When Tea spoke to Coffee

Sitting in the verandah, solving crossword puzzle and catching some wintry sunshine, I felt a deep urge to indulge in a cup of masala tea.

I called out to my cook and he obsequiously asked, “Yes Bhabhiji”.

“Make me cup of nice masala chai, Ramu.” I ordered.

“Ji Bhabhiji.” And he turned to leave.

“Wait, listen” I called out aloud, “make a cup of strong coffee instead.”

“Theek hai” he replied and turned around.

Two steps further and I shouted again, “Ramu, let it be tea only.”

Puzzled Ramu asked, “Kya bhabhiji, itna confuse kahe hai.”

“Nahi nahi, chai is final.” I assured him and let him reach the kitchen this time.

Waiting for my tea and staring at the crossword puzzle, some amusing thoughts stir my imagination. I feel two beings emerge in my head and personify themselves. These hot and steaming creatures take me by surprise and sit up ready for a no nonsense tete-a-tete.

The cappuccino, frothing at the rim with a swirl of hazelnut and a sprinkle of cocoa, looks swish in its nouveau popular avatar.  While tea with a whiff a ginger and a dash of cardamom and clove amalgamating in joy, wears a more modest look though not sombre.

The creamy cappuccino in its new regalia won’t break the ice and so the chai gingerly spoke, “Hi, I am masala tea and you must be cappuccino?”

Thus swayed the cappuccino. “Well that’s not all that I am Miss Tea. I am hazelnut laced cappuccino with cocoa twirls.” An air of nuts and beans all around it and the froth brimming with smugness as it spoke.

“You rather look plump in your elaborate concoction” commented tea with raised eyebrows and a hint of sarcasm trailing behind.

“What would a simpleton like you know about it anyway” sizzled cappuccino with sly smiles from end to end. “Exotic varieties of my beans travel across the world from Brazil, Ghana,… doubt if you have even heard of it.”

All traces of civility are thrown out of the window by tea at this.

“Oh how slighted I feel in your company Miss Coffee but you probably don’t know that I have my own international variants.” And so Miss Tea let out her steam.

“Ha! International variants” repeated coffee mockingly… “And where are your international variants sold from little Miss Tea? From the road side 4 by 4 wooden cubbyholes? Don’t tell me you are that incongruous. “

Tea looked a wee bit defensive but not embarrassed.

“While you get poured in tiny little containers still dripping of dirty water, I sit on polished tables in designer cups.  That’s called being progressive Miss Tea” continued coffee’s rant.

“And charge a bomb for that 100 ml espresso shot” puffed tea. “Progressive my foot. That’s progression indeed and geometric one at that” completed tea matter of factly.

“Oh there comes the red wagon communist” gnarled coffee.

“Hey don’t you politicize the matter” grunted tea.

“Well, that bomb is charged not for a 100 ml espresso alone my dear” spurted coffee “but for the experience, the ambience and the feel that comes with it.” And she tossed her froth sideways. “But what would a naïve like you know? Have you heard of people chilling out with friends and families sipping Kappi Nirvana?  It’s relishing.”

“Wwwait what did you just say, chilling out?” interrupted tea. “Do you know how it feels to find a tea stall in the middle of a wintry night, warming your palms against the glass of hot steaming tea and sipping it, while you and your friends get goose bumps together? Now that’s chilling out literally and metaphorically” lashed out tea all in one go.

“Ok ok stop singing your own paean” sputtered coffee in discomfiture.

“Why great coffee, can’t handle little Miss Tea?” she reproached “but let me finish. I have just spoken of winters yet, don’t you know about monsoons? Garama garam pakode (or call it bhajiya or bhajji) and ek garam pyali chai is the most unbeatable combination that this country knows to savour copious pour of love by the Rain God.”

“Oh shut up you prissy obsessed thing”, spoke coffee irritated. “While you still need those hors d’ oeuvres to accompany you, I am stand alone and enough to enjoy the rhythm of rain drops cutting through the canopy of palms. And the aroma of my beans is enough for gastronomical titillation.”

Both grimaced at each other and turned away as if preparing for another attack.

It was coffee who fired the shot again. “And while you feel so proud in your tea stall, I have swayed demographics in my favour.” Her froth seemed to swell in pride. “Do you realize I have caused a sort of cultural morphosis. From young to old, from college goers to executives, from exchanging notes to striking business deals, it is all done in my presence no matter what time of the day.”

Tea was quiet for a moment as if thinking about a counter attack and she stammered, “So what. It’s not such a big deal.”  She didn’t sound convincing this time, a bit on the defensive mode.  “People still have tea parties, I haven’t heard of a coffee party yet.”

“Oh come on Miss Tea, you can’t be serious” guffawed coffee. “As if you don’t know, a tea party has every mocktail in its menu while you just lag behind somewhere obscurely for namesake.” she teased.

Tea did feel a little self-conscious at that. She realized there was some image make-over needed like it happened to coffee but she wasn’t going to give in yet, “you may be for the classes Miss Coffee, but I am for the masses.”

“Whatever” dismissed coffee with an air that blew her forth right into my face. And through it I saw my chai turned cold in its cup.

Miracle of Divine

Ivory lilies blossom the pond,
Alluring the eyes of the dawn.
Pearls scattered on its leaf:
Fingers touch and water it is.

The feral grace of the tigress,
Piercing eyes of the feline enchantress.
And there prancing in the Savannah,
Peeks the gazelle with its innocent gaze.

Whiskered bulbuls perch on Gulmohar,
Alluding the dusk in the fold of flowers.
The canvas above dotted with stars,
Crescent smile of the moon melting the heart.

In this garden of dazzling life,
Descended Adam and his wife.
What some call sin, is a miracle of divine;
Magic isn’t it that love begins another life…

Capital Punishment – I say yes to it

The headlines of a national daily on 31st August read “Staying execution in Rajiv case, High Court to hear cruelty plea”. Most national newspapers carried the same headline that day. The high court had passed an interim order staying the execution of the three convicts in the Rajiv Gandhi assassination case, which was due to be carried out on September 9th.

Now the onus of reply is upon the Centre and Supreme Court as the trio has cited the 11year delay of disposal of their mercy petition and subsequent execution as inhuman and against the “Right to Life” under Article 21 of the Constitution.  I totally lost my mind reading the whole gimmick of the Indian Judiciary system. At what point shall the country and its leaders stop making a mockery of the democracy? The Supreme Court’s decision shall have a bearing on the execution of other convicts like Afzal Guru (his credentials pertain to the Parliament Bomb Blast).

What I am not able to figure out is that if these convicts talk about cruelty and “Right to Life”, should the victim and his distressed family reel under the weight of Death”? How on earth are we to feel mercy for these brutes, who decide to cut short lives, end somebody’s world just because it suits their whimsical agendas and uncultivated minds?

The same daily that I mentioned earlier, on the same day carried an essay by George Orwell ‘A Hanging’ published in 1931, as their campaign against Capital Punishment. The essay is a vivid personal narration of a real hanging as experienced by Orwell while he served the British Police. As expected it softens and moves the reader’s heart. I myself felt a tinge of pain and pity for the executed criminal but so was it.  As much as I appreciated his heart wrenching narration as a writer, it certainly did not dissuade me from my stance.

How can anybody possibly justify not hanging Ajmal Kasab, who traumatized not just Mumbai but an entire nation in a span of 60 minutes. He and his gang didn’t simply kill; they maimed lives, murdered childhoods and stabbed souls.  It took 3 years for our efficient judicial system to sentence him the death penalty and it might take another 30 years before it is executed.

These hideous creatures still proclaim the “Right to Life” and enjoy the right to kill. They go about their horrendous missions and subsequently savour Indian hospitality for an eternal time, thanks to our abominable political games and feebled and flawed judiciary. While we, the citizens and the victims watch this ridiculous dance of democracy like dumb and retarded pygmies.

Why in India do we politicize every matter?  The day the Tamil Nadu Assembly took false pride in passing the resolution against execution of Rajiv Gandhi’s assassins, the J&K chief minister tweeted that had a similar resolution been passed by the J&K Assembly for Afzal Guru, would the reaction be that muted? Come on, I expected more sensibility and solidarity out of Omar Abdullah than just petty politics. It would have impressed more had he tweeted that irrespective of any Assembly’s resolution, the J&K Assembly will not let go of its criminals loose.

While, Mr. Abdullah has only tweeted, an independent MLA Mr. Rashid has already raised a resolution in J&K Assembly asking clemency for Afzal Guru. Mr. Rashid rationalizes that Capital Punishment is inhuman and when other perpetrators of crime and violence are still loose why hang Afzal Guru? Aren’t you totally frustrated with his ridiculous, insane argument? I mean, just because you couldn’t bring justice in one crime, the other criminal and crime has the right to acquittal? What sort of lame logic is that?

What shall be the outcome of these political games is for the more erudite analysts to predict. But what I know is that despite the Supreme Court’s verdict of death penalty for Ajmal Kasab, he still has a right to file a mercy petition to the President of India and the presiding President shall take the call. For God sake, can the Constitution, the Politics and the Judiciary for once not keep their political agendas aside and make an exception to hang this man till death immediately.

I am no sadist, nor am I callous but I am no saint either. I certainly feel no mercy and sympathy for a man who has not an iota of remorse or guilt for committing barbaric crimes, whatsoever his history, background and circumstances be. Does he really have a right to live after devouring hundreds of innocent lives?

It is our good fortune that we live in a democracy but it is our misfortune that this democracy is divided and ruled by politics. You and I are no fools though the government thinks us so. Did the Attorney General or the Tamil Nadu CM really feel mercy for the assassins or Mr. Rashid and Mr. Abdullah truly feel sorry about Afzal Guru being hung? It is nothing but a sham for personal political footage.  And it’s a shame that we are part of it.

Whether you and I are for Capital Punishment or not but I am sure we are definitely against politicizing it.

Short Story - When Love and Fate Collide

The sky was somber and the sea was a little ruffled. But the colour of the clouds or the mood of the sea couldn’t deter Sameer from exploring the beautiful islands of Andaman.

“I can’t lock myself in the room and ogle at this mute surf board any longer.” he thought to himself, taking long and impatient strides in the room.

He entered the bathroom to collect his beach towel and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, “I need to get rid of this stubble” he said stroking his cheeks. “Deepa likes the clean shaven boyish look” he thought smilingly thinking of his hazel eyed fiancée. The next moment his mobile buzzed, “Hey darling!” he beamed excitedly. “Where are you? Shouldn’t you be in the flight by now?” he gabbled worriedly.

“Ah! Catch your breath my man.” said Deepa running her fingers through her long and curly mane. “I am still at the airport, the flight has been delayed.”

“Naah…” he frowned.

“By the way, how did your Marketing conference conclude?” she asked. “Your participation better be worthwhile Mr. Sameer, or my HR team will not blink an eye before sacking you.” She teased him jauntily.

They worked in different departments of the same company and had met each other at an official party. Deepa’s delicate frame and dimpled smile enchanted Sameer instantly and she was impressed by his wry humour and wit. Not to mention his athletic build. Five years hence, their friendship had steadily grown into companionship. Their worlds had merged seamlessly.

“Alright m’aam” he retorted, “but trust me sweetheart, you are going to love me for this holiday- shimmering water, sunken bar in the infinity pool and candle lit chateaus…”

“Okay…” she interrupted him, “that’s enough fodder for my imagination”. “And I’ll call you again when I board the plane. Love you.”

“Yup. Love you too” and he hung the phone finding his way to the lobby to arrange for island hopping.

Just as he got on into the ferry, the mobile buzzed again. “Hey honey, good news I am finally on my way. Just boarding the flight”, informed Deepa.

“Alright darling, see you soon” and he was about to hang up. “Oh listen, the resort has arranged your pick up from Port Blair to Havelock Island by ferry. Their executive will meet you at the airport.” 

“Okay” replied Deepa.

“And sweetie I am on my way to the Jolly Buoy Island for some snorkeling and surfing” he briefed her enthusiastically.

“Couldn’t you have waited for me?” she complained.

“Come on darling, I’ll be back to receive you. And what would I do anyway all alone in the hotel?” he said sheepishly. 

“Fine, my adventurous boy” she said approvingly and they hung up on a happy note eager to be together.

Sameer was a daring soul and a water sports enthusiast. And naturally couldn’t resist exploring the Jolly Buoy Island. The island is nestled in the Mahatma Gandhi Marine National Park in the Andaman Archipelago. The pristine beaches with a canopy of tropical forests are a heavenly sight. Hidden beneath its turquoise waters is an exquisite world of coral reefs and marine creatures.

As soon as the ferry anchored, he wasted no time, put on his snorkeling mask and fins and went below the Bay of Bengal to marvel at a world so incredibly exotic and beautiful. Schools of colourful fish came towards him, a little further a giant sea turtle showed up and a parrot fish came nibbling at his toes.  The experience is so spectacular that it escapes the writer’s pen.

He surfaced up a little later to catch some air and swam back to the shore. Gobbling a pesto-cheese sandwich with a Cranberry breezer, he stretched on the white sand looking at the purple sky and soaking in the salty air.

The sky wasn’t clear but the conditions weren’t particularly against surfing. So there he went again, now on his surf board, riding on the waves without a care in the world.  Bobbing up and down in the waters soon his head disappeared as he went deeper and further in the sea. He was having an amazing time and so engrossed was he that he lost track of time and distance.

 Suddenly he realized that the sky wasn’t the same as he had started. Sometimes your fun spills on the side of recklessness and this is what happened with Sameer. The grey clouds had come together rather densely and the waves were getting choppier. He tried looking at the shoreline but worriedly muttered, “God, I am dangerously away from the land.” and decided to retreat quickly.

There on the Mumbai-Port Blair flight, the pilot kept updating the passengers about their flying altitudes and passing over of interesting geographical locations. The aircraft was gliding smoothly when the captain announced, “Hello again guests, we are now crossing over the Eastern Ghats and shall soon fly over the Bay of Bengal before starting our descent for Port Blair.”

 Deepa sitting on the window seat instantly looked below, “Wow, the ranges look so majestic and inspiring covered in a carpet of lime green….” she thought to herself and looked up smilingly, “Can’t wait to be with you Sameer”.

 Sameer, on the other side, was struggling in the sea. He got off his surf board, clutched it against his body and started swimming hurriedly towards the shore. But the current was getting the better off him, pushing his body behind and the breeze had turned into hard winds. Yet he was an avid swimmer, couldn’t be intimidated easily. He accelerated his pace, chopping the waters with his dexterous hand movement and reached reasonably close to the shore.

But luck wouldn’t have it his way. Another huge wave swept over him breaking the momentum. Before he could catch his breath again, huge droplets hit his face. His nerves were now getting tensed. The brain was sending signals of fear and his heart was pumping too fast. He let go of the surf board, gathered his might and began swimming frantically again. But his efforts didn’t bear results.

The droplets were now pouring furiously; thunder and lightning had joined the scene. He was inundated under the rains and the waves. The sea had turned into a creepy monster and Sameer was caught in its wrathful grip.

On the other hand the sudden bumps in the aircraft roused Deepa from her nine winks. There was another announcement from the crew, “All passengers are requested to return to their seats and remain seated until the fasten seat belt sign is switched off.”

Ten minutes had passed but the flight was still quite unsteady. Passengers were a little uncomfortable now when the buzzer went again. This time it was the captain, “Dear Passengers, I am sorry for the jerks but we are over the Bay of Bengal and the weather isn’t that great. There is a thick blanket of clouds and high possibility of thunder showers a little ahead in the path.”, he sighed heavily. “The visibility is terribly poor.” he informed his passengers after a long pause and rather reluctantly.

 “However, my crew and I are here for every assistance.” he said reassuringly and further added, “I only request you not to unfasten your seat belt in any circumstance or panic. Just keep your cool.” 

In his heart he knew that the situation might demand more than that from all of them.

There was a slight improvement in the weather, the passengers relaxed as the aircraft was stabilizing. But the seat belt sign was still on.  Yet harried passengers rushed for the washroom bedlamizng the aircraft.

Deepa’s mind was rushing back to Sameer. Every moment on the flight now seemed impassable. She couldn’t wait to be in his arms oblivious of the fact that Sameer was fighting his own battle. 

His battle had now turned into one of life and death.  His swimming skills were not coming to any help.  Due to the cloudy weather, no fishermen had ventured out nor were there any tourists to spot him. Sameer was resigned to his own fate. Fatigue and panic both had set in. His movements had gotten weaker and slower and he had swallowed a lot of water. By some grain of luck though, he had managed to catch hold of his surf board again and clung to it that kept him floating and barely alive.

there in the troposphere the story was no better. As it turned out, the patch of blue sky was short lived. The flight was bumping again and it was getting worse. Some passengers were still in the aisle and rest rooms.

The steward gave strict instructions, “Passengers please return to your seats immediately and fasten your seat belts.”

Frenzied passengers rushed back and forth and in the commotion an elderly lady tripped in the aisle adding to the panic. She was sitting next to Deepa.  Deepa tried relaxing her but her own nerves were now taut with fear.

“Friends, this is your captain again. As you can see the weather has turned completely against us but I request your co-operation to take you safely to our destination.  It is still 45 minutes flying time before we can possibly touch the ground.” spoke a concerned but strong Cpt. Avinash. 

The captain had barely finished speaking to the passengers when a massive thud shook the wits out of all. The aircraft somersaulted on one side. The display lights in the cockpit flickered and the power display went off.  It was a bird hit.

A lone pelican was gliding across the clouds and got sucked into the aircraft’s engine.  It broke one of the blades and consequently with the speed and friction the other blades smashed. Cpt. Avinash’s worst fear had come true.  The heart of his aircraft had stopped beating and it was plummeting below uncontrollably.  There was no time to assess the situation; in fact there was hardly any time to act.

Pandemonium took over the plane, shrieks of fear, howls of pain, what was happening was beyond the passengers’ comprehension.

In the midst of this turmoil, the Cpt. transmitted an SOS “Mayday, mayday, IC`817 …bird hit… emergency water landing.”

And he made a final announcement to the passengers, “Passengers, this is an emergency. We are still over the Bay of Bengal and need to do an emergency landing in the sea” his voice rapt with tension.  “For the sake of God and yourself, do as the crew tells you to do. We are with you.”  And he choked on his words, “May God be with us”.

The crews’ loud and commanding instructions jolted the passengers out of their shock. There was no time to panic; they needed to be out of the aircraft as soon as possible. The crew went up and down helping people to get on with their life jackets lying below the seats and reminding continually not to inflate it till they are out of the plane.

 Deepa’s mind was going numb, why was it all happening to her. Sameer’s face kept flashing before her eyes; they were about to begin their life together. Tears were rolling down her cheeks but she knew there was no time for this. She took control of herself, wore her life jacket and realized that the elderly couple sitting next to her was still struggling. Helping them wear it, she tightened the belt at the waist and held their hands. By some miracle of God, there was not a single infant on this flight.

The speaker was off, the lights were shut, fear was high and emotions were loose. A crew member stood at each emergency exit while Captain Avinash maneuvered the aircraft to touch the sea with minimum damage and injury.

Just as the aircraft landed on the water, a brave and optimistic captain pleaded out loud, “Friends, whatever be our fate tonight, do not give up.” And he pressed for the final time, “Your strength is within and let every ounce of it be with you.”

With those last words the emergency exits were flung open.  The female and elderly passengers slid first. The crew made sure that each of them clung to their floating seats tightly and pulled the air inflating knobs of the life jacket.

Deepa was at the exit now. Closing her moist eyes, she took a deep breath, clutched her seat, inflated the life jacket and told herself, “Love you Sameer.”

 Once in the water, she was shivering vigorously. She was an amateur swimmer unlike Sameer. Swimming in a pool is different than holding on to your life in the middle of the ocean with winds and waves splashing across your face. Fortunately, the thunder showers had subsided. All the passengers tired to remain huddled together for security with their torch lights on and whistling continuously for help.

As the last passengers and the crew jumped out of the aircraft, they saw the Boeing IC 817 gradually disappear beneath the sea.

 Stranded in those dark and eerie waters Deepa began sobbing again. There were others like her but hysteria was taking over her now. Screams of “Sameer, Sameer…” filled the dark sky. Between her sobs there were shouts, “Take me away from here…” her frail body couldn’t keep up for long and her usually composed self was no longer in equilibrium. Her eyes shut slowly while she kept muttering, “Sameer, please help me, please help me…”

Though the two lovers were struggling in the same sea between life and death, they were miles apart and unaware of each other’s condition and fate. Sameer was totally exhausted by now, and though the sea had calmed down he could no longer swim to any shore. In fact he was barely awake but his longing for Deepa was so strong that it wouldn’t let him pass out. He held on to his surf board and just drifted with the waves and the wind losing all sense of direction whatsoever.

On the other hand, Deepa was in a delirium which was jeopardizing her life.  The fellow passengers nudged her, slapped her to stay awake and she responded. But the responses were weakening and fatigue was taking its toll over everybody.  So far there hadn’t been any sign of search helicopters or boats.  Gradually some passengers got scattered, floating over the waves and drifting away and Deepa was one of them.

Deepa’s life jacket wouldn’t let her body drown but the state of her body was God’s call now. She was in a stupor, though her eyes blinked and opened intermittently, there was no resistance from her body. Despite her condition, her whisperings to Sameer didn’t stop. She floated like a log towards an unknown destination.

After four hours of holding onto the shreds of their lives, the passengers felt a sense of rebirth on seeing the search boats of the Coast Guard arrive.  The entire crew and all the passengers including the drifted ones were located except one.

Deepa wouldn’t respond to any call nor would she whistle seeing the boats and her torch light had long gone away. And it wouldn’t be till dawn that the helicopters would be able to find her. Only God knew if her body was still breathing or not.

The dreary night had finally given way to a bright sunny morning. As the first rays of sun flashed on his face, Sameer’s eyes flickered. With frowning lines on his forehead, he roused from his sleep and looked around. “Where am I?” he thought to himself blearily. He rubbed his eyes open and tried lifting his sagging body. His surroundings totally zapped him. He lay on a stretch of virgin white sand, with emerald green waters in front of him and lush tropical woods behind him.

“Hello, somebody there…?” he called out aloud. But only his echo returned. He limped his way on the sand and shouted again, “Anybody there?” There was no reply. His throat was parched and burning and mind was dazed. He slouched on the sand and tried recollecting the events of the night. His battered surf board was lying there too and suddenly he remembered how he had drifted with wind and landed on this island.

The Andaman and Nicobar Archipelago have a total of 394 islands of which only 38 are inhabited and this one looked like the 39th. There was no sign of human settlement as far as his eyes could see. The adventure wasn’t over yet.

 “Oh My God!” he exclaimed in horror. “Deepa would have reached and killed herself over worrying about me.” He punched his fist in the sand disappointedly. “How could I be so irresponsible?” he chided himself. He was sure Deepa would have set off a search operation for him but there he was helpless and marooned on an island, clueless of his direction, location and time.

 Slumped on the sand, Sameer sat woefully with his hands on his head.  Suddenly he felt he heard some human voice. He looked around in vain. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, he thought to himself. A little later he heard the same voice again.

“I cannot be so foolhardy” he muttered and started walking in the direction of the voice.

 The voice grew more distinct as he walked ahead. He could now make out it was a female voice repeatedly calling out, “Somebody please help.”

His heart was pounding and beads of sweat covered his forehead. “Why does it sound like Deepa?” he kept wondering. His pace accelerated and he sprinted across the sand.

Running with all his strength, he saw a young female walking like a zombie in his direction. The two strangers glimpsed each other. A little closer their eyes met and the world froze. Neither of them moved nor blinked.

 “Sameer” she whispered in disbelief.

 “Deepa” his lips uttered in shock.

Flabbergasted, they took tiny steps towards each other not sure if it was a reality. Unexplainable tears were rolling down their eyes.  They touched each other as if making sure it wasn’t a fantastic dream. The next moment, they were locked in each other’s arm, with tears of relief, pain and love all flowing uncontrollably.

Questions abundant in their eyes, but silence spoke. They only stared, took solace in the awareness that their world was still intact and one.

END

MARRIAGE ‘MATTERS’

I have this strong urge to pen something this morning but I have no particular topic to write about.  In fact as I sit in front of the screen, umpteen thoughts are flitting through my mental scape and most of them are quite mundane. I am wondering when to go to the bookshop, to the Lifestyle store to exchange some merchandize that doesn’t fit my husband and to the kid’s store to buy some clay dough for my hyper excited baby.  Basically they are family chores, an off shoot of a married life but a happy one at that.

Just before switching on my laptop and sitting down here, I spoke to my aunt, who has a daughter of marriageable age, about matters of the nuptials and the procedures of arranged marriage.  I quite believe in arranged marriages, mine is one and it’s going quite strong and steady. However, the procedure is expensive and painstakingly long. Of course technology has liberalized it to an extent but a lot is still bureaucratic and protocol based.

Foremost, the biodatas of the interested boy and girl are exchanged, the family tree is understood then some ‘inquiries’ - as they say it are conducted, which is nothing but some discreet verification of family facts and background.  After this preliminary and successful round, photos are exchanged of the boy and the girl in question. Of course this stage now stands obsolete after the revolution of the social networking sites. Now you see not one photo of the saree or salwar kameez clad shy girl but catch all her candid moments that she thought appropriate to upload.  And it’s not just you, your entire khandaan can take a quick peek into the Facebook account and read the face.

Once the face and the photo catch each other’s fancy, meetings are arranged.  Parents meet the parents, boy meets the girl’s parents, girl meets the boy’s parents and finally boy meets the girl. What a sequence. But thanks to the technological invasion, the “Chat” application has become quite handy. Before the real meeting, some virtual meetings are helpful. If the interest fizzles out while chatting itself and you realize there is no intersecting point for individual thoughts, you can save some big bucks by not flying for the real meeting unnecessarily. As you know there is no such thing as low cost airlines in the domestic sector anymore. So you not only salvage yourself from some awkward and embarrassing meeting but might book yourself on an Air Asia flight and take a holiday in Sydney at Rs. 15,000 return airfare straight. And upload some more candid pictures for the next khandaan to see.

Eventually, after some growing interest while chatting, when the two individuals and families come face to face, some scrutiny assessments are done by the womenfolk on the guy’s side. A lot goes in what the bride-to-be wears, how she wears, what she talks, what dishes she whips in a jiffy and a lot more. The boy doesn’t really go through the pressure test.  Finally, after the scrutiny and personality test, which looks like it, lasted for an eternity, the two young souls meet. Some initial small talk and the two open their hearts and mind to each other, trying to understand each other’s aims, aspirations, expectations and limitations. After this open heart session, they either come convinced or confused. The conviction could swing in either side, which is their togetherness either feels heaven made or it would be disastrous. If the meeting results positively all is hunky dory and jubilant but if it ends negatively everybody goes home with some lurking tension in the girl’s parents’ mind.

However, if there is some doubt in the hearts and minds of the two individuals with respect to their future together, they meet a couple of times more before reaching a conclusion though the relationship may not necessarily materialize. And then begins another cycle of biodatas and meetings.  Whatever be the talks of gender equality, I being a female, for sure know this whole process is quite mentally taxing for the girl. Can’t comment on the men folk though.

This is the usual flow chart for an arranged marriage. Of course the conditions may be a little relaxed or stringent depending upon the families, their communities and socio-cultural set up. A lot of youths question this whole system, asking how is it possible to make the right choice in just a few hours time, to know each other in a couple of hours?  To which I only know that time is no guarantee for the success of a relationship. I have seen several love marriages fall apart miserably despite the fact that they knew each other for a long long time before entering the holy matrimony.

I have nothing against love marriages, but I only believe that love before marriage doesn’t guarantee a blissful married life. Moreover, if you believe in love at first sight, you might possibly fall in love with the person whom your parents have shortlisted and arranged to meet. Or the fact that the meeting is arranged and not natural or coincidental detracts you consciously from enjoying the person and liking his company?

Anyway, the love at first sight scenario is rare and quite fictional in our times; most relationships grow over time and so is true for a marriage. The life of the marriage is not based on its genesis, that is whether it is love or arranged. How much time you invest in each other before marriage is not the criterion for its success.  Knowing each other is not enough for the vow of “till death do us part”, accepting each other is the key.

Acceptance comes with time and patience. Time spent not simply before marriage but in the marriage and for the marriage.  And perfect marriage is a myth. If marriages were made in heaven why do we have divorces on earth? Because Marriages are made on earth between flawed individuals like me and my husband and there is a lot of thrill, joy, effort and responsibility in making it work.

Short Story - FULL CIRCLE

The traffic in Pune seemed to be breeding like mice. Mrs. Dutta looked baffled with the incessant flow of vehicles that denied her any opportunity to cross the road. Her salt and pepper hair swayed in the warm breeze. But her usually healthy and buxom self was about to collapse under the sun with the weight of the grocery bags. Just as she was about to give up, another hand caught hers in a tight grip. That kind soul’s bald head shone in the bright sunlight. His warm face and assured grip brought a sense of relief over Mrs. Dutta.

Still nervous but grateful, Mrs. Dutta tiredly said, “Thank you for your kindness. You were truly God-sent Mr. …?”

“Mr. Chopra” he replied, taking a bag from her.

She was in no condition to deny his further help and they proceeded towards her apartment. A few steps later he realized that they lived in neighboring apartments and mentioned the fact to her. She surprisingly remarked, “But I have never seen you before. Maybe the children know each other.”

At that he informed her, “I live here alone with my wife. My son lives in Delhi with his family”.

As they approached her apartment, Mrs. Dutta graciously invited him for tea and suggested that Mrs. Chopra also join them, to which Mr.Chopra agreed. On calling up his wife, he however found that she had just left for a Bhajan evening at the nearby temple. Nevertheless, Mrs. Dutta called out to Lata to make tea.

On hearing her voice, Harsh who was studying in the inside came rushing and shouting, “Dadi, Dadi”.

“Yes”, replied Mrs. Dutta.

“Where were you for so long?” asked, Harsh anxiously.

But on seeing the unexpected guest in the living room, he was rather surprised and embarrassed at his loud voice. As he calmed down, she introduced him to Mr. Chopra and narrated the incident.

Harsh warmly looked towards Mr. Chopra and innocently added, “Namaste uncle. Thank you for helping Dadi”. And then immediately turned towards his dadi and reprimanded with grown-up concern, “Dadi, why don’t you listen to me and take Lata to carry the bags?”

Mrs. Dutta said nothing but gave a look of acquiescence and assurance.

Harsh, dressed in his Disney t-shirt and khaki shorts, was a lanky boy of 14 years. Bright at school and delightful at home. Naughty but caring. His vivacity and warmth was infectious and Mr. Chopra was no exception. He asked the little boy all about his school, sports and friends. They found that they shared common interests in carrom and cricket.

The next evening, Mrs. Dutta and Harsh went to the park and found the Chopras there. Granny and the grandson walked towards the couple and Mr. Chopra introduced the ladies to each other.

He then looked below and added, “And he is Harsh”, stroking his hair.

Mrs. Dutta sat with the Chopras making small talk while Harsh scurried to play.

Suddenly Mr. Chopra turned to Mrs. Dutta and asked, “Mrs. Dutta, I am sorry but I didn’t ask you about or see your other family members?”

Mrs. Dutta nostalgically but smilingly replied, “My son and his family are settled in USA. They come here once in two years”.

Mr. Chopra was astonished and compelled to ask, “And Harsh? He didn’t go to USA with them?”

Mrs. Dutta then told them, “Harsh is not my son’s son though he is my grandson.”

“Sorry but I didn’t get you” interrupted Mr. Chopra.

“I adopted Harsh five years ago after my husband’s death.”, she told them looking away in the horizon.

 Fidgeting with a dry straw in her hand and gathering her emotions she added, “When Mr. Dutta passed away, my son insisted that I go to USA with them but I couldn’t leave India and my home at that age and settle in a new country and atmosphere. However, I also needed a reason to live happily here.”

She paused and sighed, “So I adopted Harsh. He got a Dadi, a better school and home. And I got a grandchild. Basically I got my reason to be happy here.”

Mrs Dutta now looked up at the couple and smiled.

Mr. and Mrs. Chopra were stunned and touched by what they had just heard.

While they were still talking, Harsh arrived hot-foot and chuckling, ready to go home. But before leaving, he made Mr. Chopra promise to play carrom with him the next day. There was a growing fondness between the two families. And as the days went by they met more often.

One evening Mrs. Chopra invited them for dinner and made Harsh’s favourite dish Rajma Chawal. Before leaving, Harsh thanked Mrs. Chopra and naively added, “Aunty please call me again the next time you make it.”

“Sure beta. Come anytime”, remarked a beaming Mrs. Chopra. And a moment later added, “Harsh why don’t you call me Dadi too?” There was a lump in her throat when she said it. She missed her grandchildren in Delhi.

In the following weeks, the Chopras and Duttas grew closer. There were frequent carrom matches and dinner outings at Harsh’s insistence. The Chopras felt a new sense of elation. In this refreshing wave, they planned a picnic to Lonavala one weekend. Harsh was chirpy as a cricket. He carried his cricket kit and a pack of cards. The food was packed - sandwiches, chips, cold drinks, etc. In fact they all seemed to share the same childlike exuberance. The weather was perfect and their spirits were high. They ate heartily, played merrily and enjoyed every moment of the day. Before they realized, it was dusk and time to leave. Mr. and Mrs. Chopra voiced their thanks to Harsh for bringing a new lease of happiness in their lives. At the same time Mrs. Dutta quietly thanked God for Harsh.

The Express Highway from Mumbai to Pune is a great drive but it tempts you to speeding. Mr. Chopra’s taxi had covered not more than 10 kms when a speeding truck rammed into the car from the opposite direction. People who saw the accident shudder describing it. There was a deafening thud, then shrieks of pain and then silence. The car was a scrap. Ambulances rushed to the site. But they found two souls had already departed. And one of it was that of a young, loving and lively boy of 14 years. Harsh’s face was unrecognizable. His body was squeezed between the front and the rear seat. The taxi driver also couldn’t survive the hit. Mr. and Mrs. Chopra and Mrs. Dutta were being rushed to the nearest hospital. However, Mr. Chopra couldn’t struggle long and gave up on the way to the hospital.

Mrs. Dutta and Mrs. Chopra were in the ICU for 4 to 5 days unaware of what had happened to the others. Finally when the truth was known, Mrs. Dutta went into a shock and depression. She couldn’t comprehend that Harsh was no longer with her. She neither wept nor spoke. Mrs. Chopra however, reluctantly accepted the misfortune in her life. She persuaded Mrs. Dutta to talk but Mrs. Dutta spoke only silence. She had become a zombie. A moment ago their happiness had known no bounds and then suddenly it ended like a dream. Mrs. Chopra made numerous attempts to bring Mrs. Dutta back to normalcy but nothing helped. She stopped responding.

Finally Mrs. Chopra was leaving for Delhi to be with her family. She went to meet Mrs. Dutta for one last time with unstoppable tears and a prayer in her heart for her well being. A month had passed since that star-crossed evening. Mrs. Dutta was still in her depression but was settling back to her usual chores.

One sunny day, she was again standing across the road with bags of grocery and the sun hitting her eyes and head. The traffic was relentless. And suddenly there was a blackening out in front of her eyes. She would have fainted that very moment if a strong and young hand wouldn’t have held her. He shook her and benignly asked, “Dadi dadi, are you alright?” She didn’t respond.

He stroked her hand again, “Dadi, get up.”

Mrs. Dutta didn’t understand what was happening to her but her pent up tears flowed uncontrollably for the first time.

The young man was tall, well built and about 21 years old. He didn’t know what made the old lady weep for he didn’t know he had unknowingly touched that chord in her heart. The word “Dadi” had the strongest allusion to her. Mrs. Dutta couldn’t talk between her sobs and Rahul couldn’t leave her there on the road. He took her to his apartment and waited for her to calm down. Rahul shared the apartment with two other friends who studied in the same college. For the first time in a month Mrs. Dutta spoke to somebody and spoke from her heart. She told him about Harsh and all that had happened.

Rahul looked at his friends then looked at her and simply said, “I lost my grandmother when I was five. And I still miss her. Dadi, can I please adopt you?”

End

 (Published in Woman's Era Magazine, Copyright, Woman's Era)

Cryptic Clues

As they say, a child is God’s image on earth. Pure and innocent. It is a different story that in our defiled world the age of innocence has come down starkly.  Nevertheless, children while still stammering or scurrying on four limbs teach the most valuable lessons of life in their innocence. And trust me, they are politically correct too. If only we could be more receptive and less self-obsessed.  Children are great learners and teachers, I know, yet I didn’t expect my infant of ten months to teach me one of the most precious of human qualities, i.e., to build and nurture a relationship. He does not speak a word, he only SMILES… he smiles with innocence, with joy, with a spark in his eye. The sweetest part is that he smiles at every stranger.

When we stop at traffic signals, he peeps out of the window and gives his enchanting smile to whoever is on the bike or car next to us. The person naturally responds back (thankfully our species has not turned that cold yet) with a smile or a playful gesture that makes my little one even happier and excited. Next thing I know is the stranger and I exchange a smile. It happens quite naturally then and the vibe is more of affability than of civility. Never before have I bothered or thought of smiling like that at people (no, I had no fear of appearing lunatic). It just never occurred that it’s the simplest thing to do to make our world more livable.

When my cherub gets all cranky, I take him outdoors. He instantly calms down and keeps staring at our watchman to catch his attention. Once noticed, he beams heartily and the watchman has no option but to match it. Meanwhile, all the people coming in and going out of the building including domestic help of our neighbours are recipients of his bunny smile. And of course everybody reciprocates with a funny gesture. On one such instance I realized that never before had I acknowledged, forget smiling at, the watchman or the sweeper or the other maids in the building.  Here was my toddler reminding me that, “Mamma, it’s not so difficult to smile after all. It just makes the surroundings more pleasant and every recipient of your smile experiences the same feel-good-factor whether he walks back home or drives an Audi home.”

God endowed us with the most beautiful asset, a smile, guaranteed to win hearts. Sadly as we grow into adults this asset is lost in the heat of the day.  And by the coolness of the night, it is too late. There are huge problems in our personal and global world. And of course a smile will not solve them all but it certainly makes for a more joyous living and undoubtedly has a trickledown effect. In the heart, we all know it’s true but the fact has slipped from the mind. We have grown so increasingly self-centered,  divided by social strata, attitude and mental conditioning that the most natural instinct possessed as a child is the most difficult to retain as an adult.

A smile, as I experienced, connects you to a fellow human being.  It is a subtle message to that stranger that I acknowledge and respect your presence on this planet. My son communicates with his smile because that is the only way he knows, but I know much more now. My honey bunchie just taught me that “the language of the heart speaks most beautifully, Mom.”

The Airport "Transfers"

The great Indian summer is back again with more heat, lesser mangoes and usual watermelons. As much as the heat pricks, the joy of summer vacation soothes. Sadly this joy abandoned me a decade ago when I graduated. In fact, shortly I’ll be looking for schools for my little one and with him will come once again the vicarious pleasure of awaiting the summer holidays. Holidays are always about fun and friends but most importantly they are about planning for that long awaited trip. Trip to new destinations, family reunions or visiting grandparents.

The excitement of going on an outstation holiday is not the prerogative of children alone. Right from short listing of the place to booking of the tickets and packing the bags, it all adds up to the zealous momentum irrespective of the age. However, by my personal experiences I have realized that our enthusiasm on a vacation at two particular places of logistics is dependent on whether we are the arriving or departing passenger and guest. Have you noticed how eagerly you wake up at 4.00 a.m. to catch the 7.00 a.m. flight that takes you to Goa or Simla or Kabini? Do you feel the same joy waking up at 4.00 a.m. otherwise? Forget waking up, your city airport no matter how dilapidated, seems like the most wonderful place buzzing with people some coming in, others going out and you are amongst the departing passenger. When I look at other passengers who aren’t holiday goers like me but travelling for work or other mundane purposes, I feel quite sorry for them. Here I am all exhilarated with my back pack while they worry about the presentation on their laptop.

The feeling of exultation continues as I arrive at my destination. In fact this new airport appears even more wonderful but now my heart goes out for the passengers in the departing lounge. Poor them, while my holiday has just begun they are going back to the old trap. Candidly, I kind of feel fortunate and superior at that moment. However, time does its own justice. After 3 nights and 4 days or 6 nights and 7 days of languor, I am eventually back at the airport and this time I am at the receiving end of those imaginary smirking looks by the arriving passengers. Now forget the early morning flight, even the noon flight seems too early, packing, sorry I should call it dumping clothes in the bag seems like a task and that wonderful airport looks most dreadful, about to transport me back to my morose routine.

Another place that invokes similar emotions in me is the hotel lobbies where I check-in for the holiday. At the time of your check-in, naturally there are others who are checking-out, their luggage piled in one corner while they wait for the shuttle bus. I do feel bad for their holiday coming to an end and wonder my fate would be the same after 4 days. But then I have to remind my silly self that before the 4th day there are 3 days of absolute chilling out you fool. And thus returns the delight of the experience called “Holiday”. However, the same plush lobby with its balmy surroundings no longer delights you when the concierge has gone to get the luggage and the airport shuttle is at your service. You see the airport “transfers” -pun intended, can actually transfer your mood.

I found my psychology and behavior as a tourist or holiday-goer quite amusing. There is no attempt to understand the why’s and how’s of my mental working but it’s surely interesting to jot it down and share it around. It’s just a game of perspective and angle depending on where you are and who you are i.e arriving guest or departing passenger. Well my way to end one holiday is to start thinking of the next. Waste no time and start the hunt for the next destination in the in-flight magazine itself. It not only eases the pain but makes the arrival in your city airport bearable. Once at home I browse through the atlas and travel magazines, it not only gets you going through the rut but has done some good for my miserable geography.

Cramped Imagination

Hey, if you think my new status of motherhood is inspiring all posts on birth and babies, that’s not true. However, this one is surely the result of my current emotion. All mommies will agree that the feeling of caressing your baby, cocooned against you surpasses all known joys. Every ounce of my pain and discomfort seems worthwhile when his petite hands come around me. These days not just mothers, even to-be-fathers talk to their fetals, it is not surprising then that we chatter away endlessly with our new borns . God alone knows what goes on in their tiny minds and what they make of the adult gibbering. But I know what goes on in my mind; I want my five months oldie to respond to my every uttered syllable.

It is beautiful to see the little one gradually beginning to react with his smiles, laughter and rhythmic sounds. Of course this is only one side of the response, he also shrieks, shouts and howls. It is all part of the growing up game. This increased intelligence with advancing months also means that he now recognizes faces, surroundings and voices. And you know what comes next… he recognizes me, mommy. “I feel elated” will be an understatement. Though he is extremely comfortable and playful with other family members, he searches for my face and longs for my arms after a while. Trust me the first time he out stretched his arms to come to me, I had an air of pride all around me. Finally, I was the chosen one. Probably this is their way to make up to mommies for changing their nappies through the night.

Well, there’s a slight whammy in being the chosen one. As much as I may regale about his bonding with me, it also comes to mean that now my absence does not go unnoticed by him. In the consequence, my restaurant visits are rushed apart from being seldom. Before ordering for a dessert, I need to check up at home if he is still in his happy-go-lucky mode or the tantrum state has set in. While shopping, the first thing that appears decent to me, I pick up. Can’t take the risk of rummaging through the store and modelling in the trial room while he rises from his siesta looking for his mommy dearest. Did you say movies in theatre? Ah! that option has been deleted from my entertainment itinerary since the little angel descended in my lap. A Bollywood flick barely reaches its climax in three hours while in the same three hours my baby feels hungry atleast twice, pees four times and poops atleast once. Phew! No question of being sane and sober after this schedule.

All said and done, the privilege and joy of being The Mommy is much greater than the whammy of losing the liberties. No experience of dining, shopping of movie going comes even close to the experience of watching your baby laugh in response to you. Long Live the Mommy… both- my mommy and my baby’s mommy.