shaking her brother from head to toe and ran out of her room down the stairs.

''Papa? Where is mumma, papa? Bhai says she is dead? Why are you all wearing white? Why do we have so many guests? Papa...''

She was trembling.

Her father pointed to a corpse in green shroud lying on the floor.
She ran to touch her mother but her sister-in-law held her back.

''You should not touch her with alcohol running in your blood Zara. Go take a bath first.''

''Go away. She is my mother, go away,'' she scowled at her and ran to her mother’s body.

But she was stopped with a slap.
Her father had hit her for the first time since she was brought to this world. She turned around and looked at her brother who was holding her hand tightly, her eyes pleading to let her go.

With tears running down his stern face, her brother shook his head.

''You have lost the right to touch her Zara. Last night, when you had cut yourself from the smell of cold air and enjoyed the pungent smell of golden sparkling drinks, she had a stroke, and all she wanted was to see you. She wanted to see you Zara, for one last time. I was there, Sakina was there, but as always, she wanted you. I never understood why she preferred you over me. Sakina has been more of a daughter to her than you. She was the one who cared enough to be with her, to wash her for the last time, while you were up there, sleeping. When you came home last night, she had her last breath after seeing you. And you didn't even care to stop for her? You will not touch her Zara. Never again. And this is your punishment. Now sit here and cry. I have to do my duties of being a son to her. I have to go bury her.''

As her brother and father carried her mother on their shoulders, she just sat there, staring blankly at the wall.
She didn't even realize when she had stopped crying.

Unlike the usual high-class kids who are used to voids in their own world of ego and money, Zara loved her mother.
Perhaps, her mother was the only person she actually talked to and looked forward to. The only person who understood her and felt her, the only resort after her nights of heavy boozing and days of heavy headaches. The one person who had been there for her all her life, Zara was not there for her for the one last time.
That one person would now be just a picture on the wall.

Usually, you make mistakes and suffer the fate.
But sometimes, you make mistakes and nothing happens.
And then sometimes, you suffer.
You feel guilty and beg for one last chance.
You suffer for your entire life.
Zara was always envied for her fate, which was now jinxed.
The fate she would have to live with, daily.

~Nandini and Simran.

Second Wife

She touched her belly once again and felt the little foetus kicking her inside. “Just if he was with me to experience this happiness,” she pondered and felt asleep.

She was woken up the next morning due to heavy banging’s on the door. The neighbours were calling her to celebrate Holi with them. She sent her son, Satya, to play with them but decided to stay indoors herself; faking morning sickness. Mustering up much desired courage and strength, she decided to call her husband. She was sure he would not receive the call but nonetheless, dialled his number making a little prayer. The bell wholly rang, and yet again, nobody answered.

She was on the verge of breaking up. It was not easy to bear a notorious kid and another one in the stomach all by herself. She would wake up puking; undergo heavy migraine attacks, massive mood-swings and immense fits of pain in her abdomen, all by herself. She would even have to visit the gynaecologist, all by herself. She could obviously call up a friend or a relative, but she, due to the habit of over-thinking stuff, did not want to disturb anybody else.

Every night before losing to sleep, a tear or two would escape her eye and she would feel a terrible longing for her husband.

The day she had vowed to find happiness in the bond called marriage, she had devoted her life to Ravi. She never complained, protested, grumbled or cried. Not even when her husband had first told her how he was supposed to leave her all alone with Satya and live with the second wife. Not even when he had told her that he had his duties to fulfil, regarding the second wife. For Tapapsya knew that the second wife gave her husband all the honour and respect he deserved.

But today, the void which was building in her over the years seemed to swallow her up. She needed a companion, a friend whom she could snuggle up with and sleep the entire night. She wanted to wake up to someone’s voice and know that somebody is always around to take care of her. Instant tears had started to flow off her eye which was at almost the same instant, turned into a glee.
The phone flashed Ravi’s number.

“Hello!”

“Happy Holi, Ravi!”

“Happy Holi, my love. How are you?”

“I am all good,” she wanted to tell him that he missed him. She wanted him to know how much she craved for him but she knew that would put him to worry and make him hunt for a leave from the second wife and so freed him the trauma.

“Are you sure? I doubt. You don’t sound so good.”

“Ravi,” she let out a heavy sigh. “Satya misses you. The little kid in my belly kicks me every day and asks about his father. The walls of our home seem to miss you. The neighbours, the grocery-shop owner, everyone misses you. And the most of all, I miss you. I miss you a lot.”

“I am coming!”

“What? No, no. See, this is why I don’t express myself. Please don’t come. She needs you more than I do. Please take care of her.”

“Ssssh. I called up just to tell you that start preparing gulab jamun’s for me. The war on the border, I told you about, has been settled. And I have been granted a week off on paternity grounds by my uniform. Or what do you call her? My second wife,” he mocked, imitating her voice.

“Where are you?”

“On my way. I’ll be there tomorrow morning.”

He could feel a sobbing voice from the other side, “How about Ragulla’s this time?” the voice declared and hung up.

The little girl.

“Didi I will never go to a college which is out of my town as my mother insists. I will intentionally perform the worst I can, in my board exams and take admission in a local college.”

I woke up with these words resounding in my head. The image of that little girl wearing a pink tiara on her head is still vivid in my head. I met her a few years ago in the train heading to New Delhi. She questioned me about my purpose of going to Delhi and I informed her about my college there. That is exactly when she whispered those words in my ears making sure her mother – who sat opposite to us – could not overhear our conversation.
Initially, I took it as a stubborn wish of a 15 year old but I was proven wrong at judgements; brutally wrong, as the journey advanced. She poured her heart out to me. Not that I interrogated, but that she was too lonely and in this huge world. Or maybe, too scared to share it with people who met her every day.

“Didi, my father beats my mother a lot. My mother too, retaliates and sometimes even I infringe, but then he beats us both. Beats us more than before. Didi, he burns my mother with cigarettes. He abuses her, he abuses my brother, all the relatives from my mother’s family also me at times. He doesn’t even earn. Whatever he gets, he drinks it or smokes it.
But, God doesn’t punish him. I dislike God, Didi”

I gulped in some saliva.
My throat had dried listening to the story of this 12 year old who lived in such a huge city like Pune but still so helpless.

“Why doesn’t your mother complain about him? Or get a divorce?” I probed.



“She did once! But my father was let out of the jail within three days. They said that they could not keep him for long. We were supposed to take him to a higher court but my mother was too good for that, Didi. She melted at the sight of my father being in room so small that one could not even stretch properly and decided to forgive him. But my father started with the torture once again after a few weeks. My brother was taking his X board exams, Didi”

“And, divorce?”

“No divorce. Our house is built on a plot which is registered under the name of both my parents and my father is not ready to leave his plot. Neither can my mother pay him for that part since she has to breed a son who studies abroad and also me, her demanding silly daughter who troubles her a lot. Or, even if she does, by applying for a loan; there is no guarantee that my father will never come back to torture us. Even the police doesn’t take the guarantee.” She muttered in a single breath and suddenly paused as if sighing over something she had remembered.
“I hate this system didi. I hate the police. Why can’t they take a guarantee? What else are they for? They don’t work without a favour and money. They work only for famous people” she continued. “I have decided. I will never go to a college out of Pune like my brother did. I will live with mumma. Who knows if that man kills her when she is deep in sleep? No one will help her, didi. No police. No neighbour. Neighbours are too afraid and police, too greedy,” she untangled and slept.
“I have seen bruises and cuts on my mother’s arms. I am never leaving my mother... Never leaving her alone”

Slept, a peaceful sleep.
Probably the kind of sleep she won’t be blessed with that night when she reaches the same roof wherein her father lives.

A tear trickled down my cheek when I saw her sleeping; and to much surprise, the girl did not break down even once.
Her eyes reflected strength.

She had told me, “Didi I have cried a lot but I always made sure my mother doesn’t catch me sobbing. She’d hate to see me crying. She will die a little more inside and fall apart. I don’t want to add up to her worries hence; I have completely stopped shedding tears now. That monster doesn’t deserve it. My mumma tells me I am strong’’

Indeed, she was strong.
Strong enough to take decisions like supporting her mother.
Strong enough to comment on the system.
Strong enough to understand the world at the tender age of twelve.

Dr. Dreck

It was a scary dark night.
Not like the one which is sought by the rapists, neither the one in which wolves howl some odd distances away.

This night was different.

This, was a typical Dreck night.

Exactly the one, wherein he went out on the snow laden streets with a shovel. With a shovel, not to remove ice or to break it but, to haunt.
Haunt and hunt.
Hunt for innocent eyes.

~

Dreck was the most loved professor at The Harvard University. Lads came up to him asking for random pictures and with personal problems. Dr. Dreck was best known to put people at ultimate rescue.
But behind the veil of this wrinkled face, almost covered with huge round glasses, there was much more to Dreck.
He changed in cold winter nights.
He did not really turn into a vampire; neither did he practice black magic with voodoo dolls, but something more.
Much, much more.
Dreck, was a hunter.

He grew up reading about Cayetano Santos Godino, best known as Petiso Orejudo who, at the age of 16, killed children and envied him. Dreck limited the envy only to a special influence of a divinity on the mind of human beings and denied copying him.

Dreck waited –more than eagerly- for it to be December and for the blades to tremble.

Awhile people cuddled under velvety blankets and children sneaked out to watch Adult movies; Dreck, with an overcoat, a hat and his gum boots, strolled out on the streets resembling Sherlock with those intense gray eyes.

Taxis honked at him supposing him to be the man who would pay them the double charge they quoted after 12, but Dreck favoured walking.
And making his victims walk.

~

‘Oh there!’ he said to himself when he saw a little body trembling on the roadside. ‘Today is a treat’, he assured himself when he spotted two more souls crouching nearby on the cold ground.
But, THREE was an odd figure.
Dreck believed in evens.
He, was greedy.

~

He fumbled his pockets for the cookies he bought and started moving towards the kids.

‘Hey there! Too cold tonight?’ he questioned with a gleam in his eyes.

‘The snow covers the ground, they at least say so’ replied a shaking voice.

‘Oh humour! I like it; I have some cookies for all of you!’

The bait was offered to the prey,
The prey stood tall in the trap.

It was just one of them. Just one ‘Anti-Dreck’ as Dr. Dreck liked to call the lot who refused to his cookies.
This Anti-Dreck’s mother used to tell him, only when she was alive - ‘Never accept cookies from strangers. They turn the chocolate chips into monsters when they offer’ and he remembered it. Unlike the fellow orphans who could go to any level for free cookies.

Perhaps, Dreck liked this Anti-Dreck lot.
He took them as a challenge. These stubborn people gave him a unique glee.
He loved to convince them and make them give in. He loved loud cries.
He loved losers. He loved orphan losers.

Dreck did not really impose the cookie on him but just rested it on the ground near to where Anti-Dreck sat and walked away.
While others enjoyed the cookies, Anti-Dreck stared at it for five seconds. Five long seconds and his stomach finally gave up.
He grabbed it and gulped it all at once.

A wicked face smiled somewhere behind a tree and treated himself with neat whiskey.

~

Couple of minutes and all these bodies lost control, almost falling on the floor.

Dreck grabbed the self-created opportunity and reached out to them offering help, blaming the brutal weather for their dizziness.

Everyone, including Anti-Dreck accepted the offer of help.

‘Victory,’ Dreck confirmed.

He made those three walk to his place and fetched one more on the way since he wanted someone to help these stumbling bones walk –or, only as it seemed- and the fourth victim agreed.

An even figure.
FOUR at once. Ultimate delight.

The hen cock-a-doodles-do as sun rays shone over the mountains and anti-Dreck was the first to wake up with a blurred vision and with apparent boulders falling on his head. He tried to recollect his last night and everything was very clear.

He knew that him, waking up under a velvet blanket, on a cosy bed, in a centrally heated house was a trap.

He had often heard about people kidnapping kids, disassembling their and their bodies and making them beg. He was sure his leg was to be cut off and he did not like it.
He wanted to escape.

He made his fellows wake up and immediately silenced them.
Only when they attained full conscience, he explained them the ‘plan’

‘We will get off this bed, one at a time. Go downstairs, meet the monster and greet him with a hearty smile. You three come following me and I will arrange the knife by then. I shall... ‘’

‘But, you’ someone interrupted.

‘No questions. Let me complete’

‘So, I will put the knife to his throat and you, John, arrange a taxi. We will take him to the police station.’’

We will have him arranged, he thought to himself.
Damage and ruin will meet the old man.
He will have to leave this warm house.
Dr. Dreck’s life shall be too grim for levity.

‘So I hope I have made myself clear? Let us go’

‘Sure’ they replied in unison.

When the kids went downstairs, their eyes twinkled.
Twinkled, to see the tables decorated with zillion types of chocolate pastries; and doughnuts. A side table displayed the miniature of a cotton candy store. Balloons and corners filled everything else.

This was a fairyland, a dreamland for the three orphans and they almost reached out to a candy.

‘Stop,’ Anti-Dreck announced.

This is a mesh. Do not give in.
I know these contain sedatives.

Dr. Dreck was busy on a call all this while often using words like ‘orphan,’ ‘four,’ ‘kids,’ ‘sending them.’

This assured Anti-Dreck of Dreck’s intentions.

Dreck hung up and turned around only to see four blank faces.

‘Oh, my sunshine’s! Good Morning! I hope the night was comfortable enough?’

‘Yes. Yeah,’ they murmured together.

And before any further talking, Anti-Dreck snapped his fingers which was a sign to put the ‘plan’ into action.

Two of the kids felt week but Anti-Dreck warned them. ‘We have to get him arranged!’
And thereby, it was duly executed.

But, only with a twist.

When John went out to seek a taxi, two policeman with a smiling lady in her early thirty’s already stood at there to scream ‘Surprise’

John was puzzled. ‘Um, what?’

‘Don’t you look so aghast Darling! We are here to take you to the orphan home. No more sleeping on the cold pavement with a hungry stomach. Thank Dreck. He is such a sweetheart. Where is he? Why can’t I see him”?’

John was bewildered.
Anti-Dreck, baffled.
The other two, amused for free candies.
And Dreck, beatified to have escaped the knife.

The kids were arranged.
A star danced in the sky.

Breakup, Breakup.

They both had been in an adorable and enchanting relationship since exactly a year now. But Zara, because of her own reasons, had suddenly started disliking it.



She wanted a breakup and yet could not be so brutal on the guy who, she knew, loved her to death.

She did not want him to fall apart and yet wanted her apparently long lost freedom back.

Not being able to admit the hurried disliking in a composed manner, she decided to give it some time.

Perhaps, the thought stayed only for two days.



She had, out of nowhere, entered that state wherein even a 'hello' from him had started to irritate the hell out of her. The itch of breaking up was now getting intense.

Ignoring was the only card left in her deck.



Things were smooth initially, because of Arjun being the understanding and not-indulging-into-her-personal-space kind of a boyfriend he was.

He knew his love will get back to him.

He understood she needed some space.



But subsequently, Zara’s running away from every question and never receiving his calls had started getting on his nerves.

He tried a lot to keep his calm and to put the pieces of this scattered puzzle into frame, but only to zero results.



Sukanya, their common friend, was the only hope Arjun now clinged to. He often approached her for comfort and solace which she duly provided.



Zara had started noting this proximity between Arjun and Sukanya.

She knew what she had to do.

''I shall give them some time alone and eventually blame Arjun for double dating with Sukanya which will end up with me dumping him and getting back my life,'' she thought to herself.

However, slapped herself the very next moment for inculcating such a cheap idea.



''No. I cannot be so selfish'' she thought to herself and called up Arjun.

''I want to break up. I cannot fake my feelings anymore'' she blurted; to which, all she could hear was hiccuping sobs.

Arjun pleaded and begged every possible way he could and Zara had no choice.



The relationship had started again.



A few hours and ''No matter how cheap it sounds, THAT plan is the only architect of my long lost happiness. Please forgive me, Dear Lord,'' she declared to her conscience that night under the warm quilt.



The plan took three months to be perfectly executed.



Sudden cancellation of dates and long hours of no-phone-calls from Zara was a very normal chore for Arjun now.

Hence, he had stopped worrying and whining about it now.

Not that he was an understating young lad, but that he always had Sukanya for rescue.



It was one fine evening when Zara called up Arjun when she got to know about him being at Sukanya's place.

She knew what to do next. She could not let this chance go.

Within no time, she had bumped into Sukanya's place with a well prepared speech and method of exertion.



''Arjun'' she almost screamed ''I have been calling you for two hours and you.....''



''Wait, Zara. I need to talk to you''... ''We need to talk to you'' corrected Sukanya and held Arjun’s hand.



''Since a last few months, you have been ignoring me like a maniac. I do not mean to blame you or cheat on you but I just need to confront my feelings now. I do not want you to live in a denial. I have fallen in love with Sukanya. You can beat me, scream at me, punish me ....''



“''t is okay. I understand,'' blurted Zara.



Just as she picked her bag and turned to walk away, a salty drop of water dwelled in her eye.

Sacrifices.

“Please do something, Dhanush. You can sell that land left by your father. Our daughter is dying!”

“I cannot sell it. I will not. If I lose my job someday, that land is the only hope I can look upon. I will arrange the money some other way.”

“Is that piece of land more important than our daughter?”

The little girl trembled on the worn out folding. Her body had turned blue due to the disease. It was swelling a little more everyday making her look like an alien to her friends due to the fluid retention in her lungs. A doctor told Meera and Dhanush how important it was for them to get this little girl’s lungs operated.

But where could they arrange the money from?
Dhanush and Meera belonged to a small, unrecognized village of Bihar. Their story is not very glamorous. Just another couple who left their village and migrated to a metropolitan, in order to earn a handsome job and an equally handsome salary.
Perhaps, the money was not enough and sleeves too high to migrate back.

“I will manage. I will arrange the money. Else, we have the gold chain your mother gifted to you on our marriage,” mumbled Dhanush and left for work.
He worked as a labour in a paper mill and was paid on monthly basis.

He worked to the best of his capability that day, making sure that he impresses his Sahab.
He met the Sahab towards the end of the day and pleaded for an advance payment which would help his daughter’s operation. He was much reluctant initially, but Dhanush succeeded in persuading him. Though, the Sahab could not really promise him the pay and asked Dhanush to come again the next day. He would have monitored the ‘profit income’ by then.

Dhanush touched his Sahab’s feet and left for home.

He was much relieved.
He knew things will settle soon.
He knew he could see his Meera smiling again. He missed her smile.
He knew he could see Ganga demanding for a ‘gudiya’ and fighting with her little brother again.

In order to save all what he could, he walked back home that day and refrained hiring a rickshaw like he did on the usual days.
He had also sacrificed his daily intake of whisky.
Meera had sacrificed her Bindi and Pinkoo, the younger brother, his plastic ball.

But, the sacrifices did not suffice.
The sacrifices are not bound to yield happiness.

Ganga had to leave.

Abandoned.

She was born to a dead mother of one, and in a family once of four.

The skies rejoiced and it poured cats and dogs. Perhaps, the sign was brutally misread and she was chucked away. To a dustbin. For a rag picker.

She groaned all night and tears bubbled into hiccups. But Delhi was too deaf to pay head, inside the air-conditioned rooms of a typical humid June night. A few dogs sniffed but none bit. Humanity is not necessarily to be found in Humans, right?

She was supposed to die and ‘rest in peace’ (quite literally) but the sins committed in the last few births were too grave to be easily forgiven. Breathing shivered and jerked but did not stop.

Sun grew the next morning. From the usual East.
The rag picker was on duty. Earlier than usual.

The guy who managed crossing the ‘highly-under-surveillance’ border between India and Bangladesh was indeed bad at deeds but not at heart. His eyes swelled and some salty water trickled. Chills ran down his spine. Not everyone can bear the sight of an almost dead baby girl.

The decision was instantly taken and never altered. The girl now had a home.
The man who could not afford his bread would now breed an abandoned baby. A baby girl.
Savings were drained and loans taken but all medications timely met and necessities provided.

~~~

Mannat was an extremely brilliant child. ‘Child prodigy’ as the well-read quoted.
The dusky, brown-eyed was sent to a usual inferior Government school due to the obvious. Yes, she did bunk school at times faking a paining tummy; would also get after her Abbu’s life to take her along to the posh colonies where he went rag-picking but Abbu would never fulfil the desire.
Her princess would get all what she wants, sooner or later, but not THIS, Abbu used to assure himself.

Suns kept setting and bright mornings occurring, but never was a morning this bright.
Mannat was transferred to a Convent school on insistence of her teacher –who quite literally- envied the genius.

It did not take her innocent eyes to switch between questions like ‘How did I come to this world’ and ‘Abbu, will I succeed in becoming a Physicist?’’

The former questions were neatly ignored and the latter, crisply answered.

~~~



Present Day:

Mannat Khan did change her name from Mannat to Physicist Mannat Khan, and did earn enough to gift her 72 year old still-working-Abbu a mansion.
The girl, did kiss the sky.

Perhaps, far away an angry father whipped his lazy, jobless son for not being like the noble prize winner, Physicist Mannat Khan.

He cursed his stars for not blessing him with a child like Mannat.
The stars cursed back for abandoning the same a few years ago.

Breathe 'Life goes on' and survive.

Manas, 22. My brother.
My best friend, my most brutal enemy, my entertainer, my comedian, my happiness, my sadness, my evil possessive brother, my over-protective jerk, MINE.
It’s been three years now. Three long years now.

Let me begin by telling a few things about the monster.
He was the one who stood by me since I was brought to the world. Changing my diapers, cleaning my waste and feeding me milk. He is not me. A totally different person. He loves violence. He hates pink. He loves Biology. He works real hard. He is a total bore would never manage lighting up any one’s mood. He’d make me love him, even when he was all so annoying. He’d always be willing to help me out. He’d always fight with me, and get emotional points from Mumma. He’d be after my life to study. He never ‘let things be’ and always wants to ‘know’ the answer to every mystery (Perhaps, Google them and forcibly explain them to me) He’d always let me apply him lipstick and make ponies of his hair when I created a fuss out of small things and cried. He’d keep singing on his top note and makes rules like ‘no singing allowed at home’ for me. He’d always lend money to me and my friends for samosa at school. He’d always serve me food and take the larger share of maggi without any guilt. He held the power of annoying people to limits and never being sorry about it. He always loved me the most but would never accept.

10th June,2010.
We, (Mumma, HIM and me) reached the humungous building of the Manipal University. The glasses shining so bright, almost blinding our eyes. It seemed these people had a special thing for glasses. They have it all over the place. Showing it off. It also rained. So heavy, getting on my nerves. I took it as a metaphor. The Lord was also rejoicing with me. He too, was happy for my freedom. We went into the edifice, too many formalities and finally it got official; Manas Kinra was now a part of ‘Manipal College of Pharmaceutical Sciences’ and Simran Kinra was granted her long-wished liberty. We went to the beach to celebrate and the kid inside me was already planning the new map of my new room.
THAT night was the happiest of my entire, entire life.
That’s a guarantee, nothing beats that night.
Finally, I got my OWN room, my own space. One more wardrobe, all the baggy T-shirts. Topped with ‘ultimate freedom’ and the privilege of eating all the chocolates - alone.



15th July, 2010.
All the arrangements met. Packing done. Fees paid. The monster was ready to leave for his new world. My inner Goddess rejoiced and danced and singed on the top of her voice. The actor in me wrinkled the face with fake remorse and ‘pretended’ immense grief. Trying to look like ‘too sad for the loss’
We bid him a good-bye while the walls of my room waited to get scribbled with MY name. He went away. My mom’s favourite child was now 5148415113 miles away, in the hot weather of Manipal and her second favourite child, under her nose : unable to hide the glee.

2nd December, 2013.
The maggi is no more to-be-shared and fought for the larger part. The remote unarmed. Chocolates, to be savoured alone. No one questions ‘kahan ja rahi hai? Pehle mumma se phone karke pooch’
Nobody demands ‘tameez se baat karna seekho.’ No one lends money at school. No one imbibes unwanted knowledge. No one to fight with and no one to complain about. Nobody fights for the softer quilt. Nobody steals the chocolates. Nobody gives a cold look on talking to boys at school. No one listens to the dumb talks. No one gets mad for no reason. No one to pushes the swing high up in the air. No one ushers to the restroom at night. No one scolds for unnecessarily crying at mere cuts. No one to dance with in the rain. No one calls up mumma and complaints ‘yeh ladki batameezi kar rahi hai, mai maar dunga isse.’ No one insults calling ‘mattoe’ in public.

COLLEGE HAPPENED.
The unconditional love is lost. Mumma misses her child; the idiot kid misses her monster. Perhaps, what do they say?
Life goes on.

..She knew it would take forever.

21^st November, 2013.

“But, my career is more important. You distract me. High time we part. If destined, life will make us meet again’’ he snapped and she shook up with a sudden jerk. Breathing heavily, she cursed herself for poisoning her mind watching those Hindi-soaps lately.

“Thank God it was a dream. Kaustubh can never dump me. Never will” she thought splashing cold water on her face and walking back to bed.

*I unread message* the 8 inch long device blinked.

Her inner Goddess danced. She knew who it was. Adjusting herself under the cold blanket and mushy pillows she clicked ‘open’ giggling like a 16 year old teenager.
And, that was it. The universe halted to a pause. November was not cold anymore. Blanket, no more comforting.

The typical dewy-eyed was forced back to the sands of time.

20^th June, 2012.

Tanya was jogging on the tracks of Chinese Park with ‘It’s a beautiful world’ humming in her ears when this striking outline of a man passed across her talking on the phone. But something in the air was so exciting, something so magical when their eyes met and the humid air suddenly transformed into a magical, exciting one. Their eyes met for a nanosecond and the world collapsed.

He could feel the chill in his spine and dragons in his stomach.
She could smell the intoxicating fragrance which would take an eternity to expunge her brain cells.
He cursed himself for not wearing the Blue T-Shirt.
She cursed herself for not brushing her hair.

..And, they were no more into sight. The force separated them.

21 year old Tanya would drool metaphorically every night thinking about the nameless-guy.
But, time swept fast. The nerd had no time for love and hopes were given up. Faith lost.
Though she would still wish for HIM every day when she visited the Gurudwara.
Religion was brutally followed now.

2^nd January 2013, 8 p.m.

The red-nosed girl sneezed for the 5^th time struggling with her oregano in the infinite queue of Reliance Fresh when she heard a similar voice squeaking his name for the third time ‘K-A-U-S-T-U-B-H’ yes, yes! It’s ‘U-S-T’.
Her head pounded due the sudden rush of blood and she turned behind in reflex.
Faith was again misplaced.
Smiling to herself she pondered ‘Blue suits him’ and walked out of the store.
Oregano was no more an essential ingredient for her pizza.


For the first time in her well spent 21 years of life, Miss Tanya Tandon did not think of the ‘people’ and continued smiling liked an idiot on the street.

“I finally know his name.” She IM-ed her best friend well versed with the mystery of the nameless; now-with-a-name guy.

“Screw you. Get over the jerk” the reply came. Which was –without any second thought- ignored. And, deleted.

She finally had ‘good’ reason to switch on the mean machine on her table.
45 minutes was all it took to find HER Kaustubh among 84652136 other Kaustbh’s, as it seemed.
Ignoring her conscience which made her feel like a desperate witch, she sent a friend request.

It was accepted within second.
Within minutes, giggles shared.
Within hours digits exchanged.
Within days, relationship statuses changes.

There was something surreal about them. Nobody could ever refrain envying them. From the old uncle who visited the same park for yoga where they met; to the little kids who played cricket with Kaustubh when Tanya showed up late. (Everyday)

Perhaps, only until the last message.

(21^st November, 2013)

Far away from all what WAS, she was now undergoing the most horrifying shock of her life. Everything within her, numbed. No tears. No swears. She lay on the bed, silent. Nothing registered her mind. The echo of his message was terribly beating against her eardrums. She curled up squeezing her legs. She re-read;

“But, my career is more important. You distract me. High time we part. If destined, life will make us meet again’’

Tears flickered but did not fall.
The fighter inside her raged.
Tanya Tandon did not let her life pause.
She did not whine or complain.

“I want to get married” she declared next morning. Leaving her parents rejoice.
Arrangements were instantly completed. Everything set-up.

31^st December, 2013.

28 days was all it took for Miss Tanya Tandon to become Mrs. Tanya Raj Kapoor.
Everything was good again.

Though, somewhere in the dark deep  buried tales of the night, the fragrance still lingered and felt. She knew it would take forever for the fragrance to expunge her brain cells.

Desires.

Pungent smell of medicines. Sweating foreheads. Bitten nails. Shivering shoulders. Puppy glances. Restless legs.

They sat on a cold metal chair; they had finally managed to capture after a series of unfortunate events and unsuccessful attempts. It’s never easy to grab a chair when so many eyes are transfixed at it.

‘’Chai?’’ She offered.

But he was too busy to answer. Fighting the tears and resisting the temptation.

She shook him slightly and ‘get lost!’ he screamed, with a jerk.

“What’s wrong with this man?” She wondered and managed passing the crowd of murmurs; stumbling and falling.

Pranav and Priya were a newly-wed couple; unlike the newly-wed couples; who were anxiously waiting for an alleviating opposite the bench of the ICU room, Care Hospital.
Pranav’s mother was apparently hit by a motorcycle when went for grocery shopping a week back; perhaps, was supposed to show “signs of recovery” gaining back senses and responding to touch.

The couple had miraculously been able to leave their quarrels within the four walls and deal with the situation in co-ordination.  At least, until the last hour. But that was not all what bothered the lean, dusky and intense grey-eyed man.  Not just Priya and her recent annoying habits; or the obvious worry and stress for his “aai”; his soul hid something else. A deep, dark, unsaid secret.
For him, Life was too grim for levity.

His forehead did not only sweat tension, but desire.

“12 ki nahi! 10 ka rate hai!” fought the lady in sky-blue salwar kameez with the vendor, and saving two rupees started walking back to her husband. Or, ‘suffocation’, as she lately devised.
She boiled with rage and fury but had promised to stand by her lawfully accepted mother, and so she did. Also, if not she, WHO?
Fighting her own thoughts and embracing the difficulties with her smile, she took short steps back to the ICU. With a chai in her right hand for the suffocation.

Lost in her own world she was brought back to life by a man in green robe and a face mask.. “Must be a doctor”, she thought.

“Are you the one attending Saraswati?” he inquired.

“Yes, I am her daughter” she shot her words, now soaked in fear.

The face was invisible. Expressions, unread. It could be anything. She prepared herself for the most lamenting news.
“Your mother is safe now. Congratulations! She has finally started responding to us. Celebrate, celebrate!” he screamed and went.

She was filled with a sudden sense of accomplishment. No words in her dictionary could ever describe the feeling; the state of happiness she experienced. Forgetting all the grievances, she ran for Pranav; but he was nowhere to be seen.

She knew where he was and died a little inside. But anyhow, ran to the window and grabbed the man who appeared to be a shadow.

“Baby! Mumma has recovered. Our aai can go back home now!! Let’s go and see her, together” she chirped with a grin sufficient to make every person’s mood on the floor.

But, it was too late. Pranav had touched euphoria. Cocaine had already dried the sweat off his head. The desire was satisfied, and brain at rest.

With the crimson tip of his nose and dizzy blackening sight, he pushed her wife and yelled “WHO AAI?”

Suppressed

One day, the angels said to God : ''This world is gloomy, without a woman my Lord!'' So, He decided to make a female. But, nothing much was left after the creation of a male.
So, He gathered

The splendour of the moon.,

And softness from a parrot's plume.

Trembling from a grass,

Silence of a portrait,

Delicacy of a petal,

and elegance of a pearl !

Resolution from a rock,

And also, vanity from the peacock.

Astonishment from the mirror,

Fidelity from a sunflower,

Tears from the lie,

Timidity of a hare,

And strength of a mare !

Why was I, not born a boy?

When all of it was finally moulded into a figure, it was found to have eternal beauty, and brain, too - in full measure ! The Lord decided to call it a 'Woman', and sent her from Heaven, to Earth.
But, in this golden age, when she came over here, gender bias became her main fear.If her parents bought her to this world, why did they tend to become her destroyer?Slowly dying, mournfully crying..She sits under the vast blue skies.When a thought approaches her mind, and a scream approaches her heart..Why is she alone? Why so 'Suppressed' ?
Woe begone, and with a mind full of thoughts, she calls for her mother but, is eventually berated upon!
And she ponders, if Durga and Lakshmi  are worshipped as 'maa' why is she not at their par? With wits and scars, she screams but loud.. She had a wish to touch the clouds..And, in the end she dies with a tear in her eye, and a question in her mind..
''Why was I, not born a boy?''

Dear torture, I BID THEE ADIÓS!

[A note for the reader: This article was written for my friend who went through a heartbreak. Written in first person to avoid complexities. I hope you like it.]

Okay. I don’t really know where to start from, how to start and what to write BUT since it has to start, let’s give this start the name of start. [If you were expecting to find a fervent or languish piece of writing under this title, then I'm sorry to disappoint you.]

“It’s not working anymore’’, She said.
‘’That’s entirely your fault’’, He said.
‘’Oh. It’s always my fault! Why don’t you dump me then?’’ she cried.
‘’Oh! I’d love to. I LEAVE YOU, girl! You don’t deserve me’’ he stated, he smiled, a haughty smile and left.

And, she howled and screamed and wailed. This world is selfish. Everything around me is depressing. I’m worthless, useless. I’m full of anxiety, uneasiness, and stress. Nobody loves me. I have nothing to look forward to. These troubles have adamantly stood beside me all through my short-lived-life. Oh God! Why don’t you just send a truck which hits me when I walk by the pavement and KILL ME? She pondered, and slept.

Hey! I’m a 21st century teenager. My boyfriend just dumped me. I loved him, but eventually things didn’t set right, because of ME, my shortcomings, defects, flaws and errors. [That’s what HE has to say, at least] I don’t really deserve to exist! I have nothing to freaking exist for! I mean come on? How would I face the world without a boyfriend, a wardrobe; which is so oblivion of all the “in” clothes? And, then the unholy absence of gadgets like an Xbox, android-supporting-cell phone, [which supports FB, Whatsapp, Viber, G-Talk, Skype], an iPod, iPad, just fills the basics. But that’s not all! I have to excel in every field [that’s what most of my elders expect, at least] And then, this size zero age. Which means, shaking my ass off this bean bag and more of walking, running, jumping, gyming! And, if that does not fit the bill, dieting might also peep through! But wait! That’s not where I end. I have to look fab. I have to buy a zillion of dresses. Watch all the latest movies. Update myself with all the happenings and mis-happenings. Maintain my ‘image’ in the society. Counsel a defeated friend. Modernize myself. ‘Behave’ in front of guys by making sure that I don’t wear short clothes, for that might ‘tempt’ them. Excel in all walks of life. Take care of pados-ki-meena-aunty, delhi-waali-bua and every tom-dick-harry around me. Update my Facebook profile, get some new pictures [and also, at least a hundred likes] Phew! I try to rest. But the thought of not getting admitted in a respectable school with a ‘respectable’ subject, the thought of pleasing everyone around me, the thought of living up to everybody’s expectations, resides somewhere in my brain, standing like a monster giving me a sly grin.




According to the world and *bahar ke chaar log* who tend to align our lives, I have a perfect reason to kill myself. Create a shell around myself, stop socializing and become an irritating teenager. But hey! Wait. Mumma significantly spent a lot of shekels on my education. [Ignoring the fact, that it’s just been 12 years of schooling. Because, anyhow it does matter.] I’m not going to waste it all. Let me deal this with wisdom. It’s time to put all the “enlightments”, all the hey-don’t-give-up teachings, [by oh-so-learned teachers], the lectures teemed up with optimism, the preaching’s of those motivating and inspiring pictures on Facebook to EXECUTION.

YO! Dear pessimistic thoughts, NO! I’m not killing myself. Or, becoming that one annoying and creepy 15-year-old that yells at everybody around and blames *kismat* for every loss. Rather, I’m going to kill you! And every single hint of your mere presence. This, is the time, to LET IT GO. I mean, imagine! Imagine a life without these flings? These worries, these sorrows, the heartbreaks, these downs? Woah. NOW THAT IS DEPRESSING! Isn’t it? The mere thought of leading a worry-free life is, tormenting! And makes me realize, DUDE! How would I even feel and realize that I actually LIVE? Eh. “A tension free life” Where everything would be flowery, colorful, delightful, rejoiceful, and, and just ‘perfect’. Well, No thanks! For, *Life* is a synonym for complication, anyway! How can ‘I’ be spared? Moreover, why should I be spared? All this defines ME. Tells me, I’m normal. I’m living. Tells me, grief is a part and parcel of this beautiful journey! This has to happen. We need to be defeated. To be dejected. At last, we’re humans not robots!

Soooo, hey my loyal companion aka lamenting notions, why don’t we part? You aren’t of any worth, anyway. For the best, you’d just magnify the griefs, the pains and put me into a despondent and low-spirited state! And, I don’t let you do that just for the sake of that one lets-commit-suicide thought, which incidentally crossed my mind. I know you can forgive me for that! Even the most intellectual spooks have once through their lifetime, acknowledged these gruesome thoughts and have been moved by the emotion! So why not me? I can’t be flawless. I can’t walk matching shoulders with you. I won’t give up. I’ll never give up. I’ll stand up again. I’ll not let these worldly things overpower the heavenly things around me. I have faith in me. In my God, in my mom, and that’s enough! I can’t achieve the plethora of perfection. I’ll be ME.

Coaching, coacing, coaching.

A note for the reader : This is just a humour-intended post written by me, which reads about my friend and myself. All wild and weird kinda stuff, which takes place everyday -pre, during and post- the coaching hours. And, I wrote this article way back. Someday in 2011. So if you're expecting a mature piece of writing, this is so not for you. Anyway, I hope you like it :)

PS Every statement made in this note is true and by any means does not refers to me- The writer. I am just a mere observer and endurer of all the happenings around me. Any claims made by the protagonist i.e. Richa Dwivedi about its authenticity need not to be entertained.

''Repeated takes every day. ENJOY'' :D

*Take 1* : This part usually takes place near our hot spot ''Rashika General Store''Miss Richa : [After adjusting her hair] Behen kitni dhoop hai ! Chalo yaar ! Tum hamesha time waste karti ho ! [As if mere liye toh dhoop hai he nai] -__-

*Take 2* : At the coaching [If I am near]Richa : Yaar baal theek hai? Chalein? Acha ekk min ruko last baar sheesha dekh loon. (After spending another two mins with the mirror) Chalo yaar ! Yeh dhoop. Hey bhagwaan ! [Only worried about her looks.]






*Take 3* : While entering the waiting room (and YET AGAIN glancing at the mirror quickly) :Yaaar ! Bhook lag ri hai. Neend bhi aa rai hai. Kya batau school se aate he coaching. Acha thoda udhar khisko. Let me also sit. Sab chilla kyu rahe hain yaar !

*Take 4* : Yaaaaar ! Garmiiii !! [Repeating the same lines AGAIN and AGAIN and AGAIN !]

*Take 5* : The next best thing she does everytime while doing maths - YAWNS.Then suddenly laughs. Gets scolded, and ALWAYS blames me. [Poor me]

*Take 6* : After solving 2-3 sums. Yaaaar ! pyaas lag ri hai ! Paani hai?And if I say no. Gives me those infuriated looks, Asks Disha, and everybody around.And finally back to me – Tum kisi layak nai ho ! Then, *yawning* Neend aa ri hai ! [She’s sleepy, hungry. Thirsty and what not, all in THAT particular hour]

*Take 7* : If she gets water from Disha. Smiles at her. Again gives me looks. And then toh you can imagine. RICHA and WATER ! :P

*Take 8* : When finally Robin Sir gets irritated and asks us to work:Richa : Scribbles some 2x3x4 stuff in her note book.[Just to act]

*Take 9* : After solving some more sums. Looks at me, BEHEN !! I can't solve anymore yaar ! Bahaut difficult hai. Neeend aa ri hai bey! Jasleen, yaar. Kya karein? Kya hoga tests mei? Hum fir latak jayeinge! Ufff.. Pareshan hoon mai toh.. *YAWNS* .. and back to books. [Acting again]

*Take 10* : After some bakwass, laughs continuously at her own PJ’s and some random silly stuff [and makes me too] [She doesn't even lets me work at my workplace with full dedication]

*Take 11* : After wasting another 25minutes. Yaaar ! 4:25 ho gaye ! Sir bhej kyu nahi rahe? Thak gayi mai ! [NAA JAANE YEH THAKAAN KAB DOOR HOGI]

*Take 12* : After sir leaves us and we go downstairs. Behen ! Chalo jaldi ghar chalein. Ab rukkkna mat ![She never ever lets me talk to any other person, hence destroying my social circle]

*Take 13* : After we leave scholars. Yaar behen paise hain? Chillicks khaani hai! And, poor me. I always have to nod my head in affirmation and, IF by any chance, I don't; Same old taunt : ''Kitni kanjooos ho yaar tum''

*Take 14* : At the chillicks thela. Looks at that rat faced chiilicks wala bandha. Demand the flavour 4-5 times and, finally ends up at the very first choice she made earlier. [Confused Chick :X] Then, gives a satisfactory smile and asks me to move. [When will she understand I can’t eat and ride at the same time ! I mean come on? I don't want to risk my life at mere 14 ]

*Take 15* : Near Rashika- The hot spot. Well, all she does there is Yapping Yapping and Yapping ! Then idiotically laughs at some stuff continuously for a few minutes. And ,now comes the BEST part of the day. that dialogue, which she NEVER EVER forgets : ''Behen mai kitni kaali ho gayi hun'' [ How on earth am I supposed to help it?]

Well, This is what Miss Dwivedi does everyday at the coaching. :P :P And please note : In the wee hours of tiring day I could not recall much of it, But still did an attempt to the best I could. [This note was completed within 10 minutes of typing. So any typo part by the writer – Of course me- Should kindly be ignored ]

Thank-You :D