Reflections…

Whew what a happening month that was.

It was just as much fun and challenging as I thought it would be. Thankfully I had pre-written and pre-scheduled all my posts otherwise life was all set to nix my cyber trek. In fact I began on a disastrous note – in my haste and excitement, I made a typo in my URL while registering for the challenge. And worse I was blissfully unaware busy plotting and planning with my head in the clouds – but for Lori who not only pointed it out to me but also corrected it to reach my blog and inform me. A big thank you to her 🙂

I visited, followed and stalked several blogs – like everyone, I too have my favorites! Interestingly, even though poetry is not my cup of tea, three of my personal must-visit blogs were poetry posts. So in no particular order:

Poui season: Absolutely brilliant evocative poems that tug at your heartstrings

Madly-in-verse: I giggled and laughed all the way through this one – limericks par excellence. Completely unmissable.

Between you and Me: I had toyed with the mythology theme – phew so glad I didn’t pick it! Sunila’s poems were a pleasure and just when I thought I knew it all, she brought out quite a few new stories.

The art of not getting published: It was the blog title that drew my eye and her theme – 16th century analogues for 21st century memes –  was intriguing to say the least. But it was her  well researched, entertaining and in-depth posts kept me hooked. And to top it all, she offered the icing and the cherry but more on that on Wednesday 😉

Roamin gnomials: I was skeptical when Glenn declared he was going to describe his family members A to Z. How could his family be of any interest to me? But then again I was wrong. It all depends on who is doing the talking (or writing). Poignant, touching, warm, wicked, entertaining, funny – his posts touched the whole range and more.

Me In the Middle: An awesome collection of quotes, videos and life lessons (beautiful hand-drawn alphabets) – a keeper for those moments when all you need is a ray of hope.

Mindful living: How is it possible to be mindful from A to Z? Vidya showed us and how. If only we could adopt and incorporate her suggestions and tips, life would be so much simpler and happier.

A special mention for Shalini. Her recipes are delicious no doubt, but it was her blog on the life of an Army wife that captivated. Her joie de vivre and breezy take on an uncertain, unpredictable and often lonely journey drew my attention, respect and admiration.

Oh I could go on and on! Congratulations and best wishes to all of you. A big thank you to all the organizers who worked so hard to make this challenge the best party ever.

And to all those who dropped in to read, comment and generally make my day, week and month   😀

Off to prepare for the next challenge 😉

But before you rush off to these other blogs, how about reading today’s short story?

No Place to Run

The second short story submitted to the TOI Write India competition. For the other stories click here

Author Prompt

‘What the hell is going on between my husband and that bitch?’ Maya’s patience was at its lowest ebb and she was ready to burst.

Sanjay knew that she was serious. ‘Look, Maya. There is nothing going on between the two of them. Just a little bit of healthy flirting, I’d say.’

‘Flirting? Healthy flirting? Really Sanjay . . .’ she rolled her eyes in disgust. ‘That’s what you men call it? There is nothing healthy about flirting, Sanjay, not for a married man.

Healthy flirting is a term introduced by perverted men who want to lend legitimacy to their extramarital dalliances. Flirting invariably has a sexual connotation to it.’ She got up from her seat and walked around the room gesticulating and muttering something to herself. Suddenly she stopped, turned back, looked at Sanjay and asked, ‘Did my husband sleep with her? You are his friend. Did he ever tell you anything about it?‘- by Ravi Subramanian  (For details of the contest click here)

No Place to Run

Maya ran up the stairs and pressed the bell. She rang until Sanjay opened the door.

“Hey.” Sanjay peered blearily at her. He stumbled back inside.

Maya followed him. “Were you sleeping?”

“For heaven’s sake Maya,” Sanjay said, “it’s barely seven am, that too on a freezing Sunday. What did you expect?” He vanished into the washroom. “Make some coffee will you?” he yelled through the door.

“Okay shoot.” Sanjay sat across Maya at the dining table clutching his mug for warmth.

Maya seemed to be in the grip of a dilemma. She fidgeted restlessly.

“Come on.”

“What the hell is going on between my husband and that bitch?” Maya’s patience was at its lowest ebb and she was ready to burst.

Sanjay knew that she was serious. “Look, Maya. There is nothing going on between the two of them. Just a little bit of healthy flirting, I’d say.”

“Flirting? Healthy flirting? Really Sanjay . . .” she rolled her eyes in disgust. “That’s what you men call it? There is nothing healthy about flirting, Sanjay, not for a married man.

Healthy flirting is a term introduced by perverted men who want to lend legitimacy to their extramarital dalliances. Flirting invariably has a sexual connotation to it.” She got up from her seat and walked around the room gesticulating and muttering something to herself. Suddenly she stopped, turned back, looked at Sanjay and asked, “Did my husband sleep with her? You are his friend. Did he ever tell you anything about it?”

“I…I couldn’t say.” Sanjay shifted in his seat. “Best if you talk to him directly.”

Maya bit her lip. “I wish I could,” she mumbled. Tears filled her eyes.

“Oh man.” Sanjay got up and paced his tiny kitchen.

She hurriedly wiped her eyes. “Sorry.” She blew her nose and offered him a watery smile. “I am okay, really.”

Relieved, Sanjay slid back into his chair. “Talk to me Maya.” He sipped his coffee and waited patiently.

She swallowed valiantly. “The thing is,” she said pulling at her handkerchief, “I am afraid to talk to Adi. What if -, what if he admits he is having an affair? What will I do then?” she asked.

Sanjay sighed. “But how will not talking to him help?” he said gently. “I mean, you came to me to know the truth. Now suppose,” he said looking at her, “just suppose, I say ‘yes he is having an affair’ then what will you do?”

Maya buried her face in her arms and burst into huge sobs.

Sanjay dragged a hand through his hair. “Apart from that,” he muttered to himself. He pushed his chair back and viciously attacked the pile of dishes in the sink.

After a little while, Maya pulled herself together. She got up and began drying the dishes.

“I am sorry.”

“Dump him Maya. Walk out today. Right now.”

“It’s not so simple Sanjay.”

“It is. This is the 21st Century, not some medieval era where women have no choice but to stay on with their husbands and silently bear all the torture.” Sanjay pulled open a drawer and swept the cutlery into it. He opened cupboards looking for something that could serve as breakfast.

“You don’t understand.”

“No.” Sanjay slammed the cupboard shut. He turned to her. “You are the one who doesn’t understand. You are the one who is making things complicated.”

Maya stood there twisting her fingers with a trapped expression on her face.

He sighed and led her to the dining table. He sat down across her. “Look Maya,” he said, softening his tone, “I know it’s not easy but you have to take a stand on this. But, it’s high time, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Sanjay drummed his fingers on the table. He raised his hand and gingerly lifted the floppy sleeve of her kurta. There was a big purple patch on her upper arm.

Maya flushed. She hurriedly pushed the sleeve down. “I banged it against the door,” she mumbled.

“Please Maya, don’t give me all that rot.”

“I love him. He is my husband. I can’t just walk off.”

“Why the hell can’t you? See, this is the problem with you Indian women. You create problems for yourselves. Always lying to yourselves. Always in denial.”

He walked out of the room returning with a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.

“I thought you had given up smoking?”

He lit up and took a deep drag.

“Tell me Maya. Make me understand. But don’t give me all that nonsense about loving him. Honestly, if you ask me, it’s all your fault.”

Maya sat with her head bowed.

“Come on Maya.” Sanjay paced the floor restlessly. “Tell me, where is the problem? You are educated. You hold a good job. You are financially secure. All the laws of the country are with you women.” He ticked them off one by one on his finger. “Walk out. File an FIR. Apply for divorce and that’s it.”

He came and stood beside her but she refused to look up.

He pulled out a chair and sat down. “Just think of it Maya – freedom, peace and your life is yours again – don’t you want that?”

Maya looked at him with helpless, tear-filled eyes. “But it’s not so simple.”

Sanjay’s chair scraped gratingly. “Now you are getting on my nerves. For heaven’s sake, show some spine. Walk out before things become worse.” He stubbed out his cigarette.

“You are saying that because you can’t see the big picture.”

“So show me.” He sat down again.

Maya scrubbed her face and blew her nose. “Even if I ignore the fact that I am emotionally dependent on him – ,” her voice wobbled and she trailed off.

Sanjay groaned and buried his head in his hands.

Maya cleared her throat and began again, “I have to think about the practicalities.”

“Yeah, let’s talk about the practicalities. House, car, maid.” He listed briskly. “Today nothing is a problem if you have money. With your remuneration package, that should not be an issue. You don’t even need financial support from Aditya.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“What do you mean?”

Maya fiddled with a spoon. “When we got married three years ago,” she paused, “you know we had a love marriage?”

Sanjay nodded.

“My family was against the marriage because he was not well off. They cut me off when I went against their wishes and eloped with him. Adi was very upset for my sake and determined to make it big. He wanted to buy a house and show my parents that they had misjudged him.

“So we decided that one of our salaries would be used for the monthly expenses while the other would be our savings, which would be used to purchase a house, pay off loans and stuff.” She looked down.

“And obviously, his salary was saved while yours was used for the monthly expenses,” he completed for her. “But the car loan that you took from the office, that is being deducted from your salary isn’t it?”

“Well, I needed the car. Aditya takes the Metro.”

“How much money do you have in your account right now?”

“Maybe around ten thousand rupees? It’s nearing the end of the month.”

“And how much money in his account?”

“I don’t know. Mine is a joint account but not his. It has only recently struck me that while Adi knows my exact salary, my daily expenses, even the exact amount of money in my purse, I don’t know anything about his finances. What his salary is, what the investments are, I know nothing.”

“Unbelievable. How could you be such an idiot?”

Maya tried to smile but failed. “I was crazily in love with him and trusted him completely.” She bit her lip and looked away. “He was so sweet and caring. He insisted on taking care of the finances. He said he didn’t want to bother my pretty little head with such petty things. He didn’t like me talking to my friends…he said that he liked to have all my focus on him, only him.” She choked. “Because he was so possessive, I lost touch with all my friends. You are the only one I could think of – .”

“Damn the guy.” Sanjay swore. He clicked his fingers. “Fine, I will lend you the money. What do you need the money for? Renting a house right? About one lakh should do the trick,” He raised his hand and silenced her. “You can pay me back later,” he waved his hands, “whenever, not a problem. Okay?”

Without waiting for a response, he opened the Sunday Times. He took out the classified section and began skimming it. “One room studio apartment near the office would be ideal.”

“Sanjay.”

“Now what?”

“What about Chavvi?”

“What about her?” He looked blankly at her.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Despair was clearly written on her face. “She is just two years old. How can I take care of her and manage a job all alone? You know I have to travel a lot.”

“Who takes care of her now?”

“There is a part-time help. But she does everything under my mother-in-law’s supervision. I couldn’t think of leaving her alone with the maid.” Maya’s face was pale and pinched. “Besides, she is unreliable. She often comes late and is frequently absent.” She turned to Sanjay and appealed, “How will I manage alone?”

“Aren’t there crèches or something?”

“Yes, but it’s not a practical option for Chavvi. She is too young. Besides she has a delicate constitution. The doctor too advised against it. Plus, with the amount of travel I do,” Maya shook her head decisively, “that is not an option.”

“Call your parents to stay with you.”

Maya tried to speak but no words came out. She drank some water. “They are not with me in this,” she finally managed to say. “ ‘You made your choice, it was your decision, now deal with it’ – that’s what they say whenever I try to say something.”

“Okay, how about contacting some NGO?”

“I did try,” she said tonelessly. “The lady at the other end listened patiently to my problems and then said ‘best if you try to adjust’.”

“How about a working women’s hostel?”

“None of them have any provision for housing a child.”

Sanjay fiddled with his phone.

“I know.” He clicked his fingers. “File a complaint with the police.” He pointed to her arm. “That’s a case for domestic violence, the police will come and arrest your husband, maybe even mother-in-law. My friend’s sister,” he tapped his phone, “did exactly that.”

“And then?”

“Then what? You and your daughter continue to stay on minus the monsters, that’s what.” His eyes glittered triumphantly.

“But what about when they get bail? They will come home right? What if he hits me again? Should I go to the police again?”

“Of course. That’s what the law is for. But don’t worry it won’t come to that. One brush with the law, and the worst of them straighten up. Happened with my friend’s sister, they are now living happily together.”

“Everyone is not the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know the first time Adi raised his hand at me, I threatened to call the police. You know what happened? He became even more violent call the police will you? Then may as well hit you to my heart’s content, after all they can arrest me only once. And for how long – a few days, weeks? When I come out of jail, you cannot even imagine what I will do to you and your daughter. You have no place to run to – even your parents have disowned you. He laughed maniacally and thrashed me with his shoe.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Sanjay was horrified. “I guess you didn’t call the police?”

“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. He took away my phone and locked me in the room. I could hear Chavvi crying in the other room the whole night. In the morning, they let me go to her, as she was running a fever. They threatened me that if I breathed a word about this to anybody, they would get a doctor to certify that I was mentally ill. They would put me in a mental asylum. Take me away from my daughter…” Maya broke down.

“They are bluffing.”

“Perhaps. But I cannot take the risk. Not at my daughter’s cost.”

“But this…this isn’t acceptable. There must be some solution. File a case, demand alimony, child maintenance, bleed the &*%^#$ dry, make him grovel.” Sanjay pounded his hand on the table.

Maya looked at him sadly. “You still don’t get it do you? He wants a divorce. He wants to marry that woman. But he wants me to be the one to walk out so that he can file for desertion. I have no money, no place to go and I will lose my daughter too. He has money, power, contacts on his side. He will do anything to get rid of me without having to shell out any court fees or alimony using Chavvi as the bait.” She shuddered.

“So let him keep Chavvi. After all, he is the father and his mother is capable of looking after her. There are lots of PG hostels for girls. I can immediately arrange for you. Should I?” he asked eagerly.

“Are you crazy? How can I leave Chavvi at the mercy of those monsters? I would rather kill her myself.”

Sanjay looked at her in horror.

“That’s why I came here. To ask if you knew this other woman. Does she know that he is married? What kind of a person is she? Would she back off if I talked to her? At least then he wouldn’t be so desperate to get rid of me. He knows that I am due for a salary hike.”

“That means you will continue to stay in this hell hole? What about Chavvi? Such a home environment cannot be good for her.”

“At least she has a home.” Maya got up. “I better go. Will you find out about the woman?”

He nodded slowly.

“Thanks.” She paused at the door. “Isn’t it ironic that I apparently belong to the privileged 2% of the women of this country.” She smiled mirthlessly. “All the anguish, humiliation, and suffocation that I feel are nothing compared to the disgust I feel for myself.”

A cold clammy sensation enveloped Sanjay. “How can you bear to go back there?” The words seemed to be wrung out of him.

Maya drew herself up. “Don’t worry, I won’t kill myself. Because you see, I don’t matter. Chavvi matters.”

So what did you think? What are her options? Look forward to reading your comments, suggestions, solutions  – thanks. Click here for more short stories.

Time for a Break

Hello people!

It’s finally hitting me and I am ready to crash. The sizzling temperatures are not helping either – even the birds have fallen silent. And the letters are the worst – they twist, float and stray, refusing to conform or make any sense. I am left with little choice but to take a break.

So forgive me (heyyy – I heard that sigh of relief) I will be back as usual from 9th May onwards with another short story and Moonshine updates on Wednesdays and Fridays.

Enjoy the (much-needed?) break or browse the blog, catch up on your reading (and commenting!).

Anyone dropping in late and wondering what the fuss is all about – check out the A to Z Challenge posts and if you have been there, done that, how about some short stories or the latest post or the latest short story?

Now don’t let me off too easily, go ahead and do your worst – leave me loads of reading material 😉

Have a super relaxed week ahead and see you all on Monday

Calvin’s already been on a long enough break Hobbes even longer – he says it so well doesnt he? 😉

 

Quote of the day: “Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer’s day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.”John Lubbock, The Use Of Life

 But this one is probably more appropriate:

“All right,’ Nico relented. ‘Maybe a little …’ He managed to take off his aviator jacket and wad it into a pillow before he keeled over and began to snore.”Rick Riordan, The Blood of Olympus

Highs and Lows

Riding high on the success of completing my first ever blogging challenge I am ready to make a confession. But first a big ‘thank you’ to all of you who dropped in and made the challenge so much fun. And for any of you planning to take up the challenge next year, here is some very sound advice – always make sure to pre-schedule your challenge posts. I for one would never have been able to manage otherwise, what with a medical emergency in the family. In fact that’s why I was unable to carry on with the Moonshine updates. These will be up shortly, please bear with me. In the meanwhile, if you remember, I did promise you some short stories (and the story behind these stories 😉 ).

I have only recently ventured into the fictitious arena although I have always dreamed of writing short stories for as long as I can remember. But when I did start writing, I somehow ended up getting entangled in the long, never ending versions. First it was Silver Streaks and then Moonshine. It always starts off well with me in the driver’s seat but then the characters take over and I am left with no choice but to follow them and their dictates.worried

It’s true – take Biji (of Moonshine) I just mentioned her and she just muscled her way in and wrestled the whole story away to her village surprise You have no idea what a struggle it has been to extract Rajani and company from her clutches d'oh

See that! She did it againnail biting

Back to topic at hand – short stories were once again relegated to the background. Then came the Write India campaign by the Times of India – 11 months, 11 author prompts and voila here was my chance to pen brilliant, shocking, incredible, gut wrenching tearjerkers – and of course, my stories would be the best of the best.big grin

I couldn’t wait to get started. But then life happened. I was otherwise preoccupied in the first month – in any case the prompt drew a blank (err actually even now it’s a blank) as did the next one.

Just when I was resigned not to write any short story ever, I cracked the third prompt – I mean I managed to draft a story and send it in. thumbs up Of course that didn’t make it to the coveted list, and now the competition is all but over and none of the others have eithersigh

But, yet I am not really unhappy or heartbroken for I had a blast cooking up the stories. Just the fact that I could come up with something that was readable (okay fine you be the judge of that) was a huge achievement in itself. Here I must acknowledge and give full credit to Bhargavi and smr for being so patient and encouraging (not to mention meticulous, critical, nit-picking, fastidious and generally quite impossible to pleaserolling eyes) – thank you thumbs up

So, here I am ready to unleash the short stories (until stocks last) every Monday. Hope you will read, like (or unlike) and comment.

Just a few words about the competition – the author of the month would provide a passage and participants had to spin a story in 1500 to 2500 words (while including the prompt anywhere in the story). Each author had certain rules as well (must admit to being guilty of overlooking most of these – after all there is only so much restrictions creativity can take, don’t you agree? Oh well sour grapes I suppose). You can read more about it here and in fact the last prompt is due on 7th of May. And entries for this month can still be submitted by the 6th. hurry up!Who knows you may be the next big winner?rock on!

So get reading (click here for the first story) and start spinning your own special yarn. How about practicing your writing skills in the comment box?winking

But first let Calvin set the stage, poor thing has been feeling pretty neglected…

 

Quote of the day: “Never too late to learn some embarrassingly basic, stupidly obvious things about oneself.”Alain de Botton

It happened on my watch

The first short story submitted to the TOI Write India competition. For the other stories, click here

Author Prompt

“I observed him carefully as he walked to the door. I knew that time was running out but suppressed the urge to check my watch. I took a deep breath and started counting in reverse under my breath. “Ten, nine, eight, seven…” by Ashwin Sanghi (For more details of the contest/rules click here)

It Happened on My Watch

“No, Ma, no!” I screamed.  “I don’t want to go, I want to stay with Papa please,” I cried. “Please Ma, please…” Shekhar, my son! Papa’s broken plea echoed in my ears as I woke with a jerk.

Even after ten years, I still had the same recurring nightmare.

“Chintu, come on get up.  It’s time for the newspapers to be delivered.” It was Ma.

“Oh no,” I groaned.  I hated the job of delivering newspapers that Ma had arranged for me.  It was so demeaning and way below my dignity as a final year student of Delhi’s prestigious St. Stephen’s College.  What if some classmate saw me?  What would Papa think?

But what did Ma care about such things? I fumed.  All she cared about was money.  She was always looking for ways to supplement her income – once it was tuition at another it was some tailoring business and now this.  I have a strong suspicion that the latest venture of hers was just a facade to get me to earn my keep.

“Chintu, get up, it’s late…”

“How many times have I told you not to call me Chintu?” I snapped as I threw off the blanket in irritation.

“I am sorry Ch…Shekhar.” She smiled in an ingratiating manner, which irritated me even more.  “Shekhar, Shekhar,” she practiced. “Come on hurry up, your tea is getting cold.”

“The bicycle is very old and rickety and the chain keeps slipping off,” I grumbled.  “It would be faster to walk.”

“I will try to have it repaired.  You know we can’t afford a new one Ch…Shekhar.”

Annoyance flooded me. “If only you had not left Papa…” I began.

“Here, this is the list of houses that won’t be requiring the newspaper today. It’s the holiday season, so, many customers are away.” Ma put the list on the table and turned away.  “Hurry up.” She cleared her throat.

Fuming, I banged down the half finished cup of tea. “Why do you always change the topic?” I shouted.

Ma turned at the door. “We have been over this a million times Shekhar. I had no choice but to come here,” she said in an even tone.

“There is always a choice Ma,” I said.   “Don’t you always keep telling me that?”

Ma put up her hand.  “We don’t have time for this argument right now Shekhar.  Please go and deliver the newspapers and if you won’t, I will,” said Ma in a steely voice.

Furious, I almost said ‘be my guest’ but I held my tongue – she wouldn’t think twice about delivering them. Besides I would never hear the end of it from our well meaning but interfering neighbors.

I wheeled out the piece of junk and shuddered – God what a dump. The image of my old home flashed before me – an imposing duplex house with a manicured lawn, freshly weeded flowerbeds, the red slide – bitterness engulfed me. I viciously threw one newspaper after another. Precious years wasted, my childhood destroyed, my dreams and hopes shattered – all because of Ma. Papa would be furious if he knew I was working odd jobs. If I wrote and told Papa, he would make Ma stop this nonsense at once. Hope flooded me – yes, Papa loved me; he would do anything for me.

I still remember how he always brought me things, “Shekhar guess what I got for you – ice cream!”

“No Sooraj.” Ma, ever the spoilsport, popped up from nowhere. “Chintu has a bad cold, he was coughing the whole of last…”

“Two negatives make a positive, right Shekhar?”  Papa winked. “The cold ice cream will kill his cold.” We pretended to fight with swords, laughing and shrieking. “Shekhar is the winner! He is the king of the world.” Papa carried me around on his shoulders.

Papa was my best friend, he taught me all the games I loved to play – peekaboo, carom, chess and football. I missed him terribly when he went away on long tours, which was pretty often.  But he always got gifts for me. The best present ever was on my tenth birthday – a designer watch. I felt as if I had been handed my crown.

As usual Ma was unhappy with Papa. “Why did you buy him such an expensive gift? He is still so young, what if he loses it?”

But Papa laughed her off. “Never mind, I will buy him another. I want him to have the best of the best, after all he is the king of the world.” He leaned over and whispered. “Next time, the new PSP game.” Overjoyed, I rushed to the playground to show off.

I was still basking in the glow of my friends’ admiring looks and envious glances when I returned home. I heard raised voices. I dashed inside and stopped short – Ma swept the big vase off the table smashing it to pieces.

Petrified, I hid behind the curtains – Ma’s face was drawn into an ugly grimace and she was screaming like never before.  Papa spoke softly, “control yourself Sudha.  Think of Shekhar.  Nothing has to change, we can go on as before…”

“No!” Ma screamed and ran into the bedroom.  I stood rooted to the spot.  Tears streamed down my cheeks; I tried hard to grasp the situation but didn’t really understand. All I wanted were warm loving arms around me but I wasn’t quite sure whom to run to – Papa or Ma.

There were sounds of cupboards opening and shutting; something being dragged and pulled while Papa stared out of the window. Ma came out dragging a suitcase.

“You must think of Shekhar,” Papa urged once more. “It doesn’t have to be this way, Sudha. I am willing to support you both, a nice house in a good locality. Sudha, listen to me please.” Papa was almost begging.

“No thank you.”  Ma brushed him away like a fly.  “Come on Chintu,” she grabbed hold of my hand and before I knew it, we were gone.

“Shekhar! My son,” his last anguished words still haunted me.

I begged, screamed, cried but to no avail – Ma was adamant.  We weren’t going back home.  Every time there was a new reason, a new excuse.  First she cajoled me by saying Nani wasn’t well and that we were going to look after her.  Papa was just fine – he was just a bit angry because he didn’t want to let me go. I swallowed that story for a while because I was happy to miss school and show off my watch.  Soon the novelty wore off.

“When are we going back Ma? I want to go to school or I will fail my exams. Nani seems to be fine, why can’t we go back home now?” I nagged her.

“Soon Chintu soon, Papa has gone overseas on a business trip. We will go home when he returns.” She promised. “We can always study here; I brought your schoolbooks,” she said pointing to the table.

“But I want to go home,” I wailed. “Papa can come when he is free, let’s go home Ma, I don’t like it here.” I fussed. “Mami keeps scolding me and Mama also snapped at me when I asked him for another kite,” I complained.

“Never mind dear, you must have done some mischief,” she said hugging me.

“I didn’t!” I protested. “Rohit and Rahul were trying to steal my watch so I hit them,” I stoutly defended my actions.

Ma caught hold of my arm and shook me hard. “Did you say that they were trying to ‘steal’ your watch?”

“So what? I spoke the truth.” I was unrepentant.

“Quiet, you foolish boy,” she snapped.  “Go and apologize to your Mami and cousins immediately,” she ordered.

“Never, never, never.” I stamped my foot.

Ma unstrapped my watch with rough hands. “That’s it! You are not getting it back until you apologize.” I could only watch in frustrated helplessness as she took away my crown and locked it away for good measure.

I refused to give in. They were trying to steal my watch – what was wrong in calling a spade a spade? Anger coursed through my veins, I wanted to break everything in sight. With an immense effort, I controlled myself.  My time will come, I vowed to myself. I will be king of the world. I will show them all, especially Ma, for holding me prisoner and keeping me away from Papa.

Almost overnight, Ma and I shifted to a tiny one-room apartment.  She admitted me to a local school where she also joined as the Hindi teacher.  I was very embarrassed and hated going to the same school as my mother for the boys made fun of teachers.  I often got into a fight with them over this.

Once I tried to run away to Papa but Ma caught me. Surprisingly, she didn’t scold me at all. She only said, “when you come of age, you can do what you want but till then you will have to do as I say.” She continued after a short pause, “and one more thing, I don’t think the world will accept an uneducated, unqualified boy as their king.” She looked me in the eye. “Don’t you agree?”

That was another turning point in my life – I channelized and focused all my angst and pent up frustration into my books. I gobbled up books and haunted the school library till the librarian drove me out. Stingy as Ma was, she never grudged me any book. Our house was crammed with books – secondhand books. But the ones I treasured the most were the brand new books I received from Papa. I would pore over the few lines he wrote in each: Miss you my dearest son; study hard and make me proud; Way to go my son, King of the world! Happy birthday Chintu; I wish I could come, lots of love, Papa.

I wonder why he addressed me as Chintu? I was even more concerned that although I wrote long letters to him, he never replied.

My heart stood still as a thought struck me.

“Did you ever post my letters to Papa?” I demanded the moment I returned home from delivering newspapers.

The flush, the shifty eye was answer enough.  “Did you read those letters and laugh at me? How can you do this to your own son?” I screamed. “You must be the world’s worst mother!”

Ma looked woodenly at me.“Papa’s right here in Delhi, isn’t he?” I said with sudden clarity. “You had some stupid fight with Papa, didn’t you? He begged you to stay but because of your ego and pride you deprived me of all that I was entitled. You can’t hold me back any more Ma for I am no longer a child,” I said coldly.

Ma put out her hand and said faintly, “Chintu…”

I ignored her. “I want my watch.  And the letters.”

Ma sank down beside her trunk.  Silently she handed me a thick envelope and a battered geometry box.  I shoved the envelope into my pocket and opened the box.  My crown sparkled and glittered on a fine piece of silk – it still kept perfect time.  I snapped it on with a decisive click and stared at it mesmerized – life had come full circle.

It was time to win my kingdom back…

Our house was just the same; if anything it was grander than before.  My heart was beating fast.  Today was Sunday; surely Papa would be home?  I looked at my watch. Emotions overwhelmed me, would he recognize me?  Would I have to flash the watch to jog his memory?  Or should I play our favorite game? I hid behind the curtains. I was ten years old again – nervous agitation gripped me.  I sought comfort from my watch.  Just the feel of it against my wrist brought me closer to Papa.

There was a rustle and Papa came out – a bit older and heavier than I remembered, but it was he.  He was talking on the phone, “So you will be here in 10 minutes? Fine, I will be at the gate.”  He disconnected the phone.

My heart sank; this was obviously not the right time.  I set my lips and looked at my watch. I had waited ten long years.  I wasn’t going to wait any longer than I had to – mischief stirred within me.  I observed him carefully as he walked to the door.  I knew that time was running out but suppressed the urge to check my watch.  I took a deep breath and started counting in reverse under my breath. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two.” I timed it perfectly. “BOOOO!” I yelled into his ear.

Papa started and gave a loud yell. Delighted, I burst into laughter – so this was how he looked when he was genuinely startled.

“Are you okay Papa?” a young girl came running, followed by a woman. She glared at me. “How dare you attack my husband?”

My laughter dried up and before I could respond or react, a sinewy arm shot out and grabbed me by the collar, “who the hell are you and what do you want?” A strapping man shook me like a ragged doll – that’s the kind of beard I wish I had, I thought stupidly.

“Relax.” Papa had recovered. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder and said, “Let him go son, I will handle him.” Papa patted his son – his real son.

I stumbled and nearly fell over as my half-brother let me go with a jerk.

“Yes Shekhar, what can I do for you?” Papa crossed his arms and asked guardedly.

I looked at them – the pieces of the puzzle fell neatly into place.

“Nothing Papa,” I shrugged casually, flicking each of them a cutting glance.  “I just wanted to return something.” I unstrapped my watch and slapped it on the table. I whipped out the bundle of letters and tore them into pieces. They fell all over the expensive carpet.

Ignoring the hiss of indrawn breaths, I spun on my heels and walked out.

Fury drove me home – how dare Ma keep me in the dark for so many years?  Did she think that I wouldn’t be able to handle the truth?  Did she have such a poor opinion of her son?

“Ma!” I burst inside, determined that she wouldn’t fob me off any longer.

Ma turned to stare at me; her eyes flickered to my wrist and back to my face.

“I am starving.  What’s for breakfast?”

She turned away but not before I had caught the unmistakable glitter in her eyes.

“Ma!” Her frail body shook uncontrollably in my arms.

“Poha,” she mumbled into my wet shirt.

A crack of laughter escaped my lips.

I hated poha.

So what did you think? Was it so-so, boring, irritating…anything you wish to change? If you like you can read some more short stories.

 

 

Z = Zari

Zari is thread that is traditionally made of fine gold or silver and woven into fabrics, particularly made of silk to create intricate and elaborate patterns. Zari has been an art associated with the aristocratic and royal persona in India. Today, in most fabrics, zari is not made of real gold and silver, but has cotton or polyester yarn at its core, wrapped by golden/silver metallic yarn.

It is believed that the word zari originated in a village by the same name in ancient Persia (Iran of today) where the art is known as Zardozi. The art was brought to India by Persian migrants between 1700-1100 BC – the period of Rig Veda. However the art really flourished during the Mughal era under the patronage of Emperor Akbar.

Because of the expense, saris, kurtas and salwars with zari are essentially worn during very special occasions such as weddings, and festivals.

A Banarasi sari is made in Banaras or modern day Varanasi. The sari are among the finest in the country and are famous for intricate and heavy gold and silver zari work on fine silk because of these engravings, are relatively heavy. Their special characteristics are Mughal inspired designs such as intricate intertwining floral and foliate motifs, kalga and bel, a string of upright leaves called jhallar at the outer, edge of border is a characteristic of these saris. Other features are gold work, compact weaving, figures with small details, metallic visual effects, pallus, jal (a net like pattern), and mina work.

A Banarasi silk sari is a must have for the bridal trousseau. In fact, the bride, especially in West Bengal, often wears a banarasi sari for the main event on the day of her wedding. If you wish to feast your eyes on some of the most gorgeous saris, click here.

And that brings us to the end of this A to Z blogging challenge – my very first. I had a blast, came across some very lovely people, read some very awesome interesting blogs (but missed many many more) and already drafted the next one 😉

A big thank you to all you dropped in without whom it wouldn’t have been any fun at all.

Have a great weekend and see you all on Monday, hopefully with something new.

 Quote of the day: “The biggest challenge after success is shutting up about it.”
Criss Jami

For all the A to Z challenge posts, please click here

Y = Yajna

Yajna is a Vedic tradition and literally means “sacrifice, devotion, worship, offering.” Yajna refers to the ritualistic offerings made in front of a sacred fire accompanied with the chanting of mantras. Fire is central to all Vedic rituals and Agnidev or god of Fire is considered only next to Indradev or King of the gods. Agni is present during all phases of life such as the lighting of a lamp during prayers, the yajna at weddings and finally, cremation upon death.

Yajna’s have been conducted since Vedic times as it was believed that offerings made to  Agnidev or god of Fire would be carried to all the other gods and in return they would be granted boons and success in their ventures. This ritual is believed to serve as a means of spiritual exchange between gods and human beings. Interestingly all vedic chants and mantras related to offerings to Agnidev end with the word Swaha.

Swaha is Agnidev’s wife and it is believed if that she too is not invoked, the gods will refuse to accept the offerings. Hence Swaha is given prime importance similar to Agnideva during yajnas and similarly yajnas are done by a couple. When Lord Ram banished his wife Sita (could do another A to Z challenge on that) he was asked to remarry before the Ashwamedha Yajna. But he refused to do so and instead performed the rites with a statue of Sita by his side.

The Vedic yajna ritual is performed in the modern era in a square altar called Vedi set in a mandapa or mandala or kundam, wherein wood is placed along with oily seeds and other inflammable material.  It is worth mentioning that the groom’s family brings the wood required for the wedding yajna. This is believed to signify the upper hand of the groom’s side in the entire ritual. As described earlier, most rituals and vows between the bride and groom are made in front of the fire, and the marriage vows are undertaken while circumambulating the consecrated fire. During the Bengali wedding ceremonies, the bride and groom, together, make an offering of khoi (puffed rice) to the fire.

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 Quote of the day: “Love is like a friendship caught on fire. In the beginning a flame, very pretty, often hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. As love grows older, our hearts mature and our love becomes as coals, deep-burning and unquenchable”. Bruce Lee

All but over…

X = eXit

Now that the wedding is all over and done with, it’s time for the bride to bid adieu to her family. Although there is a sense of achievement, satisfaction at having undertaken the most pious of all acts and happiness as she begins a new life, sorrow as she leaves home, perhaps forever, is the overriding emotion at the time of her departure. The bride usually departs home in a flood of tears to the accompaniment of tragic songs and mournful music which would in any case make anyone teary eyed.

The timing of this exit or vidai varies from place to place – straight after the wedding (North India) or a day after the wedding (West Bengal). In the latter case, the groom returns to his bride’s home (alone or with a friend) after completing the wedding rituals. Usually, everyone, including the bride and groom, stay up the whole night chatting, singing and dancing. This enables the groom to bond with his in-laws. In some families, the bride and the groom spend their first night together at the bride’s house. In the morning, after a formal ceremony, the groom’s family arrives to formally take away the newest member of their family (of course their son too).

For the vidai (or goodbye) ceremony, the bride walks ahead and pauses at the doorstep and throws three fistfuls of rice and a few coins over her head, which her mother catches in the free edge of her sari (pallu). The significance of this custom is that the daughter who embodies Devi Lakshmi or the Goddess of Wealth, while leaving her home, ensures that the prosperity and wealth of her paternal home continues to prosper.

In other places (including Bengalis), this ritual symbolizes the bride repaying her parents for all that they have given her so far. This way, debt free she moves on to her new home. This custom, I must confess, I didn’t take very kindly to. In fact, when I was got to know about it (at the time of my vidai) and was told to chant ‘hereby I repay my debt to my parents’ I was aghast. I refused pointblank to repay any of my debts and walked off in a fury of tears.

Once at her in-laws place, the bride is separated from her husband (called kaal ratri or dark night as she is not supposed to see him) presumably to allow them to rest and recover from the hectic activities of the wedding. The following day, there is the Bou-bhat or the reception ceremony after which comes the phool shojja or literally flower bed when the bride and the groom are finally left alone to do as they please.

I suppose it’s time to draw the curtain on this marathon blogging session as well — just two more days to go.

Much like the vidai ceremony, I am more sad than happy…

Quote of the day: “Ends are not bad things, they just mean that something else is about to begin. And there are many things that don’t really end, anyway, they just begin again in a new way. Ends are not bad and many ends aren’t really an ending; some things are never-ending.” ― C. JoyBell C. 

 For the other A to Z challenge posts click here

W = Weddings

As you may have gathered by now, most Indian weddings are long drawn out elaborate socio-religious functions. Yet Kerala Hindu weddings are short and sweet – 15 minutes max and then it is time for the sadhya or the banquet. Moreover, as you may have noticed, traditions and customs are mainly for women. But what embitters women is that often, her opinion or consent in matters of the  wedding or the groom does not hold any significance.

But this wasnt always so – in ancient India, the practice of swayamvara (swayam is self and vara is groom) where the girl chose her life partner from amongst all the gathered suitors was very much accepted. References to it have been made both in the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. In fact it was as recent as the 12th century, when one of the most romantic of swayamvaras (Prithviraj Chauhan and Samyukta) allegedly took place.

Manu, the first man, is said to have devised the laws of Hindu society in the Manusmriti. It is believed that this was first written between 2nd century BCE to 3rd century CE. Most scholars consider the text a composite produced by many authors put together over a long period of time. According to Manusmriti (“Laws of Manu”), there are 8 types of Hindu weddings. Not all weddings had religious sanction.

  1. Brahma Vivah

Brahma vivah is considered the best marriage. In this, the boy and girl belonging to good families and the same varna get married. The boy should have completed his Brahmacharya Ashram (studenthood). There is no dowry involved and the girl enters the boy’s house with two sets of clothes and some ornaments. In this marriage, the boy’s family approaches the girl’s family. Kanyadaan, which is the handing of the bride by her father to the groom, is an important ritual of the Brahma Vivah.

  1. Daiva Vivah

In this type of Hindu marriage, the girl’s family looks for a groom. If a girl has not been able to get a suitable husband for a period of time, her family marries her off to a priest who officiates over sacrifices.

  1. Arsha Vivah

This usually takes place when the girl’s parents can not afford to meet the expense of the marriage. Here the groom gives a gift (a cow and a pair of bulls) to the girl’s family as bride price. This is not considered an ideal marriage because there is a monetary consideration involved in this wedding.

  1. Prajapatya Vivah

Somewhat similar to the Brahma Vivah, except in this case the girl’s family looks for a groom and the ritual of kanyadaan is not followed. Instead of kanyadaan, the bride’s father hands over protection of his daughter to the groom during the panigrahanam ritual. The actual wedding takes place after panigrahanam.

  1. Gandharva Vivah

This is a love marriage, where the bride and groom marry of their own free will, usually by simple exchange of garlands. Usually the consent of the parents is not taken or is not available because either or both parents are against the marriage. This type of wedding was considered acceptable for kshatriyas or the warrior caste.

  1. Asura Vivah

Somewhat similar to the Arsha Vivah where the groom gives presents to the bride’s family in order to get their approval for the marriage. Usually the groom is not of the same stature as the bride. This type of wedding was considered acceptable for traders and certain other sections of the society.

  1. Rakshasa Vivah

In this Hindu wedding, the bride is ready to marry groom, but the bride’s family is against the marriage. In such cases, if the groom’s family forcibly takes away the bride, it is a rakshasa vivah. This type of wedding was considered acceptable for traders and some other sections of the society.

  1. Paishacha Vivah

In this marriage, a girl, who is not in her senses (she may not be of sound mind or intoxicated or drugged, etc) is forcibly married off. This type of marriage is condemned in the Manusmriti as the girl has not consented to the marriage.

Quote of the day:

I dreamed of a wedding of elaborate elegance,
A church filled with family and friends.
I asked him what kind of a wedding he wished for,
He said one that would make me his wife.
~Author Unknown

What’s your favorite kind of wedding?

V = Vermilion

Vermilion, a brilliant red or scarlet color originally made from the powdered mineral cinnabar, is known as sindoor in India. The groom applies the sindoor on the parting of his bride’s hair (called maang  in Hindi) during the wedding and is believed to symbolize a river of blood full of life. The ceremony is called Sindoor-Dana. The groom usually uses a ring or a coin to smear his bride’s hair with the vibrant color.

Sindoor is the most visible and obvious expression of a woman’s marital status as well as prayer for her husband’s longevity. After marriage, the bride is expected to apply vermilion daily after her bath. However, interestingly, this ceremony is considered to be a relatively new practice and one that is not mentioned in the earlier Vedic texts.

The application of sindoor is quite common in many parts of India, although styles and degrees vary from region to region. Some wear it as a dot at the juncture of the parting and forehead others, the entire length of the parting. Or even just as a dot in the center of their forehead. In south India, sindoor maybe worn on the throat near the thaali. Unmarried girls may wear the dot on the forehead but not on the parting of their hair. Once widowed, the woman ceases to wear sindoor or indeed anything to do with the color red. In fact, widows are expected to wear only white. This custom is slowly fading but unfortunately is still prevalent in certain parts of the country.

The act of smearing sindoor on the girl has been used (ad nauseam) in movies to depict a flash/spur of the moment wedding with err all its trappings and unfortunate consequences (for the girl that is). And all married women in television serials are shown to sport thick broad bands (of various designs) of sindoor but it’s use is not without adverse effects. Sindoor has been found to contain high amounts of lead, which could lead to toxicity in women who wear it along the entire length of the parting. In fact, once, a doctor described a case of habitual abortion which was ultimately traced to the excessive amounts of sindoor she applied. After she discontinued the use of sindoor, she delivered a healthy baby. Similarly, there are anecdotal reports of hair loss associated with use of sindoor as well.

In Bengali’s the custom is quite prevalent and women are expected to apply it after their daily bath – to the hair, a dot (bindi) on the forehead and the noa on her hand. In a fun filled joyous not to be missed occasion, married women apply sindoor to each other in celebration of their marital status on the last day of the Durga Puja festival.  Moreover, mother and daughter apply sindoor to each other (every time she leaves her maternal home after a visit post marriage) symbolically wishing and praying for each others’ long married life.

There are many dos and don’t associated with the application of sindoor, most of which I got to know of only much later. For instance, she must apply it before she goes near the fire (kitchen) meaning before she does anything else. She must cover her head and she must make sure to tie up her hair before applying it. And if her hair is wet (which it should be because for Bengalis a bath without rinsing of hair is not considered a bath), she should make loose bun (of course you got to have long hair) or at least hold her hair with the left hand and apply with right hand. Beware, if you apply sindoor with your hair untied, your husband is bound to go crazy. Err umm thinking

Quote of the day:

“red the colour of the rose
red the colour of your lips
red the colour of your tongue….
red the colour of your heart……
red the colour of your passion…..”
Marina G. Roussou

Thanks for reading and commenting – have a great day 🙂

For the other A to Z challenge posts click here