Hope-lessing

I am writing after a long time. The last year has been spent "being a mother". I would be unfair to say that I never found time to pursue what I wanted. Yes, I did but then, didn't because....blah blah blah blah! Then, something prompted me to get back. More specifically two things. One, the supposed end of the world, which did not happen and second, the rape of the 23 year old student in Delhi.

End of the world - I almost thought we will not make past 21 December. Why? Popular fiction, movies and more specifically the huge death count in the last 1 year had me a bit unnerved (Read: had me thinking of death and consequently the impending doom, ALL THE TIME). Yamraj, the God of Death seemed particularly interested in the who's who of Bollywood, while his chief officers took away lots of other people, some close friends, some mere acquaintances and still some unknown.Accidents and cancer, besides other causes - are having a gala time devouring people like an army of ants. 

All this when this has been a year when I have lived each second and still wanted more, thanks to Aadi (my son). Life seemed beautiful from his cute lil eyes, poetic from those chubby lil' hands and very very liveable with me drunk absolutely on the selfless and uncontained love of a baby. For the very first time, I was scared to die, even in theory. Not just because Aadi needs his mumma (in case he survived the end of the earth) but also because mumma needs Aadi. She just cannot have enough of fun with him.

But we made it. Yipee!! I drew a relieved breath when the clock struck midnight, the beginning of 22 December. And yet something did not feel right, seemed right. Why would all those super intelligent races predict and give just one date for the end of the world? Why? Not a co-incidence certainly. Somewhere within the answer came in the form of a question. 

Would you keep account books if you had just enough to survive for the next 2 days? No, of course not. You would just ensure that there are no "excess spendings", so that you might make it till the morning of the third day or max till the afternoon. Ditto here. The Mayans and all those other intelligent guys out there decided that they do not need to go any further with calculations and calander-keeping because the earth and human race are on a downward trajactory and probably nothing can save them now. Its not the end of the world, its the end of hope. Do I sound negative? Yes I do, because I feel negative, I see negative and I hear negative. No matter where I go, what I do, 9 out of 10 things that my brain manages to catch are negative. Random things -stock market, ozone, world conflict, resources, jobs, value of money, weather conditions, animal and plant species, places on earth that man has not set his foot on, every single thing is on a downhill ride. And oh yes, so are our manners, emotions and value of life.

That brings me to the second thing that prompted me to write. The rape of the 23 year old. She is pasted all over the TV channels, the social media, blogs and "over the cup of chai" discussions in the as-much-middle-class-as-you-can-imagine-families around the country. People are going berserk, naming ways to punish the 6 guys who are at the unfortunate receiving end. Yes, they do have my sympathy not because they raped and tortured the girl but because, in the world that they live, that is how it works. Girls are meant to be raped. They saw it happen all their lives, in their own homes and neighbourhood and yet, they are the only ones now standing at the dagger's end. A dagger that a whole nation is carrying. And some of those holding the dagger are their very friends and counterparts, from their world from the previous rapes and crimes. Bad timing? Huh?

Wondering what is wrong with me? Sympathy with rapists despite being a girl? Well, I am wondering what is wrong with you, with us, with ALL of us. Each one included. Just read those comments under any social media posts - what the aam aadmi has to say. The female gender takes its aim at the other one and their comments can roughly be translated to "all men are the same - all men are d***". The men folk, well to them, there are categories. The nice gentlemanly kinds say "Oh my God!! Poor girl" and then add further, to all the women "I say sorry on their (the 6 rapists) behalf". The over-reactive (I call them the RSS types) post pictures of how rapists are treated in other countries and give their own versions of punishments. The third and the last category is of men whose sympathies are neither with the rapists nor the girl, instead they post comments of “cause-effect” relationship. e.g. If a girl is dressed fashionably and is out for a movie in the late evening then she deserves what happened. Fullstop. No questions asked.

No judgements, only a question “Is this how a modern democratic society supposed to behave?" Are we a nation half filled with literate wolves who can write a whole thesis about what all can be done to punish the criminals? Or are we a nation full of nice people, who think sorry is an eraser for everything from broken toys to broken virginity? Or are we a nation of farzi-machos who view every girl who works or studies or goes out as "Chikni Chameli" or Munni or Shiela and every other less fortunate female as a mere object. To be used and thrown. Next please.

Forget the age old bhartiya-sanskriti which says "yatra naryastu pujyante, ramante tatra devata". Forget that I started to write this post because a young girl's life and emotions hang by a thread from a cliff. Where were we (or rather where are we, me included) when a girl child is aborted in one of those illegal clinics that have mushroomed round the country? When a neighbour beat his wife and then rapes her because he had a bad day at work? When a friend employs a child smuggled from the North-east at work? When a cousin stands on a balcony checking out the hot-chicks? When a prostitute is called in a bachelor's party? When a female colleague with equal qualifications is underpaid at work? When at a friend's marriage the men of the house send away the women to take care of the children so that they can discuss important things? When your own mom tells your wife that she needs to do the dishes because she is a woman?  We ignore these because such incidents are "none of our business" or "that's the way it has been always" or "that is innocent fun" or something equally bizarre.

This is not about "the rape" but about our general way of life. Like the saying goes, if we take care of the small things, the big ones will follow. And this is for everyone, each one of us. If you see someone in trouble, help, right away, don't wait and watch the show. If you see a family where "this is the norm" take some time out from the shopping trip to speak to the women protection cell. And it is of course your business(without being nosy) as much as it is your business to post those sadistic pics on Facebook about how criminals are dealt with elsewhere - because you are the society. Stop badmouthing or saying sorry for what you have not done. Stop being reactive. Be proactive.

And ladies, ladies as Ricky Behl (Who? The one who came in a stupid movie not so long ago)  says "Kya karun o ladies main hoon aadat say majboor". He has a point here, not just for himself but for our whole male dominated society, your brothers, fathers and husbands included. Change, especially for the better, does not happen overnight. Change does not happen with a protest rally once a year. It needs an agent, a catalyst that is constant. Till then, heed your grandmother and be safe. Do not step out at odd hours unless absolutely must. Even then keep someone who is responsible informed of your location. Ok ok you are the revolutionary "no-limits-for-me" modern girl; create your hype by educating a male child about an equal society not just by drinking the Patiala-peg at the Saturday night party. 

Ah, the end of the world - was it not where I started? Maybe we get some grace period and stay a bit longer if we manage to make ours a livable society. All is not lost and I am not the most pessimistic person on this planet. A "bit longer" in earth time is another billion years. Let's make it happen.

The Chair

As I sit on this chair I sense a strange relief surging through my not so weary bones. A homecoming of sorts.The fulfilment of a long sought after dream that I had seen as a child and grown up with. To own my own rocking chair. A lot of chairs came and went but the dream remained. A comfy rocker, a good book and a throw over the legs in the cold weather for the central character- an endless number of English classics mentions this scene and for a book worm what better than making reality out of those stories? Even in the smallest of the ways.

My eyes closed, I feel my back sinking even as the chair rocks me into myriad thoughts. A small prayer to God (for making this possible - lack of space/finance and a constant moving from one place to other had contributed to this being a dream till date). A big thanks to my hubby for turning dreams into reality (that what the actual life "Prince of dreams" is supposed to do instead of slaying demons and kissing damsels in distress). I open my eyes and try to focus on the book in the lap...but no the joy of having the chair is too much. I close my eyes again and travel through all those times when I had stood before a rocker admiring it, wishing so fervently that it should be mine......

Then suddenly...another chair comes in my thoughts. An ugly big wooden chair with armrests. Once upon a time when I must have been small or maybe just born it must have been a beauty....regal, almost fit for a king. It was sturdy and heavy but time had taken its toll. In the time line when it appears in my life and memory...it was no longer in active use...instead had been kept in one corner of the bedroom to be used rarely...when there were too many guests in the house all at one time, as a "ladder" when mummy needed something from the shelves high about the ground so on and so forth. I do not even remember when my love affair started with the chair. I do remember thinking that the chair was too big and ugly...3 people my size (when I was a kid - not now!!) could easily fit into it. Maybe someday when left with no other place to sit I sat on it and lost in the book...had put my feet on one of the arm rest, my back against the other armrest, my neck slightly bent on the backrest, sideways and viola that was it....It felt so comfortable and homely that it became my favourite place and position - to sit, to read, to sleep or to stare into space, to cry and to laugh. For an onlooker it must have seemed that the chair (or the huge ugly monster?) is carrying me (the princess) in its giant arms - some things are better experienced than seen.Till the time I left home....it became "my chair"...thereby reducing much of the other odd jobs that it served for. No one objected even as I painted the armrests with my ware colours or drew silly faces on to them, with my pencils. Maths calculations/rough work was often conducted there as well as was wood carving lessons in which I was the teacher and the student..both. The chair became my best friend, my closest companion bearing the brunt of all my moods without a single word. It held me sturdy...comforting me endlessly. Forever.

All good things come to an end. So did the stint with the chair. By this time it had grown really really old and was almost shaky. Even termites had started invading it. It was given away to someone who needed it much more (for sitting or for fire wood....I am not sure). I did not even get time to say goodbye to it...was away to hostel. Anger hit me when I found the chair gone on my next visit home but it seemed foolish to cry over a piece of furniture, when there were other places and chairs to sit......But then I always missed it and no home seemed complete without my big ugly chair.

Until today. I jolt back to the present and the rocker is still rocking me...a nice beautiful rocker that is going to complete this family. I smile at what the future holds....me on the rocker with popcorn watching TV, me and the yet-to-come-baby rocking to sleep as the wind howls outside, me reading aloud the same stories to my kids that once enchanted me....And then he comes and kisses me, lightly on the cheek, interrupting the sequence of the dreams. My prince o' dreams...asking me to wake up and eat the dinner before I sleep. I look at him and smile...for sometimes the reality and the present is far more beautiful than the past and the future. Oh and yes....our rabbit has already made himself at home underneath the leg rest of the rocker. Complete happiness!!

As I walked through the park it was hard not to notice the slight chill. I was dressed up warmly, but not everyone was prepared for this sudden change in weather. I smiled seeing young couples in a state of perpetual hug to keep out the wind and loners walking faster than usual to be engulfed in warmth. For me, the chill manifested itself in a much different way. Each time the cold air brushed my face it transported me across the seas to my home and all that, that would be happening in India at this time of the year. For the umpteenth time I reminded myself that this was not the time to dwell on the past - I must get back home and write, before Adila's story escapes me. Rather, before the rawness of the emotions cooked themselves into just another statistics. A parent reminding a child of the unfinished homework that needs to be done before play.

At home, I quickly prepared a cup of steaming chai, with lots and lots of adrak and a teaspoon loaded with sugar - just the way I liked it. All those years, outside India had not managed to rub off this habit - rather magnified it into an addiction. I smiled as the words "pure desi" hit me - a term my friends used to tease me whenever I told them that no matter what, I would not return to India, atleast not to live there permanently. It was there way of letting me know that no matter how much I was in love with the peace and quiet of this faraway land my heart was still Indian and someday I was bound to get back (probably in old age) and regret the time spent away from Matrabhumi.

Grabbing a box of cookies I started working on the first draft of Adila's story. How her mom, a Hindu by birth married a Muslim against the wishes of her family. A sip of tea and a bite of the cookie.How despite all the opposition from their respective families they lived blissfully in a small village by the sea in Bengal (now Bangladesh). Another greedy sip and a bigger chunk of cookie, all full of dark brown chocolate. How food was in plenty and despite being poor they managed to be happy, just like they do in fairy tales. My hands reach out to another cookie and my mouth for another sip of tea. How they celebrated Diwali and Eid with equal enthusiasm and.....

And then it strikes me again - but this time with a full force. Memories. Nostalgia. All of a sudden the cookie loses it taste and my ears strain to hear the sound of some faraway, non existent drums - the drums that announce that the Goddess is going for "Visarjan". Of course no sounds are forthcoming. I can feel my nose twitching at the imagined smell of smoke from the holy fire. As if in a daze, I walk to the balcony door and open it, just a wee bit. The cold air strikes immediately but along with it, it brings in the smell of falling leaves, of the retreating sun, of the wind that has lowered its intensity but not what I long to hear, long to feel, long to smell.

Flashback. You can sense the change in the air even without looking outside. As the weather tries to beat out the hard Indian summer in the plains, the coolness creeps in slowly. Initially it leaves just the tip of the fingers a bit cold. The next day you realise that the street lights have come up at an early hour. Still the next evening, you see and smell a neighbour's house being painted all anew. Still another, the sounds of excited children running ahead of their parents to buy sweetmeats. The sound of drums, the smell of the holy fire mingled with that of puri- aaloo- tamatar being cooked for feeding the kanjak, the sight of women draped in all finery heading to the pandal - this was all that my heart desired at the moment. The arrival of the winter seemed incomplete without them.

And yet, silence all around - even as the drums and the crackers do a somersault in my head along with samosa, dahibada and rasgulla. The uncrowded silence I so lovingly cherish about this place suddenly loses its flavour and I want to be back to India amidst all the humdrum and colour of life. Amongst all that traffic sound that even past 10 PM held the capacity to get onto my nerves. Lost in a mirage of thoughts I feel this need to talk to someone. Its a late hour in India and not the best time to call. I call my husband but he is busy. By now, the roar of silence around me is defending - as if making fun of me - "this is what you came here for?". My heart answers, "Well yes, that was one of the reasons - but not any more". To turn off those thoughts I decide to turn on some music. Youtube - I type in the first song that my fingers dictate -"Ye jo des hai tera". Rather than taking away my thoughts, the song pushes me deeper into them. I feel my toes twitching when SRK steps into cold water. I feel his agony when he looks at the photos pinned by his desk. I feel....a thousand things...but all in all just one emotion, that's so new to me.....

Nostalgia. Memories. Smells. Colours. Sights. Sound. Tastes. I miss India.

Nothing happened one winter morning except....

It was a bright sunny winter morning. The clock was striking 10 AM - and the activity in the small town functioned in a high degree of precision. The men folk had left for work long ago and the "jananis" (women-folk) were slowly coming out to enjoy the winter sun after finishing with the morning chores. Ditto with the children - with the vacations on there was not a single thing to worry about. Most of them were still in their night dresses with a thick line of kohl (kajal) marking not only their eyes but the faces as well - the bathing ritual usually happened in the afternoons. The jute charpais and chatais emerged in the sunny lawns almost as if they were the extention of the sunlight itself. Gossip started flowing, even as the nimble fingers converted balls of wool into sweaters. The low height of wires segregating the houses and not so broad street enabled the flow of conversation and the children games across several houses. A peaceful relaxed scene indeed.

Of course there were exceptions. Mrs Sharma and her children had just woken up. As the children rushed out to play with toothbrushes still in their mouths - Mrs Sharma also ran after, to bundle them back. As always she was in her super favourite flimsy supposedly sexy cream coloured nightie- which had grown ugly with overuse, with a black petticoat- the edges of which trailed underneath, longer than the nightie itself. Two of the youngest ones - she managed to catch in the lawn -she slapped the nearest child saying "after the breakfast". But the eldest one had managed to get away to the park, 3 houses away. She told him in loud tone "not to enter the house or else she will break his legs". He did not seem to care for this was a every day scenario. By the time he would get home his mother would be so busy with chit chat and TV that she would not even notice. He was not worried about the breakfast - he knew that if he went to Chintu's or Monu's place for a game of ludo or chess he was for sure to get a bowl full of aaloo bhujiya or some other tasty namkeen. Even right now he could see from the corner of his eyes that his mother was already talking to Nirmala aunty, even as his siblings watched him with jealousy. Right opposite the park, another group of aunties were also looking at his mother, talking in low tones and laughing aloud. At some remote corner of his young mind he knew that they were discussing how his lazy mother let her husband go hungry in the morning, how she romped the colony right in front of the men-folk in that flimsy nightie of hers.......But he did not care....his "caring would hardly change anything" and then wasn't he too young to care? Ok ok enough of that...all attention on the game please!

In another house, not so far off, a girl of about 10 stood swinging on the gate all alone. She, her house and the family who stayed there seemed to be another exception in the colony. For one, she seemed clean and bathed, with her pigtails neatly tied unlike the other kids. Her lawn never seemed to be treaded by other children or the ladies - it was an island of quietness in the noisy, happy ocean. The cooker was already whistling in the kitchen and from the look of it - that must be the lunch that was getting ready. Ahead of schedule. Nothing out of ordinary- that was normal for them.

On most of the days, the girl sat reading in the sunshine, but once in a while her eyes would look longingly at the children playing in the park. Probably her parents did not want her to play the dirty gully games or make a mess out of herself in her life by listening to all kinds of janani-gossip.So she remained to herself drawing or playing with a ball or swinging on the gate, but almost always alone. Even the other children ignored her...she did not exist for them.

Today she sat watching the construction that was happening in front of her house. Not a super exciting thing for a kid of 10 to watch but she seemed mesmerized by the women folk who were carrying about 6-8 red bricks on their head to the men folk who were doing the actual construction work. After a while she went back to her book - it was them when the accident happened. Not actually an accident, just that one of the boys who was loading the bricks fell unconscious. The other workers quickly brought his in front of the girl's house (that was the nearest sunny spot). They called her out to get some water. She quickly ran to get some and then stood right next to the boy, who refused to open his eyes. Sensing that he might be cold in his thin shirt and half pant, she took off her own sweater and covered him even as the workmen insisted that he would be ok. She then asked as to what had happened to him. An elderly workman told her that he had gone unconscious probably because of the cold but somewhere in the background she heard about Ramesh staying with his drunkard uncle since the death of his parents. The uncle used to beat him daily, make him work on hard jobs unfit for a 12 year old, took away all his wages and even starved him.

She looked again at the boy...sorry at Ramesh. Even in his unconscious state he looked tired and sad. His skin was dry, broken and cut at places- unlike her own which glowed with health in the winter sunshine. She remembered the CRY ad on TV which showed a kid her age being scooped out of bed on a winter morning to be in his mother's arm and another child who had nothing but tattered jute bags to call his blankets. How often had she wished that she would be the kid whose mother took him in her arms each day......all her mother did was to shout out her name endlessly as she carried with the house work and her repeating "haanji, uth gai" (I am awake) even as she stole the last few minutes in the comfort of the warm bed in between the shouts.

Looking at Ramesh she knew she was asking for something so useless. He was the one who needed love and comfort. She instantly said sorry to God and a small prayer to set everything right for Ramesh. In the meantime, Ramesh's uncle also appeared on the scene. One look at him and she knew that all that she had heard about him was truth. He just stood there like a mute spectator eyeing her sweater and not even once did he caress the boy's head - like her mother did when she was sick or hurt. At that instant, as an answer to her own prayers, she had a bright idea.

She ran indoors and breathlessly recited the whole story to her mother. Her mother listened and praised her for giving away the sweater. The girl's eyes gleamed with hope - maybe her mother would say yes to her plan. As she followed her mother onto the scene she phased out the question "Can we keep him? His uncle does not love him...I will teach him and maybe he can also come to school with me.....Please mummy?" The please at the end of the sentence sounded desperate. Her mother took one look at her and then looking not into her eyes said..."we cannot". "But why?". The desperateness was much more pronounced. "Everyone and all books say that we should help fellow humans...then why?" Her mother ignored her question, instead she asked the crowd of workmen at her gate "Kya hua bhaiya?" (What happened brother?). The workmen repeated the story even as the mother sat down beside the boy and ruffled his hair. Almost by magic, he opened his eyes and looked longingly at her. She checked his forehead for temperature and then commented almost to herself "He seems to have high fever....take him to the hospital". The uncle complained that they did not have any money and even started asking for money, right away. The woman knew that the money would go for hard drinks, so she offered medicines even as her daughter whispered in her ears "Let's keep him...otherwise he will die". She consoled the girl saying "He will not... that's a promise" but not a word about keeping him. She asked the workmen to move the boy to the charpoi in the lawn so that he would not have to lie on the cold cement. They did that. Seeing that her mother was helping but unwilling to keep the boy the girl tried another tactic, "Lets keep him till he has fever...the day he is ok we can let him go"

The mother again was quiet. She offered the boy something to eat and some milk to drink so that he could take medicine. She gave him a blanket and caressed him again (this time the girl looked jealously) and then as if nothing had happened went inside to her work. So did the workmen and so did the ladies who were viewing the spectacle - back to their gossip and sweaters. Only the girl and the boy remained. They did not talk to each other...the boy lay staring without sight at the sky and the girl staring at him. She was not sure if she wanted the boy in her private space any more. He did not talk to her and he seemed to have earned two caresses from her mother for no reason. But still she liked him. She imagined what her friends would say and what she would teach him first? Would it be algebra or would it be geography?

The thoughts carried her back to the book and the boy went off to sleep as his fever subsided. When she went inside to get a glass of water for herself she put forward her request again. This time her mother seemed angry and just said "Will you stop talking nonsense? When I said it is not possible, its not. I do not want to hear anything about this again". Even though her voice was not loud but it sounded firm and the one that conveyed the decision had been made. The girl said nothing - she knew it would be useless to argue. As she came out she saw that the boy was no longer there on the charpoy. Her eyes scanned the surroundings and she saw him getting ready for work in the belly of the building. He was gone without a word leaving the blanket and her sweater right there. So much for her kindness - not a word from the boy and all that anger from her mother. That's life....thinking this she went back again to her book. When she raised her head the next time, Mrs Sharma was still wandering around in her nightie and her 2 younger ones roaming behind her without sweaters or a morsel of food in their stomachs. The other children were still playing in the park, the women still gossiping and the boy lost somewhere in the multitude of construction workers, just another face....as if nothing extraordinary had happened on that morning.Except....

Falling in love again.....with Noddy

Getting my first pet has been a wonderful experience, for several reasons. For one, pets always equated to a dog in my mind and secondly because keeping a pet in India seems to be a herculean task...with the traffic on the roads, the long work hours, safety concerns, weather (since I wanted a German Shepherd or a Labrador). Here in Canada all the worries have been taken care of.....but still I never imagined living with a rabbit. On an entirely different note, that is one of the things for which I will always be in gratitude towards my hubby. He could not have given me a better gift...even if the gift is meant to distract my attention from the fact that he comes home late almost every day. :P

The Noddy deal came to us as a surprise. I remember it was a Sunday morning and we were having a walk down the Newman street (one of the main roads, here). We came across an animal shop where we had never been before. I insisted on going in to window shop - animals have always fascinated me and I do not hesitate to take out a minute to watch them. We came across parakeets and love birds, the python and lazy frogs and a multitude of fish in all sizes and colours. Somewhere in between we encountered the rabbit /guinea pig/mouse section. The enthusiastic old lady who was in-charge of the section told us loads of things about rabbits...that they are intelligent, that they make wonderful pets and do not need to be taken out on walks, unlike dogs. And then somehow while talking to her we got infected by her enthusiasm and decided to take home a rabbit. Of course both my hubby and me knew that pets were strictly prohibited in our apartment as per the lease agreement. And yet, it was almost as if we had made our minds....

We left that day empty handed because it seemed too quick a decision. The next day we visited another pet shop and checked the prices for the animals and the accessories needed. Now just one last hurdle remained- the biggest one. Convincing the land lord about rabbits being docile pets who would not cause trouble or disturb the neighbours. The reason why this task had been kept for the end was that the landlady is a mean fat (one of the fattest) women who would run into a violent storm at the slightest provocation. Neither of us wanted to speak to her and hear a no. Finally this incorrigible task fell on to my head and I called her. She seemed in an unusually good mood and even managed to smile on the phone(probably she could figure out that I was nervous and excited like a child) and say a Yes. I let out a big yuhoo and that was it..............

On Monday the 28th March we brought Noddy home (the name was my husband's choice). I remember how scared he was as he took the first small steps inside the house. It was an amazing feeling....guess the only feeling that can supersede is to bring your own new born home. Initially he was scared and would run for cover at the slightest sound. He even disagreed to come close to us. For an evening or two it seemed that the old lady at the store had lied and we had made a mistake in bringing home an animal who would always be scared of us. But with time things changed. Noddy no longer objects to being petted endlessly. If he is scared he runs into our arms, seeking comfort, just like a kid.

A big advantage with a rabbit is that it is a clean animal. It chooses one corner to attend to the nature's call and sticks to it. No endless cleaning of the house. Plus it loves healthy food thus encouraging us to eat on the same lines. But at the same time I have learnt another important lesson. Its easy to be rude to him or to force him into submissiveness. And yet I know I should not do that. I should not get angry when he accidently/playfully nips my finger or claws my face. I remember seeing someone long ago who would pick rabbit by its ears and then dangle it in midair. Such kind of behaviour as far as I understand in not rare- even though people do tch-tch over it. Its easy to take out your frustrations on a delicate powerless animal and tell him that you are in control. After all, its not going to tell anyone nor is it going to get anywhere with rebellion. But patience, gentleness and kindness has its own rewards, which are far greater than those achieved by bossiness. I remember during the first week with Noddy when we were not so comfortable with each other, I used some force to catch him and get him in the cage. He submitted but the hurt, baleful expression that he gave made me feel like a wicked witch. I decided never again to mishandle him even by mistake.

For the rest, Noddy is a wonderful pet. It has been just 2 weeks that he has been here but it seems that my evenings were so very empty before he came. Trips to departmental store are for sure to get something for Noddy .Its fun to snuffle next to him or warm my cold hands against his fur. TV viewing is more fun with Noddy either sitting in our laps or going round and round in crazy circles out of sheer joy of the gift called life. Indeed there is so much to learn from him.

The topping on the cake is that my hubby says that he has never seen me happier than this. True!! What else is there to compare to the pleasure of 2 little paws that stretch out high above the floor to ask for a caress or a kiss?

On Learning French

I recently started with French classes (that language is a necessity here) and the whole experience has been unique and interesting in all perspectives.As a kid, I was ok with studies but never had a competitive edge...that streak to score one more mark from my competitors.I was way too lazy to bother about stuff like that - in a way if I had a topper's rank in the class it was more because my mother stood on my head with a stick in her hand, rather than a result of my own actions. As I grew older I realised, what a fool I had been all through and always wished I could go back and set things right. The French classes seemed to be a wonderful opportunity to redeem all those wrongs - its a full time course with regular classes, a dedicated teacher, surprise tests and exams to move on to the next level - the standards are pretty high....anyone scoring less than 80% will have to repeat the level. Perfect school like atmosphere. When would I get this golden chance again? Probably not in this life.

With those thoughts in my head and an invincible determination I reached the class on Day one. The students came from different nations and it was quite a scene to see all of them together. As luck would have it I shared my table with a Pakistani and a Bangladeshi ladi(es). I had never known people from my neighbouring countries and was kind of pleasantly surprised to see so much in common (its one thing to know the commonality and absolutely another to see it happening). I also realised that the unconscious prejudice I had held about all Pakistanis being dangerous looking(with that militant expression) was so very wrong. Despite the fact that Shazia spoke a mix of Punjabi and Urdu, Shilpi spoke Bangla and I spoke Hindi- we were bound together by unseen lines and became inseparable right from the first moment-we used a combination of languages to communicate with each other. Sometimes when sign language failed we used French. Its a small world... isn't it? Even the teacher joked about our table being the cricketing hub(since I had an Australian as well on the table).

But that was where the familiar ground ended. My hopes about being a top student almost dashed to ground when I realised that most of the students spoke a little French, if not much. And the teacher...well I almost hated him because he did not speak any English (by choice). He would say everything in French and even when I told him to explain it out in English he repeated it no less than 15 times....but all of it in sign language and French. The rule was very clear...no English, no comfort zone. I went home troubled.....which was good, for the next morning I woke up at 4 AM sharp - to study- something I had never accomplished in 19 years of education.

With time, things eased out...French no longer looked a dangerous, unlearn-able language. Rather I was delighted right on the third day when standing on the bus stop after school I read "Beau Soir" written on a board, on the other side of the street, over a departmental store. Those mysterious words turned into "beautiful evening" and indeed it was a fantastic evening...which became more beautiful as my eyes scanned and understood more words. The whole world it seemed had become my learning board and every one my teacher. I would request for stuff in stores in French and say Bonjour instead of hello to the bus driver. People became over helpful when I explained to them that I am learning French (earlier I had this bad experience of being shouted at by an old lady in a store when I had told her that I did not speak French. She had looked at me as if I were some insect whose salvation laid only in French or death)

I also realised that French is in ways more funny than English ever was or will be. One day our usually French speaking professor said a whole question in English and what a question it was "Why do you think they say that the French are obsessed with sex?" We looked at each other...was he going crazy? Or had the Friday fever hit a bit too early? He then went on to explain....It not because they are interested in the act of sex but because they have a gender for every thing. And that's true....as we all soon realised. Crazy as well. There is no logic as to why certain things are masculine or feminine - one must simply know (memorize) Here is a link I found that explains the dilemma http://frenchtoast.sg/french_blog/i_love_french_blog_files/25c912f8f19d557e121e48a185f4572f-5.html

There have been times when things have looked depressing - particularly when we do listening exercises. I can read and understand and maybe speak a bit of French but listening? It drives me nuts. The French it seems have no respect for space that we put between words. They eat away half of the words while speaking and the other half that remain are spoken all mixed up. The teacher says it will come over a period of time (I guess a very long time indeed) since we are in the habit of reading every written word, which is not the case with French. Huh!!

Guess I must get back to my books....before its too late!! I have my exam in 3 weeks!!

An evening of "firsts"

I was super excited about the whole thing. The party not only meant I could be away from home and Maths tuition for the whole evening but also that I could stand and stare at things which at that point in time seemed precious, delicious and so out of reach.

It was Aparna Didi's birthday. Aparna Di -she was the youngest daughter of my mother's colleague from work and was older to me by about 4 years. We have been playmates for as long as I remember and our age differences made it suitable for us to play "ghar-ghar" (housekeeping). She could be the parent and I her kid...it gave her an opportunity make me what she had been for her elder sisters.

Compared to our middle class status, she came from a rich family. I was too young to make out the differences in monetary terms but then the contrast was vast in all possible terms. My parents or for the matter hers, never let us feel about it but everything about them seemed nice and picture perfect while everything about us seemed dull and lifeless. Be it the quite spacious locality they lived in, their big bungalow complete with a garden, a huge swing and an artificial waterfall. Or be it Aparna didi's dresses or she, herself. She was pretty, as white as milk, had long hair and was good both in studies and badminton, besides being an extrovert. I have no memories of seeing her parents screaming at her over low marks. Rather she always did well and to reward her, her parents took her to different cities for vacations.

Contrary to their's we lived in an apartment building that housed 10 other families. My evenings were never quiet-they were filled with the sounds of children playing cricket in the neighbourhood or the cooker letting off its steam somewhere. I might have been pretty but the mirror refused to say that - thanks to the number of hours I spent playing in the mud.My dresses seemed cheap and lacklustre in comparison to hers. My marks were equally good but they came after a lot of screaming, complaining and crying. As for the reward...a chocolate or a picnic at the local hilltop temple was the maximum I could dream of. I was an introvert, scared of any kind of active sport(s) and instead found refuge in the library-which did not help much.

Almost a year earlier, Aparna di had insisted on marrying one of her gudda (boy-doll) to my gudiya (girl -doll). She had taken a special liking for the "bride" whom I had acquired after several months of collecting hard earned pocket money. Initially I was delighted about the marriage - which "mother" will not be when the offer comes from a rich family. I was on seventh heaven because friends in our circle were jealous that it was my doll which Aparna di had chosen. But like all other brides my Amy was supposed to go and stay forever at the in-laws place-as per Amy's to be mother-in-law. After several debates in my head I refused to this arrangement - that had led to the two of us not speaking for several days, even as our parents had laughed in the background and tried to make half hearted agreements on our behalf over samosas and tea. We hardly ever spoke after that...in a few months Aparna di entered her teens where normal dolls were replaced by Barbie dolls . Maybe she even forgot about the fight we had....maybe even her super cute gudda did not hold her attention anymore. The attention had moved to other things...boys, perfumes, Michael Jackson. That was another of those differences that were becoming apparent with time...the likes of her raved about Michael Jackson while I and the rest of the middle class neighbourhood could not follow a single word of what he sang and danced to.

Coming to the birthday party...I wanted to go over to her place right after school- after all I had several year load of happy memories of the time spent on the swing in her garden in winter sunshine, or being sprawled on the floor of her room on summer afternoons. She would also come to my place sometimes...but then it was the other way round more often - probably because of the lack of space and toys at my place. It does not mean that we did not have fun- we had different kind of fun. I would take her out and we would play gully cricket or if nothing else would just wallow in the mud or draw "finger art" on dusty walls and car windows. She would take to these activities as eagerly as to the girlie ones I took to at her place- for her all this was "different" and highly adventurous. If her parents thought that their pretty doll looked like a black cow after each visit to my place, they never mentioned it-atleast to me. But I often saw my mother running after the two of us asking us to get inside the house - something she never did if I played with my other friends. Anyways, who caes?

My mother restrained and urged me to finish off my homework. I was restless and kept following my mother as she ironed the dress I was supposed to wear that evening. I asked my mother if I could wear the pink one instead of green and then red one instead of pink but nothing satisfied me. Each time I looked into the mirror my mind did a quick analysis of what Aparna di would look like on her birthday as against me(like the Barbie doll, you scrawny little kid, said the mirror). I got so agitated that I could not concentrate on a single thing. End result: I got a screaming from mom.

Finally the clock struck 6:00 PM and I was allowed to go. As I stepped out neighbours came over to say that I looked pretty and "beautiful as a princess". I basked in the attention but knew that it was short lived. The moment I would step into the party no one would even look at me, much less praise me for anything or talk to me. It was a good thing that another friend of mine,Smita was also invited - atleast we were of the same age group and the unsaid word from similar financial status.

The summer evening was cool and calm, atleast in Aparna di's locality. I loved walking there - no traffic, so calm, so quiet and the smell of jasmine- it took me straight to heaven. As we neared her house I could hear loud music and cheering. The party was on- a typical teenage party. I knew at the first sight that all those doubts that has nagging me all through would come real - noone would talk to me (and I would not talk to anyone), noone would look at me or my dress and Aparna di who had been my such-a-good-friend was lost to other people- Parul di, Shalika di, Suraj bhaiya, Shazia di and Kushagra bhaiya - her age mates from her locality.

I quickly looked around and spotted Smita who was hiding in a corner. Not that, if she would have stood in the center of the dance floor would anyone observed her. Aparna di was busy, surrounded by friends, gifts and looking more pretty than usual in her white and pink Barbie princess dress. I slipped my gift below those of others - suddenly I was ashamed of my dress, of my hair braided into two tight ponytails of the gift I had brought and everything about me. Along with Smita I chose the darkest corner of the garden to sit even as Aparna di's mom insisted that we sit with the whole group and play games with them. Sit we did and we played housie also but the conversation it seemed was bound by age groups. When it was time to cut the cake, Aparna di's mom insisted on making me and Smita stand right in the front since we were the smallest of the lot. Aparna di was furious...she wanted her pictures to be clicked with her best friends and not some kids who did not know anything about the big big world. Ultimately we did get to stand right in the front but not beside Aparna di but at the far corners of the half circle we had formed around the cake.

The party seemed boring to us in every context and as the evening wore off I wondered what had I been excited about since morning. For the whole evening, Smita and I were commenting non stop on "these people". "These people" who kissed each other on cheeks to say happy birthday(not before confirming that their parents were not around to see). "These people" who danced in a funny manner (its called moon walk,idiot). "These people" who wore the shortest skirts and frocks in the town. If our parents would have listened to our talks they might as well have kicked us right then and there in the party.After all we were sitting and gossiping like 60 year old ladies-where had this habit come from?

I wanted to use the toilet and since the other one was occupied chance took me to the one in Aparna Di's room. And wow!! it almost seemed that some magic had taken me to the room of a fairy princess. The ceiling had painted clouds, stars and the blue night bulb exaggerated the effect of a late twilight. One corner was occupied by the Barbie's...not less than 20 of them...while the bed side table seemed to be the mecca of soft toys of every shape and colour. Wish I could stay there forever...I stood staring at everything around me for a long time. Suddenly I felt someone else's presence in the room- it was Aparna di's mom. "You like it?", she asked pointing to nothing in particular. I nodded a yes and she continued, "...this renovation to the room is our gift to Aparna for the birthday...". Wish my parents would do the same....was my first thought. But I did not even have a separate room much less a personal sky to stare into each night.

Dinner time. All through the evening I had heard excited voices coming from the kitchen, with words such as "experiment", "first attempt", "Chinese" floating around with some new smells. Parties in those days meant a standard fare...puri-chola, rice, achar, papad and raita. Here it was something different. We were served soup....soup meant tomato soup /chicken soup but here was something else.Most of the kids around did not like the taste of what they in their lives would remember as the first taste of not-so-well-prepared(maybe due to the non availability of all the ingredients in the small town) Chinese food. I remember seeing Aparna di's parents going around...trying to convince us to atleast try and taste the food-most of the kids had decided to give up the food after the first spoon. If the soup was a big time failure, the manchurian did not fare too well either...the fried rice did find a lot of mouths...so much so that it fell short. The slow eaters like me could hardly get anything beyond the first small helping. All in all it was hardly an evening I had looked ahead to so eagerly.

It was getting late and Smita asked me to stay back for a while...her dad was about to come to pick her up and he could easily drop me home. I refused....for I wanted to walk back home. Despite repeated requests from Aparna di's parents and Smita I literally ran away from the party, promising to call once I was home. After a wasted evening, I wanted a few peaceful moments all to myself. As I took the road home, the smell of jasmine surrounded me-making me forget the bad taste of the food. The stars, far above asked me to forget the false ones on the celing and the slight wind took away the bitterness of the evening-of lost friends, because they had grown too old. It was an evening when there were many firsts...a first time when I realised that my best friends will not remain the same as I and they grow up, a first time to eat Chinese food and a first time to realise that there was something called a money divide

From Victim to Offender - III

Time Jump....45 days later

It was a weekend and for some reason weekends seemed harder to go by than normal work days. As usual she was taking a walk in the twilight on the roof, watching those planes go by- wondering... if he ever thought about her. As if by voluntary action she checked the mobile for any missed calls, his calls. None. It has been 40+5 days but the situation had showed no signs of improving-maybe she was an exception to the principle of "A habit is formed in 40 days". She still felt all that - intense love, intense hate, desire to call, desire to kick him. The same rawness of not just one but a whole gamut of emotions.She still day dreamed about them being married and things being all right. Pages after pages in her diary had been filled up and when she looked back she suspected that the action of writing was more directed at killing time and preserving her sanity; than as a reflection to her thoughts. A particular phase she had written often caught her attention

....ऐसा लग रहा है की ज़िन्दगी की कश्ती कहीं बीच अनजान समंदर में गोते खा रही है....मुझे याद ही नहीं रहता की मैं एक बहुराष्ट्रीय संस्था में कार्यकारी हूँ. मैं तो बस एक नाविक बन कर रह गई हूँ जो अपनी भावनाओ के चक्रवात में फंस गई है....

That was probably the only sentence(if not only than maybe the first) in Hindi in her diary. She had taken all that trouble to find the Hindi words and then print them out correctly in a neat handwriting when all of it could be written in English easily.

The wind carried traces of television playing in the neighbourhood and kitchens being invaded for the preparation of the evening meals. Suddenly she heard क्यूँ आज कल नींद कम ख्वाब ज्यादा हैं...लगता है खुदा का कोई नेक इरादा है...कल तक फकीर आज दिल शैज़दा है...and it almost broke her heart. All over again. How many times had she and Aashray sat and listened to this number because...Because it reflected their emotions, what they felt. Her emotions...she thought bitterly. For him, it was just a song. Things would have been so different if he would have thought of it something more than a foot tapping number...But then that was a mere song...she should not expect such things from a guy who dumps his girlfriend....

The next day being Monday was a busy one. There were new joinings in the office and she was to handle the induction of those 10 guys. Huh!! These software engineers they would ask a thousand stupid questions about salary, tax, earnings, benefits and leaves. Most of them were just out of college maybe with a year or two of experience and were earning nothing less than 20 lakhs/annum and yet all they could think was....did they not have anything else to think of? No heartbreaks? No affairs? Lucky them...

During the induction meeting she could not help but look at a particular guy. His name was Jatin and he had that poetic air,around him (no no...that was not the right word. The right word was मजनू-even though on the surface he was smiling, was shaved and dressed in formals). More than once they held each other's gaze and there was nothing intimidating or flirtatious about it. Infact it was a comfort...a comfort that generates from a similar loss...as if he was saying......ऐसा लग रहा है की ज़िन्दगी की कश्ती कहीं बीच अनजान समंदर में गोते खा रही है....मुझे याद ही नहीं रहता की मैं एक बैठक में हूँ. मैं तो बस एक नाविक बन कर रह गया हूँ जो तुम्हारी तरह अपनी भावनाओ के चक्रवात में फंस गया है...

Over the next few days they saw a lot of each other...more by design than by chance. He would come to her often with questions and she would drop at his seat just to check if he was comfortable in the new environment. They would talk a lot about work and while they did the eyes carried a conversation of their own. Something like:

जतिन : बहुत दर्द होता है ना जब कोई अपना चला जाता है?
एकता : हाँ...तुम्हें भी ना?
जतिन : हाँ...पता नहीं कब मैं आगे बढ़ पाऊँगा..उसको भुलाकर.
एकता : मैं तुम्हारे आंसू कैसे कम करुं...मैं तो खुद ही अपने रस्ते से भटक गई हूं

Then one Friday, some 2 months while she was working late and everyone else had left...he walked into her room. Without a preamble or as much as a hi, he asked her if she would like to join him for a coffee the next day..so that they could share something that he felt would make things better. She agreed instantly and did not even ask what was that something. She knew...no "they" knew the pain...the pain when a song stops being a song and becomes a memory lane. When familiar roads become an unbearable sight for they hold too many emotions. When....

The next morning she woke up happier and excited than in several weeks. She questioned herself on her "status" Was she still the "torn lover" or was she the one who could sniff love in the air? After several seconds of deliberation she decided she should get ready for the meeting. The question could be answered later..at night.

It was good to talk to him. Plus there was no awkwardness...it was as if they had known each other all along...thanks to those random "eye conversations". He never asked her if she had a boyfriend...instead he asked "so how long it has been?" Her question could have meant anything...but she answered "4 months...he left me because his parents did not want him to marry in another caste....maybe" That set it off...the conversation had finally moved from the eyes to mouth...and their was no looking back...they shared stories, they held hands and consoled each other for what had not been their fate.

In another couple of days they were "seeing each other".Kind of. No, they have been too hurt to express love openly...after all love was not a verbal thing, it was in their silence, their eye to eye conversations. Then one day while they were walking in the Lodhi Gardens, he kissed her, gently on the cheek. She did not restrain his moves, for she was busy crying. It was as if some dam had just broken and had flooded the world...her eyes, her heart....For a moment, Jatin thought, he should not have done that and even said "Shit...I am sorry...I did not intend to do this...oh please stop crying....forgive me" bur she just drew him closer, while her body was racked with sobs. Jatin still unsure asked "Did I hurt you?" She nodded in negative and hugged him tighter even as the crescendo of the wails increased. So Jatin let it be....his heart knew she was trying to spend as many as tears as possible so that they do not come in the way of her life, so that they do not blind her anymore in between important meetings, so that she can link new memories to old songs, so that she can start all over again.

For Ekta, life was finally moving. Jatin had not said a word about the particular incident, nor had he made any further moves. He still smiled and their eyes still carried out conversations (more cheerful ones) but for one reason or another they could not meet each other over the next few weekends. Then one day when she came to office she saw a mail from Jatin. To say she was surprised was an understatement.

Dear Ekta,

A thousand thoughts run as I write this mail, sitting at the airport. As you might be aware, I am not in office today. I left...left the company, left the country...left you. I should have but did not tell you that I had applied for PR in Australia. I can give a thousand reasons why I did that but then I will give none...Choose the reason that suits you best...maybe because you were the HR and I could get into trouble if I told you all this, maybe because I did not want you to be lost in the ocean again...when you had just managed to emerge...maybe because there was someone else in my life...maybe....

Take good care of yourself. You shall always be in my prayers.

Jatin

She did not know what to make out of it. She did not even know how should she react to this mail. Should she write back (if at all) saying "take care, bbye...it was nice knowing you" or should she write a mail full of obscenities? And why did he leave...like that? What reason should she choose from the ones he had provided?

Several hours later when she was in her bed and sleep refused to come after 2 pegs of neat vodka she decided that the problem was not of Aashray or Jatin or any Tom, Dick or Harry. The problem was with...what did they call it? मर्द जात. साले सब के सब **** होते हैं. As sleep enfolded her, her last thoughts were of jotting down "some things sound so much better in one language than another".

But then was she filling the pages more to kill time and to preserve her sanity than as a reflection to her thoughts?

(to be continued)

The Sound

10 December 1992
Dear Diary,
It was not a good day. Dad caught me again with the Nancy Drew novel which I was reading hidden inside the Maths book. He came into the room so suddenly that I had no time to cover up. He slapped me, took away the novel and asked me to sit in the bedroom where mummy was lying. Mummy...that is another reason why I do not feel good. She is having fever since the last 4 days and is no fun. She is sleeping all the time.
In the school Mihir, got a scolding from the Math Maam' because he was trying to cheat in the test. She took him to the Principal. Good for him...for the next 3 periods he sat quietly without bothering me-I hope he stays that way. Parul was again absent so there was no one to exchange tiffins with....
Have to go now and study for the Physics test tomorrow. Bbye.
-Sanchita

12 December 1992
Dear Diary,
Mom seemed a bit better yesterday but today again she is down with high fever. Papa took her to the hospital and doctor uncle said it was probably the cold wave that is showing its effect. Hope she gets better soon. I like working in the kitchen but not when mamma is in bed. :(
I did not go out to play in the evening. Papa seemed tired and there was no end to people who were coming to see mummy. First Sinha Uncle came, then Mayank's dad and mom and while they were still there Rashmi aunty and Sudha aunty turned up. I prepared tea for them...everyone liked it and they praised me...Yeaaaaaaaaaa!!!
Please God, get my mom out of bed soon...I want to play games with her. Ritesh is no good..he is cheating all the time!!
Sanchita
PS: Got 9 out of 10 in Physics and 20/20 in Maths despite Nancy Drew :)

13 December 1992
Dear Diary,
Mummy isn't well. But that is secondary...there is something else I want to tell you about. Today evening I was sitting with mummy in her bed, right against the window, studying. I heard some funny sound....like that of glass moving in its wooden frame, in the strong wind. The noise was not loud but constant and irritating. I ignored it thinking it was a mouse or something...but then the sound persisted. When Doctor uncle came over to see mom I forgot all about it (he had got me a chocolate) but later after dinner the sound was still there, a bit louder. I really do not know what it is. Asked dad about it and he said it must be the wind banging against the window. I wanted to tell him that the window was open but then didn't say anything- for I knew he would have said that I got weird ideas watching horror shows on TV.
Later when I went out to collect clothes from outside, I noticed that there was absolutely no wind. The sound is still there....
Mummy is calling me. Will write later.
Sanchita

15 December 1992
Oh what a terrible day was yesterday. Mummy was alright till evening but all of a sudden around 6:30PM she started shivering and the fever was as high as 104 degrees. Papa wasn't there so I called Seema Aunty. She came and started putting a cloth dipped in cold water over mummy's forehead. I was at the telephone calling dad when I noticed that the "sound" was still there...it was louder than the day before and kinda creepy....
Anyways, I went all round the house checking if any other windows made that sound...but no everything was quiet. I banged the window of my room to see if any sound came...but none. I checked outside and still there was no wind. I really have no idea what that sound is.
Dad soon came over and took mummy to the hospital. The doctor has her admitted- means she is in a real bad shape. The house is in a mess- I am trying to help out dad but he wants me to study(since the exams are round the corner). How can I explain that I cannot concentrate on studies with mom in hospital and that funny sound in the window.
Going to the hospital now to see mom. Bye.
Sanchita
PS: There is no sound today.

18 December 1992
Mummy is back. She is much better but gosh so many people are coming over to see her...Nothing much to write. I have to study...exams start after 3 days!!
Sanchita

23 December 1992
I feel so sad - mummy is again in the hospital. She was alright till yesterday and then in the evening the fever came- all of a sudden. How is that possible? She hadn't gone out so there is no possibility of catching a cold. She was explaining me the diagram in Bio one moment and the next she was shivering again!!We got her wrapped in 3 blankets but she refused to be still. No one noticed it but that sound was again there in the window. I have been keeping a track of it and it had been absent all along but started minutes before mummy had this shivering fit. I think there is some connection between the sound and mummy's fever.
Later when papa had given mummy some medicines and she was sleeping I tried to hold the window in place so that the sound stopped but it didn't. I went outside on the pretext of collecting clothes to see if I could figure out something...as usual there was no wind, no rats and the most surprising thing was that when I put my ears against the window from outside I could not hear a thing. And still the sound continues....
I was so scared that I slept with mummy and papa. I insisted on everyone sleeping in my room but dad got angry...obviously he would...when mummy is in a bad shape. All through the night the sound continued. once I asked dad if he heard that sound and all he said was "What sound?" I kept quiet but then I could not sleep.
Today morning when papa called doctor uncle he said it would be better to get her to the hospital. No sound since then....
Rest, exams are going ok. I left a three mark question in Hindi. :( Chemistry paper was long but I managed to finish in good time. Have the last papers tomorrow- Conversation and GK.
Bbye.
Sanchita

25 December 1992
Dear Diary,
Exams over...mummy back from hospital but then her sickness is a constant family member. I now have no doubt that there is a connection between the sound and sickness...
Today is Christmas. We got our gifts but then it looks like Santa has been in a real hurry. For there is just one gift, that too unwrapped. Maybe he got too busy or maybe he has not been keeping well. Tomorrow papa is going to Delhi for 2 days on an official trip. I am the kitchen manager for this time :)
Sanchita

27 December 1992
Dear Diary,
Oh, I hate that sound...now when that sound is not there I can still hear it buzzing in my head. Sometimes I think I am hallucinating.....but then...I really do not know what to make out of the whole thing...Maybe you can suggest me something. Here is what happened...
Bhaiya was watching TV till late yesterday night and I was scared to be in my room alone so I came to mummy. She was sleeping and I sat reading my book. Needless to say the sound was there. I tried to ignore it as much as possible, sitting as far from the window as I could. But I could still hear it.
Suddenly around 11PM mummy suddenly started saying something in her dreams. First it was a low note and I thought she would quiten out as the dream would pass over...but then she grew louder and louder. She seemed to be scared so I went over to her and stroked her, but of no avail. When nothing worked I shook her hard and she woke up. The first thing she said on opening her eyes was "Those guys in white- they will take me away...ask them to go...ask them to go. I do not want to go anywhere.." I was frightened to hear that but then I said to her that there was no one around. She closed her eyes back again and it seemed she dozed off again...all in a matter of seconds. As I turned back I saw bhaiya standing at the door looking aghast. He did not say anything but then there was nothing to say. Mummy needs help....is she going crazy? Today morning when I asked her about the dream all she said that she did not remember. But I know she does (from the expression on her face) but does not want to discuss it.
I do not know what to do.....
Sanchita.
PS: Did I mention that while pointing towards the "men in white" mummy was actually pointing her fingers towards the window? I am not sitting by that window again :(

1 January 1993
Dear Diary,
New Year. Not a good one. Mummy's still unwell and I think I will never ever see her healthy again. She has turned into a skeleton in just a period of 15 days or so. And who is responsible? Doctor uncle says all her tests are clear...and he cannot figure out as to what is wrong. Shall I go and tell him that the sound/window is the virus he is looking for?
Sanchita

2 January 1993
Dear Diary,
I told papa about this window thing. Cannot keep it any more with me. Reason: Yesterday, evening our neighbours were bursting crackers and mummy was sleeping. She woke up suddenly and I thought she would again say something about the men in white. But instead she looked at me and asked me to come over. She also asked me to get papa and bhaiya. I called them over and papa literally ran in..poor papa. She said she was going to die in a minute and wanted to say goodbye. Can you imagine that? I started crying and so did bhaiya but mummy continued in a monotone as if she was at some place far far away. Papa first looked aghast but the next moment he was at the phone calling the doctor; even as mummy was saying that "nothing could save her now". As doctor uncle came, papa asked me and bhaiya to go out. We did, even though I wanted to stay right there.
10 minutes later, papa and doctor uncle came out and papa hugged me tight. He said, that mummy was all right. Just that the loud noise had made her heart beat faster and in her weakened state she was feeling that she was going to die.
That was enough..I could not let a cracker take my mummy away from me. Nor would I let her go to those men in white or that stupid sound from the window . So I told him, in the evening while bhaiya was at the computer and he was alone in the kitchen. i told him about the sound and mummy's dream of men in white. I thought he would laugh but he did not. Instead he asked me if I was sure about the sound. I was, of course.He then asked if I still heard it. We tiptoed in mummy's bedroom and yes it was there, the sound. Louder than most days (which meant mummy would be worse tomorrow). Somehow papa still did not hear it. But he promised that he would look into it. Some time back, I saw him standing outside in the garden, checking out the window. I am sure he will set everything all right.
Sanchita
PS: Our results are out. I came second in the class. Kartik is first by 1 mark. I do not feel good right now...shall tell you the marks tomorrow.

10 January 1993
Mummy is finally all right. Ok ok not perfect but the fever has not come in the last 3 days. Nor has the sound. As I had suspected there was a connection between the sound and fever. You want to know what happened?
Well after I told papa about the sound, the very next day he brought over an ugly looking woman. He told me that she was a doctor who would pray to God to set mummy all right. It sounded funny that here was a doctor without medicines but I was ready to accept anything right now. Anyways...the woman performed some funny ceremonies in the darkened room with mummy, as all of us sat watching in a hushed tone. Trust me I was excited and scared at the same time. The scene was straight out of any horror show and the woman also looked more like those witch hunters rather than a doctor. The smell of incense sticks...the small fire that she had burnt, the darkness...it all seemed strange and untrue.
Apparently papa must have told her about the sound because I saw her going a lot of times near the window. The sound was still there...sometimes loud...at other times slow but then when she had done with her praying/curing it seemed like magic that the sound disappeared. Even mummy seemed more alert than usual...she could actually sit up in bed and thank the woman.
Oh and there is this imprtant thing I forgot to tell. After all that praying and hallaboo by that "doctor", bhaiya and me were in the drawingroom watching the cartoon. Mummy seemed tired(but well) and was sleeping. Papa and the lady were in the dining room discussing something. They did not see me- as I went into the kitchen to get some water. The lady was giving something wrapped in a paper to papa and was asking him to dispose it off in the worst possible place (gutter/toilet..etc). Papa seemed a bit scared as he handled the thing so when he was in the bedroom I had a quick look. It was a piece of alum(my guess is it was from the puja that the lady had performed) but what was surprising was that it was shaped like a face...clearcut eyes, a big nose and thick lips... presumably of a lady. There was no doubt in that. It looked scary...so I kept it back. But as I turned I realised that papa was standing right behind me, watching. I thought he would slap me but all he said was "...she says this is the lady who made mummy sick...do you recognize her?" I looked at the alum again, not daring to touch it and moved my head in negative. Papa continued "She says we must destroy the alum and then throw it so as to ward off the evil eye...shall we throw it off in the toilet?" I was scared...so could not say anything. Papa took that as my consent and the next moment I heard the sound of flush...
Sanchita

15 January 1993
Dear Diary,
Its so cold....the school is still closed. What a relief. Even papa took a day off today and we all had fun...mummy included. She is all right now and I know she would be fine...for the sounds have stopped coming from the window. Papa asked me day before yesterday if I still heard that sound. When I said no he said..."you know what...you saved your mother's life...we are so proud of you". I felt good about it but then I am still scared to go to the toilet. What if that alum-lady pops out again? Dad says she will not - but then I think it would have been a better idea to beat the alum into a thousand pieces before throwing...but dad says its bad to kill someone" Kill? How can we kill by beating alum? Well I really don't care so long we are healthy and happy.........
Got to go.
Sanchita

A word on Dhobi Ghat

If you are a "regular" bollywood fan chances are you believe in the mantra of "they lived happily ever after" and "If the scene is an unhappy one then picture abhi baaki hai mere dost" - clichés that have been epitomised by a regular doses of blockbusters from the various production houses within the industry. But then when you go for an Aamir Khan production you do expect something "out of the box", something different, something sans masala, something that will get you thinking. Dhobi Ghat follows all the above conditions but then, in all probability the immediate reaction after watching the movie is "Oh..was it all? Are you sure?" Its almost as if Aamir/Kiran Rao is teasing you on the thinking hat - "think man think..what should be the end?"

Reason : The movie ends leaving the watcher unsure of the fate of its protagonists; atleast in terms of their relationship(s) with each other. Did atleast one of the couples get to live happily ever after? You can't be sure. Quite a possibility that each one goes about dreaming, living, hoping, surviving Mumbai-fighting his or her own personal fight. After all life is not something that can be dissected into neat chapters- you fall in love and then you fall out of it(and then maybe fall again for it) but then no matter what ever be the feelings - the sadness, the happiness it all becomes a part of you - layer over layer- an absolute cocktail. Ditto with the movie- it takes a random look into the life of 4 individuals and then leaves it an open end - letting life(the watcher) take his or her own course.

Ok so you do not like incomplete stories- but then the movie has much more to offer. The vibrant colour of emotions, the blackness of Mumbai, why despite so much of blackness some people come to Mumbai to take a breath of fresh air and why everyone from a rat-killer to an investment banker call it home or fall an easy prey to its charms.

Even though I am one of those people who are from the Dilli gharana (definition: one of those who cannot understand all that fuss about Mumbai. Delhi is so very cool) the movie made me wonder about life....about Mumbai. I love all that attention that has been given to the people, the colours and life in general instead of useless talking. Arun/Aamir is the superhero - of silence. He doesn't talk for more than 15 minutes in the whole movie and yet surpasses most of the competitors. The one who has done the maximum talking (Yasmin/Kriti) doesn't exist. Munna/Pratiek is the quintessential dhobi with a convincing performance (only if he does not have that many funky t-shirts) and Shai/Monika is in every way the American bred confused desi with an accent who stands on the fine threshold between love and friendship, between the not so rich and extremely poor and between being a camerawoman versus investment banker.

Overall a good watch. I loved it and can watch it again...for each time as the minute details of the 4 lives emerge they give me a different perspective about the ending. Keep watching, keep ending :)

A small town (cock)tale

There was someone I did not know. She lived alone right next door to my friend a long long time ago...when I was in school. Her memories are limited, few and far flung. Lots of those few have her watering the flowers in the garden as my friend and me stood gossiping on the other side of the garden wall. With her haughty and ugly expression she would often look at us sideways- each time we giggled-probably suspecting us to be laughing at her . Over years, we nicknamed her "Piggy Aunty" for obvious reasons. There was nothing extraordinary about the whole thing- 2 girls in pigtails, glasses and frocks swinging over the garden gate and laughing over a middle aged woman next door. For some reason, as I write this, a lot of memories rush back to me from that particular minute - those carefree days in April when the new session had just begun and summer vacation was just round the corner , the smell of the wet soil after it had been thoroughly dried in the blazing afternoon sun, the creaky sound of the rusting gate as it carried our weights-this way and that way in the breeze of the early evenings,the chirping of the thousand birds, mingled with the tring tring of the bicycle bells- where the number and intensity of the trings specified whether it was the milkman or the breadman. A cocktail for senses from a small town.

Though I had never interacted with her, she was not a nice person in a general perspective. Within the colony, the gossip never carried a favourable picture of her. It seemed she was hired as a teacher in one of the schools because she had buttered up the top management. I had heard stories that when angry in the classroom she would throw the wooden duster at the erring child's head. She was a divorcee -which added to her vampish image. When I was in the last year of school news had it that her (ex)husband had committed suicide. Local gossip again blamed her for the suicide and as a child in the vastness of the adult talk I took it more as a well proven fact than something that might be a figment of imagination of the women who had nothing better to do than talk, sitting in the winter sunshine even as their nimble fingers produced meters and meters of sweaters for their whole clans. For this whole while till today, it never occurred to me that she might be rude because her husband was not be a nice person and not vice versa. That it was not she but the husband's ill mental health that resulted in suicide. I never thought about all this because she was not important to me- maybe my mind visualized her more like a tree than a human. A solid steady tree that would be there, nurturing her garden no matter what.

Last year she had been diagnosed with stomach cancer. Gossip again ranged her cancer's intensity from one to three on a scale of three. The last time I saw her (six months ago) she seemed a bit pale than before but the haughty expression was right there - so were her flowers and the watering schedule. The combination of schedule and expression had reaffirmed my faith that she was ok and had all the time in the world to throw dusters at children, butter at the top management and her haughtiness around. That this would last forever...

My friend (who was her neighbour) called me today. We chatted and chatted like school girls and then over "aur batao, kya chal raha hai" (tell me what's new) she told me she had new neighbours. "Why are you not aware? Piggy aunty died 3 months back", when I asked her about what happened to our (not so dear) Piggy aunty. "It was a terrible terrible death - she was at the mercy of the neighbours, even as no family members came to help her. Her cancer which had spread to the intestines was so bad that she was literally rotting away...with black and white foam oozing out from where ever it could find as opening..." She said all this matter of factly...as it happens when the initial shock over bad news dies off and it becomes a fact, a statistics. Huh...maybe by tomorrow morning I shall be like her, taking death(someone else's) as a part of life.

But no, no matter how hard I try I cannot erase the shock . The shock not of her death, but of living in a cocoon of happiness thinking "Nothing ever changes in the small town that I call home- it was the same in school days and its still the same and would remain the same the next time when I am there". But some things did change, are changing. While I was busy doing nothing or maybe fbing, someone to whom I had never spoken to died, rotted away, leaving behind the thirsty flowers in the garden, the ghosts of April summers and the tring tring of bicycles...Who would we laugh at? Who would look at us sideways? Where would the smell of wet earth come from? Who would the women gossip about under the winter sun?And where are those 2 pigtailed giggling girls...I no longer see them swinging over the gate........

Can some one please get me my cocktail- yes the same one with all its components intact?

From Victim to Offender - II

The next Sunday came - the day she was supposed to meet Aashray.On the previous day she had got herself a nice new fashionable haircut and had got an expensive trendy dress for the meeting. This was a bit surprising because in all the time they had been together she never had "dressed for him". So why now? She had no answer to that. Maybe just maybe to let him "feel" that she was enjoying her life - the breakup had not affected her. Maybe just to make him a wee bit jealous - over what he had missed. The opportunity cost of the lost love.

In truth, the vamp that had so suddenly emerged over the previous weekend was now nowhere in sight. She was her old self - a bundle of nerves who wanted to cry at any given second without prior notice. The week had been a terrible one at work - she could not focus on a single thing when there were tough deadlines to meet. Her expressions were so obvious that her manager had even asked her if there was a personal problem that she was going through. In a quiet voice she had said "no" - a no that had sounded more like a yes. Thankfully the weekend swooped her in its arms and she spent a relaxing (crying+sleeping) time- a time to introspect and look back over the damage done.

Aashray had not called back even for a single time in the whole week. It had reconfirmed her faith that "all men were dogs" and that he was probably never interested in her - he was just using her as a trophy, someone to hang out with to kill the mundaneness of the college routine. College over, affair over. Out of sight out of mind. On one hand, these insights strengthened her vampirish self while on the other hand she was unsure if she was ready to face Aashray so soon again. She knew the moment he would be there in front of her eyes she will lose herself - absolutely, completely.

With this conflict in her head, she fought the battle of "to meet him or not". Maybe he was not calling because he was in a turmoil like her. Maybe talking would set everything back to where it was, before it fell apart. Maybe he really never loved her. Maybe....this.....Maybe that. In the end she decided that she would not go to meet him. She would wait until he would call and then would say something like "I forgot absolutely about our meeting....oh I am so sorry...I am with my friends right now...we are having a party..."He would probably say something like"its all right...carry on..." and then she would say "A promise is a promise...lets meet in about half an hour at the New Friends Colony Barista". And then they would meet, without her sounding too excited...Blah blah...

He never called. Not on that day or the day after or the one after that. For the whole evening she kept looking at the mobile, waiting for it to ring...but it did not. For a thousand times she checked the network...it was right there but no calls came. Tears, tears and more tears. So many of them that even the vamp refused to emerge this time....atleast the vamp had this extraordinary quality of wiping away her tears and giving her some courage to hold on.....She realised that she had been a fool all along loving someone who has been playing all along.

Late in the night, she remembered something that she had read long back. That it takes exactly 40 days for an activity to become a habit. Exercise for 40 days and you would start loving it magically on the 41st day, drink 15 glasses of water for 40 days and from there on the subconscious will take on - some of the things she has been trying to do since ages. Immediately she gets up and on a paper writes out the dates for the next 40 days. 40 days to forget the love of 3 years. There were some ground rules of course to follow, like not calling Aashray, engaging self in anything when his thoughts descended, not visiting places that they have been together, focus on the work front(it had suffered badly in the previous week) and not talking to anyone about him. She stuck the paper on the wall against her bed and tried to sleep even as her hands itched to cut off the dates......as soon as possible.

Days passed and as they say time healed her wounds. Maybe they did not heal but atleast she learnt to ignore the pain and the heaviness that threatened to break into a sob. Aashray never called back - she had been expecting his call(s) even when she had decided not to take them. It should not have mattered that he wasn't calling since technically she was out of the relationship. But it mattered...40 days was still a long long way off.

The wall next to the bed became some kind of a memorial....she would put up yellow stickies...that had plans of revenge, plans to ignore, plans to seduce him back and thoughts on forgiveness, besides other stuff. All these notes had one thing in common...at the bottom of each one of them she had written in bold "I CHOOSE TO FORGIVE EVEN IF I CANNOT FORGET". Nothing could probably sum up her upbringing and the conflicts in her head - the teachings of forgiveness that her parents had always insisted upon, the vamp in her that refused to forget and wanted revenge and her helplessness in bringing any of the so called plans of revenge into action because somewhere deep down it was impossible to hate him. We often choose to vote against what we cannot do, so she forgave him.......

(to be continued)

From Victim to Offender - I

She laughed....the laugh had a villainous quality about it and that wasn't really good. Especially if you were willing to consider the fact that she had broken up with her boyfriend just hours ago. Or that just minutes back she had been crying like crazy. Or that seconds ago suicide seemed the only way out of this misery. But then, this laugh...resounding in the empty room on that cold December night.

It had been a lovely day (well it was if you consider the weather). In the morning she had woken up with the first alarm (even though it was a Sunday) and had instantly smiled. It was bright and sunny with birds chirping and people in their best moods. It was the kind of day when she had the feeling that nothing could go wrong. After lunch she and her parents had headed to the Dilli Haat. Not just for a simple outing but to meet her long time boyfriend and his parents. A first parent-parent meeting. She had visualized this moment for so long and never ever had a single strand of doubt had crossed her mind. She was enormously in love....love that made all things possible, that made the earth go round and that left no space for any kind of doubt. Aashray was a typical Delhi guy...who loved branded clothes, flashy bikes and tried not to show how badly he needed her, especially in front of his friends. But its impossible to hide such stuff...his friends, their friends had nicknamed him as Aashiq Sharma...for his eyes never left her no matter what the surrounding be - in the class, in the cafeteria, in the badminton court....

But that was past. Her watch had stuck 3:00PM as she had helped out her parents with their suitcases at Dilli Haat (they had a train to catch back that very evening). Nervously, excitedly, happily, dreamingly she had looked around. No Aashray. She thought of calling him but decided against it. Rather she deposited her parents suitcase at the baggage counter and they decided to have a look around...to while away time till "they" arrived. 3:15, 3:20, 3:22...oh God...these Dilliwallas...they will never be on time...it was the status thing. 3:27, 3:30, 3:32.....3:40..well things werent really as per the plan...her parents had to catch the train as well. Would they have sufficient time to discuss everything? Just than the phone rang. It was Aashray....

"Where are you? I have been here for so long now...Kahan ho? We are sitting in front of the Assam stall...jahan last time we ate momos...". Silence at the other end...She is ready to ask again but then hears the voice at the other end saying..."I am sorry..we are not coming. I am really sorry...I just had a big fight with my parents...they do not want to hear anything about us, about this meeting, about you...My mother just said that I was out of my mind and she would not let this happen no matter what.........."

Her hands became cold but then she thought it was some kind of joke. Aashray was like that. Often at the last minute he would call up to say that he would not be coming for a date only to say "arrey main to mazak kar raha tha" when she would start screaming. She looked around to see if he was somewhere around...putting a face on those thousands of smiling faces...even as her parents looked at her inquiringly. Not seeing him or for that matter them she asks..."but the other day you said your parents had agreed to come over...now what...?" "yes they had...even I asked my father the same question as to why had they agreed to the whole thing and they said that it was just a way to keep me from blowing off...."

She didn't hear another word...though she could make out what he might be saying...a couple of sorrys served with a salad of promises and topped with sauces of regret. She kept down the phone, making that mammoth effort to be normal. To that inquiring look of her parents she just said "Lets go ahead and order something...they are not coming...seems like his parents have a problem with....". That was where she stopped. What was there problem, exactly? Was it intercaste marriage or was it that she was a small towner? Or that she would not let her parents give even a penny in the name of dowry? She had no idea. Aashray had always said that it was his responsibility to convince his parents...that he would do it...no matter what. Fuck responsibility....fuck guys...hadnt she been warned time and again by friends about the "typical Delhi guy"? Fuck her for not listening to them...

Her parents didn't say anything..but deep down she knew they must have been hurt. More by the fact that she was sad than by the fact that they had been a butt of disrespect- after all they had come over just for this one meeting and then to be told that everything stood cancelled...everything was tropsy turvy. She will have to be brave atleast till they were there....

Her mother was saying something. It must have been sympathetic (she saw it in the expression) but she couldn't really make it out behind all that white noise that was going in her head. So she chirps out..."Lets try out the parathas at the new stall over there, I have heard they are better than the ones at Chandni Chowk". Her parents nodded their head and followed their daughter.

The parathas were no doubt delicious and to an outsider the conversation between the three of them must have seemed cheerful and animated. He mother had insisted on her eating an extra paratha (being a mother she must have known that tonight wasn't the night her daughter was going to cook). Reluctantly, she had eaten the extra one, without any desire or hunger...Anything to avoid that outburst of emotions.

Soon after, she had bid them an overly cheerful farewell(farewell? cheerful?) even as they had looked out concerned from the train window. It was late evening now with Cannaught Place full of lights and entwined couples. If she overlooked that one call...it was still a perfect day. But then even before she had taken a seat in the bus silent tears had blinded her and then there was no stopping. Not when a concerned lady seated next to her had inquired if she could do something to help her out, not when her stop had arrived, not when her bed had received her warmly, lovingly....not until that laugh. The laugh that made her think that she was in the grips of madness.

As an amateur writer, she had always been fascinated by the characters she wrote about. The true lover, the dutiful wife, the erratic kid, the mysterious woman, the silent killer and what not. She knew that she could fit into any of these roles as easily as she fitted into her own clothes. During any given conversation with xyz, while her body interacted, her mind would be fiddling, backstage, trying to decide what mask to put on. Often that confused people...in one conversation lasting 10 minutes she would jump from being silent to bubbly to rude to reserved and then back to bubbly in no particular order. She enjoyed this game immensely but then would make sure to leave no bad feelings with the other person, towards the end.

But now, she had this opportunity to do what she had always wanted. Play the vamp to the hilt. Hence the laugh. She had always visualized a happy cheerful married life with Aashray in the years to come by. Never ever for a second had the role reversal taken even in the darkest corner of her brain. But now all of a sudden things were so very different. "Just wait and watch Mr Aashray....your bad time starts now...", she said to herself. "I will convince my parents...no matter what isn't that what you had said? Well, well...lets play some games..shall we?"

The next moment she had dialled his number. He had picked up on the third ring and had said a hesitant hello. In a cheerful composed voice she had spoken just like everyday, inquiring what he did over the whole day and things like that. He had been surprised and once had even tried to mumble out a sorry which she had overlooked and had continued talking. Seven minutes later when she had kept down the phone she had his consent to see her the next week. Though there was nothing except hate now, she had noted with sadness that Aashray had not even fleetingly mentioned that there was no sense in meeting now. "So all I am is a time pass....I will make you pay for every single thing..." were her last thoughts before dreams took her to a more peaceful place.

(...continued to part II....)

Nani's Place

She was not my real nani, but then the only one I knew of. Every time during the summer vacations when we went to visit relatives I insisted on staying with her only. More often than not it led to angry confrontations between me and my parents but then in the end I did get to spend a larger part of time with her. She on her part did not mind having me around and would indulge me to the point of illness with guavas, mangoes, jalebi,samosas and you-name-it-I-have-it.Typical grandparent behaviour. Nana was also there but he wasn't really a part of the show...to me he was either angry or doing weird exercises on the rooftop or reading newspaper and if nothing else sitting on one of the sofas one hand rubbing his naked belly in circles while the eyes scanned the empty air. In contrast, Nani was the active one...giving me all the attention I wanted. The best thing I liked about her was her personality...tall, broad and strongly built - the kind who never played it sick with this pain and that. Rather she would bounce me on her knees or carry me on her shoulders. Complementing that look was a strong voice and jet black hair. When she spoke it seemed everyone stopped to listen.

Isn't that amazing that things often appear larger than life when we are kids? Ditto with Nani's house...to my eyes it had all possible "locations" that she weaved in those fairy tales-the busy street (visible from the living room balcony) which to me was the Silk route of the traders and their tired mules, the quiet garden with its mossy corners where the pixies lived and princess walked and a storage room with 10 watt bulb that was the hideout of the robbers. Frequent electric cuts made it all the more fun to play hide and seek or to lie under the stars on summer nights. The house had a thousand different corners to explore...the roof top (which could be climbed using a wooden ladder) to pluck flowers, the balcony in the bed room (from which the neighboring cow shed was visible) where I would spend hours watching the animals and there owners, inhaling the peculiar musk of fresh milk and even fresher dung, the puja room...which had a collection of deities (close to 300) collected from over a lifetime. I would sit in Nani's lap as she prayed, mumbling something incomprehensible all the while trying to figure out if any of the God's smiled or changed expression (at that time Gods to me were as real as humans) -especially when Nani made offerings to them. Not to forget the ancient toilets- which had zillions of cobwebs and huge spiders. This meant that I would never be bored - I could watch the fights and the mating rituals and dream about the intricate web of life while attending the nature's call.

Time passed like magic...I was in my teens and too shy or too lazy or had too much of that "I dont care" attitude to visit my relatives. Books were the only thing I cared about and that made everything else take a backseat including the vacations with Nani. It was only when I had passed my 12th and had got admitted to the college in the same city in which Nani lived did I realise that I hadnt been there in years. Everything at Nani's place looked the same - if you discount the extra layers of dust that had settled around, thanks to the woes of the extra years that Nani & Nana had put on. By chance the hostel allotment was supposed to happen 3 months after the classes began and when questioned about my preference to stay I opted for Nani's place....my personal Disney land.

But things seemed different now. The same road that had been the Silk Route seemed full of potholes and crowded. The house and the toilets looked dirty and the beloved gods were bothersome- I could not even look at the puja room without being thoroughly cleansed. If I used the toilet it meant I had to take a bath again, no matter what. The electricity cuts brought out the mosquitoes and that hampered with my assignments. Nani's health was failing but then all that muscle has now become sagging fat. The only thing that remained the same was her voice...and more often than not I found it to be complaining about something trivial - the strong voice that in my memories "everyone stopped to listen" now gave the effect of screeching. Nana on his part remained much the same. He could no longer exercise but that meant he had more time to rub his belly and scan the past and the future, even as Nani screamed and shouted about the unfairness of life. The old habit of indulging me with food was also there but then I had grown out of it. I hated anything sweet plus was on a serious weight loss spree. Nani did not understand this obsession to be thin and it did not help in any way. After about two weeks or so of "trying to understand each other" we both gave it up...confining ourselves to our rooms, lives and routines. It was good that they watched the news during dinner for it took away the need to make any kind of small talk.

I was more than relieved when time came to shift to the hostel. When my parents enquired if I had'nt been upto much of mischief all that Nani said was..."it seemed like she was staying in some hotel and we were some strangers." Guess that said it all about the transition from childhood into adulthood.