Sun tiptoes...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Twin bonding...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At life's disposal

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The wait....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   

The stride is mine......

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Matters don't matter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The last Mango season

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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A yellow day

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

She struggled to climb in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Chocolate and figs...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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