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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Cheers to life....

It was a blank picture. I stared and stared at it but could not make any sense out of it. “Oh, this one is masterpiece. The dots symbolize life in its different forms.” Was it just me or no one else could make sense out of it. I just stood there and smiled. Was I ashamed to say I could not understand? Or was it classy to say yes?

“This one is sold.” And they put a dot on it. Is everything in life always conceived by its marketing value? Why are there norms in everything? Who decides these best cuisines, the haute fashion, the best cars, the best manners? I always felt that these cultivated loss of individuality in a way.

It was eight in the evening. I took the bus from office. Another hour to reach home, I pulled out a novel. “Oh I see, you are reading Arundhati Roy. Masterpiece.” I looked at the lady and smiled. Was I following another norm? I had taken the book because it appealed to me. But I did not understand being judgmental.

“Excuse me!” I said when a lady stomped my foot. She looked back at me. “I am so sorry. Oh wow…you have a Prada bag. It’s gorgeous!” Well, talk about Déjà vu! Not complaining about the remarks, but what if I had been reading Vikram Seth, people would start calling me the prose queen! Or what if I had been just carrying a jhola, I would still be the same person.

I stepped out of the bus and ran to get a sandwich. I was really very hungry. And some Soda and ice-cream? I winked at myself, why not? I ordered and the bill was hundred and twenty. I put my hand in my bag and searched for my wallet. Suddenly this funny feeling came over me. I snatched open my bag and started searching eagerly. Could not find it. I remember I had taken it out to buy the bus ticket. Where could it possibly be?

“Mam, please pay up.” “I am sorry, I changed my mind. Could you cancel the order please? I am so sorry.” As I stepped away from the counter, random panicky feeling overtook me. My credit cards, my cash, my ATM cards, I kept so many dry cleaner receipts in it, and my house key! It started pouring very suddenly. There was no place to hide.

Although, I knew my house was a few paces away, I did not know what to do. I had made a separate key and kept it inside the house. How very intelligent of me! Something beeped in my bag, the phone battery was dying. What a fine day, I was out of luck, out of money, a home and an umbrella. I walked in ankle deep water with my best heels. And I certainly cannot explain how that felt!

I looked inside the Bistro I was passing by. Warm hot soup was being served with bread. People were eating yummy chocolate mousse and crème Brule. Was it about the names? I figured how much more desirable the things seemed when I had no money. I waded to my apartment. I sat near the door at the staircase and yearned for some warm tea.

I sat there and reminisced about my mother back home and the amazing food she made. I wondered around thinking of the chocolate chip cookies made by grandma. I wish I could order a pizza right now. The yummy hot pizza, with mozzarella cheese dripping from it, with oregano seasoning and onion crispies. God, I almost wanted to cry.

“Excuse me, could you tell me where is house 401?” I could not believe it, it was a pizza delivery guy. Was god testing my patience? It was 9:30 pm already and I had no solution to food or shelter! “It’s upstairs.” I said stopping my drool from falling. I decided to go and check if my nice neighbours, who had ordered a pizza, were around to socialize with me. The pizza guy had left. I climbed the next floor but decided not to.

I looked at the door of 401. The pizza box lay at the doorstep. Why doorstep? I did not understand. Even after massive repulsion, my feet took me to the door. The rain was still dripping from my clothes. There was a note on the box. “Had a good party, sending you pizza. Love Marty.” I sensed the door was locked and nobody was home. The smell of fresh pizza filled my nostrils. I stood there thinking.

Suddenly, there was a noise of an opening door. I have no idea what prompted me to do it, but I picked up the pizza box and ran the flight of stairs. When I reached near the door, I wondered what had gotten into me. Was I insane to sneak into people’s food? I couldn’t. But seemed like the upstairs people were not at home. The pizza would get bad anyway, and there were a lot of sentiments sent with the box. I grabbed a slice and took a bite. It was heavenly!

In no time, the pizza was over. I do not remember when I slept but a torch light woke me up. “Madam, why are you on the stairs? Are you hurt?” I snapped open my eyes to see the watchman of the building. In no time, I was tucked in bed safely and was sound asleep. And I slept like a baby.

In the morning it all seemed like a nightmare which had passed. I had slept with my wet clothes on. Not that I could remember much. I looked around me. I was so used to the comforts of the home I had created for myself, and I loved it. I loved my wardrobe, my lifestyle, the cuisine etc. Who did not like luxury? Who does not want a Ralph Lauren or Gucci in their closet? Who would complain about a Cruise holiday? Maybe the onlookers were not judging, but admiring and longing for things.

Maybe, I was being judgmental by not taking comments the right way. Maybe I was too smitten with my life that I took it for granted. At the end of the day, I loved my home and my family, and obviously wanted to add the luxuries and definitely not feel guilty about it. I picked up the phone and dialed, “Please deliver a thin crust pizza with extra mozzarella cheese and onion rings to house no 401….”

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And she lived...

It had often rained pink cotton candy. And perhaps tarts, sweets and chocolates. Who could forget the occasional pastries and cakes? And mom’s chocolate date pudding. And could she ever keep her hands off the raisin stained kheer?

Then the world turned around. Suddenly,  the buzz word was sugar-free, fat-free, cholesterol-free. The focus on ‘the body’ as if we were all turning into show-stoppers in fashion fiestas. The word fit had a completely transformed meaning.

I saw Meeta grow up. We were great buddies. She had always been chubby. But the cries of fat-baby and St Bernard never troubled her. I called her Chubs, and she hated me for that. And I secretly envied how pretty she was – almond eyes and silky brown hair. Her skin reflected everything around, and was glowing as ever. And the best part – she had an angelic aura on her face.

However hard she tried, she could never lose the fat! But from deep within, it never bothered her. When we went to college together, she ended up getting guys fall head-over-heels for her, while I just looked on. Nobody could escape the charm of her beauty, and above all, her angelic soul.

She always helped people, going out of her way sometimes. Once, she had travelled twenty kilometers in a bus ride, when it was raining cats and dogs, just to give notes to her classmate who had left them on the desk and had an exam the following day. She never cared for political correctness. But that was not expected out of her, as she was always warm and nice to people.

When I walked with her in the college corridors, I felt like I was with a celebrity. Everyone starting from the garden keeper, to students of all classes, to the Principal and lecturers greeted her with such affection. She was indeed the star.

I am sitting in the hospital today. Holding Meeta’s hand. As I hear the sound of the drip, I am reminded of her laughter. They say, she was very brave. They say, she saved many lives. I don’t know what they say, but my friend here in the hospital. Her mother stood nearby, her eyes full of tears, her sari covering her face, and a bowl of kheer in her hands.

When Meeta opened her eyes, I held her hand. She just smiled. She called her mother by her side and tried wiping her tears with her shaky fingers. Then she put her mother’s hand on her head and said “I am going Ma, bless me.” She looked at me and gave her mother’s hand in mine. I knew what she meant.

As the doctors pulled the sheet over her head, I was still in shock. Her mother was hysterical weeping out her woes. “She had seen blind children crossing the road. She had got out of her car and helped them. A drunk driver was racing, and she saved the children, but..” I could imagine how it would have been. How Meeta had been brave. How she did what she wanted to in life. She gave this for you and in my hand was placed a sheet of paper.

“My dearest friend, you have to take care of mummy now. And never disappoint her with your fad diet plans, just eat the kheer she makes for you. I was diagnosed with cancer last year and I don’t know how much time I have left. But I would not want to die sulking in bed. I have refused the medication. I have no regrets in life, I have seen smiling children, people and done my part. I have donated my inheritance to blind school. I never told mummy about this, but I am sure you can explain it to her.

And don’t ever undermine yourself, live life to the fullest. And you are very beautiful, inside out, and I know it. Have a happy and fulfilling life.”

She had never really lived for herself, she never cared much about how she looked or what she ate. But she cared about the people around her, every single being. She often told me, she owed a lot to this world. Her mission was to spread happiness around. Anyone would have laughed that away, not understanding what she meant. But there are some people who are ‘God’s own’ and she was perfectly just that!

---

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Celebrate....don't worry

Was I going to celebrate Valentine ’s Day? I had not yet decided. For me, love was never ‘out there’ for display. Nor did I ever advocate the PDAs (public displays of affection, if you might call them that). But that does not mean I will ever allow myself to suffocate in the premises of my own thoughts.

I liked seeing love around me, rather than the ill-fated hatred that bound the hearts of millions with undisputed agony. We do not realize what a disgrace we allow ourselves to do, when we agree with mass inhumane behavior. And even if we don’t oppose it, it is as good as succumbing to it.

Richa liked Richard. I always saw them as two lovebirds, who were ready to take a full flight to their new destination. I used to see them everyday, standing at the bus stop, holding hands. Many days I saw a bright yellow sunflower accompanying her books, or even a rose. But what was unmistakable was her smile, when she was with Richard.

I was rather late to office that day. It was raining heavily. As I stood at the bus stop with my umbrella, trying to escape the darned wetness, they both waved at me. They were both half wet, soaking from their shoulders but cuddling under a single umbrella. The umbrella could hardly keep up with the rain, but the warmth still kept their smiles. They both waved at me. I could not help but smile, and waved back at them.

With people like Richa and Richard, I am sure each day was a valentine’s day. They seemed so perfect together, they way their eyes locked up, the way he waited for the bus with her and waved her goodbye, or the way he walked her back home. You could clearly see that they were too happy together to be bothered by external circumstances.

“The political leaders are going frantic about 14th Feb.” “I don’t know when will they ever stop this ridicule and do some ‘real’ work”. “I do not understand, when there are riots and killings, then nobody comes forward to protect the people, and they are ready to fire swords for these minuscule things.” I could just about agree, but what could be done. We were too busy running our own lives to allocate some time for social well-being.

When the day arrived, there was love in the air. Not literally, but the smell of roses had not left any gaps unchecked. The rose petals on the walkway, the over-hyped meeting of lovers, it was all a fascination being celebrated. But whatever it was, it was lovely to look at!

I could barely get to the bus stop. There were long queues at the florist’s shop for roses, being sold for 50 bucks, when the usual price was just 8 bucks! But it still did not deter people from waiting for them. Candy wrappers, chocolate boxes were to be seen everywhere. It looked more like a dozen birthdays being celebrated together.

I was waiting for the bus to come and made sure I wasn’t wearing any shades of pink or red. Somehow, I could never stand clichés or hypes. If I loved someone, I would rather hold his hand than the rose. What wonderful thoughts, the valentine season was getting to me now.

I saw Richard and Richa. She had a beautiful bouquet of red roses in her hands. Richard must have planned way ahead for this. They held each other’s hands. I noticed, it wasn’t just me smiling, but others like Mrs Gale,  Mr Alok and all people of my neighbourhood who stood there.

Suddenly an auto-rickshaw came and stopped near the bus. It was too sudden to exclaim or understand. A few people jumped out with flags which read – “Condemn Valentine’s day. Save the culture.” They headed towards Richard and Richa. Richard moved her behind him and prepared himself for them. But there were too many of them.

I can never explain what got into me at that moment. I rushed to Richard’s side and shouted “Stop this nonsense. I have called the police. They will be here any minute.” “Don’t interfere lady, we aren’t concerned with you. We just want to teach a lesson to these lovers, who can’t respect their own culture.” Mr Alok was quicker in thinking, he actually dialed the police while Mrs Gale came up to me and confronted them. “Don’t you teach us about culture. Creating havoc isn’t our culture. Nor is this spread of violence.” “We cant let this happen.” As it happened, Mrs Gale came forward and slapped the speaker. It was so sudden that everyone stopped speaking. Staring open mouthed at Mrs Gale, who was way above her sixty years of age, the mob stopped abruptly.

We could hear the police sirens in a distance. They got into the auto-rickshaw and made a head-start, but the police caught onto them. Mrs Gale noticed the stares from strangers and she retorted “ My husband was in the army you know. A very brave man, I got it from him.” People roared in laughter at her statement.

Richard stepped out and said “Thank you Mrs Gale, and all of you.” “Oh, don’t worry about it” said Mrs Gale who was still basking in her fame and adulation. “I am planning to marry Richa. I proposed today and she said yes.” “Wow…congratulations.” “But again, I am a Christian and she is a hindu. Her parents will never agree.” “Oh Richard, let me talk to her parents.” And that statement from Mrs Gale made their day.
They say all is well that ends well. But does it ever end? In a world that advocates freedom of thought and expression, was love – the basic human expression, so gullible? But I could not argue it accurately, because this is life, and we have to keep fighting to get it ‘our way’. Who said it was going to be easy, but the least we could do is not burden other people’s problems! If each of us dealt with together, we were sure to succeed. Happy Valentine’s day to all!

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The meaning of joy...

Twenty four was not a milestone age, nor was it the joyous early twenties indicator. All it brought with it was the announcement of the mid twenties arriving! Did it really bother me? I wasn’t sure!

Our greatest anticipations and fears are actually a repercussion of public opinion or rather hype. To think of it, it was just another milestone. But to argue the same, it was a new chapter in life. No college, no bunking, getting serious with work! I mean come on…serious with work? I advocate dedication but never seriousness. I don’t know how people can consider both these as the same. For me, life was going to be fun, as it always had been!

Tomorrow was the D day. I had not made any plans and anticipated it to be yet another day. Of course, in the morning Ma called, then my sister. Then the usual…getting ready for work. And to tell you the obvious, I felt like bunking! Tell me one person who feels like working on their birthday!

I got dressed and reached office. My friends wished me, then my colleagues. Lots of phone calls and lots of emails. But it all seemed like such a routine. When I received Gautam’s call, he asked me the usual. “What plans for today? We all can meet tonight and celebrate with our group. Everyone is in town”. I smiled and said I have work to finish. I suggested meeting on a weekend when it’s more relaxed and we have time on us. As the call ended, these thoughts started circumferencing my mind.

“Happy Birthday! Hope you are having a good time” said my colleague. “Listen, I have a family function tonight, can you cover up for me in the meeting?” I didn’t know what to say! I wanted to tell him that it was the height of insensitivity, and why the superficial wishes when you don’t even care! Analyzing my silence and the ‘blank’ shocked look, he smiled his widest at me. “Thanks yaar, you are so dependable! Have a nice day”. I was wallowing in the significant brutality when it struck me.

What am I trying to do? Be a pillow for people to cry on? Ignore my friends and postpone meeting them? Not wanting to celebrate my birthday? I had become exactly what I detested most. I always told people to live lives as they wanted to, not be pushed and dragged in the crowd. Was all that just mere philosophy? Was I light years away from what I was advocating?

I dropped all work and went home. As I was unlocking the door, I heard someone. “Hello there, how are you. It has been months since I moved in, I have never seen you.” “Oh, I have long working hours I guess” I said unsurely. I wasn’t the kind to socialize with the neighbours. It came with a lot of contribution of time, and food delicacies, so I chose to stay away. Sundays had always been the lazy ones, or friend’s night out.

From where I could see her, she seemed very old and frail. “Come here, I made something special today!” “No, thank you I have something to finish.” “You people never pay heed to us oldies. Now come here at once.” I could not refuse the directive, and something within me struck a chord with her.
As I moved closer, and the rays of the sun touched her face, her wrinkles shone and smile widened. She put a delicate hand on my back and welcomed me into her house. I was amazed to see the colourful interiors. I could surely never invite her to my house, knowing how shabby it seemed now!

There were hand embroidered cushion covers with beautiful dancing folk on them. There was an old rosewood bookshelf with various classics. The dining area had been carefully arranged with beautiful small pots containing pickles; the aroma could be felt from a distance. The balcony had a neat arrangement of plants and vines, which slightly hung from her balcony. I had often looked at it from outside and praised it.

“What thoughts worry you now? Please sit down.” She sat down next to me and adjusted the spectacles on her nose. “I moved in last year, my grandson helped me. He is a darling boy, but his busy life keeps him away from me. His parents passed away years ago, and he lived with us. But that time I was young and he couldn’t move a finger without me around.” I could see her eyes moistening. I did not know what to say or do to comfort her.

“He lives in the other side of the city, you know. He is a fine theatre artist, very dedicated. I used to go regularly to see his performances. But then I had my knee problem and I can’t move around much.” I felt unhappy for her. I could never imagine myself being stuck at home all day. Here I was, trying to break free from my monotonous job, while this lady had to spend almost her entire life indoors.

“Today is his birthday. He promised he would come to see me, but I guess he has plans with friends. I made some kheer for him. Let me get it for you.” Was God just playing his usual games? I did not understand. I never had a grandmother who adored me and prepared delicacies just for me. “Here you go. I hope you like it.” And it was true; it was the most amazing kheer I had ever tasted!

“I have a special gift for you.” She took out a beautiful off white shawl. On it was embroidered the vines in her balcony, and the small bright flowers. It was very artistic to gaze at. “It is beautiful, thank you. But I can’t…” She did not let me finish my sentence and pressed it into my hands. “It is for you.”

We started talking about my family, my job and how I lived alone in the huge city. “You must be very brave for living alone. I used to be a mouse when someone even knocked at the door.” I couldn’t stop laughing at that comment. And suddenly I felt at ease with her.

We talked about books and food. She took me to the kitchen and started to teach me how to cook. In no time, we were giggling and eating lunch. Then we sat in the warmth of the sunlight in the balcony. Her transparent skin made her look angelic. I felt wonderful and blessed.

“Today is my birthday too. And tell you what, I couldn’t have had a better day than this.” She smiled and put the shawl around me. “This is what grandmas are for.” I hugged her and a tear tickled my eye. “Now don’t you start crying missie. Or I won’t give you anything else to eat!” And we both laughed at the statement. I couldn’t have asked for more on this day. The job and my life would anyway go on. They would be mundane sometimes, and fun at times. The essence was not to get carried away by life, but to carry life further. If I believed in soul mates, I was sure I had found one…as for other things, time could wait!

Readers...need your opinion

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Cosmopolitan Curry Author!

I don't succumb...

It is strange how if you buy flowers, they don’t stay with you even till the next day! There is the attempt to provide them water and minerals – you can put salt in the water, keep them in sunlight, but they fail to prosper. The freshness in them is lost with time….

Sometimes I wonder if we are like flowers. Starting out with ecstatic smiles in childhood, why do they wither away with age? As you grow up, you find yourself engulfed in the idiosyncrasies of life, being slowly torn apart from the simple ecstasies which existed. And strangely, we tend to build the same past environment we have always known. The meaning of joy changes; some look for the reflection of luxury, while some feast on the comforts of a family, and some just materialize their worlds as if there is no tomorrow.

I am a perfect example of the flowers you keep - maybe on your desk, or that window sill, or in your hallway. I started out happy - nice job, nice house, an energetic outlook and a positive viewpoint.

All until I came across Sushma. She was the apple of everyone’s eye in office. They looked up-to her as she could get any work done; yes ‘any’ work. I was mesmerized when I first saw her. Envied looks, a perfect body, perfect sense of dressing which left you wondering if she had inherited Princess Diana’s closet!

You could never miss her cheerful “good morning” and her bright smile. How I wished I was so bright and bubbly. She engaged into instant conversations.

“Rody, how is your dog now. Did that Vet help whose number I gave you?” “Oh Seema, you look glowing today, I am sure you are getting a lot of proposals lately?” How did she manage the upkeep of so much data? I could not even keep my daily appointments!

My Manager was not far behind in mentioning her. “Have you seen Sushma today? What a fantastic presentation she made.” “She has great PR skills you know. She even helps our sales department. What an all rounder!” You could not miss it even if you were eating lunch. “She helped me fix the flower arrangement. She has great taste.” “She even suggested a good plumber to me.” What a multi talented persona I was around!

My first presentation in my office was due that day. I had fixed up the slides, but could not manage the sales data. I thought Sushma would be the perfect one to ask for help. I would introduce myself to her, maybe she would even know my name. I went up to her cubicle. She was having a rather flamed conversation on the phone. So I turned around and waited. After five minutes she looked at me, “Nice to finally meet you. I have heard so much about you. You have a facebook account? Hey, this is my number, what is yours.” She was very sudden for me, but I managed.

I described my situation to her and asked for her help. “You know dear, I will instantly talk to the folks in the sales team and fix up the data for you.” I was overjoyed and ready to take on the world. I came back and waited for her email. Four hours passed. I called her but I got a busy tone. I sent her reminders, but no response. I even went to her cubicle but she was busy talking to someone. She gestured that she would send the data in five minutes. I came back and waited.

“What is taking you so long. Come to the meeting room.” I trailed my manager to the conference room. I still had my inbox open, but no mails. What was I going to do? Suddenly, in walked Sushma with her laptop. I smiled at her and she smiled back. It was going to be a great one!

I started slowly but picked up pace. “Why don’t you have any sales data to back up your idea?” “I have it, I will share with you just now.” I looked at Sushma, but she looked away. I didn’t know what to make of the silence. “Sorry, we cannot absorb this idea without relevant statistics.” I kept looking at Sushma, my eyes pleading, but she did not budge. Then Sushma said, “I don’t quite agree with the presented idea. With your permission, I will show you the pitfalls and the sales data.” What? This could not happen. She was the ideal woman- kind-hearted and helpful. What was happening?

Her presentation confirmed my shocks. She had taken the slides I had mailed her and highlighted the negative aspects by making cross-references. She had bullied and ridiculed my ideas and I could not say anything. I felt like the world was crashing on me and it was all my fault. When it ended, people applauded and left. Noone even noticed I was standing right there!

I took a tissue and rushed to the restroom. The day had been devastating. I wondered why she had the misleading public image? Had I been swooned away by the cover and failed to see the book contents? Had I missed the undertones and sarcasm in people’s voices when they praised Sushma? Was the flower arrangement “fixed”? Or was the plumber sent to repair some “damage” already been done? Had I been wrong about life altogether?

I did not want to be the plastic flower which always shone! Even if I could not retain the freshness, I was not going to let myself turn plastic. In this world of artificial projections, the hardest thing to do is maintain your integrity and I could take up challenges for sure. So even if rains the heaviest, or snows, or leaves wither away, I am going to survive....not like the flowers on your desk that blossom and fade away...but like the ones which stick on to their plants...and even if they die....leave behind the fruits to cherish!

Shh...its ok

Had been a couple of times Ma called. She was pestering me to come home. And I had the same answer yet again, “I am too busy with work”. I knew how she would have felt, but it was hard to explain how I couldn't rush home thousands of kilometers away. It had been a while since I had seen my parents. But life kept thrusting me forward and I could not really look back.

Another busy morning passed when I was checking my messages. “My dear daughter, I have a surprise for you. We are catching the very next flight to Bangalore. See you soon.” It made me furious. This means almost a week of leaves of absence, lots of sitting at home and eating fatty food and talking about the same old things. Did I have time for the chit chat sessions with obviously the same routine talk about life, marriage and career. I sighed.

Left a voice mail to my boss about the leave, sent him an email for records and set out to go to the airport. Had to clean up the house first, else Ma was going to be furious. Noted down the flight details on a post-it and rushed to catch a taxi. As I climbed into one and conveyed the destination to the driver, the sequence of talks started playing in my mind. “Look at you, you look so dull. You don’t take care of yourself at all. We have been so worried. You look so thin. Do you eat at all? I got almonds for you, have at-least 5 everyday.” Usually irritating, the thoughts brought a smile to my face.

The ringing phone alarmed me. “Where are you? The meeting just started. You have to make a presentation to the client today.” “Oh god, I completely forgot. Damn, I have taken a leave from today till a week. Can you please schedule a call for next week?” “Why couldn't you have told this earlier. This is atrocious. I will make sure I report this.” The phone clicked shut. Oh no, I had forgotten to charge my it. Damn, I was going to miss making my presentation today, which would have been the deciding factor for getting the deal signed and also my promotion. Why was I dooming my own career?

My phone beeped louder for battery and I could do nothin! How was I supposed to contact my parents? I looked for the charger in my bag, but could not find it. A lady will carry everything in her purse did not hold true with me. I was the absolution of necessity. What a fine day this was turning out to be. Everyone’s parents understood, why not mine? I had seen my friend’s parents encouraging them to work longer hours, to wear what they liked and also to let them follow their own lives. They were the so called “chilled out” ones. I for one, had to explain each outing, meeting, office environment, colleagues, roommates, late dinners and food habits. Was I ever going to be able to grow up?

The taxi jerked to a halt, and I saw three masked men standing in front of it.  I could see police cars on the road following them. Oh god, no, not this. I quickly closed the windows and locked the doors. But I guess it was too late. The driver was already being dragged out at gunpoint. One big punch and he collapsed. The bearded guy closed in on me. “Open the door”, he yelled. I sat there, frozen, not knowing what to do. Begging my mind to think. He had already slid his hand and unlocked my door. “Get out”, I was too shaken to react. He held my arm and hurled me out.

“Lets take the Princessa with us.” I could see policemen chasing them. He held me at gunpoint and squeezed it hard to my neck. “We kill her if you try to fire. Put down your guns.” The police had no other choice. I tried to break free, but the guy was too overpowering.

I slid my hand through my  bag. There has to be something. I sensed a bottle. What was in the bottle? My mind raced. Ma had given me a pepper spray to ‘tackle’ hooligans in case I encountered any. "Too many anti-social elements nowdays. This is a necessity for all girls. Keep it in your bag." "I dont have any space for it, and I always take a taxi! Dont be ridiculous Ma." But she had slipped it right in and I was noticing it today.

If I did it quickly, I could cover all of them. One man held my arm and neck and the other two behind us were guiding him. They had some full bags with them. I thought of my plan, and slowly took a deep breath.

I counted till three in my mind; I slid the spray from my bag and sprayed as hard as I could at the guy who held me. He yelled, and the other two turned to look at us. I did not waste even a second to spray at the other two. They both fell.

I leaped away from them to let the police take over, who wasted no time to nab them. Catching my breath, I just sat there on the road recollecting what had just happened to me. “Are you alright maam?” “Yes, fine, thanks.” “You need any medical help? We will take you to the hospital.” Take me? Oh, I have to go the airport. With shivering hands, I helped myself stand up. I shook my head with a no and turned around. My heel was broken. I limped to call a taxi and rushed to the airport.

As I saw them coming, my tears came too. All my emotions bundled up and flew out of me. “What happened dear, you are a mess. What happened?” But I could not say anything. I just held Ma and cried…for how long, I don’t remember. And she held me, for as long as I wished. “Lets go home.”

We reached home. She said nothing about the dirty house, or my health, my clothes or anything. She sat me down in my bed, removed my shoes, and gave me a blanket and a glass of warm milk. “Just go to sleep.” And I held her as long as I remembered, till I fell asleep. Thank god I had her. And I knew I was going to be safe with her!